Read Online The Train to Paris by Sebastian Hampson - Free Book Online Page B

thought about it, the less sure I was of what she would think.
    â€˜Isn’t that true of Paris, too?’ I said. ‘I can’t find a good restaurant anywhere in my area.’
    â€˜Give it time. I will show you the best of the best in Paris. It helps if you have some money, of course.’
    â€˜I thought you said that the best wasn’t necessarily the most expensive.’
    â€˜Well remembered,’ she said briskly, as though I had wound a key in her back. ‘It all depends on whether you want the best food or the most authentic food. Authenticity hardly exists in Paris. But I know of places that have yet to be plundered by the Americans and the Brits, places where they have no English menu.’
    â€˜This isn’t bad, of course.’
    â€˜It could be worse. But please don’t eat so fast.’ I had cleaned my plate, spooning up every last morsel. ‘Christ, this is what having children must be like.’
    â€˜You never wanted children?’
    â€˜No. I would have made a terrible mother. Besides, the day that a woman gives birth is the day that her life as she knew it ends. I’ve always been happy with it like this.’
    I was about to ask her why she was so happy to live out this fantasy, but I stopped myself. I would have to be subtler.
    â€˜Who are your parents, Lawrence?’ Élodie asked after the entrées had been cleared. I thought about what to tell her, if anything.
    â€˜They are both lawyers, and they have been doing the same thing for years. But I don’t want to talk about them. We don’t get on very well.’
    â€˜So you are casting off into Europe on your own. How Byronic of you. Tell me more. What do they think of all this travelling business? They must have other plans for you.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said, avoiding her and fiddling with my cutlery in the hope that she would stop interrogating me. ‘Ask me anything else.’
    I waited for her to persist, but to my surprise she backed off.
    â€˜All right. But if you do want to talk about it, then I can be an impartial ear.’
    â€˜I don’t trust that.’
    â€˜What? My ability to remain impartial?’
    â€˜Well, yes.’
    â€˜That doubt is well-placed, Lawrence.’
    Rather than waiting for the sommelier to return, she leant over to pour me another glass of wine. I could see the pale skin on the inside of her arm.
    â€˜Isn’t that my job?’ I asked.
    â€˜Indeed it is. You must be learning. Go on, pour me a glass.’
    I did so, and in the process I managed to send drips over the linen tablecloth.
    â€˜Oh well,’ she said, ‘at least you had the right idea. Women love a man who takes initiative. They will forgive you all sorts of sins.’
    â€˜But it’s dull chivalry, isn’t it? Mindlessly following a set of conventions. I think that women might be after something else these days.’
    â€˜What, like your girlfriend? She isn’t one of those earnest little feminists, is she? Does she take offence every time you hold the door open for her?’
    â€˜I wasn’t talking about her.’
    â€˜You were. And it isn’t true. Even the diehard feminists want their men to be little princes. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. It is human nature.’
    The sommelier returned to retrieve the decanter. He had the wine list, and he was about to present it to Élodie when I held out my hand.
    â€˜I’ll take this one,’ I said. Even the list of dessert wines was overwhelming. Élodie looked over my shoulder as I read it, but I kept it to myself. I asked for a Sauternes. It was not the most expensive, though the price was outrageous for such a small bottle.
    â€˜Well done,’ Élodie said when the sommelier left. ‘I am impressed. How did you guess my favourite dessert wine?’
    â€˜Beginner’s luck.’
    This did not convince her.
    â€˜All right,’ I said.