Page 17 of Love Will Save the Day
Chapter Thirteen
After a short and blustery walk through the snow, we reach Nuage. I’ve passed this restaurant so many times on my way to and from work, and each time I’ve stared longingly through the window at the candlelit tables. As we enter through the double doors I grin at all the diners, gobbling fancy food, looks of bliss upon their faces.
‘I’ve always wanted to try this place,’ I say to Henry. ‘Ooh, listen to that music! I really like jazz. I don’t understand it, but I do like it.’
‘Nuage is a firm favourite,’ Henry says. ‘Get ready to have your mind blown.’
A tall, skinny maître d’ appears, pumping Henry’s hand like he’s an old friend. He leads us takes us to a gorgeous circular table right by the window. I sit down and peer out onto the snowy pavement and bustling crowds of Notting Hill.
‘So,’ Henry says, a little sparkle in his eye. ‘We have to start with champagne!’
I shake my head. ‘Oh not for me, thank you. I really do have to go and look for a job. I can’t live with you forever!’
‘Come on, Bess. Please let’s have some champagne. I’m alive! I want to live in the moment and you’re the whole reason I’m here. Come on. Be a devil. It’s good to be naughty every now and again.’
I bite my lip. Conning this innocent man is plenty naughty enough, thank you. He gives me that pleading look again. I don’t want to spoil his good time.
‘Okay. Champagne it is,’ I say. ‘But only a little bit for me.’
‘Hurrah!’ Henry starts to clap, causing a couple of the other diners to look over at us curiously.
When the champagne arrives Henry pops it open expertly as if he’s been drinking champagne every day, which judging by his clothes and his house and his general demeanour he most likely has. He pours the golden bubbling liquid into two crystal flutes and holds his aloft, eyes shining.
‘To you, Bess. To you for being for being so sharp minded and so quick to react when you saw a man in distress.’
My throat tightens as I think of the real woman who should be sitting here instead of me. The woman who is now missing out on champagne and duck confit and Henry’s adoration, because I basically stole her life.
I don’t think on it for too long because I take a sip of the champagne and it is truly, astonishingly good. I’ve never had fancy champagne before and immediately realise why it costs so much more than the cheap plonk I’m used to. It’s fizzy and golden and the bubbles taste like fresh juicy pears on my tongue.
The confit turns out to be even more incredible than the champagne, and when we’re finished eating it, the waiter brings out two perfect crème brûlées, the sugary tops as smooth and shiny as an ice skating rink.
I crack my spoon on to the crust, taking a big mouthful. Henry grins and pulls out his phone for what I think is the fifth time since we’ve been here and snaps pictures of the desert and himself. He then turns the camera on to me. I wriggle uncomfortably. I smile politely into the phone when Henry bursts into laughter.
‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘Do I have crème brûlée on my face?’
‘I’m laughing because you’re smiling for a photograph and I’m actually taking a video.’
Oh, that old chestnut. I laugh awkwardly and give a little wave into the camera phone.
‘Here she is,’ Henry says, ‘my saviour. We are at Nuage having champagne and fine food. What’s your verdict, Bess?’ Henry asks as I take another spoonful of dessert, rolling the creamy, slippery custard over my tongue. ‘It’s lovely,’ I say, wishing slightly that he would put the phone down.
When he’s finished, he places the phone back on the table. ‘I posted that to Instagram. You don’t mind, do you? I think my audience will be so intrigued about you.’
Hmmm. Not too intrigued, I hope.
