Page 59 of The Stranger

Subtle. Subtle like a sledgehammer. You have me here under false pretenses!

“You aren’t performing surgery.”

“I’m not a surgeon.”

“Or undertaking diagnostics,” I add evenly. “A little wine will do you no harm.” And it might help the conversation. Help her relax. I know how I’d help her relax, given the chance. A chance I won’t have.

“Many people drink wine with meals,” Sylvie interjects. “Especially French people. And not just at dinner.”

“This is true. There was even once a time it was served in schools.”

Primrose’s brow furrows. “Really?”

I incline my head. “In my grandparents’ day, it was served in the school cafeteria.”

It’s hard to tell whether she’d amused or abhorred. “Wow. Drunk children must’ve been a delight to teach.”

“It was watered down,” I gently scoff.

“I’m not sure that makes a difference.”

“Don’t frown at me,” I chide. “I wasn’t the one filling their glasses.”

Primrose blinks rapidly as though surprised by my response.

“But, Primrose, you must try,” Sylvie entreats. “Alejandro grew the grapes, and I helped make the rosé.”

“This bottle?”

Sylvie nods. “With my feet!”

“You met Alejandro?”

Primrose opens her mouth, but my daughter beats her to it. “Oui, Papa. We were visiting Lola and Alejandro knows a lot of things about llamas.”

“Does he indeed?” But Primrose is too busy examining her empty plate. She refused dessert, which was surprising. She doesn’t usually. She isn’t the kind of woman who denies herself the things she desires. Food wise, at least.

“Lola spitted, I mean spat,” my daughter says as her gaze slides Primrose’s way.

“Gross,” Felix mutters.

“Alejandro said it was a love spit.”

“How wonderful to know he has time to study llamas.” And my nanny, I think, unhappily. But Primrose keeps her eyes on her plate.

“He said that Paco will try again and again until Lola stops spitting at him. He also asked Primrose to go for a drink, but she must not have been thirsty because she stayed with me.”

I watch as the nanny’s eyelids flutter closed and almost hear her soft sigh.

“Did he now?” In my head, that sounded much less rough.

“And we went to visit the horses, and Primrose got lost.”

With or without Alejandro? I manage to stop myself from asking.

“I wasn’t lost,” she quietly insists.

But was she flirting with the grape man when she’ll barely look at me?