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This seems like a great excuse to track Olivier down. A full day gone by and I’m feeling the lack of him. Maybe it’s just because he’s my only connection to my life back in Paris, or maybe…
No. No, it can’t be something more than that. And if it is, I’m sure it’s just because he’s doing that magical, romantic French thing and casting a temporary spell over me. Maybe it’s the surroundings.
Regardless, all of that has to be put aside. I need to ask him about Madame. That’s it. Purely business-related.
I march downstairs to the study, and I’m about to march my way in when I hear Olivier on the phone with his father speaking in not-so-subtle tones. It’s not that I mean to eavesdrop, I’m just waiting for Olivier.
Standing in the hallway where there’s an open door. Waiting to talk to my boss. And if I happen to overhear pieces of their conversation… I mean, the volume on his video call is turned way up. It’s not my fault.
Maybe if I just edge a little closer to the doorway…
Olivier’s father shouts through the speaker, “Mais tu ne comprends rien!”
Ah, I know what that means. And if his father is telling Olivier that he doesn’t understand anything, it’s not a good sign. As I keep listening—by accident, of course—I get the gist of the conversation. Not only is the Bouchon Noir having reputation issues, it’s having financial issues. And from the sound of it, it’s not just the Bouchon Noir, but other aspects of their business, too.
“Cherche, je te dis,” his father proclaims. “Il faut faire quelque chose drastique!”
Something drastic?
“Si non, c’est la fin.”
The end of the Bouchon Noir? No, it can’t be. It’s a mainstay of French cuisine. The chain is known the world round. How can a three-star Michelin restaurant be facing such great financial difficulty?
No wonder Olivier’s under so much pressure.
The call ends abruptly, and I hear a chair skid backwards—my cue to get out of dodge. I rush a few steps down the hall to make it look like I’m only just now walking in his direction. Must pretend like everything’s fine.
“Olivier, there you are. I was just hoping I might run into you.”
“I’m sorry, Natalie. I can’t speak now.”
“Okay,” I say, but Olivier’s already walking away.
“Maybe we can discuss later whatever is on your mind.”
“Sure,” I say to his back. “Olivier?”
He turns to me and I forget what I was going to say. His eyes are so sad, but he puffs his chest in an attempt to make a show for me.
“Yes, Natalie?” he says, his voice gentle and calm, even though what’s happening inside him is anything but.
“Which is the first bedroom on the second floor, please?”
“That used to be my grandmother’s suite when she could more easily handle the stairs. Go all the way up and turn left. It’s the room at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you, Olivier.”
He nods and attempts a weak smile. My heart feels crushed. He’s walking away, but I can’t let him go just like that. I have to, but I can’t. Every bone in me wants to comfort him.
He can handle it. He’s a big boy. Yet my feet are walking me in the same path he just took.
Yep, I’m following him. But enough paces behind that he can’t tell. I hope.
He walks into the garden, and I catch sight of him going toward the swimming pool.
Night has almost completely fallen, and the moon hasn’t yet risen, so there’s a bluish glow from the sky above that meets with the garden lights below. Olivier stands in front of the pool, watching the surface. Despite being a grown man, there’s something very boyish in the way he watches the ripple cross the surface.
I give him a wide berth, circling into the garden. That way I always have the excuse that I was just taking a walk. And if I happen to get closer, it’s just because I’m strolling. There are bushes as cover.
