The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(57)

They walked to a tiny bistro with just eight tables. Chez Rupert. Sylvie explained that she was a friend of the owner. “I have told them to bring us whatever dishes they feel we will enjoy. I have explained that you are an Englishman with simple tastes.” She laughed. “We can try a little of everything.”

“A bit like tapas?” Arthur said. He and Miriam had once gone to Spanish night at the local village hall in aid of raising funds for the church roof. They had each received a glass of sangria piled high with chunks of apple and orange. “It’s kind of like a boozy fruit salad,” he said after taking a sip. Each table then received around six small terra-cotta dishes with different foods in each. He and Miriam had peered at each of them in turn. There were things that he didn’t recognize but they had eaten the whole lot. It had been an enjoyable evening, even if they had to call at the chippy on the way home because they were still hungry.

“Yes. Like tapas,” Sylvie agreed.

While they waited for their food they finished a nice bottle of merlot with ease and ordered another. Arthur’s head felt lighter, as if any worries he had were drifting away.

He surprised himself by trying mussels cooked in garlic butter and a thick French fish soup called bouillabaisse. He ate veal and a mushroom stew and quaffed more red wine. And he tried not to think about why he hadn’t been open about trying new things in the past.

When a passing musician stepped into the bar and played the accordion, Sylvie insisted that they stand and dance. Even though the people around them laughed at the pathetic dancing efforts of this Englishman, Arthur bowed and laughed with them.

After dinner, Sylvie took his arm again and this time it felt more natural. They walked alongside the Seine. The sunset was spectacular, making the sky look like it was on fire. Arthur found her charming company but he couldn’t help wishing that it was his wife he was with, was laughing with, was admiring the sunset with. He felt the need to speak her name, to remind himself that he was here because of her. “Miriam would love it here,” he said.

“She did love it here,” Sylvie said. “We came here a few times to walk and talk and plan our futures. We were full of youthful confidence. I was going to be the best wedding dress designer in the world. All the celebrities and film stars would want to wear a Sylvie Bourdin dress. But then, as the weeks and months and years pass, you become more sensible. You recognize that dreams are just that.”

“But you have your shop. You’ve done amazingly well. You help to make dreams come true.”

“Did Miriam’s dreams come true? She talked of meeting a man and having lots of children and living in the country with a big garden.”

“She said those things? Nothing about tigers and being swept off her feet by a rich novelist?”

“You are teasing me, yes?”

“A little.” They stopped and watched a rowboat sail past, cutting through the water that looked like mercury in the fading light. “We had a small house, two children and lived on the outskirts of the country. I worry that her life with me didn’t match up to her dreams.”

“I think that out of the two of us, she is the one who got it right. I didn’t have children, you see. I was always too busy with work. I have a beautiful shop instead of babies. The ladies who come to see me are like my daughters. I have many, many daughters.” Sylvie laughed. “Hopefully some remember me after their big day. I sometimes wish my dreams had been simpler or that I had time for both a family and my shop.”

They found a small bar that rang with laughter and sat at a black wrought-iron table on the pavement. “Even I do not know this place,” Sylvie exclaimed. “You are making an explorer out of me, Arthur.”

It was past two in the morning by the time they returned to the wedding boutique. It was with some guilt that Arthur realized they hadn’t talked very much about Miriam. They chatted about York and about Lucy and Dan. He told Sylvie about Bernadette and Frederica and more of the stories behind the charms. In turn Sylvie told him of her lovers over the years and how she had nearly left Paris to live in a rural watermill with a penniless artist but had come to her senses before she walked down the aisle. “I own a bridal shop but have never been a bride myself,” she said.

As they neared the boutique Arthur’s pulse quickened. What was the etiquette in these matters—a kiss to the cheek? Both cheeks? A hug? He wasn’t sure. He grew silent as they stood in front of the bay window.

“I have had a lovely time, Arthur. I have not laughed so much in a long time.”

“Me, neither.” He felt he didn’t have to try too hard with Sylvie. There was a natural ease between them that he hadn’t felt with anyone other than with his wife. She was connected to his wife and that made him want to be close to her. He wanted to touch the lines around her eyes, to stroke her cheek. Sylvie moved a little nearer. He could feel her breath on his neck, see how the ends of her eyelashes curled up and notice the small furrow between her eyebrows.

He wanted to kiss her.

Kiss her?

Where had this thought come from? He should only want to kiss his wife.

Sylvie smiled at him, as if she could read his thoughts.

He felt his own hand slip around her waist. Should he pull away before it was too late?

In the time he had considered, their lips met.

It felt strange to be kissing someone else. It was something that he wanted to stop and reflect upon before he continued, but he could not pull away. He needed human contact, to feel wanted again. Her lips were soft and warm. Time slipped away.