Her father had an old bottle of Eau Savage that Elisabeth’s mother had bought duty free on a trip to Singapore, and he wore it only at special events, which was about three times a year.
Henri helped her out of her coat, and she felt ashamed of her wool skirt and plain white blouse so she kept the scarf around her neck.
‘What will you drink?’ he asked her and Elisabeth shrugged as she slid into the private booth.
‘I don’t know, what do you think?’
She didn’t think she could ask for a pint at Claridge’s but she didn’t know any other drink other than cask wine.
‘Champagne,’ he stated and then ordered a bottle of Taittinger for them with a selection of cheeses to share.
Elisabeth realised how hungry she was and placed her hand on her stomach to stop it protesting about the paltry cup of soup that had masqueraded as lunch.
‘I don’t know your name.’ she said suddenly, as though speaking her thoughts aloud.
‘Henri Le Marche,’ he answered, as he sat back in the booth.
‘I’m Elisabeth Herod,’ she said and she put out her hand in a formal manner.
Henri laughed and took her hand and gallantly kissed it as Elisabeth laughed.
‘Sorry, I think it’s the environment, it’s very posh, isn’t it?’ she whispered.
‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ Henri asked, his handsome face now worried. ‘I didn’t know where you might like to go, but my mother always says Claridge’s is best when you’re in London.’
Elisabeth tried to hide her smile as she nodded in agreement but Henri noticed.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘I don’t really know,’ she said, deciding to be honest. ‘I’m from Australia, here on a gap year. The nicest place I’ve been to so far has been Harrods and even then the staff looked at me like I was going to steal something.’
Henri laughed. ‘You will tell me if you’re not happy here?’
The waiter arrived with the champagne and made a show of displaying it to Henri, who waved his approval with his hand.
When their glasses were filled, Henri picked up his glass. ‘To books,’ he said.
She felt herself smiling. ‘To books,’ she echoed and took a sip of the champagne, savouring the taste.
‘Gosh, that’s lovely,’ she said, as she watched the beads burst up in the glass.
‘It is,’ said Henri, and he took another sip. ‘Beeswax,’ he said then paused. ‘And blackberries.’
Elisabeth took a sip from her glass. ‘And apple,’ she added, remembering the cider she had drunk at her brother’s twenty-first birthday party.
Henri beamed at her. ‘Yes, apple.’
The waiter brought the cheese and they were silent until he left.
‘Do you work in the wine area?’ she asked, watching how he held his glass by the stem and not the bulb.
‘No, I work in the family business,’ he said, leaning forward and smearing Brie onto a wafer-thin piece of toast and handing it to her.
Elisabeth took the offering gratefully and popped it into her mouth.
‘We make cosmetics,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My grandfather started it and now my mother runs it.’
‘And you will take over one day?’ asked Elisabeth, as he handed her more cheese.
‘I hope not,’ said Henri with a sigh.
‘What would you rather do?’ Elisabeth sipped her champagne, as he thought.
‘I would like to write books,’ he said.
She thought her face would crack at the width of her smile.
‘Does your mother think you should write books?’ she asked.
Henri smiled now. ‘My mother doesn’t care what I do, as long as I’m happy. It is my brother Robert who will get the company one day.’
‘So why are you in London?’ she asked, feeling somewhat fortified by the champagne and cheese.
‘My mother lives here most of the year, she prefers London for business, so I come and visit her.’
Disappointment rose in Elisabeth that his would be a fleeting visit and she wouldn’t see him again.
‘But now I know Mademoiselle Elisabeth is in London, I will be here for a while, I think.’
She felt herself smile again and wondered if he could read her mind, or was the opoponax tapping her secrets for Henri’s benefit.
‘What are Sibyls?’ she asked, thinking of his comment about the scent he was wearing, grasping at a casual conversation to try to balance out the sexual tension she was feeling.
‘They were prophetesses or Sibyllas from Ancient Greece, who could predict the future. They were very wise and gave sage advice to the priests, but they only spoke in riddles.’
‘It’s a beautiful word “Sibylla”,’ said Elisabeth, rolling the word around her mouth like a sweet.
‘Yes, if I have a daughter, I would like to call her Sibylla. I think she will be very wise, but that, of course, would come from her mother.’
He looked at her pointedly as he said this and Elisabeth choked on the invisible sweet.
‘More champagne,’ said Henri, as he lifted the bottle from the silver bucket and refilled her glass and then his.
‘Now tell me all about you,’ he said. ‘And Australia, I’ve always wanted to go there.’
Elisabeth went through the details quickly. An only child of two working-class parents, she had excelled at school and received a scholarship to a private girls’ school. This led to an acceptance at university to study English, which she hoped to be able to teach at high school one day.
‘But why high school? Teach at university, become a professeur des universités.’ He clapped his hands happily at his decision on her behalf.
‘You will be the beauty and the brains in your long robe, all the men will desire you and be intimidated by you.’
Elisabeth laughed and blushed. The need to kiss him was disconcerting, or was it the champagne?
‘Tell me about you,’ she said, desperate to steer the topic from her.
Henri Le Marche was twenty-six years old and the second son of Daphné and Yves Le Marche. What he lacked in ambition he made up for in charm and intelligence.
‘You
