Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,21
really not the kind of bloke who . . . I don’t go in for casual . . . I mean I’m sort of dating a girl.”
She laughed at his embarrassment—a deep throaty laugh. As she leaned back on the sofa Evan was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing anything under the robe. Get out of here now—he could hear the warning voice echoing through his head.
“You are engaged to zis girl?”
“No—it hasn’t got that far yet.”
“In France it is considered de rigueur that a man has a wife and a mistress, and maybe a girlfriend as well. Besides—who ees to know if you stay ’ere tonight?”
Evan laughed shakily. “Everybody. You don’t know North Wales yet. Everyone will already know that I was called down here. They’ll all know the exact time that I get back.”
“So zat ees what worries you?” She got up, too, and moved closer to him. “Your fine, upstanding reputation wiz zee citizens? Then it doesn’t have to be the whole night, if zat’s what you want. In fact I’m sure we could be very quick if you wanted to, and no one would ever know . . .”
“I’d know,” Evan said. “And it really wouldn’t be fair to the girl I’m seeing, would it?”
“She’s a lucky girl, zen.” Madame Yvette put her hands on his shoulders. “I hope she keeps you satisfied?” Without warning she moved her hands to his face, pulled him toward her and planted her lips firmly on his. Then she released him again. “If you ever change your mind, you know where you can find me. And I’ll show you the difference between a girl and a woman.”
She gave his cheek a playful pat. He had no recollection of how he got down the stairs and out to his waiting car.
Chapter 8
By the end of the week the investigation was apparently no further along. At least if it was, nobody had bothered to tell Evan, who felt his isolation, stuck in the Llanfair substation with nothing more to do than warn Rev. Parry Davies that Mrs. Powell-Jones had complained about his van blocking the street again. Evan could only presume that none of the prints had been identified and that no more fires had taken place. However, he reminded himself that the last two had happened at weekends. This weekend he was going to be on the alert.
On Saturday morning the women of Llanfair assembled again in Madame Yvette’s kitchen. Yvette looked around at the group.
“I see zere are not so many ladies zis time. Zay are perhaps busy?”
“Their husbands won’t let them come,” Betsy said bluntly.
Yvette was instantly alert. “Zay do not like it zat I am here? Zat I am zee foreigner?”
“No, it’s nothing to do with that,” Betsy said. “They didn’t like the French food.”
“Not like zee food?” Yvette put her hand to her breast. “Zat is zee same leek purée I serve to zee Taste of Wales judges and zay say it was magnifique.”
“It wasn’t what they were used to, I think,” Bronwen said gently.
“And it wasn’t enough,” Mair Hopkins added. “My Charlie had to make himself a couple of cheese and pickle sandwiches when he’d finished what I’d cooked for him.”
“Ah. It ees not enough? Je comprends. Nevair mind. Today we make zee classic boeuf bourguignon and zen zee éclairs—I guarantee zay will satisfy all ’usbands.”
They began chopping vegetables and cutting beef into cubes.
“It’s just like a lamb cawl, but with beef,” Mrs. Williams muttered to Mair Hopkins. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about, personally.”
“Zen we take zee red wine,” Madame Yvette said, lifting the bottle. “A Bordeaux would be preferable, but any red wine you have around zee house will do.”
Mrs. Williams looked horrified. “We’re chapel! We don’t have wine around the house!”
Madame Yvette smiled to herself. “Maybe zee ’usbands would not complain if zay ’ave a glass of wine wiz zair food.” Then her smile faded and she looked up thoughtfully. “When you say zee ’usbands forbid, I sink maybe zat one of zee husbands write me zee note.”
The women looked up from their cutting.
“You hear, I suppose, zat someone write me zee notes, telling me to go ’ome.”
“No! My, but that’s a nasty thing to do,” Mrs. Williams exclaimed. “It better not be anyone from Llanfair who’s doing it or he’ll get a piece of my mind!”
“Who’d do a thing like that?” Mair Hopkins asked.
“There are people around here who’d want to get rid of her because she’s foreign,” Betsy said.