Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,24

good boy scout as always, stayed to comfort her?”

“Yes, I did . . . until I found out what she really wanted from me. Then I made a polite but hurried exit.”

“Oh.” Bronwen stared hard at him as if she was trying to see inside his skull. “That’s not how it was related to me.”

“And you believe a lot of old gossips?”

“It was Madame herself. She told me that she showed you the difference between a woman and a girl.”

Evan actually laughed. “Come on, Bron. Do you really believe that I’m the kind of bloke who winds up in bed with strange Frenchwomen?”

“How do I know?” Her voice was edgy again. “I’ve no idea what makes men tick. I thought maybe it was too good an offer to refuse.”

“Well, I refused it.”

They stood in the light of her doorway, staring at each other.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve no right to get upset about what you do or don’t do.”

“You’ve no right to get upset with me without checking with me first,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so stupidly insecure. I thought she had something to offer you that I don’t have.”

Evan smiled at her. “She does. A black lace bra.”

“She showed you her bra?”

“It wasn’t on her at the time.”

“That’s even worse,” Bronwen said, but she was smiling now.

“Bronwen,” Evan said quietly, “it’s cold out here. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Chapter 9

The following Saturday night Evan and Bronwen finally went to dinner at Chez Yvette.

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” Bronwen said as Evan parked the car.

“Don’t be silly. We agreed, didn’t we? I want her to see us together.”

“I want you to taste all my food first,” Bronwen said as they walked up the flagstone path to the front door. “She might have poisoned it.”

“So you’d rather I died. That sounds like true love.” He opened the door for her. Bronwen grinned.

The restaurant looked different, lit only with candles in glass globes. No longer was it an austere former chapel. The flickering candlelight created little pools of intimacy at each of the six tables. The vaulted ceiling above and the far corners were lost in darkness. Madame Yvette was serving at the one occupied table as they came in. She looked up and the delight registered on her face as she saw Evan. “Ah, Monsieur le Policeman. You come back! Magnifique.”

“I’ve brought my girlfriend for dinner, Madame,” Evan said. “She’s been taking your cooking classes and raving about your food, so I’ve come to try it.” Evan’s hand was on Bronwen’s shoulder as he steered her across the parquet floor.

Madame Yvette nodded graciously. If she was at all put out, she wasn’t showing it. “Please—take a seat. Here—my best table, in the corner. So romantic, non? I bring you a menu and the wine list.”

They studied the wine list and Bronwen suggested a Merlot.

“Any suggestions on food?” Evan muttered to Bronwen. “I don’t know one French dish from another.”

“Why don’t we let her choose the menu?” Bronwen suggested. “That way we’ll get her favorite dishes.”

Madame Yvette seemed delighted. “ ’Ow very kind. I make you zee superb meal. We start, I sink, wiz zee scallops in white wine and ginger, zen my famous selle d’agneau—zat is zee local lamb—very good and tender, and a salad of baby greens. And zen, for dessert, zee specialité de la minison.’” She left them with a mysterious smile.

The first two courses were exquisite, the scallops delicate, melt-in-the-mouth, floating in a light creamy sauce, accompanied by crisp lattice wafers of potato. The lamb was rich brown on the outside, pink and succulent in the middle with just a hint of garlic and herbs.

“If she has any animosity, she’s not showing it,” Bronwen whispered.

“I think she’s happy to show off her cooking expertise,” Evan said. “She certainly knows how to cook.”

“And it’s lucky we came early,” Bronwen said. The door opened, sending in a cold breeze that ruffled napkins and flickered candle flames. A noisy party of four people, English by the sound of them, came in, and almost immediately a lone man followed, choosing the small table on the opposite wall.

Madame Yvette bustled from table to table, beaming.

“You liked your Welsh lamb zee way I cook it?” she asked as she came to remove their plates.

“It was wonderful,” Evan said as Bronwen nodded agreement. “The best meal I’ve had in years.”

“Ah, you wait for zee dessert!” Her eyes sparkled like those of a naughty child keeping a secret. “I