her gaze. Did he notice everything? “In the style of Klimt. You have heard of Klimt? I had the good fortune to see some of his paintings in Vienna, before the war. Extraordinary work. There was one called Danaë, the woman of myth visited by Zeus in a shower of gold . . . Klimt shows she is aroused by the gold as it pours between her legs.”
Eve had no desire to discuss any kind of arousal in this room, artistic or otherwise. “No, I have n-not heard of it.”
“It is abandon.” He unbuttoned his cuffs, dropping the cuff links into her hand to examine. He proceeded to turn back his sleeves, displaying lean forearms, pale skinned and smooth, and Eve avoided the sight by holding the little molded glass objects to the light and watching the play of colors. “Gilt-edged abandon. People thought it obscene, but what of it? They thought Baudelaire obscene too.”
Eve placed the cuff links carefully beside the bust of the poet, studying the brutal marble profile and wondering if Baudelaire’s mistress had despised him as Eve despised René. “May I ask a favor, m-monsieur?”
“A favor? You intrigue me.”
“May I miss one night’s work, in two days’ time? I promised a friend I would accompany her to visit her uncle, and he lives at some distance.” All perfectly true. With René, Eve did her best to confine her lies to what was unspoken.
“You wish to miss work.” He measured the words. “There are many who would replace you, you know, and promise not to miss any work.”
“I know, monsieur.” Eve gave him the pleading doe-eyed look. “I hoped you were p-pleased with my service, enough to . . .”
He let her hang there for a while as he set the ledger aside. “Very well,” he said at last, and Eve nearly sagged with relief. “You may have your day.”
“Thank you—”
He cut her off. “It is quite late. Have you remembered your curfew exemption, or shall I have to walk you home again?” He unknotted his tie. “Perhaps I shall walk you home anyway. I would like to further our acquaintance, Marguerite.”
He took possession of her name, or what he thought was her name, casually discarding mademoiselle. And Eve didn’t think, as he removed his tie altogether, that he intended to walk out anywhere this evening. Any furthering of acquaintance would be happening right here.
Because I asked for a favor.
She wanted to swallow the lump in her throat, and she let herself, so he could see her throat move. Nervousness would please him.
He dropped his tie along the leather arm of his chair. “Have you considered my offer of the other evening?”
Eve didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Your offer s-s-surprised me, monsieur.”
“Did it?”
“I am not the right c-companion for a man of taste. I am a waitress. I have no beauty, no p-p-proper manners, no knowledge of the world. So yes, your offer surprised me greatly.”
He rose from his deep chair, unhurried, going to the little satinwood table laden with crystal decanters. He unstoppered one and poured two fingers of something pale and sparkling into a tumbler. It glittered like a diamond, and he handed it to Eve. “Try it.”
She sipped, not seeing a choice. It burned her throat: fiery sweet, faintly floral, very powerful.
“Elderflower liqueur.” He rested an elbow against the ebony mantelpiece. “I get it privately from a vintner in Grasse. Beautiful country, Grasse—the air smells like that liqueur, flower scented and heady. It’s unique, so I don’t serve it at my restaurant. Brandy, schnapps, champagne, those I give to the Germans. I save the unique for myself. I think you like it?”
“I do.” No point in lying to René about anything she didn’t have to. “Why share it with m-me, if you do n-n-not share the unique?”
“Because you too are unique. You are in possession of good taste, Marguerite—very good taste, I would guess, but utterly untutored. Like Eve in her garden of Eden.”
How Eve managed not to jump at the sound of her real name, she did not know. But she managed, sipping more elderflower fire.
“I have always appreciated good taste and elegance in my companions,” he continued. “Before now I have preferred a finished product to a block of raw material, but Lille does not offer much in the way of elegant women these days. Hunger and patriotism have made shrews of all the ones I know. If I wish a suitable companion, it has struck me that I will have to play