“This is a lovely restaurant,” said Adrian.
“Quite lovely,” said Sally. “How did you find it?”
Giles sighed. They were painful memories even if he was over them.
“It’s a long story.” he began.
“Oh, yes? Not that one?”
“No. You didn’t meet her. Anyway, she lived over the road and we used to eat dinner here.”
“Before or after?”
“Before or after what?”
Giles felt a lump in his throat.
With a woman’s instinct Sally reached over the table and took his hand. “Giles,” she said, “you don’t have to explain.”
Of all the restaurants in Paris, Giles thought, he really could have picked another place to eat.
The conversation took another turn. When, however, Adrian got up to go to the loo after the dessert, Sally looked across at Giles and said:
“Do you suppose she is still there?”
Giles sank back into his seat.
“Frankly, I don’t know.”
Sally squeezed his hand again and said nothing.
When they said goodnight on the pavement outside, Giles walked a few yards, but the question stayed with him.
His finger hovered over the buzzer for a minute. Then he rang each of the other apartments until a neighbour buzzed him in.
The door was just as he remembered it. He stood contemplating life for ages before he screwed up his courage and knocked. She wasn’t there. She was almost never there. She would be at a party with her literary friends.
Then the door opened and her tall, lean body stood before him. Her bright eyes stared at him in surprise.
“Maman, Maman, who is it?”
“Never mind, go back to bed.”
“Is it papa?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
*
“To think that little child has never seen his father.”
“Well, how do you really know if he’s the father?”
“Oh, Maude, that’s the whole point.”
“I’m not so sure. Maybe his father is away, and this guy is her ex-lover.”
“Oh, I never thought of it like that.”
“Let me ask you, darling, do you ever go back and visit old boyfriends?”
“I don’t have the time or the patience. Or enough insults.”