The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [18]
Madame cast an eye in her direction but said nothing as she expertly cut slices of cheese and fruit, and deposited them onto each plate.
In spite of her hunger, Claire forced herself to tear off a piece of bread and yield it as daintily as the woman across from her. As her teeth sank into the soft center, she suppressed a moan. She realized she had closed her eyes, blinked open and found Madame watching her as she sipped at her wine. Claire blushed and turned her gaze to the flowers surrounding them.
The florist surveyed the tin pails that nearly covered the brick walkway. “You look at the flowers. They are quite beautiful. Which are your favorites?”
“How could I possibly choose?” Claire shrugged, her attention on the food hitting her stomach. Another glance at Madame and she realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question. The florist leaned forward in her seat, expression as serious as Claire could imagine on that pleasant face.
Claire took a sip of wine and sat back in her chair. She thought back to the countless arrangements she had ordered or made for her parties in Manhattan. Flowers were what she was known for. Among other things. She grinned.
Claire pointed to a pail of apricot-colored ranunculus, their tissue-thin petals packed tight on a slender green curving stem. “Those would look amazing in a golden vase, among golden candlesticks for a semiformal dinner party. For an all-white spring dinner among ladies, I would choose green wire baskets with white narcissus, purple pansies, hyacinth and green viburnum.”
Madame nodded with pursed lips. “And?”
Claire picked up the single rose she had sat on the table. “For a very special event, or just for me, this would be my choice.”
“Accompanied by what else?”
“Nothing else. I would mass them by the dozens in crystal vases.”
Madame smiled approvingly. “Very restrained. Tasteful.” She nudged the remainder of the loaf toward Claire as an offering. “Though I would rethink the wire basket. That would be a disaster.” She took a sip of wine as if to wash away the disturbing thought.
The simple dinner was what Claire needed, in nourishment as well as company. No personal words were exchanged, but it was clear Madame Palain had a level of sophistication that made Claire’s New York crowd seem like little girls playing dress up. It wasn’t any single thing, like the manner in which she held her fork or sipped her wine. The florist enchanted with her ease and polish. Being the center of her attention felt an honor. She challenged Claire to be clever in her thoughts, to pick through the jumble of words in her head to find the one that expressed perfectly what she meant to say.
Night crept in without their assent. The women murmured over the crumbs of their dinner in near darkness, their only illumination the dim half-eaten moon. The light of the streetlamp above was covered in deep blue paint. “The war,” Madame explained with a frown.
Sheer weariness finally forced Claire back to the reality of her situation. With real regret, she reached for her things. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Madame. I’m afraid I must go.”
“Of course,” Madame said, her tone unconvinced. She deftly emptied the table onto the silver tray and stood.
Claire pushed herself to her feet and stared into the darkness. She was tired but couldn’t make herself walk away. “I’ve made you late. Perhaps I can help you clean up?”
Madame nodded, the flicker of a warm smile. She turned to face the shop and instantly converted into a general. “All the flowers must be pulled in. Then we must cull them and freshen the water. I lost my delivery boy as well as my assistant to this ridiculous war, so I have many flowers left tonight. Then everything must be cleaned and swept for a fresh start in the morning.”
A silent groan as Claire realized she was going to work off her dinner tab. She bent down to grab a bucket. The sweet scent of peonies brushed delightfully against her nose. She had nowhere else to go, after all.
The women pulled, pushed and cleaned