Looking back on them now, the five years she spent here felt like a dream. In that same period, Bente had gotten to know Camille, who was already a qualified sommelier. During the day they studied wine together; in the evenings they worked until closing time, then hit the nightclubs and bars with their colleagues. Frederic would come to meet them, and Bente always went back to his apartment. They went to the wine cellars of the best restaurants in Paris, which kept their wine lists in leather-bound books as thick as the French novels she studied in her small apartment when she wasn’t hanging out with either Frederic or Camille.
She had been madly in love, both with the city and with Frederic.
She had never experienced anything like it before, nor had she done so since.
They each ordered a glass ofcrémantand sat down. Toastiness, crispness layered with a wonderful creamy freshness, finishing with a sharpness that gave away the wine’s origins in the cool climate of Alsace. Delicious.
The hip-hop coming through the speakers was almost drowned out by the buzz of conversation as more and more people came in. The three of them moved their chairs closer together so that they could chat.
“Great place,” Elnaz said, looking around. “Here’s to our show, and here’s to Paris.” They clinked their glasses together.
“Have you been here before?” Bente asked, and both nodded.
“A couple of times,” Didrik said, “but not with someone who reallyknowsthe city. It’s going to be so cool, hanging out here with you.”
“Your French is excellent,” she replied.Sexy, in fact, was the word that came to mind. “Have you studied in France?”
“Yes, in Lyon.”
That explained it. Just like Didrik himself, his French was accurate, with a rich vocabulary. His foreign accent, though, was obvious, the wayit always was when someone could speak a language but hadn’t heard it enough to get the nuances right.
“When were you there?”
“God, it must be more than twenty years ago now. I’d just graduated from high school and went traveling around Europe on an Interrail Pass, as a kind of rebellion against my mother.”
Bente grinned. “That was brave.”
“You haven’t met my mother.”
He gave her a meaningful smile and leaned closer to pick up the water carafe. She noticed a few laughter lines at the corners of his eyes.
“I had a place at university and was all set up to start my studies, but I dropped out. Mom went crazy—I’d embarrassed her in front of her university colleagues.”
“So your mom is in the academic world too?”
“Professor of history.” He topped off his water glass, and as he set the carafe back down, his upper arm brushed her shoulder. It was the gentlest touch, but the feeling seemed to linger on her skin. Bente noted this with a sense of surprise.
“Interrailing,” Elnaz said. “That’s something I wish I’d done.”
“It’s never too late.” Didrik smiled. “I could easily imagine doing it again, but in a different way. Not just hanging out at the Prado in Madrid for hours and visiting the Colosseum and other sights. Although I would like to go back to my maternal grandparents’ hometown in Estonia.”
“Did your history-professor mom make your itinerary?” Bente’s eyes twinkled at him over the rim of her glass.
Didrik laughed. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?” The laugh turned into a smile, and he gazed at her for a few seconds, which made her heart skip a beat. Why was she reacting like this?
Elnaz checked her phone and sighed loudly.
“What is it?”
“Palento’s got a press shoot for a drama series tomorrow, and the photographer we booked has to stay home with a sick child again.”
“Is it one of your productions?” Bente asked.
“No, it’s actually Ted’s, but I’ve helped him out with a few things. I’ll figure something out.”
Bente thought about how hard Elnaz always worked. She had no experience with Ted, but she had encountered other male colleagues who were in the habit of letting younger female employees do the grunt work.
“Why do you always have to cover up for Ted?” Didrik asked, as Bente was about to say the same thing.
