20
In order to get to their next meeting, Bente and Didrik hired bicycles and launched themselves into the Paris traffic.
They rode through her old district. The streets were so familiar to her, with patches of grass where early spring flowers bloomed. Somewhere beneath the earth, the summer flowers were beginning to grow, too, and Bente knew they would provide the neighborhood with glorious color in only a couple of months.
“I used to live along there,” she said, nodding down one quiet road. The sand-colored stone block hadn’t changed at all. “There’s my apartment.” She pointed up at a small French balcony made of black wrought iron.
The bakery across the street, the best in Paris to her mind, was still there.
“Would you like to try the most delicious croissant in the world?”
“Absolutely.”
They parked their bikes and went inside. Everything was exactly the same as she remembered it. It was like stepping into an earlier part of her life.
They bought a whole bag of croissants and shared one on the way out. The buttery, flaky consistency was like something from a dream. She closed her eyes. Opened them and realized that Didrik was watching her.
She smiled. “Good, aren’t they?”
He smiled back. “They certainly are.” He reached out a hand. “You’ve got something just ...” He wiped a crumb from her chin. The touch was gentle, but it burned her skin and set all her pleasure receptors on full alert.
Her phone rang. It was Elnaz.
“Oh God, our meeting!” Bente inhaled sharply.
“Are we late?”
She nodded. They jumped on their bikes and pedaled as fast as they could until they reached the sommelier school where Bente had once studied. They had arranged an appointment with the principal, who was the most knowledgeable person Bente knew when it came to wine. Elnaz was waiting for them outside.
“Where have you been?”
“We went to the antiquarian bookstore we mentioned,” Bente explained.
“And I got to see where Bente used to live.”
“And we bought croissants.” Bente happily held up the bag.
Walking into the sommelier school was also like revisiting a part of her former life, but she had no time to reflect on her memories of how she had met Frederic and what life had been like back then—she had to focus on the reason why they were there. Didrik’s presence, however, made that difficult. It was as if she could feel the nearness of his body even though he was sitting three feet away. That touch, that brief moment, had changed something between them.
The head of the school, unlike the school itself, was virtually unchanged—just an older version of the man she’d known. They told him they wanted some guidance on how to track down more information, and he had plenty of suggestions.
“Would it be possible to analyze the wine from a small sample?” Bente wondered.
“Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help. You can’t establish the origin based on chemistry alone. Have you checked the ship’s log?”
“We have, but it’s not very specific—it just states that the wine was sent from Bordeaux.”
“So that leaves the packaging—the box and the bottle itself.” He looked at the bottle, held it up to the light. Took off his glasses and went over to the window to examine it in daylight.
“I can’t see anything unusual. Certain vineyards had a slightly different-shaped bottle or special glass, but this one is standard for both the region and the time. Apart from the brass plaque, that is. But I believe Frederic was looking into that for you?”
Bente nodded.
The man moved on to the box. “It might be worth taking a closer look at this—the kind of wood, the craftsmanship. I have one or two contacts who might be able to help us there.”
“That would be fantastic,” Bente said, feeling more optimistic now. “This has been very useful.”
“Absolutely.” Elnaz nodded.
