Where the Light Falls(47)

Defeated, André propped his elbows on the bar and cast a forlorn glance toward the door, contemplating where he might go to lift his spirits.

He took a deep breath and let out a long, slow exhale; he would take a walk to clear his mind and go home. He turned toward the door just in time to notice, to his shock and delight, a white-clad figure gliding in from the street. Her cheeks rosy from the walk, Sophie entered the tavern and looked around, pausing her search when her eyes landed on his. She stood still for a moment. André faced her, powerless to conceal the broad smile that spread across his face.

Spotting him, Sophie walked forward, her parasol swaying at her side. She extended a gloved hand toward him, which he took and raised to his lips. Keeping his eyes fixed on her, his gaze not wavering for a moment, he said: “You took your time, mademoiselle.”

“Me?” She smiled, leaning her head to the side. “It took you long enough. I thought that I’d come across you long before now. It was Saint-Paul that you named as your neighborhood, wasn’t it?” She lifted an eyebrow, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

“I’ve been away,” he said, extending an arm toward her.

“Soldiering?”

He nodded. “Join me for a drink?”

She accepted his outstretched arm and walked with him toward a banquette booth in the back of the room.

“As I was saying, I had given up hope of you coming.”

“What would you have had me do—abandon poor Franck before we had finished our meal?”

“Perhaps,” André replied, smiling. And then, leaning forward toward Sophie, he continued. “I thought you didn’t care for him.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why have dinner with him? The poor man is probably in love with you.”

Sophie grinned, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. After a pause, she leaned forward and said: “Franck cares for me as little as I care for him, of that I can assure you.” Seeing that André was not satisfied with this answer, Sophie explained further. “It’s his steaks and his pork chops that Franck enjoys, and he likes to have me on his arm or at his table—not because he enjoys me. I don’t even think he enjoys my conversation. At least, not any more than I enjoy his.”

André thought about this. “So, then, you admit that you use him?”

“Just as he uses me.” Sophie shrugged, her face expressionless. “If it wasn’t for Franck, I’d never be allowed out of my home. My uncle permits me to go out with Franck, but no one else. So, you see, he is my only ticket to get out into the world.”

André considered this, sitting opposite her in a brooding silence.

“I see you’re not convinced, Monsieur Valière….What, do you wish me to go out with you, instead?”

“Yes,” André answered.

“My uncle would never allow it.”

“Your uncle doesn’t have to know.”

She thought about this proposition, drumming her fingers along the table as she did so. “Well, why don’t you buy me a drink for a start?”

André asked the attendant which spirits they had available and was told that all they had was wine from local stores in Vanves and Clamart, so he ordered a carafe and two glasses. When the drink came, he lifted his glass toward hers.

“I was beginning to wonder whether or not you existed, or whether I had imagined meeting you that night,” he said. “Perhaps that sounds foolish, but now that I see you, I hope you do not mind my saying that I shall do everything I can to see you as often as I can. At least, before we march out again.”

Sophie smiled, clinking her glass against his before taking a sip. The wine was watered down and warm, but at least the place had drinks to offer, and enough of a crowd to give it a mildly cheerful atmosphere.

“Did you return to the city with my uncle?”

“I did.” André nodded, sipping his wine. “Were you happy to have him back?”

She pursed her lips but didn’t reply. That was all the answer André needed.

“I’ve lost a husband, so I suppose now my uncle thinks he needs to watch over me. It’s always the Revolution he uses as his reason—as if he hopes that fear will convince me.”

“How so?”

“I know that my name puts me at risk, but he reminds me of it every day. It seems to be his justification in forbidding me from going anywhere, or seeing anyone. Only I can protect you, So-So. You must not expose yourself to danger. Listen to Uncle Nico. I know best.”

André thought about this, taking another sip of wine.

“Now can you understand why, on occasion, I allow the one man of whom my uncle approves to take me out to lunch?”