Rendevouz

The biggest problem was the shopping list. That would need a full re-write.

Less than twelve hours had passed since France knocked England out of the World Cup, but in my despair I had decided to ban using all French words, drinking all French drinks and eating anything remotely French. So that meant no croissants, no camembert and certainly no foie gras. I crossed a line firmly and definitively through them all.

Before shopping I was due to have lunch with my best mate Tom, who had just gotten engaged. I couldn’t think of any occasions where he’d used many French words or phrases, but thought it would be best to text quickly to warn him.

“Just to let u know, I’m prohibiting all French words in my presence for the foreseeable.”

He replied almost instantly.

“Totally understandable! See you shortly, en route now.”

“You mean you’re on your way now?” I shot back, annoyed.

“What?”

“Oh yes, sorry, on my way.”

****

Our lunch didn’t start well when I discovered Tom had booked a table at Café Rouge. I told him he had to cancel the booking, but he’d already put his card down as a deposit. I was not happy.

It then didn’t help that he arrived wearing his favourite beret. “Get that thing off your head!” I hissed as he sat down.

“Oh this? Sorry, sorry,” Tom said, whipping off the offending item. “Sorry I’m late by the way, I had to stop off at the patisserie,” he added, pulling out a brown paper bag. “Want a pain au chocolat?”

“No, I do not want a fucking pan au chocolat,” I replied. “Put them away! In fact, throw them in the bin immediately.”

Fortunately the waitress came over and I forced a smile as Tom hid his horrible pastries. “Would you like drinks?” she asked.

“We’re celebrating,” Tom beamed, “what champagne do you have?”

I kicked him under the table. “Ow! Oh. Sorry. We’ll just have a bottle of house red please.”

“Great,” replied the waitress, “we have a lovely Bordeaux in right now…”

“Perfect!” said Tom, just as I kicked him again. “Ow! Oh. Not perfect. Just a beer for me. Lager. Locally brewed if possible.”

The waitress wrote in her pad. “And will you be ordering the set menu or à la carte?”

“Set menu,” I replied before Tom could speak. “In fact, is there a chalkboard or something? Even the menu would be too much for me right now.”

The waitress looked around sheepishly. “I…err…don’t think there’s a chalkboard…but let me check for you,” she said before hastily leaving us alone.

Tom was an art dealer specialising in modern and impressionist artists, so I decided to steer clear of his work in case he started talking about Monet or Manet, or worse, Matisse. I even feared talking about new painters he’d come across in case he labelled any as nouveau or avant-garde. Instead, I asked him about his new house that he and his fiancée had just bought.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I said, genuinely excited.

“You’ll love it!” Tom replied, sipping his beer. “It’s so quiet, no traffic. One of the benefits of living in a cul-de-sac I guess.”

I groaned. Nothing was safe. “Let’s just order food,” I said. “In fact, I need to pee, just order for me.” Tom was a food connoisseur, so I was in good hands.

It was soon clear that I had made a huge mistake. Tom had ordered us mushrooms vol-au-vents and mini cheese soufflés to start, with roast beef and potato dauphinoise to follow, all of which I refused to eat. “And what’s this?” I ranted as the waitress brought out dessert. “A crème brûlée?! A sodding crème brûlée, Tom?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said through a mouthful of tarte tatin. “I realized my faux pas as soon as I had ordered.”

I’d had enough of Tom’s laissez-faire attitude so I paid the bill and we walked outside, where his chauffeur was waiting with the limousine. “I’ve got to dash,” he said, pulling on his beret, “Amélie and I are going to the theatre. Matinée performance. Au revoir, mon amie.”

“Let me guess,” I said, holding out my hand to shake Tom’s, “Moulin Rouge?”

“No,” replied Tom, refusing the hand, instead leaning in and kissing me on both cheeks. “Les Misérables.”

“Of course,” I said, “of course it is.”

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