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I sat up straighter. “Ah, well… the catacombs. There are loads of creepy stories about them, if you’re interested.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Phone sex,” Laurent said with a slight raise of his eyebrow.
Saying a silent apology to the plate of perfectly cooked roti de chevreuil bordelaise that I’d previously devoted at least ninety-five percent of my attention to, I put my knife and fork down. “Video sex, actually. We decided we’d embrace all the twenty-first century has to offer.”
Unlike me, Laurent managed to multi-task with his plate of paupiette de porc, chewing his mouthful slowly and swallowing before responding. “It is all the same.”
“Not really. One’s just sound, which means you’ve got to rely on dirty talk and heavy breathing, and one has picturesandsound. And I’ve got to tell you that with something like that, pictures make all the difference. I mean, how do you know on the phone that it’s not like one of those sex lines where they sound like they’re giving it their all, but really they’re sitting there reading a book?” Laurent’s eyebrow hitched up another inch. “I saw a documentary on it. Maybe people put more effort into it here than they do in Wigan.”
“Wigan?”
I waved a dismissive hand. “Not on the tourist map if you visit the UK, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It was just the first place that came to mind. I can’t remember where the documentary was based.” I thought hard to recall it. “Maybe somewhere in Wales. I seem to remember one girl having a slight Welsh lilt when she spoke.” I picked up my glass and took a swig of the wine. “Now Wales is somewhere you should visit. Very beautiful.”
“You can take me to Wales,” Laurent said.
“Deal,” I agreed. “We can take our mythical bicycles.”
Laurent jerked his chin at my abandoned plate. “The venison is not to your liking? I can ask the waiter to take it back and bring something else.”
I picked my cutlery up again. “The venison is fine.” I resumed eating while Laurent studied me. “Spit it out.”
Laurent turned his wine glass round by the stem. “It is just that it has been a few weeks now, has it not?”
“You know it has. What’s your point?”
“He has not come here, and you have not gone there despite London and Paris not being a million miles away.” Which was true. We’d talked about it, but I still wasn’t in the right headspace to go back to London yet, and Cillian’d had obligations, both work and family-based. “I can’t help wondering what the future looks like for the two of you when you live in different cities. Does he think that if he waves his cock around enticingly for long enough that you will abandon everything here and move back to London?”
“’Waves his cock around enticingly’? You have a strange idea of virtual sex, if that’s what you think happens.” Laurent’s shrug said that I was getting hung up on semantics. “And he’s said nothing about me moving back to London.”
“But has he said anything about moving to Paris?”
“There are no expectations between us.”
“So… You just remain in limbo forever?”
I sighed. “I know what you’re saying.”
“Oh good, because I was beginning to feel like I must have talked in French, and we both know how poor your French is.”
“It’s getting better,” I stated defensively. The slight twitch of Laurent’s hand around his glass said that was my opinion, but that his was a little different. “It is.”
“Of course,” he lied.
“I ordered for myself today.” Laurent’s little smile was a giveaway, even as he tried to suppress it. “What? What did I say?”
“I presume your intention was to ask the waiter if your steak came with salad?”
“That’s what I asked.”
“What you actually asked was whether the deer ate salad. Very close,” he said with a smile.
I thought back over the conversation, remembering a moment where the waiter had seemed a little confused, and where Laurent had stepped in. “It’s important to know how well fed things are before they end up on my plate.” In truth, it made me want to become a vegetarian.
“Anyway, we were talking about the Irish man?” Laurent reminded me. “We should stay on track.”
“Cillian,” I corrected. And then after a pause, “You’re worse than Jiminy Cricket.”