Fiona, who looks more beautiful than ever in her full-length black gown, appears disinterested in our banter as she adjusts the black-rimmed glasses on her nose to study the menu. Seconds later, she sets it down with a sigh, as if nothing pleases her.
“Darling,” she says, turning to Eric. “Can you be a dove and go find our waiter? I need to see if they have any gluten-free options.” She makes a pouty face. “I’m afraid there’s nothing on this menu I can eat.”
He nods dutifully, setting his napkin on the chair before zigzagging through the dining room.
Daniel turns to Fiona. “It’s really good to see you two. It’s been far too long.”
“It has been too long!” she exclaims, squeezing his arm. “And now you have this lovely creature in your life.”
“It really is a wonderful coincidence,” he says.
“How wonderful that we can go on double dates again!”
I’m immediately curious about the most recent woman who’d been on Daniel’s arm, though, of course, I don’t ask. Instead, I listen as Fiona tells us, in great detail, about her plans to remodel Eric’s flat, which she intends to move in to once it’s…up to her “standards.” “Men haven’t any idea about the importance of quality bathroom lighting,” she says, smiling at Eric as he slides back into his chair. “Valentina, of course, you get that.”
I nod in agreement, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. Isn’t a light a light?
“Eric has these dreadful fixtures with the most unflattering lightbulbs,” she says. “Anyway, they just won’t do. I’m changing everything.”
“That’s great,” Daniel says. I can’t tell if he’s entirely oblivious, or if finds her as dreadful as I do, but I hope for the latter. “I’m sure his place can use a woman’s touch.”
Eric hands a new menu to Fiona—presumably a special one. “Thank you, my love,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
“So,” Daniel continues. “How exactly do you know Val, again?”
“Well, the Book Garden is my favorite bookstore, of course.”
Fiona gives Daniel a knowing look. “You know Eric and his bookstores.”
He smiles. “My mum brought me to the store as a kid, and Eloise, Valentina’s late mother, led the most magical read-alouds.” He pauses, looking at me. “I presume you call it ‘story time’ in the States?”
“Correct,” I say with a nod.
“I loved it, of course,” Eric continues. “But I think my mum’s prime objective was an hour to herself.”
I laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s every mother’s dream, isn’t it?” I catch Daniel’s eye, and he smiles back at me.
“Indeed,” Eric says.
My mind is caught in a time warp—hyper-focused on a part of my mother’s life I wasn’t privy to but Eric was. What was it like to be a child in her bookstore? What was it like to sit on the carpet and listen to her read? I imagine Eric as a boy, and my mother standing at the store’s counter, the way Millie does now.
“Well,” he adds, “your mum was a larger-than-life fixture in my formative years. She could—”
“Do the voices,” we both say in unison.
I smile. “There was no one who could read a story like she did.”
“She was…one of the greats.”
“She was.” I feel a pang of emotion, which subsides when Daniel places his hand on mine under the table.
“Excuse me, sir,” Fiona says, waving at a nearby waiter. “Sir!” When she has his attention, she points to her menu. “I do see that these are gluten-free selections, but I’m not finding anything vegan on here.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says a bit nervously. “I could…I could talk to the chef, ma’am.”
“No,” she says, sighing as if the ordeal has been deeply exhausting. “Just tell the chef to bring me a plate of steamed vegetables, will you, please? Steamed, not grilled. No butter. Just lightly salted. Sea salt. And olive oil on the side.” She holds up her finger. “Extra virgin.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, nodding.
“She has a sensitive stomach,” Eric says to the waiter apologetically. “We appreciate your extra attentiveness.”
After he takes the rest of our orders, Eric tops off our wineglasses. “Tell us how you two met,” he says looking at me, then Daniel.
Daniel squeezes my hand under the table, and I give him a sly smile.
“A childhood friend of mine set us up,” he says quickly. He notices my confused expression, but his face tells me to play along. “And naturally, Valentina couldn’t resist my charm and rugged good looks.”
“Yes, that,” I say, rising to the occasion. “But you could say we met because of a…literary mystery.”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “Daniel, you actually have time to read with that filming schedule of yours?”
“As much as I can,” he says. “Valentina and I have that in common.”
“Wait, is this your second or third date?” Fiona asks, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“Third,” Daniel says.
“Look at how cute they are,” Fiona says to Eric. The observation feels like less of a compliment than it does a mark on a score card, a commentary on a subject I’m not privy to.
“How’s work going?” Daniel asks Eric, changing the subject.
“Still chugging along,” he replies.
Daniel turns to me. “Eric’s a columnist for The Times.”
“Oh,” I say, a little surprised. When we had lunch at Café Flora, he’d been vague about his work. All I knew was that he worked at a newspaper. “What do you write about?”
“The real question is what does he not write about?” Fiona adds, laughing.
Eric nods. “I guess you could say I’m a generalist.”
“That piece you did recently,” Daniel continues, “about the Dutch. It was fascinating.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve always found it interesting that they don’t close their curtains—some don’t even have any—even in dense urban areas like Amsterdam.”
I shake my head. “Really?”
“It’s a total cultural phenomenon. The sun goes down and you can take an evening walk and there they all are, sitting in their living rooms, for all to see, watching TV or eating pie or doing whatever they do. It’s incredible, really, how willing they are to put themselves on display, how unashamed they are of the private details of their lives.” He shrugs. “Anyway, it’s quite a contrast to how private and closed off we are here in London.”
“Well, I couldn’t live that way,” Fiona says emphatically. “The thought of some voyeur watching me from outside.” She shudders. “No, thank you.”
“Yeah, I understand why you feel that way,” I add, making a mental note to look up Eric’s work. “But living so openly, and unafraid…I don’t know, something about it sounds kind of freeing.”
Dinner arrives and so does another bottle of wine. Daniel and Eric rehash stories from their university days, and Fiona fills us in on her interior design work—apparently Kate Middleton inquired recently (albeit via a palace assistant).
At nine-thirty, Daniel takes care of the bill, refusing Eric’s offer to pay, before we head downstairs to retrieve our coats.
“Should we get a nightcap?” Daniel asks tentatively.
Eric opens his mouth, but Fiona beats him to the punch. “We’d love to, but I have an early conference call in the morning and I’m impossibly underprepared. Raincheck?”