3 Chapter 3

"Would you like another cocktail?" He indicated her pousse cafe glass, filled earlier with a mix of golden champagne, gin and apricot brandy, what she called a Champagne St. Moritz. "Don't be shy when it comes to drinks around me. I guess I'm more of a beer man." He indicated his foamy mug of Amstel.

"No, I'm fine," Adrienne assured him, "but we must have wine with our meal."

"Since I'm not much of a connoisseur, I'll leave it up to your discretion."

Ross thanked his lucky stars that Adrienne Devareax decided to call him at the hotel this morning. He had almost given up as he packed his things to check out of the hotel and relocate to the apartment, but she had come through at the last minute and offered to accompany him to the Louvre in the afternoon. Later, Adrienne accepted his invitation to dinner, recommending La Corbeille à Pain restaurant where she would meet him at eight o'clock.

Now they enjoyed a basket of warm bread drizzled with olive oil before their main courses arrived. Accordingly, the restaurant went by the name of La Corbeille à Pain, the Bread Basket in English or simply La Corbeille to everyone else. The bistro offered an eclectic ambiance, catering to the young and old alike—the jeunesse dorées, or sophisticated, modern twenty-somethings; and the more established, beret-wearing denizens. The old plaster walls held art deco posters and huge mirrors in mahogany frames, while modern stainless steel counters blended with the antique brass and frosted glass lighting fixtures.

"So, did you enjoy the museum?" Adrienne asked casually as she cut apart her bread, but left the pieces sitting on her plate.

Ross finished his beer while he recollected their afternoon foray into the world of art. "I found the Louvre rather daunting but fascinating. I did enjoy that special Cezanne exhibit. What about you? Do you enjoy artwork?"

"I've always enjoyed art, but never really had the funds to purchase the pieces I liked. Oh, I don't mean greats like Cezanne or Picasso, but some of the lesser known but equally talented artists like Maximilian Luce." She smiled. "I can see you're not much of an art aficionado."

He chuckled. "I admit, I have absolutely no taste, and not just in art. If you're ever privy to my inner sanctum back home you'll find my decorating skills run to retro thrift shop chic." Ross enjoyed the way she laughed, the resonance of her voice like tinkling champagne glasses.

She quickly offered another question, "So where's your inner sanctum back home?"

"NYC, Greenwich Village, a fifth-floor walk-up."

"Your father didn't spring for a Park Avenue suite?"

"Oh, no. I'm every man for himself. Daddy doesn't play favorites with his relatives, and he considers me a gene below any primary biological ties we may share." Ross leaned closer, his gaze fixed on her lovely eyes, hazel like he thought with a glint of topaz. "What about you? Where's home in Virginia?"

"Oh, nowhere actually. I'm one of those free spirits." Her expression turned playful, her laugh a lighter trill.

"That's an evasion," he countered.

"Is it? Well, we don't really know each other that well to delve into personal histories so fast."

"Well, you call me Ross, and I'll call you Adrienne. I'm one of the New York Breslins who dapple in commodities, and you're a Devareax from Virginia who decorates European castles for a living. See? That's a start."

When the waiter arrived with their salad of champaignons sautés, Ross ordered a bottle of Folle Blanche, the white burgundy Adrienne recommended.

"You're cute," she commented with a straight face. "I mean, you have a great personality, a sense of humor and a fantastic smile."

"Well, thank you." Forking a sautéed mushroom, he produced a flustered grin. "I didn't realize cute covered so much territory."

"It does," she laughed again.

When the sommelier arrived, they focused on the uncorking and breathing of the wine, and then the pouring and sampling. After he took a taste, Ross nodded his approval of the light, dry but appealing vintage. Their food arrived promptly and two waiters set about serving their entrées. Ross had allowed Adrienne to do the honors of ordering and now she described the two plates set before him, each visually appealing and emitting tantalizing aromas.

"The one in front of you is Huîtes à la Champagne, or oysters in champagne. Try that first, and then sample the Cabard aux Poireaux et Musard, or duck with mustard sauce and leeks."

"If I get through the oysters, I'll be lucky."

"Ah, but you have to same room for the Crème de Champagne, the house dessert specialty." She ended her suggestion with a quick slide of her tongue along her lower lip, and then picked up her wine glass. "Well, salud!"

"Oh yes, of course, salud!"

Wide-eyed, Ross felt a sudden sensory overload, not only with the haute cuisine but also from his dinner companion's slightly provocative gesture. To counter these heady feelings, he took a healthy swig of wine and tackled the oysters next.