Black Diamonds (8 page)

“Your dress is the colour of jacaranda blossom,
non
?”

Her mouth fell open in amazement. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“I do my homework,” he drawled. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you always wear purple?”

“I always wear something purple, yes. I don’t know why. Because of my name, I suppose. I guess it’s silly really.”

“Not at all. It makes you unique, like your name.” He wondered if she realised how sensuous the sheer purple fabric that wrapped her bare arms appeared. There was something suggestively like a filmy veil about it. “Purple is a passionate colour. You wear your passion on your sleeve, so to speak.”

Pulling the sheer shawl more closely around her, her quick intake of breath lifted the shimmering beads on her bodice.

A charged silence fell between them again.

A husky note came to his voice as he broke it, querying, “You’re not too jet-lagged to enjoy dinner tonight, I hope?”

“I don’t think so,” she confessed. “I had a nap, and it’s the middle of the day in Australia now, isn’t it?”

“
Oui
. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling rested. I’d hate you to miss out on the meal tonight. I’m planning to offer you some of my wines, as well as my black diamonds.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delicious,” she said politely.

“Mademoiselle Riley.” Xavier turned his face stern, witnessing her tremor of alarm. “You’re being very well mannered. Are you the same woman I met on a beach? Do you own a purple beaded bikini?”

Her lovely laugh burst out as she waved her hand around the drawing room, with its high ceilings and marble fireplaces. “I was planning to be on my best behaviour in such beautiful surroundings.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you’re not going to be perfectly correct all evening? I’d begun to take a perverse enjoyment in our, how shall I put it, crossing of swords. I wouldn’t like you to lose your Australian bluntness simply because you are in France. I’ll rely on your honesty. I want you to tell me exactly what you think of what you see, hear and taste.”

At the lift of his hand a waiter came hurrying over to them. Taking two glasses of sparkling wine from the silver tray he gave one to her before raising his own. “Let’s start with this. It’s not from the Antoine cellars of course. In France, champagne only comes from the region of Champagne. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.
Salut
.”

“
Salut
.”

The wine bubbled on his tongue. She took a sip too; froth momentarily on her pink lips. Again, he guessed that she had no idea how sexy she appeared. French women were so much more sophisticated and aware of their movements. Jacaranda’s were entirely natural, a fact that stood out even more here in France than it did in her natural habitat in Western Australia. There was nothing artificial about her.

“This is delicious,” she commented. “We’ve got sparkling wines in Australia now too. The climate and soil is perfect. I guess you know that
Moet et Chandon
have started producing in Australia.”

“Of course.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Eventually, my plan, in my mercenary way, is to give them some competition.”

Jacaranda chewed her lip. He guessed she was wondering if he’d ever forget what she’d said to him the day they met.

Xavier leaned over so that his mouth was next to her ear, fanning her skin with his breath. “You bite your lip when you’re anxious, you know. Why don’t you just go with the flow while you’re here in France, Jacaranda? Don’t control anything for a while. Let me surprise you.”

“I … I …”

He smiled at her stuttering. “I’ll take you into dinner. This way.”

Xavier’s hand rested reassuringly at the small of Jackie’s back as he steered her through the crowd into the adjacent dining room. Through her dress, his fingers were warm and dry. She was still recovering from the way he’d whispered in her ear. She’d read in books about women’s legs turning to jelly at a man’s touch, but this was ridiculous. All he’d done was breathe on her.

“
Bonsoir
Jackie!” Eve Armitage appeared in a red satin dress with diamonds sparkling at her neck, and gave her a hug. “You look gorgeous. So you decided to come?”

Jackie grinned back, relieved to see a familiar face, especially one as friendly as Eve’s. “I couldn’t resist in the end.”

Bob Armitage, resplendent in a tuxedo, came over and shook her hand. “We’re glad to see you. We’re staying here at the chateau too. Still can’t get over how good that truffle oil was that you gave us at your little place in Australia.”

“I don’t think it can really compare to anything here in France.”

“You’re too modest,” Eve corrected her, as they made their way to the long table, loaded with crystal and silver, and a huge candelabra flaring in the centre. She sensed the scrutiny of some other guests as Xavier pulled out a chair for her on his right, before taking his own place at the head of the table. To her relief Bob sat beside her, with Eve across the table on Xavier’s other side.

Xavier made some introductions in French, followed by English.

“How’s your French, Jackie?” Bob asked.

“I can barely keep up, even though I learnt it at school,” she admitted. “I can only pick out the odd phrase.”

“Never mind. The atmosphere’s the thing. Just wait until the Truffle Parade on Sunday in Richerenches. You’ll love it. We have to get up early to get there, and go by chopper, but it’s worthwhile. It’s legendary. Of course, Xavier’s dinners are legendary too.”

They deserved to be, Jackie reflected in awe, as waiters served them the lightest potato foam flecked with black truffles swirled into martini shaped serving glasses.

“Mmmm,” Eve swooned as they began to eat. “This is as light as—”

“Foam?” Bob put in with a laugh.

“I’m glad you like it,” Xavier responded. “Believe it or not, they’re not all our own truffles. We mixed ours with some truffle oil from an Australian
trufferie
. Fusion seemed called for tonight.”

Was he suggesting he’d mixed Paradise truffle oil with his own from the Antoine Estate? The thought sent a thrill through her body as she spooned some more foam into her mouth. It could be her oil, she suspected. If it was, it blended perfectly with the Antoine oil, though the black truffle flecks, the most pungent she’d ever tasted, overcame her palette. She couldn’t be sure.

Eve was still swooning. “I’m sure truffles are addictive,” she giggled.

Bob grinned over the candles at his wife. “Well, you know what they say about them.”

“Do you believe they’re an aphrodisiac, Xavier?” Eve asked.

Xavier shrugged. “How did Alexandre Dumas put it? ‘They can, on certain occasions, make women more tender and men more lovable.’ It’s certainly been believed so for centuries in France.” He caught Jackie’s eye. She looked hastily away, but not before she’d noticed the smile playing around his lips before he took a sip of wine.

“I’ve often wondered if their mystique is because they are hidden underground,” Xavier went on, after a moment. “Many truffle hunters are so guarded about where the best truffles are they’d sooner part with money than give away their sources.” He added lightly, “Some people are so secretive.”

Somehow Jackie knew he was referring to her secret beach in Australia. Unbidden, the image of him diving into the waves returned to her mind. Quickly she gulped another mouthful of foam. It slid down her throat.

“Not many truffles are still found in the wild, I understand,” Bob commented.

“Unfortunately not. Some are, in wooded areas and so on. But truffle production is much less in Europe than it was a hundred years ago. That’s why we’re looking at new places truffles can grow, like Australia.” Xavier flashed Jackie a wicked glance. “I’ve found the Australians, even though they are cultivated, have a certain wildness about them. Their taste is unforgettable.”

She choked. Lifting her napkin, she tried to turn it into a cough.

Eve gave her a perceptive glance before saying, “Can I ask an ignorant question, Xavier? I’ve worn Bob out with them.”

“Ask away.”

Eve pointed at the black specks in the foam left at the edge of her glass. “Why are these still called Perigord truffles, rather than Dordogne truffles? I’ve always wondered.”

“Perigord is the old name for this region,” he explained. “They’ve been called Perigord truffles for centuries. There’s no reason to change.”

“So the truffle markets you recommend we attend tomorrow are where we can find authentic Perigord truffles.”

“That’s right,” Xavier confirmed. “Some of them are ordinary markets, like any you’d find in France. Others are more of a black market, shall we say. Truffles are taxed highly here, as a luxury good, so some of them are sold under the counter. There’s one town where it is considered almost bad form to speak at all while buying and selling truffles. Transactions are carried out in silence.”

“Do you have truffle markets in Australia, Jackie?” Bob queried.

“Not really,” she replied regretfully, with a shake of her head. “We’ve started a Truffle Festival though. It’s held in a lovely little hill town in the middle of the year, in our winter. We sell fresh truffles, of course, since they’re in season, and local restaurateurs make dishes with truffles they sell from stalls on the day. It’s a great event.”

“I like the sound of that. Perhaps we can visit you at that time of year.” Eve smiled at Jackie as the waiters cleared their places and began to serve beef and truffles encased in pastry, accompanied by vegetables.

As they ate the main course Bob launched enthusiastically into a long description of the restaurant he owned in Manhattan, and the new one they were about to open on Martha’s Vineyard. Jackie nodded and smiled as she listened, but it seemed almost impossible to focus with Xavier beside her. The perfect host, he’d turned to speak in his rapid French to guests on the other side of the table, yet she remained totally attuned to him. His strong wrists as he took hold of his wine glass, the constriction of his throat as he swallowed, the way he lifted his knife and fork: she experienced each movement as if it were her own.

Laying her cutlery on the gilt-edged plate when she finished, she looked up to find him watching her. She no longer felt irritated by the way he surveyed her. Instead she experienced a very feminine pleasure, deep within, at his very male appraisal.

“You liked the food?”

Her stomach did one of the flips he alone seemed able to cause. Only Xavier Antoine could make such a simple question sound so intimate. “How can you ask?” she managed to reply.

He smiled, sending another ripple through her. “You recognised your own truffle oil in the entree, I hope.”

So it had been Paradise truffle oil. “I didn’t realise you’d bought any … oh, it must have been Mia. Of course. She must have sold you some.”

“Your friend Mia has been most helpful to me in many ways.” He glanced down at her plate. “And how did you find your beef?”

“It was perfect.”

“The truffles?”

“Sublime. You must know that.”

“But I care for your good opinion.”

A further lurch in her stomach had nothing to do with the dinner she’d just eaten.

“Then you have my approval,” she said softly.

The glow she’d noticed earlier in his eyes flared again. “That pleases me.”

She hesitated for a moment. Would he be insulted if she told him about her father’s favourite dish? “It reminds me of a beef, truffle and Guinness pie my pa used to make.”

Xavier roared with laughter. “Guinness? The Irish ale? With
la truffe
?”

Glad he wasn’t stuffy about it, Jackie laughed too. People could be a bit precious about truffles. “Well, my pa was Irish. He liked Guinness with everything. You’d be surprised; it’s delicious.”

“I hope to taste it one day.” He paused and leant even closer to her, saying in a low voice that only she could hear, “It’s good to see you smiling, Jacaranda.”

Touching her hand before rising to his feet, he said, “Coffee and dessert are going to be served in the drawing room. Will you come with me? I’d like to introduce you to a few more people.” He grinned. “I’ll stick to English.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

He pulled out her chair. His fingers on her lower back radiated like Australian sunshine through her whole body.

She had just turned to accompany him when he was diverted by a frantic looking waiter.

“
Excusez-moi
.” With an apologetic shrug Xavier moved away.

Jackie fell in next to Bob Armitage, Eve and a French woman following close behind.

“Well?” Bob asked. “Wasn’t that the best meal you’ve ever had?”

“I think it might have been.”

Her neck prickled as she heard her name mentioned behind her.

“…
Australienne
?” she picked out from what the French woman was saying to Eve.

Luckily Eve replied in English. “Yes, she’s Australian. I’m not sure of the status of their relationship.”

“Ahh,” the French woman responded in the same language. “And there is, of course, Camille.”

“Mmm, yes,” Eve replied. “Camille.”

“
Oui
.” The other woman returned to French. Jackie strained to hear her as Bob started speaking again. There were only a couple of words she could make out for sure. “
Epouse
.”

Jackie knew what that meant.

His wife.

Truffle Toast

Using a small knife, trim away the dark outer crust of the truffle; reserve the trimmings. Finely shave the truffle with a mandoline or slicer and set aside. Chop the truffle trimmings until fine and mix into the softened butter; season with salt and pepper. Spread a thin layer of the truffle butter onto each of the bread slices then place the leftover butter into the fridge to cool slightly. Spread the truffle shavings over four of the bread slices, then top each with another buttered slice and press down firmly. You will now have four truffle ‘toasts’.

http://www.bonnestruffes.com.au

Jackie tore off her dress.

The last couple of hours had been unbearable. She’d made conversation in the drawing room while the sweet dessert wine turned sour in her mouth; the
tarte aux fruit
tasting like ashes.