Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme (4 page)

Roughly chop the larger dried fruit and place in a saucepan with all the other dried and fresh fruit. Strain the tea and add to the pan with the walnuts and sugar. Simmer gently, covered, for 15–20 mins, until the mixture looks like compote. Remove from the heat and stir in the rum. Allow to cool, then refrigerate for at least 2 hours before serving.

Another very cold winter day … February: the time of year when people can be so depressed. There were only a few clients at the Zenith Bar that night … You couldn't blame people for not wanting to venture forth in such weather. Also, it was 14 February, and couples probably preferred a romantic dinner in the restaurant downstairs to celebrate Valentine's Day in style to sitting in the bar. I looked around and saw only two or three couples having pre-dinner cocktails, and a sprinkling of melancholy businessmen or -women looking all the more lonely for not having consoling cell phones in their hands, phones not being allowed up here.

I checked my watch. Strange … Anne-Sophie should have been here by now. She was always on time. She loved happy hour: two flutes of champagne for the price of one, and those delicious bar snacks! Since we'd met a few years ago, our Tuesday meetings had become a ritual not to be missed – even on Valentine's Day. We talked about this and that, we laughed, sometimes we cried. We had a great time.

Rather than worry, I decided just to relax in the comfortable warmth. I loved looking out at the lights of metropolitan Boston from up there, sipping my champagne, and listening to Pierre Hurel, who, to my complete delight, was playing the piano that evening …

Anne-Sophie's arrival put an abrupt end to my reverie. She plonked herself down in a chair and let out a deep sigh. She looked odd.

I couldn't help smiling, seeing her wrapped up in several layers of clothing. I might almost have said that she'd suddenly put on weight. She was holding a beautiful box of Coeurs Noirs chocolates – she knew I just couldn't resist them. A card that said ‘Be my Valentine' was still attached to the box.

‘Want them? They're yours!' she snapped angrily.

‘Thanks, and happy Valentine's Day to you as well,' I responded, frowning. I was feeling a little confused here. ‘But I don't have a gift for you, since you told me you think that Valentine's Day is only for couples.'

‘I know, I know,' she replied impatiently, standing up.

I studied her as she sighed loudly again while laboriously removing her hat, gloves, scarf, heavy coat and wool cardigan, like an Egyptian mummy shedding its wrappings.

I wanted to laugh but didn't really dare, since
Anne-Sophie
seemed to be in one of her rages.

‘And look at my hair. Awful! The air here is so cold and dry it won't stay in place!
Mon Dieu
, this dreadful climate! I can't stop shivering all the time; it's absolutely freezing!'

I didn't want to talk about the cold. I'd heard enough complaints about it lately.

Anne-Sophie sat down heavily, turned to look out of the huge bay window, and said nothing.

‘Thanks again for the chocolates, but usually you reserve them for your Valentine,' I said eventually.

‘I know, I know. Don't worry, I've prepared him some sweet treats for later tonight.'

A smiling and very attractive waitress approached. I'd never seen her before and decided she must be new.

‘A glass of champagne, pleeease!' begged Anne-Sophie desperately.

She looked over the little folded menus to my side of the table. ‘Oh, good, you've already got some appetisers!'

She had suddenly brightened upon seeing the food. She helped herself, chewing slowly, and contentment lit up her face.

Food is a comfort when you're upset, isn't it? For a while Anne-Sophie could forget her troubles while sipping her champagne and taking pleasure in eating. Neither of us spoke. We simply wanted to appreciate what we had on our plates and in our glasses, whilst listening to the piano music, and gazing out of the bay window. In the dry, clear air the view of the city lights was breathtaking.

At last Anne-Sophie was ready to tell me what had put her in such a rage.

‘Guess who followed me up here with his stupid little
I'm really trying to learn about your rich and fascinating culture
expression on his face to wish me a happy Valentine's Day with this box of chocolates.'

‘Spaulding?'

Anne-Sophie raised her eyebrows. ‘How did you know?'

‘Well, I didn't say anything, but I got the feeling that he wasn't completely insensitive to your charms when we saw him at your company Christmas party.'

‘Really? It was that obvious? Anyhow, he just told me that he's crazy about me … the nerve.'

‘I guess the magical atmosphere of Valentine's Day gave him the courage to offer you some aphrodisiac food—'

‘I'm married, and so is he,' Anne-Sophie cut in sharply. ‘And you know that I think Valentine's Day should only be for couples.'

‘Like it is in France.'

‘Exactly. How I despise this profit-making, ultra-sweet and syrupy celebration where anybody can be a Valentine to anyone. It's so hypocritical.'

I wasn't going to argue. Having grown up across the pond, she would never understand how fun and special this day was for us in the States. I didn't tell her that I gave many Valentine cards to my co-workers, and that I received plenty in return. However, she might have had a point about the intense commercialisation of the occasion.

‘If it's not true love, maybe Spaulding's just ready to have an affair,' I added. ‘You know, a torrid adventure with a gorgeous Frenchwoman like you? How exciting!'

I giggled. But Anne-Sophie didn't.

Her scowl made me laugh even more. Finally, used to
being teased by me, she shrugged and continued her story. She told me that she'd informed Spaulding right there and then that he would be hugely disappointed; that she wasn't a sex addict, like most of the Frenchwomen he'd seen in movies. She'd also told him that he should be ashamed of wanting to cheat on his wife, the mother of his four children, and that in any case she wasn't going to leave a smart, gorgeous husband for a fling with a guy who looked stupid and had absolutely no taste in clothes (referring to Spaulding's habit of wearing blindingly white sneakers to travel home in after work with his bland, poorly cut grey pinstripe suit), and no idea about food. These two negative qualities always stopped Anne-Sophie from wanting to know anyone better.

She took a large sip of her champagne, then wolfed down two caramelised ginger garlic shrimps.

‘Hmm, these are so good!'

Taking some more shrimps, she continued her story, which was really starting to amuse me.

‘When I think that I used to feel sorry for him for his terrible clothes and dreary food habits, and I even thought he was a nice guy! Well, I was just trying to educate him in a way …'

‘Sure, with your wonderful French
savoir-vivre
,' I replied in a mocking tone.

‘
Exactement, ma chère!
He could look rather fine with the right clothes on … Anyhow, I took the chocolates for you – flavoured Coeurs Noirs, 75 per cent pure cocoa. You love them, don't you? And they're good for you, too.'

I knew about the aphrodisiac power of chocolate but I
was a little doubtful about the health benefits. I told Anne-Sophie as much.

She answered by showing me the box, as if that proved anything.

‘With their high amount of cocoa? These are definitely healthy. You can trust me. I know.'

Right. The French know everything, and especially about food, don't they?

‘Anyhow, I took the box of chocolates that Spaulding gave me and was starting to walk away, leaving him standing there like a vegetable, when I looked back and saw that his mouth was wide open. So I turned, ripped off the giant red silk rose that was attached to the chocolates, and stuck it in his mouth! I just couldn't resist. And then I left him there with the rose between his teeth!'

I burst out laughing, wishing I could have witnessed the scene. Anne-Sophie, although a typical well-mannered
bourgeoise Française
, full of principles, could be very funny and unpredictable with her moodiness.

‘That wasn't too nice of you.'

‘Maybe, but I believe it was the only way to make him aware that I'm not interested.'

‘The poor guy may be feeling pretty miserable right now if he truly has feelings for you,' I said. ‘We may even see him here soon.'

‘Do you think so?' She looked around with a terrified expression, changing to relief once she was sure that there was no Spaulding in sight.

‘I think he probably got the message,' I added drily.

After a minute, Anne-Sophie declared with a big
enigmatic smile: ‘Well, it's not the first time that I've had to break someone's heart!'

‘Right, I forgot: the undeniable charm of the Frenchies!'

She made a face and I was happy to see that her good mood was holding.

I sympathised with this Spaulding, in a way. He'd looked a bit insecure and strange to me when I'd seen him at the Christmas party. He'd been following Anne-Sophie everywhere, like a little dog, gazing at her constantly. Needless to say, his wife hadn't been at the party, and neither had Anne-Sophie's husband. I'd attended the event in his place, which was a real treat for me because the food was fantastic!

‘Actually, you should have left him the chocolates. He needs them more than I do right now. They would alleviate his misery. You've told me about the benefit of chocolate in lifting depression.'

‘He can get himself some more, can't he?'

I opened my box of Coeurs Noirs, put it on the tiny table, and the two of us admired the beautiful glossy
heart-shaped
pieces of dark chocolate. We sniffed with intense delight the aromas of cardamom, pink pepper, vanilla and bergamot. Spaulding might not have good dress sense but when it came to chocolates I took my hat off to him.

I was staring into the box of dark deliciousness, wondering whether to start eating them straight away or whether to wait. What a dilemma!

But before I had time to make a decision about this delicate matter I heard a voice I didn't recognise approaching the table.

‘Hello! I'm Mary-Whitney Smith Monroe.'

We both looked up. Then Anne-Sophie gave a sharp cry of panic, nearly dropping the precious box of Coeurs Noirs.

‘
Oh, mon Dieu!
' Her face had turned completely white. ‘Spaulding's wife!' she whispered in my ear.

The unwelcome arrival was an ageing hippie type with an odd smile on her face. She was very tall, and skinny with it. She looked unhealthy to me, with her pallid complexion. Her abundant blondish hair fell shapelessly to her shoulders. She was wearing a long baggy dress under an overlong faded sheepskin coat. Both garments had seen better days.

I spotted Spaulding in the background, just leaving the room, the red silk rose in his hand.

Mary-Whitney pulled up a chair and joined us at our table without asking our consent.

‘You're Anne-Sophie, aren't you?' she said sharply.

‘Yes, I am,' answered my friend, not at all at ease.

Did Mary-Whitney know that her husband had a crush on Anne-Sophie, and was probably hoping to have an affair with her? Was that why she was here? Why else would she be?

‘Well, I'll get right to the point since I don't have much time. Spaulding just told me everything. I came here straight after he phoned me while having a nervous breakdown in the restaurant foyer downstairs.'

‘Was he really?' Anne-Sophie asked with a big sigh. Clearly she'd rather have been somewhere else.

‘Yes, he was. Well, you see, I've been suspicious for a while. He finally confessed. You and I should have a serious conversation. Good thing that I have a quick mind
to think things over,' Mary-Whitney said with confidence and a wry smile.

Hello, I am still here!
I'd have liked to add.
I could leave right now with my box of Coeurs Noirs, if I'm bothering you in any way!

But it seemed impossible just to sneak out …

Had Mary-Whitney even noticed me? I touched Anne-Sophie's shoulder lightly.

‘Let me introduce you to my friend Jessica,' she said, and I could hear just how edgy she was feeling.

‘Hello,' I said.

‘
Enchantée!
' Mary-Whitney answered vivaciously.

Does she speak French, then?

She started laughing loudly but I couldn't understand why. What was funny? The situation suddenly seemed very bizarre. I was still dying to leave but I knew I couldn't, having seen Anne-Sophie's
I am begging you to stay
stare. I put the box of chocolates safely in my bag. I didn't know exactly why, but it seemed like a good idea.

Without appearing to be at all embarrassed by my presence, Mary-Whitney announced: ‘So, my Spaulding obviously has a crush on you, doesn't he?'

This sounded pretty direct to me.

‘And I don't have much time to fight with you over him. I've got an important job, you know. Plus, I have four children, and a busy social life.'

An embodiment of the multi-tasking superwoman of the new millennium, I thought. There were just so many of them. How did they find the time and energy to cope with all their tasks and responsibilities? Well, sometimes they possibly didn't give enough attention to their husbands …

Still smiling strangely, Mary-Whitney went on, ‘But Spaulding is my husband, and it's a role I still believe he's up to. I want him back. But …' and she sighed ‘… it's certainly not the first time that he's been led astray by the power of feminine seduction.'