At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (30 page)

‘I know he did, but it didn’t help my opinion of you. I haven’t slapped anyone before, you know.’

Julien gave her a sidelong glance of disbelief.

‘Why didn’t you confront me before, then? That’s what you usually do.’

Ginny gave an inward groan. How could she explain that, to her, their relationship had progressed from a cold rivalry, when all she had felt then was anger at him, to a new level, when he had told her about Mark? For him to have betrayed her trust hadn’t made her angry, it had just upset her, and that was even worse.

‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘I was tired of fighting.’

‘And ignoring me wasn’t a way of fighting?’ He glared at her, and for the first time, Ginny realised how much she’d hurt him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘That seems to be the only thing I ever say to you nowadays. But I really am. I’m sorry.’ She waited hopefully for him to say it was okay, he’d forgiven her, but he didn’t, and Ginny sank into a resigned silence.

*

The next time he spoke, it was to swear at the traffic. One of the electric boards on the side of the motorway warned them that there was an accident on the M11 and traffic was backed up onto the M25. Ginny groaned. What time would they get home? How many hours would she have to sit with Julien in this awful silence? Anxious for some sort of distraction she turned on the radio. The CD player whirred into life and Stereophonics’
Dakota
filled the car through a terrific sound system. She felt Julien’s eyes on her as she adjusted the volume but he didn’t speak. He was obviously just going to ignore her for the rest of the journey. The traffic had slowed to a crawl and they weren’t anywhere near the M11 junction. She closed her eyes, shutting out the queues of cars and the tension between her and Julien, relieving the weariness of her eyelids after her long hot afternoon of racing.

*

She awoke with a start as the car next to them leaned on its horn. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

‘Where are we?’ she mumbled, forgetting for a moment that she and Julien weren’t speaking.

‘Just passed some signs for Bishop’s Stortford,’ he muttered.

‘Have I been asleep long?’

‘A while, yes.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

‘You were tired.’ His tone sounded more forgiving.

‘More than I thought. Must be the heat.’

The traffic began to move again until they were whizzing along at thirty miles an hour. Another traffic board lit the side of the road. There was another accident further up the M11. Julien swore even louder than before and hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, making Ginny jump. He glanced at her, his expression apologetic.

‘Are you hungry?’

Ginny was famished but she wasn’t going to prolong this evening any more than she had to.

‘Not really.’ Her stomach gave a loud rumble in protest.

Julien raised an eyebrow.

‘Okay, maybe a little.’

‘Good, I’m starving. Let’s get out of here.’ Throwing a swift look to his left, he pulled into the next lane then onto the hard shoulder. Ginny clutched her seat with her hands as Julien put his foot down. Ahead loomed an exit, looking pleasantly sparse of traffic.

‘I despise drivers who do this.’

‘You despise me anyway. What difference does it make?’

‘I don’t –’ Ginny began. She sighed and shook her head, feeling helpless. ‘I don’t
despise
you. I –’ She stopped again. I, what? She wasn’t terribly sure. Julien turned to her, waiting for her to finish. She didn’t know what to say, and would have been too afraid to say it if she did know. ‘Where are we going to get something to eat?’

Julien let her change the subject without comment. He returned his attention back to the road.

‘I know of a good place about half an hour away. It’s not on the way home, but we’ll probably get back sooner going via there anyway.’

*

They pulled up in the car park of a small subtly smart restaurant and when Julien turned off the ignition, everything became quiet, an almost intimate silence, Ginny thought, hearing the rustle of his shirt as he moved in his seat. She scrambled out of the car, then had to steady herself for a moment against the roof as a wave of dizziness passed over her.

‘You okay?’ Julien asked, appearing on the other side.

‘Fine. I just got up too quick, I think.’

‘Probably hungry too. Did you have any lunch?’

‘Does a packet of crisps count?’

‘What type?’

‘Walkers.’

‘No.’

Ginny grinned, glad that he had at last lightened up enough to make a joke. The corners of his mouth twitched and he motioned with his head to follow him.

‘Come on. The food’s good here.’

Inside, the restaurant was cool and despite dusk not yet settling outside, soft lighting adorned the cream walls between watercolour prints of attractive street and monument scenes. Ginny recognised the Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysees in a couple. The ceiling was low and the room was divided into three sections with alcoves along one side. Soothing music played in the background, soft enough to have a normal conversation over but loud enough not to have to listen to your partner crunching their salad. It was already quite full, which was encouraging and a young blonde waitress led them to an alcove, standing back for them to be seated and ready to give them massive A3-sized menus. It was bordering on being a bit too cosy for Ginny as she sat down opposite Julien and she immediately turned her attention to the menu. It had a definite French influence.

‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ the waitress asked.

‘Yes, a bottle of Sancerre, please –’ Julien looked at her name badge ‘– Laura, and some still water.’ He smiled, heavy-lidded at her, and Ginny noticed the touch of colour rise to the girl’s cheeks as she busied herself writing unnecessarily on her notepad in an attempt to hide her blushes. When she’d turned away with the order, Ginny shook her head at him, smiling.

‘You could sell ice to Mrs Eskimo looking like that.’

A slight smirk played on Julien’s lips and he picked up his menu without commenting. When Laura returned with the chilled bottle of wine, she addressed Julien, ignoring Ginny.

‘Are you ready to order your food?’

‘Thank you. I’ll have
snapper en papillote
. And?’ He looked at Ginny.

‘The
coq au vin
with mashed potatoes, please.’

Laura collected their menus and trotted off to put through their order.

‘Good choice,’ Julien said, once she had gone.

‘Really?’

‘I can’t stand it when you take a girl to dinner then have to watch her eating like a sparrow.’

Ginny moistened her lips and fiddled with the cutlery.

‘But this isn’t exactly the same, is it?’ she said. ‘I mean the girls you’ve taken out to dinner were probably all dates. I’m, well… someone you’re giving a lift home to.’

‘Regardless. There’s nothing worse than having a meal when the person you’re eating with would settle for the garnish on your steak. Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’ She watched as he poured, his practised hand turning the bottle when he had filled her glass. She smiled her thanks and took a slug to calm her nerves. The heady smell of the wine drifted up through her nose and her pallet moistened. ‘Lovely,’ she sighed.

Julien finished pouring his own and took a more subtle taste.

‘So, if I’m not a sparrow, how would you describe me?’ Ginny asked. ‘A vulture? A crow, maybe?’

Julien considered this before replying.

‘A goose,’ he said at last. He smiled, waiting for a reaction.

‘A goose? I always saw myself as being more swan-like,’ she teased. ‘What makes me a goose?’

‘You’ve got a big mouth on you, you’re very territorial and you bite hard when you’re angry.’

Ginny laughed, unoffended, and took another sip of her wine – it really was delicious.

‘Okay, I guess there’s some truth in that. You’d be –’She was tempted to say an eagle because he was so smooth and confident, but that would probably sound too much like a compliment. ‘You’d be a falcon.’

‘Hmm, a hunter.Wild, but tameable.’ He seemed satisfied with her choice.

‘How do you know this place?’ she asked.

Julien’s eyes danced.

‘Entertaining sparrows.’

*

By the time their food arrived, Ginny was already well into her second glass of wine and beginning to enjoy herself. She hadn’t noticed Julien was now drinking water instead of wine. The steaming plates were placed in front of them, exuding mouth-watering aromas. Ginny realised just how hungry she was, and made a mental effort not to devour it all in one breath. They ate in silence, until Julien made a gesture towards her plate.

‘Good?’

‘Delicious, thank you. How is yours?’

‘Very good. The chef here has never disappointed.’

‘French?’

‘Of course.’

‘I bet you miss the cooking back home. It must seem rather drab over here – except, of course, for Gordon Ramsay.’

‘I don’t think I would like Gordon Ramsay for the same reasons you do. But he’s not bad… for an Englishman. And the food over here isn’t all terrible. I’d never had Yorkshire pudding before coming over here. I took the recipe back for my mother.’

Ginny chuckled, but it made her wonder what Julien’s mother was like. She knew his father, Vincent, was a big confident and successful man, and he had mentioned before that his sister liked to party. She was a journalist as well, so was probably also very self-confident. She imagined Mrs Larocque to be quiet and homely, but still stylish and house-proud, a good cook and perfect hostess. She was tempted to ask him, but thought it might be too personal a question and would ignite other personal questions about herself. She washed her throat with the last of her wine, and smiled merrily at Julien. He returned it, although with more reserve. Picking up the bottle, he refilled her glass and Ginny listened contentedly to the glug-glug of the liquid passing through the neck of the bottle.

‘How is Caspian?’

Ginny pulled an anguished face.

‘He came out of his last race okay. He probably needed the run but at least he’s stayed sound.’

‘Good, I’m glad.’

Ginny hesitated before speaking again.

‘I’m sorry I shouted at you when he had his accident. I know it wasn’t really your fault.’

‘I’m sorry I was rude back at you,’ Julien replied. ‘When things happen so fast, it’s easy to say the wrong thing,
oui
?’

‘My life seems to be going by like an express train, so you can imagine all the things I get wrong.’ She thumbed her napkin and gave a self-effacing chuckle. Well, you
know
the things I get wrong.’

Julien smiled.

‘Now we have slowed down, and have said some right things, maybe you should stop apologising for everything you do. What are you going to do with your car?’

‘Probably go down there with my uncle tomorrow, and see if he can bring it back to life. If not,’ Ginny shrugged her shoulders, ‘then it’ll have to go to the scrap yard. It wouldn’t have passed its next MOT anyway.’

‘About time you upgraded.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my car – apart from being temporarily out of order. Usually it goes like a bomb.’

‘Which is also likely to blow up on you.’

‘Well, I can always use my dad’s car. I’m insured to drive that too.’

‘Does he drive much anymore?’

Ginny shook her head, pausing to swallow her food. ‘Not too much. But then again, where would he go? He’s been to Bristol to visit my other uncle and aunt down there a couple of times, but he says he likes being around the yard, keeping an eye on things.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t mind. He doesn’t interfere; he just likes to be involved.’

‘My father tended to interfere,’ Julien confessed. ‘But he never meant to be anything but helpful. The French press weren’t too keen on me at first, because they thought my success was ready-made thanks to my father. That’s why I had to get out. Over here, he cannot influence me.’

‘Did he take offence that you left?’ Ginny queried.

‘Oh, no. I think he sometimes felt guilty about the bad press, so he encouraged me to come over.’

*

A silence ensued and Ginny studied the French watercolours on the walls. Julien followed her gaze.

‘Is that the Notre Dame Cathedral in that painting?’ she asked hesitantly.

Julien nodded.

‘This art is more to your taste,
oui
?’

Ginny frowned, puzzled.

‘As opposed to?’

‘Abstract art.Kings Art Gallery Exhibition?’

‘Oh, yes! I remember now,’ she said, the memory of their conversation winging back to her. ‘You seemed to know your stuff.’

Julien grinned.

‘I was just making it up as I went along.’

She stared open-mouthed at his mischievous expression.

‘You fraud!’ she laughed. ‘So all that detail you were spouting about balance and symmetry was pure rubbish?’

He shrugged.

‘I don’t know. It might be true. That is all that I see.’

Ginny grinned and shook her head.

‘You talked about those pictures so confidently, I never doubted your knowledge for a moment.’

‘When you looked at that painting with such distaste, it was obvious that it held no appeal and therefore you did not understand the artistry behind such a style.’ He looked down at his plate, looking mildly troubled. ‘It is easy to take advantage of the ignorant.’

She chuckled mirthlessly.

‘So it would seem.’ She finished the rest of her meal and topped it off by draining the last mouthful of wine in her glass. Julien was already finished.

‘Must just pop to the loo,’ she excused herself.

Walking away from the table, she realised just how much of an effect the wine was having on her as she made her unsteady way towards the Ladies.

*

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Ginny tried to tease some life back into her hair and dragged her fingers through it in an attempt to tidy it. She examined her teeth to make sure she didn’t have spinach stuck between them then went to put on some lipstick but hesitated. What would Julien think if she came out again wearing a fresh coat of make-up? Would he think she was doing it for his benefit?