East Fortune by James Runcie Page A

competitive. His brother had discovered a renewed sense of purpose. The despair of the abandoned husband had disappeared.Instead he had turned up at the family home with a girl who was falling out of her dress and was young enough to be his daughter. It was a form of showing off, Douglas decided, and now perhaps he wanted something of the same; a change, new energy, hope. He was not going to accept that his behaviour was attributable to something less justifiable such as lassitude, loneliness or the simple selfishness of a midlife crisis.
    He had arranged to meet Julia at the Brasserie Lipp. Douglas had always liked it because it was where Hemingway had decided to write his longer stories, training for the race that would be a novel, trying to stay sound and good in his head. Douglas had once thought of becoming a writer himself but he did not have the patience. Early attempts had left him bored and frustrated, and besides, he drank too much already.
    The brasserie had retained its art deco style, with ceramic tiles of palm and aspidistra and gas sconces above the coat hooks. Douglas was shown upstairs to a table next to an elderly couple who were eating their meal in silence. They had to be married to each other, he thought, to say so little. He only hoped that they did not speak English.
    He sat with his back to the wall, looking out into the room. Already he worried that Julia would not think to come upstairs.
    He ordered a sparkling water and tried to look as though he lunched in St-Germain every day. Although the other diners had dressed with an unstudied elegance Douglas had made an effort, buying a new white shirt, moleskin trousers and a pinstriped velvet jacket that he hoped would make him appear raffish. He’d even added a silk scarf in honour of the encounter.
    He was just about to take off the scarf when Julia arrived. She was wearing a dark-burgundy blouse, her blonde hair was swept behind her ears, and a pair of reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck. She appeared to have taken as much trouble as Douglas to look effortless.
    He stood up and Julia turned her head at the last moment, forcing him to kiss her on the cheek rather than the lips.
    â€˜I hope I’m not late.’
    â€˜No, it’s fine. I wanted to be first.’
    Douglas knew that he should not have been so forward so soon.Perhaps Julia was simply avoiding smudging her lipstick but he would have to reclaim lost territory.
    The couple at the next table looked up to assess the new arrival but Julia dismissed them with a firm
‘Bonjour’.
She sat down and picked up the menu.
    â€˜Oh God, I can’t read this,’ she said. She put on her reading glasses. ‘Another sign of ageing.’
    â€˜You look fantastic.’
    She could sense Douglas staring at her as she read, and she spoke without looking up, concentrating on the menu.
    â€˜You’re looking good yourself. Not sure about the scarf.’
    â€˜I’ve only just bought it.’
    â€˜The jacket’s good.’ She smiled. ‘What shall we have?’
    â€˜I thought the pâté followed by the
daurade,’
Douglas said. Then he worried that he wasn’t good with bones.
    â€˜Well, I’m going to have the beetroot salad,’ Julia announced, summoning the waiter, ‘and then some steak. I see you’re not having any wine.’
    â€˜Not yet.’
    â€˜I hope that’s not being done for my benefit.’
    â€˜No. It’s done for mine.’
    He poured out the mineral water and said, ‘Let’s have a bottle of Brouilly.’
    Two businessmen in suits that were almost identical edged on to the next table. They were talking about a property deal. At least Douglas wouldn’t have to worry about them listening.
    â€˜I hope you didn’t mind hearing from me,’ Julia said.
    â€˜No. It just surprised me.’
    â€˜I thought Paris, Eurostar, you could just come over. It only takes a couple of