Blood Stones
“Are you not feeling well?’ Jean Pierre had suggested lunch; Elizabeth had a clear day and she always enjoyed his company. He had sounded so eager to see her, she didn’t want to disappoint him.
The intermittent back pain had stopped and she felt less sick in the mornings. Her doctor said she would soon start feeling more energetic and the nausea might stop altogether. But otherwise he was satisfied with everything. She had gone away reassured and told herself not to be a wimp about a bit of backache.
Jean Pierre had chosen the same restaurant where they had lunched on her first visit to Paris. She looked at him and said simply, ‘I’m fine; you’re nearly as bad as James. He never stops fussing. I’ve stopped telling him anything because he thinks every twinge needs urgent medical attention.’ She hesitated. ‘But,’ she said, ‘there is something I’d like to talk to you about. You’re such a friend and I don’t think you’ll laugh at me.’ ‘Never,’ he said. ‘I knew there was something.
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