“She smells so good.” Amélie held her child close to her like they were about to dance, cheek to tear-stained cheek. “You must have missed her.” “Every moment of every day.” She looked past the baby’s soft brown head into his face, with eyes prepared to challenge him. Her flat seemed bright and airy: there were fresh flowers in vases and the aroma of braising lamb enveloped the inmates with goodness and hope. “How did we manage to get here?” he said. * Adrienne Bénoit returned with baguettes a...nd set about serving lunch. She was poised and purposeful, Chris noted, as though she were used to having staff in her kitchen, but no doubt relished the days when they were absent or unwell, so she could assert her own agenda. Her polished nails and crocodile skin shoes were not the accoutrements of a lady who was in the habit of peeling potatoes or blotting baby stains; but she appeared to be capable of dealing with such unlikely developments, in the course of her otherwise orderly life, with particular aplomb.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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