Valerie and Lorne flowed their conversation through and between the well-timed sequence of plates and wines. After a pause to appreciate the subtle artistry of the foie gras de canard aux pistaches, Valerie said, "Always one of my favourite combinations; a torchon and Yquem."

"And mine. Such a dichotomy, though. The fatty, savoury duck liver doesn't make logical sense paired with an intensely sweet white wine, but this combination never fails to sing a superb harmony on my palate."

She raised her glass in a toast. "To all superb combinations."

After their plates were cleared, Lorne asked, "Did you build the company, or is it family?"

"Hah! Family!" She laughed. "Mum was an entrepreneur, a pub stripper with private clients on the side."

"And your father?"

"With Mum's popularity, it could have been any of two dozen or more." Valerie laughed again. "She knew none of them beyond a few minutes of business passion. Never had a regular man. I grew up in rooms above an assortment of Lambeth, Southwark and Lewisham pubs."

"And where is she now?"

"Drug overdose when I was sixteen." She shook her head and dabbed her eyes. "Oh, God! How did we get into this?"

Lorne took her hand and gently stroked it as he appeared to be searching for something to say. He opened his mouth to speak as the servers returned with the next course.

"Homard et estragon," the waiter said as he set the lobster in front of them, artistically arranged on black marble slabs.

When the sommelier finished pouring, he said, "Le Montrachet, Marquis de Laguiche 2010."

After the servers had left, Valerie looked up from admiring the superb presentation. "I was raised on greasy pub food. Often, it was whatever Mum could snitch from the kitchen,"

"That must have been difficult for you."

"I didn't realise how good I had it until I was placed in foster care." She blew out a big breath; then she nodded toward the lobster. "We should move on to more pleasant things."

Twenty-five minutes later, Valerie looked up after finishing her volaille de Bresse dorée. "And where did you grow up?"

"In Saltau, northern Germany for my first eight years, then in Brixton."

She tilted her head. "Lorne Benton doesn't sound like a German name."

"No, my father was in the Army, and his brigade was based there." Lorne paused a while before continuing. "I was eight when he was shipped home in a coma from Quwait."

Valerie nodded as she absorbed this. Need to change the subject again.

Lorne continued, "They unplugged him two months later."

"We have a habit of stumbling into traumatic pasts."

"It's inevitable." He shrugged. "We're looking beneath the surface now. Beyond the façades."

"True. So, your mother raised you on her own?"

"We moved in with her mother, and they both spoiled me." He grinned.

"Likely why you're such a gentle sweetheart." She reached her hand across the table, and he took it.

"But also why I was a punching bag for all the bullies." He ran a finger along the ridge of his nose. "I wasn't born with the crook."

"It adds intrigue to your face. Accents its perfection."

He squeezed her hand. "And you have nothing spoiling the exquisite beauty of yours." He ran his gaze down her neck and across her bare shoulder, trembling as his eyes settled on the curves of her breasts above the black dress. "You would have made a great model."

"I did."

Lorne raised his eyes. "You did?"

"I worked my way through university as a fashion model." She smiled at his changing expression. "Mum had been coaching me in the moves and the poses."

"On the runways?"

"Some, but the demands were too high; the anorexic look was still in vogue." She sucked in her cheeks, then giggled. "I did mainly fashion photography. Magazines and catalogues."

"Girlie magazines?"

"They tried." She shook her head. "I never did anything but clothed, but, God, did they ever try. The Playboy agent hounded me for months with ever-escalating offers."

"I've always wondered what the models get paid for those spreads."

She laughed. "Did you intend that pun, or was it more of your endearing naïveté?"

"What?"

"Spread. That's the model's term for nude open-legged poses."

Lorne blushed. "I meant the photo arrangement on the pages."

"I was offered sixteen thousand pounds for Playmate of the Month."

"A lot of money."

"He talked a smooth line that I'd be a shoo-in for Playmate of the year. Sixty-five thousand pounds, a car and so on."

"That must have been tempting, coming from a poor background. When was that?"

"Shortly after I had turned nineteen, so 2001."

"So, you're thirty-four."

"Not quite; It's coming up. And you?"

"I'll be thirty-four this summer." He smiled and lifted his glass. "Here's to 1982, a great vintage."

"So, how did you support yourself through school?"

"I told you I was an academic nerd. I was awarded a Cambridge Trust Scholarship when I was sixteen."

"That's young to start university."

"It took me from being bullied to being respected."

"Also would have kept you from being hit on by all the girls. They'd be three years and more older than you."

"True. Until my third year when I began working on my masters."

"So, you did your undergrad in two years?"

"Hey! I told you I was a nerd." He blushed. "I was assigned four undergraduates to mentor, and Gwen was one of them." He paused as waiters arrived to serve the soufflé aux mangues et fruits de la passion.

While the dessert was being plated, the sommelier poured wine into their glasses as he recited, "Le Gewürztraminer du Domaine Weinbach, Schlossberg, selection des grains nobles, 2007."

When the servers had left, Valerie looked up from her plate. "Did they all hit on you?"

"Who?"

"Your mentoring students."

Lorne laughed. "The other three were men. That's when I realised the differences between men and women go far beyond the physical."

"How so?"

"Soul. Feelings, emotions, openness. Acceptance."

"That's only if we have someone like you with whom to share them. We usually have to share these with other women." She tilted her head to study his face. "You're a rare man."

Lorne finished savouring a bite. "And you're a rare woman."

Valerie laughed. "Better than being called a stuck-up, tight-assed bitch."

"How would anyone ever see that in you?"

"When I don't play their game. That's a standard male defence when they lose to a woman. The reason moves from business to personal." She shook her head. "I've taken the slanderous remarks as compliments to my business acumen. I'm known as the hard-nosed dyke of British business. The word on the street is that I'm a lesbian."

"My people found references to that."

Valerie looked up from swirling her wine. "I'm sure they would have."

"And did yours find all the gay innuendos?"

"Of course." She took a sip of the wine and moved it around in her mouth as her shoulders dropped. "Oh, my! One superb after another."

"And the best course is yet to come."

She looked up and smiled. "Bed?"

He ran his gaze down her front, continuing onto the table. "We should finish here so we can move to that. I'm eager to taste your other lips."

"Oh, fuck!"

Lorne chuckled. "That too, but I'd love to taste you first."

They continued their conversation as they finished the soufflé and the Gewürztraminer, pausing while their settings were cleared and cleaned. As they waited for their coffees, Lorne said. "This is the point in the meal when Benoît and his wife, Brigitte, would come to the table to talk with me."

"The Brigitte who greeted us as we arrived?"

Lorne nodded. "I'm surprised she's here so soon after."

"Like royalty. The need to carry on, regardless."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Shortly after the waiters had served coffee, Brigitte Viollier arrived at their table with a large man in a tall toque. "This is Franck Giovannini, who has been our Chef de Cuisine for four years. His creativity and guidance have allowed us to maintain our high standards, and he is now the Executive Chef as we move on. Thank you for your support in these difficult times."

"The evening has been ..." Lorne paused to glance at Valerie, and then he turned back to Franck and Brigitte. "This has been as fine an evening as any I've had here."

"Thank you." Franck nodded, then followed Brigitte across the room to another table.

Valerie and Lorne sat staring at the slender tray of assorted chocolate and fruit confections in front of them. Finally, she broke the silence. "Strong woman. A canned statement, but a strong woman to be carrying on so soon."

"Yeah." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I almost blew it and said this is the finest meal I've ever had."

"I noticed your hesitation. That would have belittled Benoît."

"Franck's cuisine has held the standard. But what makes this evening the finest ever is sharing it with you. I was about to say that when –" 

Valerie rose from her chair and smothered Lorne's words with her lips. He pushed his chair back, swung her onto his lap and took the kiss deeper.