I looked at my watch. 12.01 p.m.
'Oh alright then.'
The rose hit the spot. I viewed the tasty morsels on the kitchen table like a salivating dog.
Home made tapenard on mini toast. Mmm..
''Elp yourself' Nicolas said.
When in Rome.
Madame Bergasse appeared, arms outstretched. Petite, elegant, French.
'My mom's a great cook' Nicolas said, 'you are lucky'
Wasn't expecting a slap up lunch.
'Hope we haven't put her to much trouble' I said.
'She's been at it since 6 O'clock this morning.'
No trouble then.
The house had a nice feel to it. Unstuffy, homely.
Family photographs on the walls, on the fridge.
A pair of naked buttocks mooned into the camera.
'My brother!' Nicolas said.
Monsieur et Madame Bergasse doing the can-can.
Where is the man? I thought.
Talk of the devil.
The man on the website, older, grayer, carrying a basket full of giant mushrooms.
We'd arrived in the middle of the Cep picking season.
'Ici, est l'orange' he said in hushed tones pointing to one that looked like a boiled egg.
Mistook my look of awe for puzzlement. He produced a book grandly titled Atlas des Champignons. Found the page.
'l'orange'.
We'd done advanced fungi and hadn't even been introduced.
Nicolas filled his father's glass.
We chinked glasses.
'Chin chin!'
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