I just received a strange phone call. The woman on the other end asks for Franck in elegant French.
“He’s not here right now, but this is Madame Germain. Can I give him a message?”
“Non, non. I will call back later.”
This is all very mysterious. “Can I ask who’s calling please?”
“There is no problem. I will call back.”
“But I can give him a message.’
I am fed up with this cloak and dagger stuff. “Who is this?” I demand.
The woman hesitates, but must tell from my steely tone that I am not putting up with any nonsense. “It is La Ciboulette restaurant,” she admits. “It is to confirm a reservation made by Monsieur Germain.”
“Oh that’s right, he called to book it for a client of ours.”
The woman sounds patently relieved. “Ah, Ah…bien sûr…well, you can tell him it is confirmed.”
It is only when I hang up that it dawns on me she was worried Monsieur Germain had made the reservation for himself and his mistress, and that I would find out.