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usually help him relax and be more talkative.’

      ‘I hope it’s nothing too serious,’ Rita said anxiously.

      ‘I shouldn’t think so. Otherwise, he would have called me from work.’

      ‘Right, I’ll call later then. Back to my garlic soup. It smells so good …!’

      When Rita had hung up, Adam announced that the pasta would shortly be al dente. Paul turned off the TV and came to sit down at the bistro table in the kitchen near the Victorian stained-glass window. Mechanically he lit the scented candle on the table. The boys thought candles not only made the place seem cosier, but they were also therapeutic, and got rid of cooking smells. Paris Combo still playing. Pastis hadn’t moved from the red sofa. He probably didn’t want to deal with Paul’s bad mood.

      As a condition of their being flatmates, Adam, the owner of the apartment, had laid down one of the essential household rules: no watching television during meals! And no TV in the kitchen or dining room – only in the media room and in Paul’s own room.

      Adam thought that the ugly-looking appliance would clash horribly with the graceful antique furniture he cherished and polished so much. At first, Paul, a self-confessed television addict, hadn’t been too happy about not having a TV in the rooms where he ate his meals. However, when Adam was away he still enjoyed TV dinners in the media room.

      Paul’s addiction was not his fault. He’d grown up watching TV most of the time. The set had been his constant companion, his pal, always there for him at home, while his mother had always been out.

      But as long as Adam did the cooking – and he was undeniably talented – Paul was reconciled to eating without watching moving pictures on a screen. Besides, with Adam’s adage, ‘Eat well, eat together’, dinner was the time when the two of them could share good food and wine, chat about their day, complain about their significant others, and put the world to rights.

      But that evening, even the cheerful atmosphere of the kitchen, with its French bistro decor and lively music, couldn’t put Paul in a better mood. It was clear from his expression that he wasn’t happy.

      Problems at work? Adam wondered.

      He hoped his flatmate would cheer up when he had a full plate of pasta and some nicely chilled Pinot Grigio in front of him.

      ‘As I said, Paul, I cooked your favourite cheese dish …’

      But when Paul finally realised what was on his plate, he moaned as if in pain and pushed the plate away.

      ‘What? I thought you loved it!’ exclaimed Adam.

      ‘I do, I do …’

      Paul downed a full glass of wine, far too quickly for Adam’s liking, and sighed loudly.

      Adam waited. He knew that, with a bit of patience, he’d get an explanation.

      ‘Well, today Lily-Fromage, as you call her, sent me a long email to inform me that she’s met another guy.’

      ‘An email? Couldn’t she have met you in person, or at least called you if she didn’t want to see you again?’

      ‘I know …’

      Adam regarded Lily-Fromage as a loser. He’d never liked her.

      In a prompt but tactful gesture, he removed the plate of pasta alla cottage cheese from the little round table. Discreetly, he gave some to Pastis, who had just roused himself, finally getting what he had been waiting for. The cat loved nothing better than the combination of pasta and cheese. And that evening there was also smoked salmon and vodka in it. Yummy!

      Adam then quickly produced olives, slices of saucisson, and rosemary crackers and put them in front of Paul.

      Better to have a little something with the wine, he decided wisely.

      Paul, still looking miserable, poured himself another glass but didn’t drink it. His mind was wandering somewhere beyond the stained-glass window, both his hands clasping the full glass; outside, the branches of the trees, covered with a thin layer of snow, shimmered in the glow of the gaslights. He picked up an olive and a cracker.

      ‘I’m sorry to hear about her depressing email,’ Adam said, wanting to know more, forgetting that he had been quite hungry a few minutes before. ‘It’s pretty sudden, isn’t it? Didn’t you just go out with her two nights ago to that eco-friendly restaurant Some Like It Soy?’

      ‘I know, and she was fine, I think. Though, actually, she didn’t want us to go to her place afterwards, which was unusual.’ Paul frowned and, still staring into the darkness outside the multicoloured window, mumbled, ‘I have to admit that the food was terrible at Some Like It Soy. Its texture was as bland as its flavour. The worst of it was the alcohol-free wine we had to order because of Lily-Fromage since there wasn’t any root beer at the restaurant.’

      He turned to Adam, who nodded in sympathy. He agreed that alcohol-free wine was an offence.

       Wine has to have some alcohol in it, otherwise it isn’t wine. Let the hypocrites enjoy their sour-tasting grape juice! It would be like cooking French fries in boiling water!

      Pastis had finished gulping down the pasta with delight and jumped on to Paul’s lap, expecting some attention now that he’d had his meal. But Paul slowly sipped his glass of Pinot Grigio and continued talking without paying any attention to the cat.

      ‘Listen to this. She met this terrific guy – so she says – a month ago at a Cheese Is Good for You workshop in Vermont.’

      Adam recalled Lily-Fromage talking about it when the three of them were at a neighbour’s party. He could never find anything to say to her except when she talked about cheese. Like Adam, she loved any kind of cheese (as long as it wasn’t processed) – perfectly ripened, with strong flavours, like unctuous and pungent Époisses from Burgundy, creamy Stilton from England, runny Vacherin from Switzerland, or tangy Pecorino Romano from Italy – not at all like the insipid processed cheese that resembled yellow or orange chunks of plastic typically found everywhere in this part of the world. But even if Lily-Fromage’s palate was attuned to the best cheeses in the world – and the stronger the better – she would eat them only with water crackers accompanied by sweet, syrupy root beer.

      She would repeatedly say, ‘Mmm … cheese is good, real good.’

      ‘Really good!’ Adam would correct her, but she’d never listen.

      Lily-Fromage had an even more bizarre obsession with cottage cheese. She rarely had a meal without it, absolutely adoring the fresh sweet-and-sour taste of the little white curds. Her theory was that women, as well as men, didn’t consume sufficient amounts of calcium. Cottage cheese was the solution since it could be prepared in a variety of ways and used in almost any savoury or sweet dish.

      But Lily-Fromage wasn’t disposed to try sophisticated recipes. Cooking with cheese had to be very quick and easy for her on the occasions when cheese wasn’t a meal on its own, served with a little salad, the usual crackers, fresh or dried fruit …

      Paul’s tone of voice was still rather depressed. Pastis jumped off his master’s lap, realising that he was not going to be petted by him tonight. He leapt on to Adam’s instead.

      ‘I guess she wanted to make sure that Mr Cheese was going to be the one before dumping me. But she wrote that she really liked me. I don’t understand women.’

      Why do you think I gave up on them? Adam was tempted to say. But he kept this thought to himself.

      Paul cleared his throat, hesitating. ‘Um, she’ll definitely miss my cooking! She said that at least ten times in her email!’

      ‘I’m not surprised!’

      If only she knew the truth, Adam thought with a smile. Soon after Adam and Paul had become flatmates three years earlier, they’d made a deal after a long

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