Twenty-six“I cannot believe what you’ve told me. Oh Aristide, I am so sorry.”
His heart flipped at her use of the familiar, and he chided himself again for not being able to control his response to her.
They were sitting in an open-air café near the Occidental, as the tide of passersby turned subtly from businesspeople to a fashion parade. From mid-afternoon through to evening San Francisco’s fairest liked to strut their stuff, showing off the latest in dresses. The new short-length walking gowns which allowed a glimpse of ankle were prominently displayed, but amid the promenade Leilani Manolo’s fresh simplicity in blue paisley shone like the morning star.
“I mean, Mr. Laurent.” Her hand went to her mouth, and she smiled from behind slender fingers, as if amused by her gaffe.
“Ooh la!
