FRIDAY – MIDNIGHT – COLLETTE JOUBERTThe Black Sparrow is sitting across from me, nibbling cheese and sipping slowly at the rich Merlot. I can tell that he's savouring the taste, deciding whether or not I have chosen a worthy beverage for his first night in France. I was careful to let it breathe for an hour after opening, so now it is just how he likes it, at room temperature.
His eyes are bright, like glistening marbles, and he watches me with interest, as though waiting for permission to speak. My guest is wearing a pin-striped suit which very much reminds me of those city bankers in London. Maybe that is the persona he is trying to bluff me with. My guest's hands are so delicate, his long fingers like claws, that I feel that my nickname for him is most apt. Of course, Monsieur Foster d
