14. Reunion
Van Cleaf knocked at the office door and his friend bid him inside. Fouchon was anxious to confront Sandrine, but he wanted to avoid any mistakes. So he wanted to talk to Pick alone. He poured two glass of whisky and handed his associate one, while he started
"Good to have you back - I can imagine that you want to rest a bit, but before you have to tell me what exactly happened."
"No problem, there weren't that many remarkable things, even considering her point of view," he started. "I was on my way to the hotel, when I saw her on the street. Those stupid stinking dogs - forgot their names, you know the ones with the cheap looking leather outfits."
"You mean Flick and Flack?" Fouchon helped him out.
"Yes - anyway they were just about to kill her and so I shot them," He said. As a result Pick had to stop himself from chuckling, when his boss looked for a second in terror at him before he started to cough. He had gotten a bit whiskey in the wrong throat. Fouchon recovered fast, he put the whisky glass aside. He had the feeling that Pick got a few more surprises.
Pick continued: "Since they tried to kill her, she was not to upset about it. Same counts for those lowlifes who messed with her at a gas station. I did not kill them, but I guess it looked a bit brutal."
Van Cleaf almost felt bad about not presenting the good news right away, but the intonation lay on almost and therefore he went on. Fouchon watched him carefully and locked still concerned.
"The gang that stopped us, after dining in a small restaurant, was also quite messy, but on the other hand I did not start any of those confrontations."
Fouchon sighed. He had hoped to hold those thing away from his daughter until they were a bit closer, but sending her on a ride with Pick - he could be happy that nothing worse happened. In case nothing worse did happened.
"Anything else," He asked.
"Sort of a Mexican stand-off while crossing the border. I didn't bother to look what they were smuggling - got a run through the shoulder."
Fouchon did not even want to think what a sight this must have been. Especially after wounding his friend.
"Was that all?" Fouchon forced himself to ask, although he knew that he would not like the outcome.
"Only one incident left. We met her stepfather - accompanied by Boudreaux," Fouchon put his hands over his eyes while Pick continued. "Boudreaux is dead and she did not saw me doing it."
"But she saw you finishing the man she regards as her father?" The newly father was already resigning. He could not imagine how any of his ideas to builds a relationship with his daughter should work under these circumstances.
"Yes and no," was Pick's answer.
"What do you mean?"
"She saw me running him over with a car, but we were kind of finishing him off by telling him that Sandrine knew already that he was not her father and that he had accidentally convinced her that you are her real father."
Now Pick smiled as the face of his boss lightened up, while he was realizing what he just had heard.
"You ...!" Fouchon started with an angry tone, but he was not able to finish because he was far to happy and in fact he could not hold it against his friend. He knew him to well and liked him for his mocking nature. Of course only because Pick knew how far he could go with Fouchon.
Van Cleaf began to explain the nature of the first outfit of Sandrine', which accordingly led to her problems with Agent Mosley and that she had far less problems with what they were doing than Fouchon had expected.
Fouchon was becoming better and better. After Pick has finished the story, he asked him to send Sandrine to him.
He told Pick that he should chose one of the rooms next to Sandrine and that he was occupying the other larger bedroom at starboard. Van Cleaf informed the girl both about her father wanting to see her and that he was staying next door. While Sandrine went to Fouchon's office, Pick decided to take a rest and went upstairs to enjoy the last rays of the autumn sun.
Sandrine was quite nervous when she knocked at the office door. She stepped in and for a few moments they just looked at each other. When Pick had told him she had changed Fouchon had no idea how much. It was like a different person was standing before him. Van Cleaf had been right she looked fantastic.
"According to Pick's tale you already knew who I am," Fouchon broke the ice.
"Yes - I do know," Sandrine said and took a seat in front of the desk.
"How comes you knew?"
"I've got Type 0 negative and since his blood type is AB ...,"she left the rest unfinished.
"I see and how did Agent Mosley convinced you that I am your father?"
"Oh - he said something about me shouldn't believing you - that he raised me and was therefore my father. That was the missing clue."
Fouchon leaned back in his chair, now the tension was gone. His daughter was obviously bright and not easy to scare, what more could he ask for? It seemed to him that she even had made an impression on Pick. Which brought him to an other question.
"How did you get along with Pick?"
"I would dare to say travelling with him is far more interesting than with my stepfather," she said.
"I'm glad you took it so well - most guys that used to work for us, did not like having him around," Fouchon replied. "I was hoping you liked to stay a while. If you do not - I could understand."
"Actually I got one way or the other no idea what to do - so that's fine with me."
A moment Sandrine thought her attempt not to sound too much overexcited had made her sound a bit to cool, but then Fouchon nodded. "I guess after the experience with you last father, that's a start. But let me assure you that I do not intend to tell you how to dress or what to do. If there is anything you want or like to do - I do my best to support you."
Sandrine was sure that he meant what he said, but she had the feeling that asking him about her mother could wait until they know each other better. Fouchon suggested to leave the topic where it was and that she should feel free to do anything she want.
Sandrine did not see much of Fouchon or Pick that evening. She made herself a meal, cleared the dishes and went to bed early. The girl had the impression that she had never rested so well before.
The next day Sandrine showed up during lunch, but only Fouchon was still sitting with a newspaper at the table. Pick's plate was already finished - at least she assumed it was his. Also she wanted to know where he was, she did not dare to ask.
"You slept well?" Her father asked her.
"Yes, I did - and a bit too long," she replied with a cheerful voice.
"You deserved it - after that exhausting trip," he said kindly. "There is still some food left in the oven - in case you like
"That's one of my favourites," Sandrine went to the kitchen compartment that was next door. After she had finished she started to clean the table.
"You don't need to do it - Marek can take care of it later," insisted Fouchon.
"I can take care of it right now," was Sandrine's answer. The girl took it for a good sign that Fouchon turned his attention back to his newspaper and let her proceed.
It seemed to Sandrine that Fouchon was always busy with something in his office and Pick stayed out of sight. Sandrine felt that Van Cleaf was avoiding her and also she saw the necessity to do so, it annoyed her a bit. She spend the rest of the day reading until Marek showed up again to prepare supper. Sandrine gave him a hand and they had a little chat. I did not surprised her that Pick skipped this meal.
"Pick was never fond of travelling over water," Fouchon commented the empty place.
"Too bad for him, by the way - how is his shoulder?" Asked Sandrine trying to sound nothing but politely.
"I think it's better, but he wouldn't say anything even if it is otherwise," Fouchon answered.
During supper Sandrine made Fouchon aware of the fact that she could do only little on board except sunbathing, watching TV and other things like that. He promised her to take care of it.
Later that evening while she was watching TV. Fouchon accompanied her in the living room and they talked a bit over her interest and hobbies. Sandrine realised that she liked someone paying attention to her. It was late when she went into her bedroom and she fell asleep the same instant her head touched the pillow.
Sandrine had no idea how much time had passed when she was waken by the firm grasp of two hands over her body. Pick moved closer to Sandrine pressing her body against his. She uttered a soft growl and snuggled up to him. He kissed her neck.
"Missed me?" He wanted to know.
"Terribly," she replied ",but don't you think it is a bit too dangerous? They could hear us!"
"Trust me - they won't hear anything," he said drawing back. The sound of Pick's voice almost scared her. Before she managed to ask him what he was up to his hands went up to the collar of her night-gown. For him it was no effort to tear it apart. She laid motionless as he removed the tissue waiting for his next move.
Pick ripped along shred from Sandrine's gown, before he pressed her backwards down. He gagged her with her own night-gown. From her expression he could tell that she was not feeling too comfortable about it. A nasty smile appeared on his face and Pick was fetching some handcuffs.
Sandrine had not thought he could shock her anymore, but she had been wrong. If she had been able to, she would have protested loudly. She tried to remove it, but Pick grabbed her hands and she was trapped once more. The girl struggled, but she was not able to move an inch. Sandrine could not understand why he acted like this - she had told him clear enough that she wanted him. If he had asked her to, she might even have agreed to everything he had suggested.
Pick closed the cuffs on her wrists chaining them behind her head. He enjoyed the angry look on Sandrine's face. Van Cleaf had thought for hours about her and how he should act towards her. As a result he came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was acting naturally. Thus he decided to pay her a visit and do whatever crossed his mind - whether she was going to like it or not.
He bend down and let his lips wander over her neck down to her breast. He was not to surprised as Sandrine started to groan softly. Her body was relaxing and Pick instantly realized that he could do probably everything to her, as long as it wouldn't leave any visible tracks, her father would notice. He was quite sure that she was so into him, that she would never reveal it to Fouchon. Since Pick had no intention to harm Sandrine seriously, he was more than just delighted with the situation.
The girl was at first a bit angry as she realized, that she was still enjoying his attention. Anyhow it did not really mattered, the only import thing was that Pick was with her. Sandrine decided that she simply had to learn to deal with Pick the way he was.
As Sandrine woke up the next morning she was alone. That her wrists complained badly about last night events did not bother her as much as Pick's absence. She got up and thought about the best way to cover the traces on her wrists while she attending the bathroom. At first she thought about faking a inflammation of her tendon's sheath, but that would have been far to suspicious.
Luckily she took along one of her favourite party cloth: A shoulder free white top and along with two gloves. She combined it with a long, white skirt and a colourful scarf. Now Sandrine looked a bit overdressed, but on the other hand - she had not to many other clothes left. What was she thinking when she had packed her stuff? The answer was obvious - she had not thought at all. Otherwise she would had brought more comfortable and practical clothing.
In the living room she met with Fouchon, who's face was lightning up as he saw her. "You look terrific!" He called out looking up and down at her. "And as if you had read my mind," he continued after a moment. "I we are going to dine in a very exclusive restaurant and you couldn't have made a better choice."
Sandrine went almost red. So many compliments she had never gotten in a month not to say in a few minutes. "I do not have that many ordinary clothes with me - I was so angry, I just took all the clothes with me, HE probably would have hated most at me."
"Yes, I guess we should stay over night and take you shopping the next morning. I mean, I don't want to look over your shoulder, but I would feel safer if you take at least Pick with you."
"He'd be delighted to carry my bags," Sandrine smiled at the picture. Her father chuckled: "Well, better you take one of the other guys, too."
Sandrine looked - still smiling out of then next bull eye and saw that it was already brought daylight. "How late is it?"
"Must be after 3 p.m.!" Fouchon answered.
"That's late, I overslept almost the whole day!"
Sandrine wondered when her little meeting with Pick had took place. It must have been in the early morning or it had simply lasted very long - maybe both, she concluded. That brought her to the next question - Pick.
"Are we dining alone?" She asked trying to sound hopefully.
"No," Fouchon replied with a stressed tone. "I invited Pick - I know he is difficult to get along with, but since he is a close friend and associate ..."
"Guess it would be fine and thinking how hard he tried to be kind to me ...." replied said.
Fouchon smiled again at her: "You realized that."
"Sure, so when do we go out? I'm terribly hungry right now!" The girl answered directing the conversation to less dangerous topics.
"I recommend a little snack - our table is reserved for 5 p.m. - actually the whole restaurant!" he added.
"Do you think that anyone might recognize me there?"
"No - they are not looking anymore for you - I'm not sure if I should tell you." Fouchon hesitated, but as he looked at Sandrine he knew his daughter would be more upset by not telling, then by the revelation. "Your stepfather went totally crazy. When they found him he repeated over and over - She is gone, she is lost to me - you are unofficially considered dead."
"That's good news, isn't it?" Sandrine said cheerfully.
"Yes," he replied, "Yes it is!" Feeling proud beyond reason he went to his office in order to finish some work.
Later Fouchon, Pick and Sandrine sat in an exclusive restaurant. It was beautifully designed with a nice outlook at the sea. Three waiters and the cook in person were attending them. The girl was a bit embarrassed about that much luxury, but she soon got used to it. Nobody seemed to be annoyed that she ordered a grape juice instead of wine. She thought it was better to get drunk first time in a private place.
Fouchon had placed Pick at his right side and his daughter to his left, thus the lovers were forced to face each other and especially Sandrine had her problems looking unsuspicious. Fouchon was too deep entangled in his own thoughts to notice anything. He was thinking about the necessity that Pick and Sandrine got along fine. He would not like to miss any of them at his side.
He was convinced that Sandrine still must hold a certain anger against his right hand regarding to her reaction as he told her that he had invited his friend. Nonetheless - she was extremely thoughtful and he had high hopes that she would come to accept Van Cleaf. The conversation between him and Pick or Sandrine went on fine, but they rarely said anything to each other, at least no more than one or two words.
Finally - during the last course - Fouchon caught both their attention: "I have to ask you for something, I know that it might seem a bit daring - but I was hoping you might find a way to learn to accept even like each other.
Sandrine and Pick looked up and stared unbelieving at each other. "What is it?"
Van Cleaf knocked at the office door and his friend bid him inside. Fouchon was anxious to confront Sandrine, but he wanted to avoid any mistakes. So he wanted to talk to Pick alone. He poured two glass of whisky and handed his associate one, while he started
"Good to have you back - I can imagine that you want to rest a bit, but before you have to tell me what exactly happened."
"No problem, there weren't that many remarkable things, even considering her point of view," he started. "I was on my way to the hotel, when I saw her on the street. Those stupid stinking dogs - forgot their names, you know the ones with the cheap looking leather outfits."
"You mean Flick and Flack?" Fouchon helped him out.
"Yes - anyway they were just about to kill her and so I shot them," He said. As a result Pick had to stop himself from chuckling, when his boss looked for a second in terror at him before he started to cough. He had gotten a bit whiskey in the wrong throat. Fouchon recovered fast, he put the whisky glass aside. He had the feeling that Pick got a few more surprises.
Pick continued: "Since they tried to kill her, she was not to upset about it. Same counts for those lowlifes who messed with her at a gas station. I did not kill them, but I guess it looked a bit brutal."
Van Cleaf almost felt bad about not presenting the good news right away, but the intonation lay on almost and therefore he went on. Fouchon watched him carefully and locked still concerned.
"The gang that stopped us, after dining in a small restaurant, was also quite messy, but on the other hand I did not start any of those confrontations."
Fouchon sighed. He had hoped to hold those thing away from his daughter until they were a bit closer, but sending her on a ride with Pick - he could be happy that nothing worse happened. In case nothing worse did happened.
"Anything else," He asked.
"Sort of a Mexican stand-off while crossing the border. I didn't bother to look what they were smuggling - got a run through the shoulder."
Fouchon did not even want to think what a sight this must have been. Especially after wounding his friend.
"Was that all?" Fouchon forced himself to ask, although he knew that he would not like the outcome.
"Only one incident left. We met her stepfather - accompanied by Boudreaux," Fouchon put his hands over his eyes while Pick continued. "Boudreaux is dead and she did not saw me doing it."
"But she saw you finishing the man she regards as her father?" The newly father was already resigning. He could not imagine how any of his ideas to builds a relationship with his daughter should work under these circumstances.
"Yes and no," was Pick's answer.
"What do you mean?"
"She saw me running him over with a car, but we were kind of finishing him off by telling him that Sandrine knew already that he was not her father and that he had accidentally convinced her that you are her real father."
Now Pick smiled as the face of his boss lightened up, while he was realizing what he just had heard.
"You ...!" Fouchon started with an angry tone, but he was not able to finish because he was far to happy and in fact he could not hold it against his friend. He knew him to well and liked him for his mocking nature. Of course only because Pick knew how far he could go with Fouchon.
Van Cleaf began to explain the nature of the first outfit of Sandrine', which accordingly led to her problems with Agent Mosley and that she had far less problems with what they were doing than Fouchon had expected.
Fouchon was becoming better and better. After Pick has finished the story, he asked him to send Sandrine to him.
He told Pick that he should chose one of the rooms next to Sandrine and that he was occupying the other larger bedroom at starboard. Van Cleaf informed the girl both about her father wanting to see her and that he was staying next door. While Sandrine went to Fouchon's office, Pick decided to take a rest and went upstairs to enjoy the last rays of the autumn sun.
Sandrine was quite nervous when she knocked at the office door. She stepped in and for a few moments they just looked at each other. When Pick had told him she had changed Fouchon had no idea how much. It was like a different person was standing before him. Van Cleaf had been right she looked fantastic.
"According to Pick's tale you already knew who I am," Fouchon broke the ice.
"Yes - I do know," Sandrine said and took a seat in front of the desk.
"How comes you knew?"
"I've got Type 0 negative and since his blood type is AB ...,"she left the rest unfinished.
"I see and how did Agent Mosley convinced you that I am your father?"
"Oh - he said something about me shouldn't believing you - that he raised me and was therefore my father. That was the missing clue."
Fouchon leaned back in his chair, now the tension was gone. His daughter was obviously bright and not easy to scare, what more could he ask for? It seemed to him that she even had made an impression on Pick. Which brought him to an other question.
"How did you get along with Pick?"
"I would dare to say travelling with him is far more interesting than with my stepfather," she said.
"I'm glad you took it so well - most guys that used to work for us, did not like having him around," Fouchon replied. "I was hoping you liked to stay a while. If you do not - I could understand."
"Actually I got one way or the other no idea what to do - so that's fine with me."
A moment Sandrine thought her attempt not to sound too much overexcited had made her sound a bit to cool, but then Fouchon nodded. "I guess after the experience with you last father, that's a start. But let me assure you that I do not intend to tell you how to dress or what to do. If there is anything you want or like to do - I do my best to support you."
Sandrine was sure that he meant what he said, but she had the feeling that asking him about her mother could wait until they know each other better. Fouchon suggested to leave the topic where it was and that she should feel free to do anything she want.
Sandrine did not see much of Fouchon or Pick that evening. She made herself a meal, cleared the dishes and went to bed early. The girl had the impression that she had never rested so well before.
The next day Sandrine showed up during lunch, but only Fouchon was still sitting with a newspaper at the table. Pick's plate was already finished - at least she assumed it was his. Also she wanted to know where he was, she did not dare to ask.
"You slept well?" Her father asked her.
"Yes, I did - and a bit too long," she replied with a cheerful voice.
"You deserved it - after that exhausting trip," he said kindly. "There is still some food left in the oven - in case you like
"That's one of my favourites," Sandrine went to the kitchen compartment that was next door. After she had finished she started to clean the table.
"You don't need to do it - Marek can take care of it later," insisted Fouchon.
"I can take care of it right now," was Sandrine's answer. The girl took it for a good sign that Fouchon turned his attention back to his newspaper and let her proceed.
It seemed to Sandrine that Fouchon was always busy with something in his office and Pick stayed out of sight. Sandrine felt that Van Cleaf was avoiding her and also she saw the necessity to do so, it annoyed her a bit. She spend the rest of the day reading until Marek showed up again to prepare supper. Sandrine gave him a hand and they had a little chat. I did not surprised her that Pick skipped this meal.
"Pick was never fond of travelling over water," Fouchon commented the empty place.
"Too bad for him, by the way - how is his shoulder?" Asked Sandrine trying to sound nothing but politely.
"I think it's better, but he wouldn't say anything even if it is otherwise," Fouchon answered.
During supper Sandrine made Fouchon aware of the fact that she could do only little on board except sunbathing, watching TV and other things like that. He promised her to take care of it.
Later that evening while she was watching TV. Fouchon accompanied her in the living room and they talked a bit over her interest and hobbies. Sandrine realised that she liked someone paying attention to her. It was late when she went into her bedroom and she fell asleep the same instant her head touched the pillow.
Sandrine had no idea how much time had passed when she was waken by the firm grasp of two hands over her body. Pick moved closer to Sandrine pressing her body against his. She uttered a soft growl and snuggled up to him. He kissed her neck.
"Missed me?" He wanted to know.
"Terribly," she replied ",but don't you think it is a bit too dangerous? They could hear us!"
"Trust me - they won't hear anything," he said drawing back. The sound of Pick's voice almost scared her. Before she managed to ask him what he was up to his hands went up to the collar of her night-gown. For him it was no effort to tear it apart. She laid motionless as he removed the tissue waiting for his next move.
Pick ripped along shred from Sandrine's gown, before he pressed her backwards down. He gagged her with her own night-gown. From her expression he could tell that she was not feeling too comfortable about it. A nasty smile appeared on his face and Pick was fetching some handcuffs.
Sandrine had not thought he could shock her anymore, but she had been wrong. If she had been able to, she would have protested loudly. She tried to remove it, but Pick grabbed her hands and she was trapped once more. The girl struggled, but she was not able to move an inch. Sandrine could not understand why he acted like this - she had told him clear enough that she wanted him. If he had asked her to, she might even have agreed to everything he had suggested.
Pick closed the cuffs on her wrists chaining them behind her head. He enjoyed the angry look on Sandrine's face. Van Cleaf had thought for hours about her and how he should act towards her. As a result he came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was acting naturally. Thus he decided to pay her a visit and do whatever crossed his mind - whether she was going to like it or not.
He bend down and let his lips wander over her neck down to her breast. He was not to surprised as Sandrine started to groan softly. Her body was relaxing and Pick instantly realized that he could do probably everything to her, as long as it wouldn't leave any visible tracks, her father would notice. He was quite sure that she was so into him, that she would never reveal it to Fouchon. Since Pick had no intention to harm Sandrine seriously, he was more than just delighted with the situation.
The girl was at first a bit angry as she realized, that she was still enjoying his attention. Anyhow it did not really mattered, the only import thing was that Pick was with her. Sandrine decided that she simply had to learn to deal with Pick the way he was.
As Sandrine woke up the next morning she was alone. That her wrists complained badly about last night events did not bother her as much as Pick's absence. She got up and thought about the best way to cover the traces on her wrists while she attending the bathroom. At first she thought about faking a inflammation of her tendon's sheath, but that would have been far to suspicious.
Luckily she took along one of her favourite party cloth: A shoulder free white top and along with two gloves. She combined it with a long, white skirt and a colourful scarf. Now Sandrine looked a bit overdressed, but on the other hand - she had not to many other clothes left. What was she thinking when she had packed her stuff? The answer was obvious - she had not thought at all. Otherwise she would had brought more comfortable and practical clothing.
In the living room she met with Fouchon, who's face was lightning up as he saw her. "You look terrific!" He called out looking up and down at her. "And as if you had read my mind," he continued after a moment. "I we are going to dine in a very exclusive restaurant and you couldn't have made a better choice."
Sandrine went almost red. So many compliments she had never gotten in a month not to say in a few minutes. "I do not have that many ordinary clothes with me - I was so angry, I just took all the clothes with me, HE probably would have hated most at me."
"Yes, I guess we should stay over night and take you shopping the next morning. I mean, I don't want to look over your shoulder, but I would feel safer if you take at least Pick with you."
"He'd be delighted to carry my bags," Sandrine smiled at the picture. Her father chuckled: "Well, better you take one of the other guys, too."
Sandrine looked - still smiling out of then next bull eye and saw that it was already brought daylight. "How late is it?"
"Must be after 3 p.m.!" Fouchon answered.
"That's late, I overslept almost the whole day!"
Sandrine wondered when her little meeting with Pick had took place. It must have been in the early morning or it had simply lasted very long - maybe both, she concluded. That brought her to the next question - Pick.
"Are we dining alone?" She asked trying to sound hopefully.
"No," Fouchon replied with a stressed tone. "I invited Pick - I know he is difficult to get along with, but since he is a close friend and associate ..."
"Guess it would be fine and thinking how hard he tried to be kind to me ...." replied said.
Fouchon smiled again at her: "You realized that."
"Sure, so when do we go out? I'm terribly hungry right now!" The girl answered directing the conversation to less dangerous topics.
"I recommend a little snack - our table is reserved for 5 p.m. - actually the whole restaurant!" he added.
"Do you think that anyone might recognize me there?"
"No - they are not looking anymore for you - I'm not sure if I should tell you." Fouchon hesitated, but as he looked at Sandrine he knew his daughter would be more upset by not telling, then by the revelation. "Your stepfather went totally crazy. When they found him he repeated over and over - She is gone, she is lost to me - you are unofficially considered dead."
"That's good news, isn't it?" Sandrine said cheerfully.
"Yes," he replied, "Yes it is!" Feeling proud beyond reason he went to his office in order to finish some work.
Later Fouchon, Pick and Sandrine sat in an exclusive restaurant. It was beautifully designed with a nice outlook at the sea. Three waiters and the cook in person were attending them. The girl was a bit embarrassed about that much luxury, but she soon got used to it. Nobody seemed to be annoyed that she ordered a grape juice instead of wine. She thought it was better to get drunk first time in a private place.
Fouchon had placed Pick at his right side and his daughter to his left, thus the lovers were forced to face each other and especially Sandrine had her problems looking unsuspicious. Fouchon was too deep entangled in his own thoughts to notice anything. He was thinking about the necessity that Pick and Sandrine got along fine. He would not like to miss any of them at his side.
He was convinced that Sandrine still must hold a certain anger against his right hand regarding to her reaction as he told her that he had invited his friend. Nonetheless - she was extremely thoughtful and he had high hopes that she would come to accept Van Cleaf. The conversation between him and Pick or Sandrine went on fine, but they rarely said anything to each other, at least no more than one or two words.
Finally - during the last course - Fouchon caught both their attention: "I have to ask you for something, I know that it might seem a bit daring - but I was hoping you might find a way to learn to accept even like each other.
Sandrine and Pick looked up and stared unbelieving at each other. "What is it?"
