Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal Read Free Page A

British clip, “Why don’t I have the gall to be that way with customers? The next time one complains the painting doesn’t match her sofa I’ll just break it over her head.”
    “It better not be one of mine.” Isabella lightly tossed her raven mane again.
    “Jean-Luc, you are your own worst bloody enemy. You complain you are not appreciated and yet you drive off anyone who tries to help.”
    Jean-Luc rubbed the knot at the base of his neck as he returned to his glorious stove that had set him back 10,000 Euros. How the money had flowed just a few years ago. How quickly it had stopped. He would never admit Robbie was right.
    “They are not helping me. They are only feeding their egos and their bank accounts.”
    Isabella lightly pushed Robbie’s shoulder. “If artists spent all their time doing interviews, they’d never get anything done. You need someone to field these things, Jean-Luc.”
    “And the e-mails! An electronic leash. At least I don’t have a cell phone to bother me.”
    Robbie eyed him with disdain. “The world today quickly forgets those who keep a low profile. But enough about that depressing subject.”
    “Thank you.” In a new jovial tone, he added, “All that matters is preparing us a delicious meal!”
    He jammed a long two-prong fork into a leg of lamb and placed it in the garlic-seasoned skillet. The large yellow kitchen filled with sizzling sounds and heady aromas.
    “You’ll be having herb-stuffed leg of lamb, roasted rosemary potatoes and a fresh arugula salad. Now, what wine would work? A Greek Retsina would be a nice change, yes?”
    They moaned their approval, yet Isabella didn’t take the hint to change the subject. In her fairly good English that had an added zip from her Spanish accent, she said, “I suppose there is much to lament when you are a success. More to live up to, more questions about your work, more money to worry about.”
    She was 40, childless, and had that gaze he’d seen trap many a man. In addition, her toenails and fingernails were coated in deep red polish that reminded him of talons dripping with blood. Forty. He wasn’t so far from that landmark birthday.
    He focused on his cooking. He was particularly pleased this time with the mixture he sprinkled over the lamb: mint, parsley, basil, thyme, and chives. Transferring the chunk of meat to a plate then a pan for roasting, Didon rose from her place on the kitchen floor and followed him closely until he let his faithful canine companion lick clean the plate.
    “What’s this?” Isabella exclaimed a few minutes later as the rosebud he had surreptitiously taken from a vase on another counter magically appeared next to her wine glass.
    “Put it in water before you go to bed,” he said. “It will open tomorrow.”
    “Are you trying to steal my woman, Jean-Luc?” Robbie stood up and took off his jacket. “I’ll punch your big nose in if you are.”
    “You have nothing to worry about now,” Jean-Luc said, “but call my nose big again and you will.”
    He slid the roasting pan with the lamb into one of his expensive ovens and set the digital timer to remind him to check it in three hours. Slow roasting at a low temperature was the only way to cook lamb. He hated that digital timer. Nearly all ovens were made with one now.
    Out with the old, in with the new.
    Jean-Luc’s company retired to the guest cottage not long after dinner. They were passing through Marlaison and catching a plane to Barcelona the next day. Isabella had picked at her dinner. Jean-Luc could see the wheels spinning in her lubricated brain.
    He returned to his computer, fully intending to work on his latest novel, but the air was charged with excitement. Isabella mixed with an approaching spring shower was sure to unleash the whims of Aphrodite.
    He played chess online with someone named KingTut and won in four moves.
    It started to rain. A trancelike state settled over him.
    His mind drifted to Colette.
    He shook his head, went