Free Black Diamonds by Eliza Redgold Page A

candles at his wife. “Well, you know what they say about them.”
    “Do you believe they’re an aphrodisiac, Xavier?” Eve asked.
    Xavier shrugged. “How did Alexandre Dumas put it? ‘They can, on certain occasions, make women more tender and men more lovable.’ It’s certainly been believed so for centuries in France.” He caught Jackie’s eye. She looked hastily away, but not before she’d noticed the smile playing around his lips before he took a sip of wine.
    “I’ve often wondered if their mystique is because they are hidden underground,” Xavier went on, after a moment. “Many truffle hunters are so guarded about where the best truffles are they’d sooner part with money than give away their sources.” He added lightly, “Some people are so secretive.”
    Somehow Jackie knew he was referring to her secret beach in Australia. Unbidden, the image of him diving into the waves returned to her mind. Quickly she gulped another mouthful of foam. It slid down her throat.
    “Not many truffles are still found in the wild, I understand,” Bob commented.
    “Unfortunately not. Some are, in wooded areas and so on. But truffle production is much less in Europe than it was a hundred years ago. That’s why we’re looking at new places truffles can grow, like Australia.” Xavier flashed Jackie a wicked glance. “I’ve found the Australians, even though they are cultivated, have a certain wildness about them. Their taste is unforgettable.”
    She choked. Lifting her napkin, she tried to turn it into a cough.
    Eve gave her a perceptive glance before saying, “Can I ask an ignorant question, Xavier? I’ve worn Bob out with them.”
    “Ask away.”
    Eve pointed at the black specks in the foam left at the edge of her glass. “Why are these still called Perigord truffles, rather than Dordogne truffles? I’ve always wondered.”
    “Perigord is the old name for this region,” he explained. “They’ve been called Perigord truffles for centuries. There’s no reason to change.”
    “So the truffle markets you recommend we attend tomorrow are where we can find authentic Perigord truffles.”
    “That’s right,” Xavier confirmed. “Some of them are ordinary markets, like any you’d find in France. Others are more of a black market, shall we say. Truffles are taxed highly here, as a luxury good, so some of them are sold under the counter. There’s one town where it is considered almost bad form to speak at all while buying and selling truffles. Transactions are carried out in silence.”
    “Do you have truffle markets in Australia, Jackie?” Bob queried.
    “Not really,” she replied regretfully, with a shake of her head. “We’ve started a Truffle Festival though. It’s held in a lovely little hill town in the middle of the year, in our winter. We sell fresh truffles, of course, since they’re in season, and local restaurateurs make dishes with truffles they sell from stalls on the day. It’s a great event.”
    “I like the sound of that. Perhaps we can visit you at that time of year.” Eve smiled at Jackie as the waiters cleared their places and began to serve beef and truffles encased in pastry, accompanied by vegetables.
    As they ate the main course Bob launched enthusiastically into a long description of the restaurant he owned in Manhattan, and the new one they were about to open on Martha’s Vineyard. Jackie nodded and smiled as she listened, but it seemed almost impossible to focus with Xavier beside her. The perfect host, he’d turned to speak in his rapid French to guests on the other side of the table, yet she remained totally attuned to him. His strong wrists as he took hold of his wine glass, the constriction of his throat as he swallowed, the way he lifted his knife and fork: she experienced each movement as if it were her own.
    Laying her cutlery on the gilt-edged plate when she finished, she looked up to find him watching her. She no longer felt irritated by the way he surveyed