He nodded, chuckling, and then turned as he heard the click of heels on the wooden floor. A young woman wearing an apron was walking in carrying a tray. He wanted to go and help her, but instinct told him he should not. So he remained put.

Once the tray was put down on a side table, the young woman turned and nodded. “Good evening,” she murmured.

“Claudie, come and meet Mr. O’Neill,” Angela said, before he could return the young woman’s greeting.

She did as Angela had asked and hurried to join them. Angela said, “Blackie, this is Claudette Bouvier, who helps me in the kitchen.”

Blackie, thrusting out his hand, said, “I’m pleased ter meet ye, Miss Bouvier.”

Claudette took his hand. “And I am happy to meet you, Mr. O’Neill.” With a small nod, she went back to the tray on the table and began to place the dishes on the sideboard. He noticed she was being very careful.

Angela took his arm, guided him to a chair and then went to the opposite side of the dining table and sat down herself, smiling warmly at him. “I didn’t have any idea what food you like,” she remarked, “so I just kept the menu simple.”

“I’m not a picky eater,” Blackie answered swiftly. “I enjoy most things.” As he said this, he realized he wasn’t hungry at all, for once in his life. At least, not for food. He sat staring at this beautiful woman, transfixed.

Claudie walked across and paused at the table. “Everything is ready on the sideboard. Enjoy supper.”

“Thank you,” Angela said, and Blackie also gave her his thanks.

Once they were alone, Angela pushed back her chair, stood and hurried to the sideboard. “Claudie has bowls of potato and leek soup for us.” While she was speaking, she put the bowls on a small tray and carried this to the table, placed one bowl in front of Blackie and then the other at her place. “I think you’ll like it,” she said, picking up a spoon.

He did, and unexpectedly his appetite revived. After several spoonfuls, he put the spoon down and looked across the table at her. “It’s delicious. I’ve never tasted this kind of soup before. Claudie is obviously a good cook.”

“She is. Her father was a Frenchman, Arnaud Bouvier, and she learned a lot from him. You see, he was a French chef by trade.”

“In Harrogate?” Blackie asked, a dark brow lifting.

“Yes. He came to England as a very young man with his brother Jacques. They opened a little shop, and it did well. Jacques handled the business and Arnaud was the chef. His great specialty was confectionery; he was a wonderful baker.”

“Well, fancy that. How interesting their story is. I never think of foreigners living in the North. I always think of them in London.”