Learning Curves 1 - French Cooking 101 by Olivia Rigal Read Free Book Online Page B

seconds. George was a serious bore. At least he was when Peter was around. The man didn’t talk. He grunted or gave two or three syllable answers to all of Peter’s questions. George didn’t lack vocabulary. After all, the man was an author. He wrote endless historical sagas. As far as words were concerned, he was probably a hundred times richer than the average person. He was capable of elaborate sentences with nuance and subtlety. So Peter knew George’s behavior was deliberate. The more Peter thought about it, the more annoyed he became. George was rude. Not only did he refuse to give them a chance to get acquainted, but he made it impossible for Peter to have a private conversation with his sister.  
    Peter wanted to ask her why she had decided to take a chance on such an ass. Obviously he wouldn’t have worded his question that way. Unlike George, he had some manners. He would have explained to Mary that he was not prying out of idle curiosity. He was looking for arguments to convince Ariane to open up to him. After all, his sister was not one to jump into bed with the first guy who asked. Or was she? All of a sudden, he didn’t know anymore. Since he couldn’t possibly ask her in front of the oaf, he abandoned them and went back to Ariane’s place.
    The door was locked, and the curtains were drawn. He called Ariane’s name and realized there was no light or movement inside. Maybe she had gone out as well. So he sat down on the cobblestones and decided to savor the quiet of the patio. Ariane’s building was quaint. He liked being alone. He turned on his smart phone. He had not looked at his email since he had left New York. He may as well do it while he had nothing better to do.  
    One of the many things he liked about this job as a professor of mathematics was the lack of emergencies. Not that there were no rushes. Like when one of his most brilliant students thought he had found the answer to the P=NP question. Peter had spent two crazy days studying the kid’s proof before he found the error that derailed his demonstration. So much for the million-dollar prize for his pet student. That had been intense.  
    Nevertheless, the only real pressure was the kind he imposed on himself. Science walked at its own pace, and Peter liked it that way. So even though he was not as rich as his peers who had picked a Wall Street career—those who had picked that career and not yet suffered a fatal coronary on the floor of the market—he was happy with his professional choices.  
    Scrolling down the list of received emails, he saw the usual newsletters he subscribed to, a few emails from students, one from Nancy titled “Fall Term Tentative Schedule,” and one from Marsha, the dean of the School of Mathematics titled “While in Paris…”  
    He tapped that one open to find an order, politely presented as an invitation, to attend two meetings she had taken the liberty of organizing for him: one on Monday morning and the other one Monday at lunch. Good thing she had picked the end of his trip. Otherwise he would have messed up by not checking his email.  
    The dDean wanted Peter to meet a young mathematician she had invited to teach at their school for a year as a visiting Professorprofessor. The young man was a possible candidate for the next Fields Medal, and snatching him would do wonders for their prestige.  
    The dean had also set up an appointment with the administration of the Paris University, which was part of their exchange network. She wanted Peter to meet him in order to get feedback on the new Paris dean she didn’t know. It was important, but she was very clear that the priority was charming the boy wonder.
    The dean was right. If one of the school’s professors, even a visiting professor, was awarded the Fields Medal, that would be great for the school. The medal was like a Nobel Prize of Mathematics, but it was only awarded every four years. The next one was coming up in 2014, just a few months