Magic by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online

dinner. It was good of Dharam to step in.”
    “He’s a nice man,” Chantal agreed. She had enjoyed talking to him. He seemed brilliant, and very modest about his accomplishments. He had gone to MIT in the States and was a legend in his own country, according to Jean-Philippe.
    “But he’s not for you?” he asked her, getting straight to the point. He always hoped she would meet someone who would protect and take care of her. Her work was so solitary, and he knew how lonely she was at times now without her children. He would have loved to introduce her to the right man.
    “I don’t think either of us had any sparks for the other,” she said honestly, “but I’d love to see him again, as a friend. I’m probably too old for him.” He was strikingly handsome, and exotically elegant, as well as intelligent, and only a few years younger than she was. But no current had passed between them, and she had sensed that he felt that way too. He had seemed much more interested in Benedetta, or maybe he just felt sorry for her and was being chivalrous. Chantal wasn’t sure. But he definitely hadn’t been drawn to her as a woman, and he hadn’t made her heart beat any faster either. But that had been Jean-Philippe’s fantasy, not her own, so she wasn’t disappointed. She didn’t really expect to meet a man anymore. She was beginning to feel past that, and all the good men she knew were married. French men rarely divorced, even if they were unhappily married. In that case, they had discreet “arrangements” on the side, which didn’t appeal to Chantal. She didn’t particularly want a husband, and she emphatically didn’t want someone else’s. It was one of the reasons why other women liked her, she was a straightforward, honest, decent person.
    “That’s too bad about Dharam. He’s such a great guy. If you ever go to India, he will introduce you to everyone. Valerie and I visited him in Delhi last year, and we had a fabulous time. Everybody loves him. He even has nice children the same ages as yours.” It was why he had thought they would be a good match, but fate had decided otherwise. There was obviously no chemistry between them. And they both knew that those things couldn’t be planned or dictated. “So, are we on for lunch today? I need your advice.”
    “About a new color for the living room, or something serious?” she teased him. They consulted each other about everything, and he valued her opinions. He had bounced many things off her over the dozen years of their friendship, even about marrying Valerie seven years before. Chantal had approved of her wholeheartedly, and still did. She thought they were a perfect couple, and they were very happily married. It had been the right decision.
    “Serious,” he answered cryptically.
    “Business or personal?” she inquired.
    “I’ll tell you at lunch. Same time, same place?” They had lunch together regularly, at least once a week, in the same simple bistro in the seventh arrondissement on the Left Bank, not far from her apartment. They had tried other restaurants over the years, but preferred this one.
    “Perfect. See you there,” she confirmed.
    He was already seated at their usual table on the terrace when she got there in a red sweater and jeans and the flat shoes the French called “ballerines,” inspired by ballet shoes. She looked pretty and fresh with her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail with a red ribbon. He had come from the office, wearing a business suit, and had slipped his tie in his pocket. He ordered a steak and she a salad, and he ordered a glass of wine for each of them. He didn’t always drink wine at lunch, and it telegraphed to her that he was worried and tense. She could see it in his eyes as they wended their way through small talk about Valerie and the children and the dinner the night before.
    “So what’s up?” she finally asked him, unable to stand the suspense. Sometimes he was very French and took a long time