The Smell He Smelled

The neighbour, who reminds Denis of Sophie Volland, hands him her glass of white wine.

He feels her fingers.

They do not feel dry.

So you are Denis Diderot, says the neighbour.

I am, says Denis. And you ...?

Henriette, says the neighbour.

What a coincidence, says Denis Diderot.

Is that your wife's name? asks the neighbour.

No, it is the second part of the real name of Sophie Volland, says Denis Diderot.

What is the first part? asks the neighbour.

Louise, says Denis Diderot. Louise-Henriette Volland.

So why is she called Sophie? asks the neighbour.

Would you mind returning to your seat, sir? asks the trolley attendant.

In a moment, says Denis Diderot.

What about the glass of white wine that I ordered? asks the neighbour.

I gave it to you already, says the trolley attendant.

But I gave it to Denis, says the neighbour. Now I want one for myself.

The trolley attendant forces a smile, and pours the neighbour another.

Denis attempts to move out of the way of the trolley.

Why don't you sit here in my seat? says Gaius. And I'll go back and sit in yours.

Not advisable, says the trolley assistant. If we crash, we won't know who you are.

Or were, says Gaius. But it will be a brief swap, so that my neighbour and my colleague can continue their conversation unimpeded. 

He stands up.

Denis sits down. 

The trolley assistant moves forward. She has done her best.

Where will I sit? asks Terence.

Come with me, says Gaius. 

He and Terence go back to the seat that Denis vacated.

Are they friends? asks Terence.

I don't think so, says Gais, but there's something going on there.

There is. 

Denis can now answer the question put to him by the neighbour.

Why is Louise-Henriette known as Sophie?

She was wise, says Denis. I gave her that name in our correspondence 

Like as in Dear Sophie, says Henriette,.

That's right, says Denis Diderot. He takes a big sip of white wine. Then another.

You remind me of her, adds Denis. She wore glasses and had small dry hands.

My hands are of average size, and not dry, says Henriette.

She waves her free hand in front of his face.

He smells her hand cream.

It smells like the smell he smelled earlier wafting from Terence's bottom.

Off-putting yes, but not entirely.