life,” Mimi said. It had only taken a few minutes and she was twisting the knife again. Susan hadn’t read the book she was referring to, but her daughter was obviously about to remind her that she was responsible for an epidemic.
“Speaking of my new life, are you ever going to come over and see for yourself?”
She heard a door slam shut.
“It’s Josh,” Mimi said. “Got to go. By the way, did you know you’re putting on weight?” And she disappeared from sight.
Susan sat staring at the darkened screen while she calmed down. So Mimi was interested in Camus too. The connection was intriguing. A French Algerian and a young English activist born decades after he was writing about alienation and the absurd. Was that what had attracted her to Josh? Was that Serge’s legacy?
It began to make sense, in a Mimi kind of way.
For the rest of the weekend she brooded about Mimi’s throwaway comment. Having savoured haute cuisine in France and left her long expense account lunches behind in London, good eating had been replaced by comfort food. It was hard to resist the delights of her fridge—a box of Guilty Secrets might as well have been glued to her fingers. She polished off the last few while standing in the kitchen. I’m bereaved after all, she thought.
On Monday morning, she made an appointment with her doctor. A nurse checked her blood pressure – 120 over 80 – and weight. One hundred and sixty pounds. A little on the heavy side for someone measuring 5 feet 8. Susan looked peevishly at the nurse.
“I can’t even blame my shoes,” she said, having taken them off before stepping onto the machine. She had put on nearly a stone in the year since she had arrived in DC. But she suspected that most of it had been in the last few weeks.
She sat in the surgery while Doctor Osborn peppered her with questions. Did she smoke? No. Drink? Five glasses a week, she said, cutting her real alcohol consumption by half. Large or small? Large, she admitted.
The doctor raised her eyes from the question sheet and peered over her glasses at Susan.
“Well, I’m a European, and my husband was French.”
The doctor’s smile was frosty. They proceeded to discuss her family history. There was no cancer or diabetes that she knew of.
“What’s your primary source of protein?”
Susan thought for a moment. “Cheese, probably. But I also eat meat and fish.” Susan explained that she worked at DeKripps. “I reckon I have quite a balanced diet, actually, for someone in the food industry.”
“What about exercise?”
“I do quite a bit of walking.”
“I meant exercise. Cardio.”
Susan shrank a little in her chair. She’d been so busy at work. But she told the doctor about her new resolve.
“I did step onto the treadmill yesterday, but …”
“How many minutes?”
“Maybe ten.” The doctor wrote it down on her chart.
“Twenty minutes is the minimum if you want to see some benefit.”
A few days later, she was back at the doctor’s where she was told that her blood-sugar level was ‘dangerously high’.
“You mean I’m at risk of diabetes?”
“If you’re careful with your diet, you can avoid it,” Doctor Osborn said. “So if I were you I’d watch those carbs. Cut back on bread, potatoes, pasta. Anything starchy turns rapidly into sugar, topping up what you already consume in pastries, ice cream, soda and cookies. And wine.”
And chocolates. Wait until Mimi hears about this. I’ve poisoned the world, myself included.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The office had been buzzing for days but now Barney had called a handful of executives to a post-launch briefing on the success of Guilty Secrets.
Susan and Judy were standing in a corner, discussing a planned press release, and swapping anecdotes about the launch.
Susan had been in Partridge and Peartree in Georgetown, where she almost got into a fight with a woman over the last box of Guilty Secrets in the fridge.
“It was like she was demented,”
“Speaking of my new life, are you ever going to come over and see for yourself?”
She heard a door slam shut.
“It’s Josh,” Mimi said. “Got to go. By the way, did you know you’re putting on weight?” And she disappeared from sight.
Susan sat staring at the darkened screen while she calmed down. So Mimi was interested in Camus too. The connection was intriguing. A French Algerian and a young English activist born decades after he was writing about alienation and the absurd. Was that what had attracted her to Josh? Was that Serge’s legacy?
It began to make sense, in a Mimi kind of way.
For the rest of the weekend she brooded about Mimi’s throwaway comment. Having savoured haute cuisine in France and left her long expense account lunches behind in London, good eating had been replaced by comfort food. It was hard to resist the delights of her fridge—a box of Guilty Secrets might as well have been glued to her fingers. She polished off the last few while standing in the kitchen. I’m bereaved after all, she thought.
On Monday morning, she made an appointment with her doctor. A nurse checked her blood pressure – 120 over 80 – and weight. One hundred and sixty pounds. A little on the heavy side for someone measuring 5 feet 8. Susan looked peevishly at the nurse.
“I can’t even blame my shoes,” she said, having taken them off before stepping onto the machine. She had put on nearly a stone in the year since she had arrived in DC. But she suspected that most of it had been in the last few weeks.
She sat in the surgery while Doctor Osborn peppered her with questions. Did she smoke? No. Drink? Five glasses a week, she said, cutting her real alcohol consumption by half. Large or small? Large, she admitted.
The doctor raised her eyes from the question sheet and peered over her glasses at Susan.
“Well, I’m a European, and my husband was French.”
The doctor’s smile was frosty. They proceeded to discuss her family history. There was no cancer or diabetes that she knew of.
“What’s your primary source of protein?”
Susan thought for a moment. “Cheese, probably. But I also eat meat and fish.” Susan explained that she worked at DeKripps. “I reckon I have quite a balanced diet, actually, for someone in the food industry.”
“What about exercise?”
“I do quite a bit of walking.”
“I meant exercise. Cardio.”
Susan shrank a little in her chair. She’d been so busy at work. But she told the doctor about her new resolve.
“I did step onto the treadmill yesterday, but …”
“How many minutes?”
“Maybe ten.” The doctor wrote it down on her chart.
“Twenty minutes is the minimum if you want to see some benefit.”
A few days later, she was back at the doctor’s where she was told that her blood-sugar level was ‘dangerously high’.
“You mean I’m at risk of diabetes?”
“If you’re careful with your diet, you can avoid it,” Doctor Osborn said. “So if I were you I’d watch those carbs. Cut back on bread, potatoes, pasta. Anything starchy turns rapidly into sugar, topping up what you already consume in pastries, ice cream, soda and cookies. And wine.”
And chocolates. Wait until Mimi hears about this. I’ve poisoned the world, myself included.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The office had been buzzing for days but now Barney had called a handful of executives to a post-launch briefing on the success of Guilty Secrets.
Susan and Judy were standing in a corner, discussing a planned press release, and swapping anecdotes about the launch.
Susan had been in Partridge and Peartree in Georgetown, where she almost got into a fight with a woman over the last box of Guilty Secrets in the fridge.
“It was like she was demented,”
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