The Scarlet Letter Society by Mary McCarthy Page A

madame,” he said.
    She did.
    Taking her around to another, non-public entrance, he held the door open for her and she entered the opulent room. The waiter left and she walked further into it. Large opaque white silk screens had been placed in front of the room’s huge arched windows, creating a completely private space. In addition to the giant palm trees that were the room’s moniker, there was only a single table for two set in the middle of the room under the magnificent arched stained glass ceiling. At least a hundred peach-colored candles in every height, shape and size illuminated the room. The electric lights had been turned down to accent the candles’ glow. The table was stunning. In the center was a five-foot high-stemmed vase with a spray of lilies in every color, their smell filling the air.
    This is a room where a wedding should be taking place right now, instead of a dinner for two , she thought. She felt completely underdressed in her sweater and skirt.
    She gasped as she stood and appreciated the sights within the gorgeous room. She heard a door open and felt Charles walk into the room behind her. She turned and ran into his arms. He chuckled.
    “This is the most amazing, beautiful room I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said, and she struggled to fight back tears as she squeezed him in a thankful embrace.
    “I was so happy to do it for you, Eva,” said Charles. He straightened his arms, held her slight waist, and looked straight into her eyes with his own dark brown ones.
    “I have a four-course meal planned for you, madame,” he said. “So I hope that you are hungry.”
    “Absolutely starving, Chef,” she said, smiling up at him. Even in her three-inch platform heels, he was a few inches taller. He returned her smile, gesturing towards the elegant dining table.
    “Shall we?” he said.
    “I believe we absolutely shall,” she said.
    They sat, and as if on cue, a waiter entered with drinks. Her favorite, champagne with Chambord raspberry liqueur for her, a glass of red something-he-probably-picked-to-go-with-the-meal for him. Jazz music played softly in the background.
    “I can’t believe you did all this for me,” said Eva.
    “It was fun,” said Charles. “I’m so glad you like it. I hope you enjoy the meal I have prepared for you. I’m trying out some new culinary experiments.”
    “That sounds exciting,” said Eva, sipping from her sweet pink bubbles.
    “I think it will be,” said Charles, with a lazy smile. He sipped his wine and admired the beautiful woman who sat before him. The door opened again, and another waiter entered with two small plates.
    “Amuse-bouche,” said the waiter, placing the plates in front of them. “A gift from the chef.”
    “This whole evening is a lovely gift from the chef,” replied Eva, gazing across the table at her dark-haired lover. She knew, because he was near obsessive compulsive about his selections of food and style of dining, that this entire evening, down to the timed entries of each waiter, had been meticulously planned for days. And she was thankful for it. What an amazing escape , she thought.
    They ate the duck confit together in silence. He knew duck was one of her favorites. Plates entered and disappeared as if by magic—baked oysters with prosciutto and champagne cream, pan-seared petit filet mignon. It never occurred to Eva whether the foods were in season, and how much trouble Charles had to go through to get some of them. She was stuffed, and delightfully so.
    Another glass of Champagne and Chambord arrived without the need for her to request it.
    “And now it is almost time for dessert,” said Charles, and he stood up.
    She smiled and asked, “Are we going somewhere else for dessert?”
    “Not far,” he replied, taking her hand. She stood.
    He led her to another section that had been prepared to appear like a small sitting room. An antique French sofa, coffee table, and two plush chairs were gathered on a beautiful