direction before they make their move, thus posing as people with important connections and clout. Bernard had simply skipped all that.
He really had some nerve, and my indignation made Jean-Michel more sympathetic in contrast. I was almost looking forward to sitting next to him at dinner.
Instead of making his announcement correctly, in a dignified manner, the new head butler let out a shout: “Dinner is served, Madame!”
My mother glared at me for a microsecond before saying lightly, “Girls, time to fetch your father. He must still be on the phone with Sotheby’s in New York, in the library with the Démazures.”
“Where
did
you dig up the hog caller?” said Marie sweetly as we set out on our mission.
“Watch out. I’d advise you to put a cork in it, because I could return the compliment with those brown-nosing Braissants!”
MENU
Gazpacho
Grilled Sea Bass with Fennel
Risotto with Morels
Salad and Cheeses
Crêpes Royale
Marcel and Gérard were standing at benevolent attention on the covered terrace outside the winter dining room, like parents supervising a sandbox where their children are busy playing. On tablecloths of orange and fuchsia linen strewn with white orchids, silver candelabras and crystal glassware reflected the flickering candle flames onto charger plates by César, signed with golden grooves representing the sculptor’s fingerprints. The effect was so lovely! No one else took this much trouble anymore over the décor for a dinner party, I thought proudly.
My mother called over the guests seated at her table. “Odon, Polyséna, Frédéric, Henri, Marie and Bernard, you are with me.”
“Doesn’t this remind you of school, when the teacher gathers her students on the first day of classes?” quipped Frédéric, to ease the newcomers into our protocol.
“Odon, you’re on my right; Frédéric, Marie, and Polyséna—do please stop chatting, naughty, naughty! Bernard, sit on my left. And Henri, between Marie and Frédéric.”
Inheriting those who hadn’t been summoned, my father solemnly brandished the paper on which his table seating plan had been scribbled.
“Here we all are in the same boat, cast adrift by Flokie,” he announced facetiously.
For just as my mother fulfilled her duties as hostess with the utmost devotion, my father took equally seriously his role as the class clown.
“Let’s see,” he murmured, slipping on his glasses. “But I
can’t
see a thing with these! I must have left my reading glasses in the library. Laure, dear, would you do the honors?”
“I’ve got the thumb!” Gay crowed triumphantly, having turned over her César plate to check.
“Oho! Much better than getting the finger!” Frédéric called over gaily from the other table, and the two friends exchanged fond smiles.
Jean-Michel was on my right. Without any misplaced pretensions, I naturally assumed that he would strike up a conversation with me, if for no other reason than that he had clearly been trying to bone up on the appropriate social conventions. He would thank me for his invitation to L’Agapanthe as a lead-in to some friendly or simply polite chitchat. He did nothing of the kind, however, and merely smiled at Laetitia, seated on his right. When I recovered from my surprise, it dawned on me that he had been avoiding my sister and me ever since his arrival. Of course I had noticed how he’d been all over my mother, but that was quite probably his idea of the proper courtesy due the mistress of the house. And I had the impression that flattering his “elders” was right up his alley, but so what? That was hardly a dishonorable means to achieve social success, after all. But between that and imagining that he was really trying to avoid Marie and me … His stubborn silence was suggestive, though; still, I really couldn’t see myself having such an effect on a supposedly intelligent man, so I wondered: was he nervous at the prospect of speaking to me,
He really had some nerve, and my indignation made Jean-Michel more sympathetic in contrast. I was almost looking forward to sitting next to him at dinner.
Instead of making his announcement correctly, in a dignified manner, the new head butler let out a shout: “Dinner is served, Madame!”
My mother glared at me for a microsecond before saying lightly, “Girls, time to fetch your father. He must still be on the phone with Sotheby’s in New York, in the library with the Démazures.”
“Where
did
you dig up the hog caller?” said Marie sweetly as we set out on our mission.
“Watch out. I’d advise you to put a cork in it, because I could return the compliment with those brown-nosing Braissants!”
MENU
Gazpacho
Grilled Sea Bass with Fennel
Risotto with Morels
Salad and Cheeses
Crêpes Royale
Marcel and Gérard were standing at benevolent attention on the covered terrace outside the winter dining room, like parents supervising a sandbox where their children are busy playing. On tablecloths of orange and fuchsia linen strewn with white orchids, silver candelabras and crystal glassware reflected the flickering candle flames onto charger plates by César, signed with golden grooves representing the sculptor’s fingerprints. The effect was so lovely! No one else took this much trouble anymore over the décor for a dinner party, I thought proudly.
My mother called over the guests seated at her table. “Odon, Polyséna, Frédéric, Henri, Marie and Bernard, you are with me.”
“Doesn’t this remind you of school, when the teacher gathers her students on the first day of classes?” quipped Frédéric, to ease the newcomers into our protocol.
“Odon, you’re on my right; Frédéric, Marie, and Polyséna—do please stop chatting, naughty, naughty! Bernard, sit on my left. And Henri, between Marie and Frédéric.”
Inheriting those who hadn’t been summoned, my father solemnly brandished the paper on which his table seating plan had been scribbled.
“Here we all are in the same boat, cast adrift by Flokie,” he announced facetiously.
For just as my mother fulfilled her duties as hostess with the utmost devotion, my father took equally seriously his role as the class clown.
“Let’s see,” he murmured, slipping on his glasses. “But I
can’t
see a thing with these! I must have left my reading glasses in the library. Laure, dear, would you do the honors?”
“I’ve got the thumb!” Gay crowed triumphantly, having turned over her César plate to check.
“Oho! Much better than getting the finger!” Frédéric called over gaily from the other table, and the two friends exchanged fond smiles.
Jean-Michel was on my right. Without any misplaced pretensions, I naturally assumed that he would strike up a conversation with me, if for no other reason than that he had clearly been trying to bone up on the appropriate social conventions. He would thank me for his invitation to L’Agapanthe as a lead-in to some friendly or simply polite chitchat. He did nothing of the kind, however, and merely smiled at Laetitia, seated on his right. When I recovered from my surprise, it dawned on me that he had been avoiding my sister and me ever since his arrival. Of course I had noticed how he’d been all over my mother, but that was quite probably his idea of the proper courtesy due the mistress of the house. And I had the impression that flattering his “elders” was right up his alley, but so what? That was hardly a dishonorable means to achieve social success, after all. But between that and imagining that he was really trying to avoid Marie and me … His stubborn silence was suggestive, though; still, I really couldn’t see myself having such an effect on a supposedly intelligent man, so I wondered: was he nervous at the prospect of speaking to me,
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