“I'm sure it's delicious,” I said, sitting down. She waited to take a bite until after I had tasted the food. It was delicious. She was right about it not being what I was used to eating. I never cooked for myself so almost everything I ate came from restaurants or hotels. It was all good food, of course, but it didn't have the same touch that home-cooked meals had.
“This is amazing,” I told her. “It always annoyed me that people here don’t really eat biscuits. These are the American’s greatest invention.”
She giggled. “I had an aunt who was married to an American and she introduced me to their version of biscuits. I never went back.”
“This is delicious,” I repeated.
“I'm glad you like it. I thought something like this would be good since the weather is so bad and it's a little bit chilly over here.”
“My compliments to your housekeeper.”
“Oh, she didn't make this. I did.”
“No, you're having me on. You cooked this?” She nodded. “I didn't know you knew how to cook. Frankly, not many women of your ilk know how to do it. It's kind of a dying skill among the rich.”
“I wasn't always rich,” she said.
“I bet your husband appreciated it.”
“Barely. He was hardly home and when he was, he was less interested in who had done the cooking and more in how fast he could shovel it down his gullet.”
“Well, his loss.”
“It's not like he was interested in whether I could cook or not when he married me. I thought that was something that men looked for when they married.”
“Usually, but let's be honest. Your marriage was probably the exception.”
She laughed. “Lucky me.”
“You know what? It's taken a while, but it's here now.”
“What's here now?”
“You finally have a man who appreciates your cooking.”
She laughed again. “Wow, and it only took five years.”
“I would say it was worth the wait.”
“Would you know?” she asked.
I would. She had had an unhappy marriage. Sh
e had told me that and it was so well-known that even her neighbors in the town knew that she and the Baron didn't get along. He was gone now, and I did feel sorry for the fact that she was a widow and had to raise her son alone, but I wasn't sorry that the man who treated her so poorly was no longer a part of her life. He never deserved to be part of her life. He took that privilege and squandered it. Without knowing much about him, I was glad that he was gone, and not just for my sake.
“Are you still hungry?” she asked me as I cleaned my plate.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, serving up some more food. She laughed, watching me eat. “Sorry to make you wait.”
“Don’t worry about it. I made you wait too. I would have hustled if I knew you were half-starved out here,” she said. The cottage was heating up but it wasn’t just because the radiator was on. “I hope this place is decent enough for you. I know it’s below your usual standards.”
“I can make do,” I said. I didn’t want to ask why she didn’t want me in the house, besides the child being sick. I was pretty sure that my immune system wouldn’t let me fall ill with a little exposure to a five-year-old’s runny nose. That child made things a lot more complicated between us. It hurt a little that she didn’t want me near him, even though he was a little sick at the moment. We chatted as I finished eating and Eddy cleared the dishes away, taking them to the kitchen.
“Shall we do the bed now?” she asked, walking back in.
“We?” I asked. “What kind of turndown service is this?” I asked.
She laughed. “Here at the Hotel Nicolas, it’s self-service,” she said. She pulled the sheets out of the basket and led the way into the bedroom. I took one side and she took the other. She threw the sheet up so I caught the other side and we fitted it over the corners. The mattress was lumpy and heavy, hard to maneuver. It felt like it was stuffed with rocks.