The Body in the Boudoir by Katherine Hall Page Read Free Book Online

perfect. A conversation is just what I had in mind.”
    Faith picked up the phone.
    â€œThey can seat us at nine. Is that going to be too late for you?” She’d covered the receiver with her hand. “What time is the train?”
    â€œNo train this time. I drove. Quicker, and I can leave when I want.”
    He was insane, she thought, and made the reservation. Driving all this way? Most of her friends didn’t even own cars. Who needed one in the city?
    â€œI saw a liquor store on the way here,” Tom said. “How about I pick up something appropriately sparkling for the day?”
    Orange juice and champagne were the two things always in Faith’s fridge, but she wanted to shower and pull herself together. He could also swing by Zabar’s, the ultimate food emporium, to pick up a few tidbits to go with the bubbly. In The Seven-Year Itch Marilyn Monroe dipped a potato chip into the bowl of her champagne glass, and salty things did go well with the wine, salty things like caviar, but they’d skip both the chips and the roe for now. Besides, her glasses were flutes—hard to get a chip in. She’d call over and put a slice of their chicken liver pâté, a heart-shaped Coeur du Berry fresh chèvre, and a baguette on her account. Proximity to Zabar’s had been another deciding factor in picking this apartment.
    He left and she called Josie, who was not at all surprised at the cause for the change in plans.
    â€œI figured something was up when the dozen long-stemmed American Beauty roses didn’t arrive this morning for you at work. See you tomorrow, late?”
    Faith didn’t answer the all-too-obvious question and just said good-bye.
    By the time they had to leave for their reservation, the rain had stopped. Faith pointed out her parents’ apartment from the cab window on the way across town.
    â€œThat’s where I grew up.”
    â€œWe should drop by and wish them a happy Valentine’s Day on the way back,” Tom suggested.
    â€œWhoa, cowboy,” she said. “First of all, they go to sleep following, and sometimes during, the ten o’clock news and would be certain there was a major calamity if I appeared after that hour. Also, don’t you think meeting my parents is rushing things a bit?”
    â€œI understand about disturbing them, but as to the rest, no, I don’t think so at all.”
    At Le Refuge, Faith was greeted with delight and they were ushered into the pretty back room furnished with Country French antiques. She decided to save room for an entrée and dessert, but suggested Tom try the gratinéed oysters over blanched leeks. When it arrived, smelling heavenly, he urged her to take a bite and she recalled the test a friend advised when judging a possible mate. “Ask to try what he ordered, and if he says, ‘If you wanted it, why didn’t you order it yourself ?’ skip coffee and cross him off your list.”
    Tom proved to be a champion sharer, offering more bites of the stuffed lamb loin he’d ordered. In return, she gave him some of the salmon from her plate—the red wine and shallot sauce a departure from Hollandaise. By the time dessert arrived—poached pears with vanilla and praline ice cream, and a Valentine’s special, a heart-shaped, oversize profiterole with plenty of dark chocolate sauce—they had placed both dishes in the center of the table.
    â€œCoffee here—or I can make some at my place. You’ll need it for the drive back,” Faith said.
    â€œDefinitely your place.”
    Out on the sidewalk it felt more like May than February and they walked up 82nd Street to Fifth Avenue and somehow kept going across the park instead of hailing a cab. He’d taken her hand as soon as they’d left the restaurant and she thought that this was what people meant when they said their hands fit perfectly together.
    Oh, Faith, she thought—not for the first