Reservations for Two

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  Thank you for the caramels! Maman had friends over for cocktails, and I passed them out. To her horror, you may have orders for more. Mme. Reyer was there, so I would expect the entire village will be singing your culinary praises.

  Maman is determined to repaper half of the chateau; I believe this is how she is dealing with both missing you and not having a wedding to plan.

  I confess I am deadly bored.

  Maman has me busy with all sorts of charity work, of course. She’s hoping, I think, to keep me firmly within her world so I don’t go veering off into something as unacceptable as pastry. It is my job to marry well, to someone who will take care of the farm and the chateau.

  (This is not to say that at some point you might decide to marry and have the chateau, but Maman is preparing for the worst.)

  Maman is “helping” me throw a tea. If you would like to send more caramels, I would not argue.

  Missing you, but glad you’re enjoying your adventures.

  Cécile

  October 15, 1938

  Dearest Cécile,

  My apologies for your difficulties at the chateau, though I’m sure your tea will go swimmingly. If you’re open to suggestions, make sure there is oolong tea for Mme. Proulx, and if you don’t serve something with lemons to Mme. Masson, she’ll simply sit in a corner talking about how nice and refreshing lemon is, and wouldn’t everything else at the tea taste better with a touch of lemon? A lemon curd is a good start, or a lemon tart (if you can get good lemons).

  Classes are fine. One of my classmates spoke to me this week—to ask if I would share my fleur de sel. You would be so proud, dear sister, to know how gracious your older sister can be. Yes, I did share my finishing salt.

  No one’s spoken to me since, but my classmates seem to be less hostile.

  As for my handsome instructor…yes, it is very schoolgirl of me, I suppose. And he has been very professional. Too professional of late, but he has been very kind about my work in class. No more trips to market.

  This has not stopped me from wearing my best hats on the way to class (with my sensible dresses—what am I to do?), but I recognize that at least he is a pleasant distraction from an otherwise grueling routine.

  As for Gilles, it is simple enough, and yet…not simple. As time went on, I came to understand that Gilles’s hopes and dreams for our life were not hopes and dreams that I shared. If I had loved him more, it would have bothered me less. If I had loved him, a quiet life like the one our parents have led would probably sound ideal.

  But since I didn’t love him that much, it sounded dreary and unpleasant. Gilles and I have known each other since we were small children—I hated ending our engagement. If he had been willing to move to Paris, Marseille, or even America, perhaps it might have worked.

  Gilles, however, could not leave his land, his family. And that’s fair. He was not kind, though, when I ended our engagement. And I suppose that’s fair too, though he seemed more upset about our family’s farms not being joined in holy matrimony than he was about not marrying me.

  I’m probably thinking more ill of him than he deserves. But if he tries to convince you to marry him for the sake of the farms…for heaven’s sake don’t do it, not unless you’re passionately in love with him.

  Can’t wait to see you when you visit!

  Bisous,

  Mireille

  My heart beat faster reading her words about Gilles, the man my mother called father. Mireille certainly hadn’t minced words. If that was how she felt, why did she marry him after all?

  I wanted to stay up late reading, but work exhaustion, combined with travel exhaustion, forced me to bed.

  Tomorrow. I would read more tomorrow.

  But even modest restaurants offer the opportunity to become someone else, at least for a little while.

  —RUTH REICHL

  Saturday morning I managed to sleep until 6 a.m., which felt like an accomplishment at the time. After a walk with Gigi, I took my laptop, coffee, and a leftover piece of blueberry cake downstairs to the restaurant to work.

  Gigi napped at my feet as I wrestled through creating Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts for the restaurant. Alex had helped with the preliminaries of the website, securing the host and finding a simplistic enough platform that would allow me to maintain the website on my own.

  While a part of me longed to hire out the web design, my ability to wear yet another hat would save the business more than enough money to make it worthwhile. I had just enough coding acumen to work within a web design platform and get it to do what I wanted, as long as I was prepared to sacrifice the time.

  When I needed a break, I picked up the phone and called Nico. “Hey—you got a minute?”

  “Gearing up for the lunch rush, what’s up?”

  “Could you write a chef’s blog? Say once a month?”

  “You think it’s a good idea?”

  “I do.” I leaned back in my chair. “It makes you accessible. You can talk about the seasonal menu, your favorite ingredients.”

  “I’m a terrible writer.”

  “Too bad you don’t know anyone who would edit you.”

  “I suppose if you were editing, it could work.”

  “Me?” I feigned surprise. “I was talking about Linn, from the paper.”

  “You’re funny. This is really gonna happen, Jules. Are we ready?”

  “Once the waitstaff learns the menu, yes. And we need dishwashers…soon. But we’ll be ready.”

  I hung up, turning to look out the window and gaze out at the street view. The sun shone, the flowers in the front wide open to absorb the sunlight. I leaned forward toward Gigi to suggest a short spin outside when my eyes caught movement from the opposite side of the room.

  I watched in horror as a mouse scurried across the floor.

  Seconds after I had ended my blog-centered phone call with Nico, he received another phone call that could be loosely termed “hysterical.”

  I was all for feminism, but any attempt at an “I am woman, hear me roar” attitude stopped cold at the sight of a small rodent inside our nearly-open place of business.

  Nico couldn’t leave D’Alisa’s lunch rush, but Adrian was both available and on my doorstep in twenty minutes’ time.

  “Not a fan of mice?” Adrian asked.

  “We have a soft opening in a week,” I said, fighting to keep from yelling, crying, or an indiscernible mixture of the two. “You could say that no, I’m not a fan.”

  “Have any friends with cats?”

  “My friend Linn. Who reviews restaurants for a living—I’m gonna say no.”

  “Then we’ll have to set traps. No poison, but traps.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. No, not okay. This is a disaster. We’re going to have to push back the opening day. We’ll definitely need to have another health inspection.” I shook my head. “I’ll have to postpone going to Memphis, but I already bought the tickets…”

  Adrian held up a hand. “One step at a time. The construction across the street? Probably stirred up some nests, so they decided to come over here.”

  “There’s probably a joke in there somewhere. A bad one.”

  “Nobody likes it, but these things can happen. You grew up at a restaurant, and you’re telling me you never once had a breakout of ants?”

  “My dad always handled things like that. What if a mouse dies in the wall? We’ll have to close—we can’t afford to close.”

  “Mice happen, you know this.”

  “But—”

  “They’re not like roaches—sometimes a stray finds his way in. Look. I’m no good with building or assembling things, but I’ve worked in commercial kitchens long enough to be really good at pest control.” He put his hands on his hips. “I’ll look around for entry points and fill them with black foam. I’ll set out some glue boards and snap traps. We’ve all been working in the kitchen off and on for days—none of us have seen any droppings.”

  I groan
ed.

  “No—no, that’s good. It just means they haven’t been partying, making a mess of things. It’s gonna be okay. These things happen.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re going to be fine. It might even be enough to let Gigi there roam the downstairs for a day or two.”

  I looked down at Gigi. She’d been delighted, once she woke from her nap, to have something to chase, though the mouse made it out of sight before she had a chance to do anything interesting with it. “If she catches a mouse I’m going to have to brush her teeth, like, four times before I let her lick my hand.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Okay.” I repeated the word once more to try to pull my mind from panic-mode and into fix-it mode. “I’ll send you with the business credit card. You can get everything you need, just bring back the receipts.”

  “We’ll open,” Adrian said, nodding toward the computer screen before meeting my eyes. “The website? It looks slick. You’re good at this, all of it.”

  My cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I, um, I’m going to go…walk Gigi,” I finished, once I remembered what I’d wanted to do before the tiny mouse had upended my life.

  I all but stumbled out, phone, keys, and leashed dog in hand.

  Thankfully the weather was lovely and it didn’t look as though I’d regret the addition of a cardigan—or an umbrella, though life in Portland had certainly taught me caution.

  A glance at my phone showed a text from Alex, asking how I was. Another text displayed Neil’s name. I hit the call button and waited for the line to connect.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Neil said a moment later. I felt the tension in my neck release, just the smallest bit.

  “Hi.”

  “Enjoying your day?”

  “Um…” I looked from side to side. The last thing I wanted was someone overhearing. “I was working downstairs. I saw…I saw a mouse.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Adrian’s begun to take care of it; he’s out buying traps.” I shuddered. “I’m grossed out just saying it. Grossed out, worried it’ll affect our opening date, overall jet-lagged…”

  “Sounds terrible,” Neil said cheerily. Perhaps too cheerily for my taste. “What are you doing now?”

  “Walking Gigi. They say walking is good for stress.”

  “There’s research in that direction, yes. How’s it working?”

  “Not. Not working. Neil, what if we have a terrible infestation? What if they die in the walls? What if we open and the mice aren’t actually gone, and customers see them, and we end up with dismal Yelp reviews that we can’t ever come back from?”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

  “Neil!” Tears stung my eyes.

  “Juliette, deep breath. You’re not being rational.”

  “I’m being plenty rational!” I shouted into the phone, drawing curious stares from passersby.

  “The world is not going to end. I promise. You may have to hire a professional, but if your mice run out of food and shelter and can’t get inside, they’ll find someone else who’s easier to bother. You might have to push your opening date out, but you’re leasing from your parents, so your overheads are low, and if your investor’s at all intelligent, you should have an emergency fund for this sort of thing. I’m sorry you’re stressed, but I promise you’ll still be able to go on, still be able to have success.”

  Somewhere in my head, somewhere deep, I thought he might maybe be right.

  But the rest of my head raged that he wasn’t taking me seriously, that he wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry,” I heard myself say into the phone. “I can’t talk right now.”

  “Juliette—,” I heard Neil protest, but my thumb was already en route to the end button.

  Gigi and I had reached a park, which meant that there were lots of people to witness the tears rolling down my face. It also meant there were benches—I sank onto the nearest one before my legs gave out.

  I felt ridiculous. I knew I was blowing the situation out of proportion, and that I’d behaved badly…and yet I couldn’t stop crying.

  A couple of people stopped to see if I needed help. I shook my head. An elderly woman handed me a tissue and patted me on the shoulder before shuffling on.

  I thanked her and blew my nose.

  My phone rang. Neil’s face and number flashed on the screen.

  “Hullo?” I said when I answered, my voice nasal from tear-induced congestion.

  “Juliette, sweetheart, are you crying?”

  “Yes,” I warbled. “In a public park. It’s not ideal.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry you’re stressed, and I should have been more sympathetic.”

  “I really miss you,” I said, a new wave of tears threatening release. “And I’m stressed about the restaurant, and I’m afraid of failure, and I’m really, really tired.”

  “You should go home and sleep, Jules. Don’t make me talk about medical studies about sleep and brain function. It won’t end well for either of us.”

  I giggled. “You’re funny.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “It’s true. I also need to blow my nose again.”

  “Can you get home okay, or do you need me to call someone for you? Or a taxi?”

  “I’m only about a mile away.” I crumpled my tissue. “I’ll be okay. I…I wish you were here.”

  “Me too. We’ll see each other soon, though. And we’ll talk.”

  “The next couple weeks are going to be crazy.” I stood, beginning to walk in the direction of home. “We might wind up having to go back to e-mails, unless I’m lucky enough to get the occasional window.”

  “Then I look forward to your e-mails.”

  “I know I’ll laugh about this later, but…”

  “I know, sweetie. Go home. Rest.”

  “I’m already walking.”

  “Good. Call me or text me when you get there, okay? Unless you want me to stay on the line. I’m happy to talk you through the walk. If you want, you can tell me where you are and I’ll follow your route on Google Earth.”

  I laughed again; my shoulders relaxed. “That’s either very romantic or very stalker-y. I’m okay. I’ll text you when I get back.”

  “Be safe.”

  “It’s still daylight, silly.”

  “Don’t walk into an oncoming car by accident, okay?”

  “And I thought I was the one who was supposed to be irrational.”

  Neil gave a rueful chuckle. “I don’t like it when you’re upset. Makes me worry, okay?”

  “I’ll text you when I’m home. But you’re right—it will be a perilous journey. The skateboarders are out today in full force.”

  “I love you, Jules.”

  “I love you too, Neil.”

  Twenty minutes later, I’d made it home in time to see Adrian unloading supplies from his car.

  Adrian took in my reddened eyes and frowned. “Juliette? What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, holding out a placating hand. “Took a walk, got overwhelmed. An old lady gave me a Kleenex.” I held it up for him, unclenching it from the center of my hand. “I just need to go rest.”

  Adrian shook his head. “You and your brother, stubborn to the bone.”

  “Yes, well, we’re in good company.” I pointed to the bags. “Thanks for…doing what you’re doing.”

  Adrian stood up straighter. “You’re welcome. Anytime. I’ll keep working—you go upstairs. I don’t want to see you again.”

  “Right-o,” I said, giving a mock solute.

  I could feel his gaze as Gigi and I walked up the stairs to the apartment door. I unlocked the door and pushed it in. Gigi ran in ahead of me; I turned and waved to Adrian as I stepped inside. He waved back, giving me a warm smile and a wink.

  I was too tired to dwell on it. Gigi drank from her water dish before dashing to my bedroom. She and I agreed on that account. It
was time for a nap.

  I woke with a start some time later—I didn’t know how long. Gigi raised her head from the pillow, opening an eye just long enough to find out what I was doing before dropping her head back to its resting place. I reached for my phone to check the time: 4:43.

  I listened for the sounds of other people, whether it was Clementine in the apartment or Nico and company below, but I only heard the occasional traffic outside my window.

  And it was warm. For the sake of keeping the bills down, I’d kept the A/C off, but soon enough there wouldn’t be any help for it. Fifteen years ago, Grand-mère had spent the money having the house retrofitted with energy-efficient windows and an HVAC system that was both more effective and more attractive than having window units in every single window. Before, the giant ovens at the center of the patisserie had kept the entire building swelteringly warm in the summers. The addition of the A/C had ensured that she sold plenty of ginger lemonade, iced hibiscus tea, and fruit tarts, even on the warmest of days.

  Since everyone was out, I took Gigi out to relieve herself before putting her in her kennel, gathering my cleaning supplies and heading to the restaurant kitchen.

  True to his word, Adrian had begun pest control. I could see traps placed in strategic locations all around the kitchen and the dining room. Unless one of them started rattling, I wasn’t about to check them for occupants.

  Instead, I set to work cleaning. I emptied out the pantry, checking for any evidence of chewed-through bags or packaging, and cleaned the shelves, walls, and floors. I moved on to the grill and the oven, pulling the appliances away from the walls and deep cleaning along the baseboards.

  For better or for worse, everything seemed plenty clean. After all, we’d only finished our health inspection days before. The fact that we now had rodent visitors boggled my mind. Still, being on my hands and knees on the floor helped me to work out my frustration and anxiety.

  I heard the back door open and slam shut, followed by voices. A moment later, Nico, Adrian, and Clementine towered over me.

  “What are you doing?” Adrian asked, incredulous. “I thought you were going to take the afternoon off.”