Dangerous Pleasures by Bertrice Small Page A

before Nat and I were married. In my father’s insurance office. It wasn’t very exciting, like running a spa must be,” Annie noted as she sat down at a small, perfectly set dining table.
    “Actually, I run the Channel,” Nora told her guest, “but Mr. Nicholas wanted me to get the Spa up and running before I hired anyone for this venture.”
    “My sister loves the Channel,” Annie said.
    “Thousands of women do,” Nora replied. “You don’t get it, do you?”
    “I haven’t got the money for frills. My husband was relatively young when he died. His insurance policy wasn’t particularly big. We get by. Just,” Annie explained.
    “I know how that must be. When my husband was attempting to divorce me he cut me off entirely in his effort to force me to sign an agreement that would have been very much to my detriment, and that of our children,” Nora said.
    “He died, didn’t he?” Annie remarked.
    “Yes, poor Jeff,” Nora murmured. “The young girl he was dumping me for dumped him. He assaulted her and was arrested. Jeff never knew how to treat people. He fought with the police. With the judge arraigning him, the result was no bail. He died that night in the Egret Pointe jail of a cardiac, they said.”
    “Were you divorced then?” Annie asked, unable to stem her curiosity.
    “No,” Nora replied softly. “The children and I got everything.” Then she smiled. “As part of your prize you’ve won a free year of the Channel. Let’s enjoy our dinner, and then I’ll tell you all about it. You have it in your suite and should learn how to program and access it while you’re here.”
    “I don’t really understand what the Channel is all about,” Annie admitted.
    Nora smiled warmly. “Let’s have dinner first,” she repeated. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve ordered for us.”
    As if on cue the silent houseman in the white jacket appeared from a small alcove, wheeling a serving trolley. Stopping it by the table, he lifted off two small plates with rounds of ripe, juicy tomatoes alternating with thin slices of fresh white mozzarella, and placed them before the two women. The salad, topped with fresh basil, was dressed with a subtle combination of oil and vinegar.
    “Tomatoes are good only at this time of year,” Nora said as she began to eat.
    When they had finished their salad, the houseman who had taken his trolley and disappeared after serving them returned again. The little vehicle made absolutely no noise as it came across the lush carpet. After taking the salad plates and putting them on the lower half of the trolley, the houseman lifted two steaming plates from the top shelf and set them before the diners. “Will that be all, madam?” he asked Nora.
    “Thank you, Fritz. I’ll call when we’re ready for dessert,” she replied.
    Each plate contained a generous slice of what looked very much to Annie like prime rib. She hadn’t eaten prime rib in ages, and her slice was barely cooked, just the way she liked it. There was a perfect ear of summer corn on the plate, along with a serving of French-cut green beans and several thin slices of yellow squash.
    “You look as if you haven’t seen a good meal in ages,” Nora teased.
    Annie shook her head. “I haven’t. You’ve cooked for kids. You know what it’s like. Burgers, spaghetti, baked ziti, chicken fingers. Getting veggies into them is a constant battle. They think French fries count. This plate is so beautifully arranged it’s almost a crime to touch it, but I’m afraid I’m shameless when it comes to rare beef.” And then Annie set about demolishing the food on her plate.
    “This is the kind of meal we will serve you here at the Spa. Your sister filled out a page of your likes and dislikes. Everyone who books in will have to do that,” Nora explained. “We will personalize as much as we can for our guests. You need to lose a few pounds. We’ve set you up with a high-protein, good-carbs diet.”
    “I noticed no