The Secret Keeping by Francine Saint Marie Page A

renovator extraordinaire, covered with paint and–
    “Liddy, you’re nuts. Get some things together. You stay here till it’s done.”
    “Okay. Tomorrow, though, Del. I’m leaving for lunch now.”
    “Where are you going? I’ll meet you.”
    Lydia hesitated. “Nah, meet me at the paint store, Del. The one on the corner. Yeah, that’s the one. Oh, it’s no biggee, wait till you see. I’m picking them out by myself, Del. I’m thinking antiques. I don’t know yet.
    One piece at a time. I don’t care. Del…meet me at two. Yes, I have clothes. Two. See ya!”
    Empty window seat at Frank’s. Lydia stood at the door watching as the waiter sat an older couple there. It instantly put a damper on her spirits and she wondered elaborately over the reason why the woman couldn’t lunch today. No clue from the waiter. He was his typical affable self as he escorted her to her regular table where she then lingered indecisively over the menu and unknowingly cast resentful glances over the edge of it and across the room.
    Presently he returned and handed her a drink. She recognized it immediately.
    “Cognac?”
    “Yes, cognac.”
    “Anonymous?”
    “But of course.”
    She grinned and took a small sip. “Mmmmm. And what do you think anonymous would want me to have for lunch today?”
    “Well,” said the waiter, “I can ask for you, if you give me a minute.”
    Ask?
    He didn’t give her a chance to take it back. She watched in bewilderment as the waiter placed a phone call from behind the bar, watched his amiable facial expressions as he conspired with the unknown party on the other end of the line. Oh, no, she worried. No time for this. Had she unwittingly made herself the object of romantic subterfuge? She downed the cognac and waited anxiously for him to get off the phone so she could call the whole thing off.
    He was in no hurry.
    Fun with food. First cognac and now lunch. One missing blond. Lydia suspected a connection. There’s a connection. It’s obviously connected. She glanced at the waiter. Only he could say. He hung up and with an inscrutable expression went into the kitchen. She laughed to herself then. Forget asking him. What if there’s no connection at all? Well. You can’t be debauched by a lunch, she told herself, the cognac nestling warm in her empty stomach and slowly going to her head. She settled into her chair and surrendered.
    It was not long after exiting for the kitchen that the waiter returned to her side delivering with a satisfied grin a chilled asparagus salad drenched in fresh raspberry vinaigrette. Finger food. Was she drunk or was there something suggestive about this? She blushed at its arrival. He set a fluted glass down beside it and made to leave again.
    “What’s that?” she asked.
    “Champagne.”
    She smiled and shook her head. In deep. “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip and waiting till he was out of sight before nibbling at the asparagus.
    The lunch entree arrived and was not to be outdone by a salad. It sat flamboyantly before her. She gulped at the bubbly and tentatively inspected a French pancake overstuffed with creamed oysters, dripping with a butter sauce.
    She sighed and whispered, “Impressive. And this is?”
    “A crepe, madam.”
    Mmmmm.
    “Enjoy.”
    She did.
    The finale came as a bright, reddish liquid.
    “Orange fruit soup.”
    Oh, sure. She brought a spoon of it to her lips and swallowed. Delicious.
    “The check is taken care of,” he said later, refusing her card.
    “Oh, my god,” she said wistfully, “I could get used to this.”
    He smiled and without a slip said, “I’m sure your benefactor will be glad to know that.”
    She faltered at the door and he assisted her with her jacket. The question begged but she didn’t dare ask it.
    Instead, she thanked him and stepped outside. It had become spring without her knowing it. She was hot under all her clothes.
    _____

    “Something warm.”
    The clerk brought Lydia another batch of color chips