I looked at Kit’s copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel with relief, not just for its return but for the fact that I’d thought to remove Kit’s letter before I’d shown Drew the book. “Thank you so much. I was worried I might not see it again.”
Precious slid it around to read the title out loud. “I will admit that I’ve never read the book, but I do remember falling in love with Leslie Howard in the movie. I was rather young—it was decades ago—but I remember sneaking into the theater since I couldn’t afford the ticket price. I managed to sneak in three times because I was quite taken with Mr. Howard.” She tapped her varnished nails on the cover. “There’s something very alluring about a spy, I think—someone whose loyalties aren’t always clear.” She looked up suddenly, then pushed the book back to me. “Perhaps I should read the book, although I will confess to not being much of a reader. Unless it’s the latest issue of Vogue, of course.”
Her smile faded as she looked across the table at Margot Lemouron, whose face had paled even more, her hands trembling slightly. Precious leaned forward, placing a hand over her friend’s. “Are you all right, Margot?”
The Frenchwoman shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She attempted a smile that looked more like a grimace. Addressing Drew and me, she said, “Will you excuse me, please? I think I need to go upstairs to my room and rest. It was a pleasure meeting you both. I hope to see you again.”
Drew pulled back her chair and offered his assistance to the lift, but she shook her head and left, her gait slow and uneven. “Is she all right?” he asked.
Before Precious could answer, our attention was diverted by the thwack thwack of a cane being thrust against the floor and a loud imperious American voice. “Coming through. I must eat breakfast at precisely one thirty every day and will not be detained.” Waiters scattered, not wanting to drop dishes or be hit by the cane as the old woman spotted our table and headed in our direction like a battleship under fire.
I recognized her as Mrs. Schulyer, who’d sat at the table in the bar with Precious the previous evening supplying unending drinks to the table I shared with Drew. Drew watched the approaching woman with alarm, assumingly reaching the same conclusion.
I looked at Precious, hoping she’d give us the approval to bolt, but instead she smiled in greeting as a waiter pulled out the chair recently vacated by Madame Lemouron, the place already cleared by apparently invisible waitstaff, and Mrs. Schulyer sat without being invited.
Precious began the introductions, but the old woman held out a finger, encased in a fingerless lace glove like my great-grandmother Eugenia used to wear. And might have actually been buried in since she claimed her hands were always cold. “I must have my coffee first before conversation.”
A waiter appeared with a tray carrying a coffeepot, sugar bowl, and cream pitcher. Without making eye contact, he poured coffee into a cup, then added three spoonfuls of sugar and a hefty measure of cream. He dutifully waited while the woman took a sip and nodded, before stepping back so that two more waiters could place in front of her a plate full of soft eggs with runny yolks and bacon, another plate with grilled onions and small tomatoes, and a bowl of stewed prunes.
She closed her eyes while sipping her coffee, slurping rather loudly, and then with a smack of her lips, placed the empty cup on the table. “That’s better.” She nodded regally while Precious made introductions.
“Mrs. Prunella Schuyler is another old friend of mine. She lives here as well, so we get to see each other often.”
Mrs. Schuyler tightened her lips as if seeing Precious often wasn’t ideal. “That poor, poor girl,” she said, indicating the direction Madame Lemouron had gone. “It’s the cancer you know. Too bad she doesn’t have the Pratt constitution as I do—that was my family name before I married into the Schuylers. Strong as oxen we Pratts. Takes a lot to take us down. I survived the sinking of the Lusitania, you know.”
Without leaving space to interject a word in between her ramblings, she spoke and ate at the same time, yellow egg yolks pooling in the corners of her mouth. Precious’s eyes had begun to glaze over when I felt a definite prodding of my foot. I surreptitiously gave a glance under the table just in time to see Drew’s rather large foot tapping the side of my sandal. Glancing up, I saw his expression was one of a man drowning and in search of a life preserver.
From my position at the WI, I apparently had more stamina dealing with lonely elderly women than Drew did. I nodded a few times while finishing my quiche, enjoying his discomfiture, and then, around the third time of her mentioning the Lusitania, I made a big show of looking at my wristwatch.