A Golden Grave by Erin Lindsey

Author:Erin Lindsey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER 19

IT’S FANCY ’CAUSE IT’S FRENCH—SPITEFUL—A VERY BAD WAITER

As though I didn’t have enough on my plate, as it were, what was actually on the plate proved to be its own kind of challenge. The entire menu was in French, which meant that the first course was not turtle soup but potage à la tortue, followed by a series of dishes that I couldn’t identify, let alone pronounce. So when the waiter inquired whether madam would prefer the blanchailles or the merlans frits, I could only give Thomas a helpless look.

“I’ve had the whitebait before,” he said, “and I can recommend it.”

“Very well, then, I’ll take the whitebait, please.” Having determined that whitebait was a fish, I could at least work out which fork to use. Or so I thought, but when it arrived, it proved to be a plateful of artfully displayed minnows. How on earth was one meant to dissect these tiny creatures? Then I observed Mr. Burrows across from me and realized they were meant to be eaten whole, head and tail and all, at which point I felt a little ill.

My awkwardness did not go unnoticed. “Miss Gallagher,” said Ava Hendriks, “I’m torn between the côtelettes d’agneau and the vol-au-vent. Which do you prefer?”

I wasn’t going to let her get the better of me so easily. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a dismissive gesture. “One is as good as the other, surely? It’s not as though you’re choosing a candidate for mayor. There, I don’t envy anyone having to decide. What do you think, Miss Hendriks—if you had the vote, whom would you choose and why?”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Burrows said with a grin, “do tell.”

Miss Hendriks’s smile had a razor edge. “I was taught never to discuss politics at the table.”

“Ordinarily, perhaps,” Edith said, “but tonight? That is why we’re here, after all. Some of us, at any rate.” She smiled innocently and popped a tiny fish into her mouth.

“I for one am quite looking forward to tonight’s speech,” Thomas said. “What about you, Mr. Fitz?”

The tall man froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, surprised at being put on the spot. “Just Fitz. And to be quite frank, I’m not overly fond of the fellow…”

With the center of conversation safely across the table, I had a chance to try again with the probe. Pointing it directly at Fitz from beneath the cover of the tablecloth, I glanced at the dial on my wrist. Four. The reading was too strong to be coming from Edith, two seats to my right. But I couldn’t rule out Mr. Burrows, or for that matter, Ava Hendriks. I cursed inwardly.

“Is that a wristwatch?” Andrew Price’s voice startled me back to the present. “I’d heard those were becoming quite the fashion in Europe, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

“It is,” I said, subtly angling it away so he couldn’t see the dial.

“What is it—Cartier? Longines?”

“It’s, um, a Tesla.”

“Miss Gallagher has all the most interesting accoutrements,” Edith declared.

Feeling self-conscious again, I reached for my wine … and very nearly knocked it over a second time.

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