The Second Silence by Eileen Goudge

Author:Eileen Goudge [Goudge, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adult
ISBN: 9780752832074
Google: oLVNuYFHJNQC
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 13566979
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2000-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

IT WAS DARK by the time Mary passed through the tollbooth at I-87. All the way up the FDR and onto the Third Avenue Bridge, the traffic had been bumper to bumper. And she still had two hours to go. God, what a perfectly awful day. Starting with her morning staff meeting, at which Brittany had given her the litany of bad news: the clients who had been growing restless, the bookkeeper suspected of dipping into petty cash, the daily barrage of calls from Howard Lazarus concerning the Rene’s Room banquet.

Her come-to-Jesus with Leo Le Gras had been the day’s low point. Tracking him down at his SoHo loft, she’d found the soused caterer nearly incoherent. When a crisp reminder of his responsibility to her failed, she’d been forced to make a decision. Mentally writing off the sizable deposit she’d forked over, Mary had informed Leo nicely, but firmly, that he was fired.

Fortunately she’d come prepared. Armed with a short list of names from her Rolodex, she’d set out to find a replacement. The first candidate, Private Reserve on East Sixty-fourth, had been a near miss. She’d found the pâté brisée a trifle less than flaky, the haricot vert a tad overcooked. The chef had been accommodating, a bit too accommodating; he left her wondering if his availability had been such a miracle after all.

The chef at Mais Oui, in TriBeca, was the polar opposite, an overbearing primadonna who’d expected her to grovel at his feet. The sample dishes served to her on small Herend saucers had been divine, of course, but reluctantly she’d had to pass. After the near disaster with Leo, she didn’t need any more temperamental caterers in her life.

By the time she arrived at Madame Gregoire’s West End Avenue penthouse, Mary had nearly run out of hope. But one look at the stout French maman with her large work-reddened hands and gray hair twisted into a bun had been enough. Madame was as unaffected as her cuisine proved superb. Mary, stuffed from her two previous samplings, nonetheless found herself inhaling the tidbits of delicate lobster and shitake mushroom salad, the artichoke terrine and venison cubes marinated in peppercorn sauce. She’d made out a check on the spot.

Yet as she set out for home, Mary felt none of her usual sense of accomplishment, only a gnawing emptiness. What was a banquet compared with her daughter? She should have obeyed her instincts and stayed home. Apparently the interview hadn’t gone well. Noelle had neglected to phone and wasn’t home when Mary called. It was Doris who had given her the fill, muttering something about the woman being a horse’s ass—strong language, coming from her mother.

Poor Noelle, she thought. I should have been there.

Mary flashed back on this morning’s outburst. Noelle’s words had stung, but she had to acknowledge there was some truth in them. What was also true was that she loved her daughter. How could she make Noelle see that? Had it been foolish to imagine that temporarily moving back home would make a difference?

Home.

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