Page 94 of Cry Havoc
Tom felt an electric jolt when her cheek touched his. He thought she smelled slightly of lavender.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle DuBois,” Serrano said.
Tom stuttered a bit but managed to articulate a greeting.
She picked up her apéritif, saying merci, to the servant as he stepped away.
“Have we solved the problems plaguing Vietnam yet?” she asked.
“Almost, my dear,” said her father.
“Á la tienne,”she said, raising her glass.
“Á la tienne,”the three men said in response.
Tom found it hard to avert his eyes but did so as she motioned to the setting sun.
“I love this time of the evening,” she said. “Magical.”
A servant approached with the charcuterie board, and each of them took a piece of cheese, sausage, or olives as they finished their Kir Royales and the sun dipped beneath the horizon.
“We try to celebrate the end of each day together when we can,” Gaston explained. “With the growing business, I am spending more time out here managing the rubber enterprise, while Ella is in Saigon focused on the import/export side of things.”
“Do you commute to Saigon every day?” Tom asked Ella.
“We have holdings in Saigon as well, so I stay near the office for the most part.”
“One day, this plantation will no longer be ours,” Gaston said. “But in a sense, it has never been more than a temporary holding. We are prepared to take our business elsewhere, should it become necessary.”
“Won’t it be hard to leave this?” Serrano asked, gesturing to the view.
“Yes, but life is about change, and business is about adaptability. Ella and I spend a lot of time in Thailand. With the uncertainties that accompany doing business in Vietnam, it is vital that we prepare for a future beyond these borders. Now, what say we retire to the dining room for dinner?”
He led them back downstairs, explaining the history behind certain paintings along the way. Tom did his best to pay attention.
The butler who had met them at the door showed the group into a room with a long, rectangular dining table. Four heavy curved-backed wood chairs upholstered with leather awaited. He pulled one out at Ella’s setting. She was seated directly across from Tom. A collection of various sized candles burned on a tiered stand between them at the table’s center. Gaston took his position as host at the head, passing his cane to the butler, who placed it against the wall. Serrano sat at the opposite end. At their feet was an oversized Aubusson flat woven rug. A sideboard with neatly arranged fine china plates, platters, bowls, and cups was against the wall behind Tom. A large mirror hung opposite it. Bread had already been placed on the white tablecloth. Tom noted the absence of butter, remembering that in France bread was an accompaniment to the food and not a starter or appetizer.
Hues of burnt orange radiated through the panes of a window at the far side of the room, the sun’s final warning that darkness would soon be upon them. It caused Ella’s silk dress to glimmer. The light warmed the left side of her face, trapping the other side in shadow.
The butler showed Gaston a bottle of 1966 Maison Leroy Meursault Premier Cru Les Poruzots. He nodded in approval. The butler opened the bottle and set the cork next to Gaston, who quickly inspected it before nodding again. The man poured a taste. Gaston held it to the dying light, noting its clarity. He then brought it to his nose before taking a sip to evaluate its flavor and balance, nodding in satisfaction. The butler filled the glasses for each guest and then returned to Gaston to finish the pour.
“Please,” Gaston said, holding his glass by its stem and getting to his feet but gesturing that his guests should remain seated. “If I may propose a toast. To our American friends. I am in your debt. You have given me and my dear daughter the gift of life. It will not be forgotten. May this war soon be behind us, and may we toast again under the most pleasant of skies and circumstances.À la vôtre!”
As was customary, Serrano then stood and raised his glass. “Monsieur DuBois, Mademoiselle DuBois, we thank you for your support during these trying times. It is an honor to be here with you tonight. Here’s to years of continued friendship, more wine from my organization’s cellar, and to a time we can gather in peace and prosperity.”
Tom was unsure if he was required to make a toast as well. He looked across the table at Ella for help. She smiled and ever so slightly shook her head, her gaze as intoxicating as any drug.
The meal began withl’entréeof French onion soup.
The soup was followed bysole meunière,pan-fried sole in a lemon-butter-caper sauce topped with fresh herbs and a small side of green beans. New wineglasses were provided and filled with 1964 William Fevre Les Clos Chablis Grand Cru by four Vietnamese footmen who disappeared behind the closed doors of the kitchen as quickly as they had appeared. Lemon sorbet to cleanse the pallet was presented as soon as the fish plates were cleared.
The shadows shifted, the sky outside transitioning to indigo, foreshadowing the coming of night.
Le plat principalconsisted ofcanard à l’orange, roast duck with sweet and tangy orange sauce accompanied by a side of steamed carrots. It was paired with the strong red Chateau Latour that Serrano had brought along. Gaston complimented the choice and thanked him for his kindness.
“This particular bottle seems to have escaped the fate to have befallen most Bordeaux that year,” he said.
Simple green salads tossed with a French vinaigrette were deliverednext, along with glasses of 1964 Moët & Chandon Grand Vintage Brut for the occasion.
