Page 93 of Cry Havoc
He turned to his butler. “Decant this will you, please,” he said, switching from French to Vietnamese.
“Yes, sir.” The butler took the bottle and disappeared into what Tom assumed was the kitchen.
Tom paused at a table next to a grand piano. It was covered with black-and-white photographs. Most were of a woman who looked like Ella, though she was obviously older.
“My wife, Mr. Smith. I miss her dearly.”
Tom decided not to push.
“I have cocktails waiting upstairs where we can watch the sunset. Then dinner,” he said, leading the way up a wide stone staircase. The cane seemed more of a decorative accessory than a mobility aide. Tom wondered if it concealed a weapon.
At the top of the stairs, he led the way out onto an expansive stone terrace overlooking the gardens with views of the distant hills. Two servants in black pants and white shirts held silver trays. Small wineglasses filled with a red liquid, garnished with red raspberries, were perched on one. On the other were an assortment of olives, cheeses, andsaucisson,dry-cured sausage.
“Please, gentlemen,” Gaston said, gesturing to the trays. He noticed Tom eyeing the drink with suspicion.
“A Kir Royale, Mr. Smith. Champagne topped with crème de cassis.”
“What’s that?” Tom asked.
“A black currant liqueur.”
The three men each took a glass. A fourth remained on the tray.
“That is for my daughter. She will join us shortly.”
Tom attempted to hide a nervous smile.
“À votre santé!”To your health!Gaston said, holding up his glass.
“À votre santé!” the Americans echoed.
“Well, what do you think, Mr. Smith?” Gaston asked.
“The drink? Perfect way to start the evening.”
“The raspberries were the most difficult to obtain under the present circumstances. They come from Da Lat in the Central Highlands. The City of Eternal Spring. Have you been?”
“I have not,” Tom answered.
“It’s on the shore of a picturesque lake,” Gaston continued. “Maybe after the war.”
“Perhaps,” Tom said.
“Mr. Serrano, I believe you have spent some time there.”
“I have. You know how fond I am of the highlands. It’s exquisite country.”
“When the bullets aren’t flying,” Gaston said.
The door opened and Ella DuBois flowed onto the terrace.
“I hope I’m not interrupting, gentlemen.”
The sun had just hit the horizon, casting an orange glow across the plantation and making Ella’s silk dress even more radiant. The shimmering, smooth silver fabric covered her shoulders and hugged the curves of her body, cascading almost to the floor. It appeared weightless, lustrous, as if it were alive. She wore jade teardrop earrings that matched the green pendant around her neck.
“Bonsoir, my dear,” Gaston said, as he exchanged a light kiss on each of Ella’s cheeks.
“Bonsoir,” she replied, greeting the two Americans with the same traditionalla bise.
