Page 58 of The Last Night in London
I selected two drumsticks and reached for the mashed potatoes. I realized that everyone seemed to be watching me for cues, so I made sure to explain my process. “After you scoop a big helping of potatoes, you make a little dimple in the top with your spoon before the gravy comes your way. And then you just fill it up and let some spill over the sides, like this. Make sure you get enough gravy to cover your biscuits, too.”
Next, I told them how to butter the corn bread, stopping short of how my daddy liked to mix together his black-eyed peas, corn bread, and potatoes in a kind of side dish casserole. That would have to wait for another time—the whole eating fried chicken with fingers was clearly almost too overwhelming, despite the fact that Anna had helpfully set each place with a small finger bowl of lemon and water.
“If you want to eat with a fork and knife, go on ahead. I’m not going to judge,” I said. “But if you ever find yourselves in the South again, use your fingers. I hear that it’s illegal to use utensils to eat fried chicken in Gainesville, Georgia, and might be elsewhere in the South, too.”
I picked up a drumstick with my fingers, watching everyone, including Precious, hesitate, their hands suspended over their silverware. I put the chicken down on my plate. “And I’m perfectly happy to use a fork and knife, too. When in Rome and all,” I said, feeling self-conscious.
“Nonsense,” James said, picking up a piece with his fingers. “You’ve gone to all this trouble to make this delicious meal for us, and we should enjoy it in the way it’s intended.”
Penelope followed suit, taking a bite with pinkies extended.
“I’ve always wanted to eat with my fingers,” Arabella said, almost gleefully tearing into her chicken.
“When in Rome,” Colin said, meeting my eyes for the first time as he, too, succumbed to the joys of eating with one’s fingers.
Precious was the last to give up her utensils, her fingers hovering over her plate.
“Really, Precious,” I said, “if you’re more comfortable with a fork and knife, that’s fine. You’ve been overseas so long. Eating habits are hard to get over, especially after almost eight decades.”
“Actually,” she said as she carefully picked up her fork and knife from the table, “I just hate messing up my makeup.” She smiled as she began cutting into the thigh.
When everyone was finished, and I’d received enough compliments that I almost called Aunt Lucinda so she could be thanked in person, Penelope suggested we have dessert in the library.
“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll need that long walk across the house after such a big meal. I’m full as a tick.”
James surprised me by laughing. “How very accurate, Maddie. I imagine we’re all of a similar mind.”
“Oh, she’s got loads more where that came from, I’m afraid,” Colin said. He stood, then pulled out his mother’s chair. “What is the one about someone being so annoying it’s like thumping something off?”
I kept my face as expressionless as his as I turned to him. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I helped Precious from her chair, then linked arms with her, moving slowly as we left the dining room. “We’re having ambrosia for dessert,” I whispered to her. “I’ve been keeping it a surprise, but since you’re about to find out, I thought I’d go ahead and spoil the secret.”
“Ambrosia. How wonderful.” Her voice was neutral, making me wonder if she disliked ambrosia and was too polite to tell me.
To make it sound more appealing, I said, “My aunt Lucinda always added maraschino cherries and pecans, too, since she usually made it at Christmastime and she thought the red made it more festive.”
“I am sure I will enjoy it.”
I patted the hand that rested on my arm. “I thought MoonPies might be nice to serve, too, but they’re hard to find in the UK, from what I could tell, and I didn’t have time to have them overnighted from home.”
We entered the library, and I situated Precious on the sofa by the fire.
“I don’t know what a MoonPie is,” Penelope offered, “but it sounds rather decadent.”
“Oh, believe me, they are. Chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. Made right in Precious’s home state of Tennessee for over one hundred years. It’s quite the Southern icon. In Mobile, Alabama, they even have a giant MoonPie replica dropped on New Year’s Eve to welcome in the New Year.”
“And I thought the midnight tolling of Big Ben was exciting. Who knew?” Colin braced himself with one elbow on the mantel and accepted a brandy from his father, who was busy distributing glasses of amber liquid around the room to “help with digestion.”
“I do remember MoonPies,” Precious said. “They used to send them to the American troops overseas during the war. I must have had one or two in this very house. Those nice American flyboys from Mildenhall—that’s the base not too far from here—would come from time to time. Sophia did know how to throw a good party.”
She looked down with a secretive smile, her powdered cheeks softened by the glow from the fire. “She adopted a squadron of Polish airmen, I recall. Always felt it was her duty to entertain them, to keep up their morale. They were instrumental in winning the Battle of Britain, did you know? The unsung heroes, never getting the credit they deserved. I think that’s why Sophia tried so hard to show them a good time between missions.”
“May I?” I asked as I held up my notebook.
“Of course. I like talking about beautiful clothes and MoonPies and Sophia’s parties. Because despite all the hardships of that time, there was beauty and goodness, too. A friend once told me that loveand beauty were the only things worth holding on to. That they are what shine light in a dark world.”
“Who said that?” I asked. “Eva?”
She trained those flame-filled eyes on me. “Yes. A wise man who did our makeup at Lushtak’s said that to her. Eva thought it important enough to share, and I’m glad she did. It got me through some of the dark times that were to come.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders as if reverting to her model persona and preparing to go out on a catwalk. She smiled, her eyes clear again, her face changing as I watched. “I thought of something else that might be interesting for the article.”
