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Linda stood and reached out to shake the hand of the woman who’d unwittingly bailed her out. Cecile was a slimmer, brown-haired version of Chantalle, wearing a pink apron tied around her waist.
“It’s lovely to meet you,MadameCecile. I’m Linda Coriola.”
Cecile took both of her hands in hers, studying her from over top of her glasses. A cartoon illustration of Little Red Riding Hood stepping into the wolves’ den flashed through her mind, but she forced herself to smile. Hopefully, the sisters were like the mighty T-Rex—if she didn’t speak or move much, they would direct their attention elsewhere.
“You look familiar, dear,” Cecile said, frowning, her voice soft and pleasant, her English flawless.
“She’s the artist I showed you in the paper the other day,” Chantalle interrupted. “You know, the one who makes jewelry and wooden sculptures. Don’t you remember how much you admired one of her statues? You even said it resembled Gérard.”
“It’s a representation of Apollo,” Linda clarified, realizing too late what she’d admitted.
“Oh, I remember now.” Cecile’s face lit up. “I’m so happy to meet you, my dear. Welcome to our home. Now, how is it you know our boy?”
“Cécile, she’s his girlfriend,” Chantalle explained, her tone exasperated as if she was stating an obvious fact. “Now let’s eat before the girl gets any skinnier. She’s pretty as a picture, but needs meat on her bones.”
Linda gaped after them. She’d intended to offer her help, to make a good impression, but she was speechless.
“You sculpted an Apollo who looks like me?” Gerard raised an eyebrow.
Linda turned her head to answer him, her mouth opening and closing like a desperate fish, but the words wouldn’t come.
She shook her head. “Just drop it.”
“For now.” He grinned slowly. “But I can’t wait to see it.”
All of the meal’s courses were excellent—chicken soup, spicy steak with creamy mashed potatoes, tender carrots, and a delicious strawberry pie for dessert.
Despite the evening’s unusual start, conversation flowed freely. Linda liked the two women very much. They were energetic, funny, completely indiscrete, and always full of saucy comments that belied their years.
Cecile and her husband hadn’t been able to have children, so the woman treated Gerard as her own son as well as her sister’s. From the happy glow on his face, it was easy to see he was content to have two loving mothers spoil him. There was no end to their questions not only about his career but about his personal life.
“So, you’ve created your snake venom serum?” his mother asked.
“Yes. We’ve been working with it for some time in trials and hope to make it available on the market soon. I’m also exploring another formula for some of the cancers I can’t treat. Linda and I leave for Romania next week to look into it.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at him in amazement.
“Romania?” Chantalle and Cecile asked as one.
“We?” Linda said, accentuating the word.
“Yes.Maman, do you remember Jean-Paul Battiste, Dad’s friend?” Gerard chose to answer his mother’s question and ignore Linda’s comment. “He’s discovered a treatment made from hellebore, a plant found in the Carpathian Mountains. We’ve been communicating for some time, and we’re going to exchange formulae. He lives in Romania, but because of his case load, he can’t come here now. Instead, I’m going over there and taking Linda with me.”
He put an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened. Couldn’t he see the steam coming out of her ears?
“That’s not quite settled yet,” she said through gritted teeth, hoping her smile didn’t look like the snarl it was.
“Oh, well, it’s as good as settled. I’ll pick up the plane tickets tomorrow.”
He winked at her. She could swear that, not only did he know exactly what she was thinking, he was taking a perverse pleasure out of pushing her buttons.
Noticing the curious glances from the other two women at the table, Linda opted to continue this discussion with Gerard in private. It wasn’t going to be pretty. She took a deep breath and forced down more juice.
“Do you want anything else, darlings?” Cecile asked.
“No, thank you,” Linda said standing to help clear the table. “It was delicious.”
“No, no, I’ll do it,” Chantalle said. “You’re a guest.”
