Etienne, the butler, finally announced that dinner was served. We put down our drinks, and cheered the news which brought us closer to the long awaited moment to savor the “saumon a la mayonnaise’, specialty of Melanie la cuisiniere. In the middle of the agitation, I was approached by the Baron de Valfort to escort Dame Irene Chaboix. I was glad to do it. I went over to the Diva right away, and offered her my arm, which she accepted with the grandiloquence of stage actors. Like most old artists, she had kept a coquetry which had made her cover her wizened face with a thick and flamboyant rouge.
She was wearing a dress with bouffant elements, and fabric windings which gave volume to her overly perfumed presence. Although she was not young anymore, she was still acting as if she was twenty. Her manners, her gestures, and her enunciation had a depressing vivacity. She was also loud, a detail which indicated that, despite the years, she still had kept a rather powerful voice. I told her how honored I was, to meet the singer who used to make me dream when I listened to her records played everywhere in Algiers, where I had been stationed in 1955 during the Algerian war of independence against France.
Ah! Mon Dieu! ” she exclaimed. “The foreign Legion! How romantic! ” “Not so romantic, I assure you. ” “You must tell me all about it, anyway! ” “There isn’t much to say, I’m afraid. And dinner is already served. ” “Perhaps, another time then. ” Tassured her that I would be glad to, and satisfied, she took my arm to merrily drag me out of the room. “Come on, Monsieur Morsirisse! ” She said laughing, “Armand and Simone have already left! ” We crossed the hall and quickly caught up with the rest of the group in the dining-room.
A moment later, Dame Chaboix released my arm and went looking for her place, while I found myself comfortably installed on the right of our host, already seated at the head of the table. His wife was facing him at the other end, Juliette, next to her. The rest of the guests filled up the gaps on each side of the long rectangular dining-room table. The atmosphere was relaxed, and at this happy hour, the only important question efflorescing around the table was to know if Melanie’s mayonnaise would be the success that all anticipated with hunger.
I for one, had almost forgotten the professional reason for my presence at the table, and like everybody else, I was having fun. Unfortunately, I was far from suspecting that, a moment later, an incident would occur, pulling me out of my short euphoria. It was a small incident, but a strange one, indeed. Furthermore, it would provide me with the first hint indicating that, in the case of “the blue letter”, there were more hues that met the eye. It started after the second course of the meal that Etienne had served us.
We were all now, well acquainted with each other, and the conversation was rolling, when Dame Chaboix suddenly found the moment opportune- perhaps in order to add to the conversation, or, most probably because she seemed very fond of the “petite Juliette”-, to ask her how she was doing with her studies. The young girl was not shy, and, notwithstanding the fact that studies are not the most favorite subject for a child her age, I expected her to answer straightforwardly. Which, she did. However, she looked so eager to reply, that I could not fathom her enthusiasm about such a dull topic.
All my instincts woke up! Her excitement was either a childish act, or was triggered by some very pleasant and very real event which must have taken place during the course of the past week’s studies. As for Dame Chaboix, encouraged by the girl’s behavior, she reiterated her curiosity. “What was today’s lesson about, my dear child? ” The girl had not yet opened the mouth to answer the question, that her mother put brusquely her hand on her arm, simultaneously giving Dame Chaboix a piercing and reproachful look. “This not the moment, Irene, to discuss les etudes de Juliette. ”
Irene Chaboix, pale and confused remained speechless. Nobody dared say a word for fear to give more emphasis on the incident. Juliette, obviously embarrassed, was lowering her head. The attitude of the baroness seemed, indeed, irrational and I failed to understand the reason why she chose to censure the subject of her daughter’s education, among people who, all, loved the child. As I was plunged in those thoughts, I became aware that something else was bothering me; something which had occurred when la Baronne was objurgating her old friend. It was a detail that I had caught from the corner of my eye.
It was insignificant, as insignificant as a swift motion, a discreet gesture, perhaps a flash, or a reflex… It was, however, a detail which importance- I was sure of it-, was related to the scene which had just taken place. What it was, exactly, had escaped my mind! I had been distracted by the sudden display of temper of Simone de Valfort, and despite all the efforts that I made to recall whatever I had subliminally seen, I was failing to bring it back to the front of my memory. The timely entry of Melanie, finally made me give up with glee, my fruitless attempt, and above all, prevented the situation to become a crisis.
The old servant was proudly carrying the “saumon a la mayonnaise” on an oblong and shiny platter. The Baroness de Valfort jumped on that opportunity to make amends by applauding when the cuisiniere put down the platter in the center of the table. This distraction helped soothe the tension which had reigned in the room, and Henri, the Baron’s brother, rushed to say with a feigned gaiety: “Ma chere Melanie, tu es toujours la plus grande cuisiniere de Paris! ” “Stop teasing! Monsieur Henri. You’re going to make my mayonnaise turn bad! ”
Resurrected by the good humor and the generous affection of the old servant, everyone was relieved -including Dame Chaboix, who had suddenly and surprisingly forgotten what now, in everybody’s mind, was just an ‘incident sans importance’. I did not forget, of course, that she was an actress as well as a singer, and that behind her newly found smile, may be hiding a rictus of bitterness. Nevertheless, I added my compliments “to the Chef’ and Melanie finally left the room, happy and proud, leaving Etienne to proceed to serve the guests. The poached salmon was delicious and the handmade mayonnaise was superb.
