Margot maneuvered her way past the cluster of chefs and slipped her arm through Baxter’s, and I suddenly remembered my first impression of her in Paris. We’d all gone to a party and she was there. You couldn’t miss her. She was tall, thin, redheaded and wild. She wore a bright pink minidress, with boots that stretched halfway up her thighs. She had seemed fun and snarky at first, but as I got to know her, I found her to be calculating and manipulative. I noticed she would look around the room and find the person or group who could do her the most good, then migrate over to them. She always said the most clever things, but they didn’t seem natural. It was as though she’d been practicing her lines for days in anticipation of the moment.
Baxter didn’t seem to mind her attentions and pulled her closer. Were they involved with each other? I couldn’t help but speculate.
“I’d advise you all to make reservations every single night for the next two weeks,” Baxter said jovially. “You won’t want to miss any of these stellar evenings.”
I wondered how Derek would feel if I made those reservations.
“Tonight I expect you’ve all become vegetarian,” Baxter continued. “I know I have, thanks to Savannah. She is a gift from the gods.”
There was more applause, even though he sounded completely phony to me. Because of it, I clapped louder than anyone. I was proud of Savannah and I couldn’t have cared less what Baxter thought of her cooking.
“Thank you all so much,” Savannah said, rubbing her shoulder. It was probably sore from Baxter’s yanking her arm up, but she looked happy anyway. Exhausted but happy. The bright red beret she always wore when cooking was perched jauntily on her bald head and her white jacket was pristine. I had a feeling she might have slipped on a clean one before entering the dining room to take her bows.
Savannah turned to Baxter. “And thank you for this lovely opportunity, Baxter. It was great to be back in the kitchen with you.”
He winked at the crowd. “I can think of another room I’d rather be in with you.”
Ugh, what a toad. Savannah was a professional chef and Baxter was a chauvinist jackass. But the crowd laughed and hooted nevertheless. Meanwhile, Baxter was still as big a jerk as he’d been in Paris. Still keeping it classy. Not.
Savannah held up her hand to silence the crowd. “I’d like to take a moment to present Baxter with a little something as a way of saying thank you.”
“Something for me?” he said, his smirk turning lascivious. “Listen, sweetheart, if you really want to thank me…”
Savannah smacked his arm lightly, then signaled me to bring her the package.
As I grabbed the gift and slid from the booth, I thought of the hours I’d spent on the book box, creating a tasteful outer design with a spare line of gold tooling and raised bands on the spine to resemble the book within. I mourned the care I took to fashion the plush inner cushion that fit the restored cookbook like a soft glove. I’d used the endpapers Derek brought back from Brussels to line the box’s interior, and the swirls of dark red and gold gave it a luxurious, masculine feel along with the slightest touch of whimsy I thought Obedience would enjoy.
With little enthusiasm, I walked over to Savannah and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Give it to me,” Savannah hissed.
I sighed and passed her the book box, which I’d wrapped in shiny silver paper and ribbon. She turned and handed it to Baxter. “This is for you.”
I returned to the booth in time to watch Baxter, wearing a greedy grin, rip the paper off to reveal the lush red leather cushion-inlaid box. A beautiful design, if I did say so myself.
He turned it every which way and then shook it. “Okay, yeah, it’s a box.”
I wanted to run over and slap him, but Derek clutched my arm. He knew me too well.
“Open it,” Savannah urged.
He rolled his eyes at the crowd, then set it down on the nearest guest table, unlatched the cover and lifted it. Pulled out the suede-and-leather-lined pouch and stared at it. “What the hell is this?”
I struggled to pull away from Derek, but he held on to me. Didn’t he understand that Baxter Cromwell needed to be beaten with a bat? If only I’d had one in my bag.
“You’ll see,” Savannah said gaily, her voice rising with anticipation. “Look inside the pouch.”
“This is ridiculous.” He gritted his teeth. Was he angry? Why? Was it because the crowd’s attention was focused more on the gift than on him? Probably.
He loosened the ties, held out his hand, and turned the pouch upside down. The venerable cookbook slid out onto his palm. He bobbled it before catching and holding it with both hands.
He stared at the book. His hands began to shake and his lips thinned. In fear? Or fury? Or what?
I thought for a second that he would lash out at Savannah, but he quickly recovered. Smiling too brightly, he shoved the book back into the pouch, grabbed the box, and tucked everything under his arm.
I wanted to run over and rescue poor Obedience and her cookbook, but my attention was abruptly diverted by Kevin’s expression. She stared at Baxter in outrage, her face turning redder by the second. She looked angry enough to slay someone, preferably Baxter.
Then all of a sudden, she spun around and glared at Savannah with so much raw anger that I flinched.
Holy crap. What was that all about?
“What is it?” somebody called from the audience.
“Never mind, folks,” Baxter said with a calculated chuckle. “Just an old inside joke. Eh, Savannah?”