It was the Saturday before Christmas, and it was Helena’s birthday. Not wishing for anyone to make a fuss, she’d said nothing to her friends and happily passed the day at the studio, hard at work on a portrait of the jolly farmer’s wife she’d seen at Les Halles.
At five o’clock sharp Daisy packed up her things and left for home, mindful as always of her father’s wish for company. That left the rest of them to continue on to dinner at Rosalie’s at seven o’clock. Sam was waiting outside when they came around the corner, and he seemed exactly his normal self, if rather quieter than usual. If he had spent the last few days obsessing over their kiss he betrayed no sign of it, and in his manner she could discern no trace of tension or awkwardness. It was almost as if she had imagined the entire thing, and Helena couldn’t decide if she ought to be relieved or disappointed.
“How did you spend the day?” she asked as soon as they were settled and Luigi had brought them bread and wine.
“I had to work. Was filling in for Geoff Fraser.”
“Wasn’t it your day off?”
“It was, but I lost a bet to him back in October, when New York lost the World Series to Washington, and he waited until today to make me pay up.”
“The World Series?” Helena asked.
“Of baseball.”
“How can it be a ‘world’ series if both teams are American?”
He rolled his eyes at this. “Fine. The baseball championships. So what does he make me do? Spend half my day standing around at the Rotary Club, waiting for some jackass assistant to an undersecretary of trade to show up and give a speech.”
“Was it interesting?” Mathilde asked.
“God, no. It was so boring I can’t even remember the man’s name. Should be fun spinning a story out of that.”
Helena wanted to enjoy dinner, and her time with her friends, but she couldn’t manage to loosen the coil of apprehension that was tightening around her chest whenever she thought of what would happen once dinner was finished, and she and Sam were left alone for the walk home. Would he pretend the kiss hadn’t happened? Would he wish to talk about it? She’d rather be paraded through the streets on a tumbrel.
Her anxiety was allayed, if only temporarily, when étienne insisted they all go to Le D?me for a round of drinks. “I need at least two glasses of fine à l’eau to wash away the taste of the vinegar we just drank. I am certain I felt my teeth dissolving.”
“Like Cleopatra’s pearls?” Helena teased.
“Just so.”
They were able to find a tiny table at Le D?me, crowding into a space that was better suited for two, and étienne hailed the waiter with a snap of his fingers and, oddly enough, a wink.
Rather than come to them straightaway, the man did an about-face and vanished into the kitchens, appearing several minutes later with a plate that held a single chocolate-topped creampuff. He set it before Helena with a wonderfully Gallic flourish, extracted a tall and very thin candle from his apron pocket, lighted it with a match, and inserted it in the top of the cream puff.
Sam spoke first. “Happy birthday, Ellie.”
“How did you know?”
“How do you think? Your aunt.”
“She took me aside at the party,” étienne explained, “and told me then. She knew you wouldn’t say anything, and she thought it was silly. So now—”
“Enough explaining,” Sam interrupted. “It’s time to sing. Do you know ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’?” étienne shook his head and Mathilde simply shrugged. “No? I guess you’ll have to keep up. Here goes.”
He stood, his chair scraping against the tiled floor, cleared his throat, and began to sing in a lovely, deep voice.
“For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us.”
Within seconds, people at neighboring tables joined in, and then everyone at the bar, and soon everyone at Le D?me, was singing Helena’s praises.
“And so say all of us, and so say all of us, for she’s a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us!”
After that, the barman stood them a round of drinks, and against her better judgment Helena had a fine à l’eau. The watered-down brandy burned her throat, but it helped to steady her increasingly ragged nerves.
“I must be off,” Mathilde said, setting down her glass and buttoning up her coat. “étienne, toi aussi.” She leaned across the table and kissed Helena’s cheek. “Happy birthday, my friend.”
“I suppose we ought to go, too. I haven’t seen my aunt since breakfast.”
Helena and Sam walked home in silence, which was just as well since her heart was pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear anything above the roar in her ears. Sam had offered his arm, as he always did, and she accepted it without protest.
It was cold enough that she was very glad of her new coat, and grateful that she had also worn the plush fur stole Agnes had insisted on lending her. Sam, as usual, was bareheaded and immune to the weather. Even if it had been snowing he likely wouldn’t have noticed.
Vincent was at the side door when they arrived, which was rather a surprise as normally she and Sam were left to say their good-byes in relative privacy.