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"Good. You have good posture. That's a start," she said. "To this day, Megan slumps. Sometimes I think she does it deliberately

just to be defiant."

I didn't remember my mother slumping at the French restaurant in Georgetown, but I was so anxious about meeting her, I could easily have not noticed.

"I know something about good table manners," I said. "I know you're not supposed to put your elbows on the table."

"Well, that's not always the case," she said and hesitated as Merilyn brought in our salads.

My grandmother watched me. I was waiting to see what she would do, which fork she would take. Again, a small smile crinkled her lips.

"The fork and the spoon above your plate tonight are for our dessert. I had an English trifle made, not by Merilyn, of course. She doesn't have that skill. When it's served, I'll explain how you use the fork and the spoon. For now, just remember that you use your silverware from the outside in, so the fork on your far left is your salad fork," she added and reached for hers.

"Why did you say not putting your elbows on the table was not always the case? I always thought that was rude. Mama told me that."

She chewed her food, swallowed, touched her lips with her napkin and then sat forward supported by her elbows on the table.

"A woman is far more graceful looking like this than like this," she said taking her elbows off and hanging over the table. "With my hands in my lap, leaning awkwardly like this, I look like I have cramps now, don't I?"

For the first time, I smiled, but she didn't mean to be funny.

"Well, don't I?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Just don't put your elbows on the table when you're eating, only when you have to speak to someone across the table, understand?"

As the meal continued, she continued to lecture me as to how to hold my silverware, how to ask for things, and how to eat different foods properly. I never realized how complicated proper table manners could be. After dinner, when the English trifle was served, she showed me how to use both the fork and the spoon to eat it.

"Did your mother teach you all these things?" I asked her.

"My mother? Hardly," she said a little bitterly. "They sent me to-a-private preschool, a private school and a finishing school. I was away more than I was home, but if I didn't behave properly at their dinner table, I was sent to my room without supper."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a younger sister Leonora who lives in London. No brothers," she added. "Leonora is married to a barrister. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, a lawyer," I said. "I think he's the kind who actually argues cases in court."

"Very good," she said, her eyebrows rising. "I guess you are a good student. How did you manage that living under the conditions Megan describes?"

"I don't know what my mother told you, but Mama always wanted us to do well in school. She wouldn't permit my sister Beni and me to work parttime jobs after school because she thought it would hurt our school work, and we could really have used the money," I said.

"I see. Well, your Mama does sound like a wise person:'

"She is, and a loving person, too. What's happened to us isn't fair."

My grandmother's eyes grew narrow and cold.

"Why was she so eager about giving you up?"

"She wasn't eager about it," I countered sharply. "She wants only the best for me and she was afraid for me after Beni was murdered," I said.

"Tell me about that," she commanded.

I briefly described what had happened and what sort of things had been happening to me afterward. She listened attentively, sipping her coffee.

"Tried to set you on fire?" She shook her head. "From the way Megan described your Mama, as you call her, it sounded like she was blackmailing us. Now that I hear more detail, I can appreciate her sacrifice. I would do anything I could also to get you out of there."