Page 47 of One of Them

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Having finished her asparagus, Mrs. Gilchrist patted her mouth delicately with her napkin. “Learning a language—any language—is so enriching.”

Emboldened by this bit of praise, Anne said, “Drew’s French is so impressive. And he told me he’s studied Spanish and Italian too.”

“It’s helped him enormously in his work.” Mrs. Gilchrist smiled. “In fact, he told me he plans to start learning Russian. He thinks that there’s a developing situation between the United States and the Soviet Union, and he wants to be prepared.”

“I took a Russian literature class at Vassar,” Anne said. “I’d love to be able to read those books in the original.”

“I don’t imagine he’ll be tackling War and Peace .” Mrs. Gilchrist smiled. “But even having some proficiency would give him an advantage.”

They had moved on to their main courses—mussels marinière for Anne, coq au vin for Mrs. Gilchrist—and Anne was feeling a bit more relaxed.

Mrs. Gilchrist seemed friendly, even if they hadn’t engaged in anything more than small talk.

And when she told Anne to call her Evelyn, Anne felt some test had been passed.

“That was excellent.” Evelyn laid her knife and fork neatly across her empty plate. “A quintessential French meal. How about your mussels—were they good?”

“Oh yes,” said Anne. “Very.” She sopped up the last of the juice with a bit of bread.

“I was surprised when you ordered them,” Evelyn continued. “I’ve been cooking them for years, but that’s because we live near the ocean—everyone thinks New Hampshire is landlocked, but we actually have eighteen miles of coastline.”

“I learned to like them here,” Anne said. “Drew encouraged me to give them a try.”

“And to think he ate only the blandest foods growing up, most of them white—he wouldn’t go near mussels back then, and if I served them at dinner, he refused to try even a single bite.”

“His palate has expanded,” said Anne.

“Yes, I can see that.” Evelyn’s gaze was cool and appraising. “Along with his worldview.”

Flustered, Anne tried to redirect her focus. “Should we order dessert?”

“That would be lovely, but I’ve given up dessert for Lent,” Mrs. Gilchrist said. “So no sweets for me.” She readjusted her hat and looked around for the waiter. “Just because I’m not having any dessert doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. Let me get a menu.”

“That’s all right, I really don’t need to have—”

“Please order something.” Evelyn put her hand on Anne’s wrist. “I’d really like you to.”

“All right, then,” said Anne. Maybe she’d been apprehensive for nothing.

So far it seemed that way. She looked at the menu and chose the crème br?lée, which had become one of her favorites.

When the waiter placed it in front of her, she used her spoon to crack the brittle sugar coating, revealing the creamy confection underneath.

“That looks very tasty,” said Evelyn. “As soon as Lent is over, I’m going to try it.

” She took a sip of the coffee she’d ordered.

“And speaking of Lent being over, I meant to ask what you’re doing on Easter Sunday.

Nancy and I are going to church and then out for lunch. I’d love it if you would join us.”

“Lunch sounds lovely.” Anne tried to speak slowly, even though she wanted to blurt it all out, get it over with.

“But I won’t be going to church on Easter Sunday.

” When she saw Evelyn’s confusion, she added, “I’m Jewish.

I think Drew intended to tell you, but now that it’s come up, I see no reason to hide it.

” She realized she didn’t need Drew to say this for her. She could say it herself.

“I’m not entirely surprised.” Evelyn was studying her. “I asked Drew if you were Catholic. He said no, but he was vague—and now I see it was intentional—about what your background actually was. So I had my suspicions...”

“Well, now you know your suspicions were justified,” Anne said.

“I understand.” Evelyn set down her coffee cup and pressed her palms on the table.

“And I respect that, I really do. Of course, if you two become more seriously involved, there will be things to work out. Children, for instance. I’ve always assumed— expected —that Drew’s children will be raised as Catholics.

” Evelyn looked down at her cup, not at Anne, as she spoke, and the gold cross seemed brighter now.

Brighter and, to Anne, somehow accusatory.

“But we don’t have to go there yet, do we?

” Her words said one thing, but her tone—brittle, artificial—said another.

It was clear that she thought that they ought to settle this now.

Anne spooned down the rest of her crème br?lée quickly, un able to savor it.

She just wanted the conversation—and the lunch— to be over.

When the check had been paid and she’d thanked Drew’s mother, they left the restaurant.

It had started to rain, quite hard, and neither she nor Evelyn had an umbrella.

She would be soaked by the time she got back to the dorm.

When Evelyn said, “I have an umbrella you can borrow,” it seemed like a good idea to go back to the hotel with her to get it.

They hurried through the slick streets, and when they reached the lobby, Anne shook the drops from her hair and her coat. She was intending to wait downstairs, but Evelyn said, “If you come upstairs, I can give you a towel to dry off.”

“Thank you—that’s very thoughtful.” Anne read this as a good sign, and she followed Evelyn into the elevator and then down the hall to her room. It was right next door to Drew’s. Why did this make her uneasy? She tried to shake off the feeling. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Evelyn said.

“Pour vous, madame.” A maid in a pale blue uniform handed her a neatly folded pile of clothes.

“What is this?” Evelyn asked.

“Votre linge,” said the maid. “Your laundry.”

“But I didn’t send anything to be laundered.”

“You didn’t?” The maid looked confused. “Monsieur Gilchrist asked that I take care of his laundry, and when I found these things in his room, I thought they were yours.”

Evelyn began looking through the pile. With growing mortification, Anne realized that all these garments—the blouses, the peach satin slip—were hers. She’d left them in Drew’s room.

“I don’t understand.” Now Evelyn was holding up the most incriminating things of all—two pairs of lace-edged tap pants, one sky blue and the other gray satin.

“Je suis desolée,” said the maid. “I’m sorry. My mistake...”

But Evelyn wasn’t paying attention. No, she was looking right at Anne, and her stony expression made it clear that she understood exactly whose underwear she was holding, and why it had been found in her son’s room. Understood all too well.