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course after course. Plates of various foods appeared and vanished before me, apparently of their own power—I always seemed to be looking the other way when the server whisked one plate away and put another in its place. And with each course there was a new bottle of wine of a different color and a different flavor put before us. That all this was done according to some intricate plan, and not simply as a demonstration of great abundance, I learned as Sir Simon himself explained his situation to us.
    “You will note,” said he, ”that I am alone here. Lady Grenville is on the other side,” he made a vague gesture toward the Channel, ”visiting her family. She is, as youmay gather, French. And being French, she brought with her into our happy marriage, a French cook; indeed the finest French cook who ever came to these shores, or so he keeps declaring. His name is Jacques, you see, and Jacques feels unused and unappreciated because we do not often have occasions here in our sleepy little corner of England to make full use of his talents. Especially does he enjoy showing them off to my wife, for she is French, and only the French can fully appreciate their cuisine. Yet she has been away a considerable length of time due to an illness in the family. This is, in fact, the first occasion on which he has prepared a full-course dinner in the grand style in her absence. Ordinarily, that might seem reason to caution you as to its quality. Nevertheless, first of all, Jacques has not been put to the test for far too long, and he has been eager to prove himself. And secondly, say I in prideful mock-humility, I believe his work speaks for itself.”
    “Indeed it does,” said Sir John, ”oh, indeed so.”
    Had there been any need to do so, I might have raised my voice to second Sir John, for while I commented a moment ago upon the great abundance of the food, it should be said that it tasted remarkably well. It was perhaps a bit too delicately spiced for one, like me, who sought grosser gustatory satisfactions. Which is to say, I knew that the turbot, the quail, and the lamb that were put before me in their diverse sauces were in every way exceptional, yet I still preferred Annie’s well-garlicked beef stew.
    “Remarkable coincidence,” said Sir John.
    “Oh? What is that, sir?” queried our host.
    “That your wife should be away visiting an ill member of her family. So also is my own dear wife. Which of her relations is sick?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Which family member? Brother? Sister …?”
    “Oh, well, her mother.”
    “You see? Remarkable coincidence. It is her motheralso, whose illness has occasioned my wife’s visit. Remarkable.”
    Sir Simon, for some reason, seemed disturbed by this exchange. He signaled the wine server to refill the glasses. Glancing uneasily at Clarissa, who sat next me, I wondered how much more she should or could drink of the wine. It was not that I feared that she would become boisterous or rude, yet she might become talkative. And the conversationalists at this table were to be Sir Simon and Sir John—and no others. Surely she realized that. Clarissa took a sip from the newly refilled glass, then turned to me with a lazy smile upon her face. Her eyes, I noted, were a bit opaque.
    “I do regret Marie-Hélène’s absence now, at the time of your visit,” said Sir Simon, resuming their talk. ”Lady Grenville, that is. She would be the ideal guide through this old house. She knows its history better than I.”
    “How old is it?” Sir John asked, showing little more than polite interest.
    “Oh … let me see. The core of the house is quite old—fourteen-something. Marie-Hélène would have it exact.”
    “That is indeed old.”
    “There have been three major additions since then. It is one of those old houses which simply grew of its own volition. Why, it even has a ghost or two.”
    This was simply too much for Clarissa. Her eyes brightened. ”A
ghost!
” She fair shouted it out.