“Adele,” Margery said, pausing until she looked up, “I didn’t drink it.”
“What? Yes, I saw you.”
“I drank yours, the Perrier. You hadn’t touched it.”
Adele looked at her, confused. “But why?”
“You had an edge to you that day, a wild look in your eye. I don’t know, I just had a strange feeling as I reached for the glass, and besides, I prefer sparkling water. I should have ordered that instead.”
Adele put her hand to her mouth. Relief flooded her. “Dieu merci,” she whispered.
“I’m so glad you asked me to play today,” Margery said. “We should have done this a long time ago.”
Adele nodded. “It reminded me how much I love this sport.”
“Maybe we’ll play again sometime. When you come to London next, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Adele said.
Walking back to her friends, Adele was filled with humility and gratitude, but something nagged at her, a slightly unsettling feeling that told her she wasn’t done with Margery just yet. She turned back.
“Margery, would you have lunch with me?”
Margery paused and looked at Adele for a moment.
“At my place tomorrow, before you leave?” Adele said.
Margery seemed to consider it. “All right. Why not?” she said. “For old times’ sake.”
“Bien,” Adele said.
“Oh, but Adele,” Margery said, “I’ll bring the beverages.”
