The wine pairing was easy: Each course would be served with copious amounts of champagne.
Unfortunately, Blondine was not the best at delegating tasks, and tended to talk to herself instead of to Rosalyn.
“She’s feeling pressure because of her father,” Emma said to Rosalyn, before turning to Blondine. “Calme-toi, Blondine. Your father is just a man, like any other. And you’re a wonderful cook, so whydon’t you have a drink of this deliciouscruand relax? An unhappy chef will make unhappy food. That’s simple science.”
Blondine hesitated, then accepted the flute of champagne Emma held out to her.
“We should make a toast,” suggested Rosalyn.
“But of course we must!” said Emma. “Suggestions?”
“To the Epiphany?” suggested Blondine.
Emma snorted. “Too conventional.”
“How about to the three of us?” said Rosalyn. “We’re not all that conventional, when it comes down to it.”
Emma laughed. “Brilliant! All right, you wenches, to the three fairest flowers of France, Australia, and the United States!”
“Santé!”Blondine and Rosalyn chimed in as they touched glasses. Rosalyn took a sip, to fulfill the toast.
Blondine downed half her glass and returned to the kitchen to adjust the oven.
“Here,” said Rosalyn as she handed Emma a small chopping block, a knife, and some carrots. “Make yourself useful.”
Emma grinned and said to Blondine, “This one’s getting awfully cheeky, wouldn’t you say?”
Rosalyn smiled. Still lacking direction from Blondine, she started chopping onion and garlic on the assumption that they would be needed in one dish or another.
“Hey, André!” Emma called out, and he immediately appeared from the direction of the office.
“Oui, madame?”
“Do be a doll and put some music on for us, will you? Something French and atmospheric. None of that Europop crap.”
“Oui, madame.”He slipped back into the other room, and within seconds, French music came on over the sound system: Jacques Brel, then Lara Fabian.
“How much do you pay him to stand around, waiting for orders, like that?” Blondine asked Emma the question that had been on Rosalyn’s mind.
“Alot,” Emma said. “And he’s worth every euro. He runs my office in Épernay, but when I come to France, he’s on call pretty much twenty-four seven—more so this trip, since he has to drive me everywhere.”
“Must be nice to be rich,” grumbled Blondine.
“Oh, itis. It certainly is,” said Emma. “Muchbetter than the alternative, I always say.”
“Rosalyn, help yourself to more champagne,” Blondine said.
“Oh, um...”
“Save your breath,” said Emma. “Rosalyn doesn’t like champagne.”
Blondine whipped around to gape at Rosalyn. “What do you mean, she doesn’t like champagne?”
“Ask her yourself,” said Emma.
“Rosalyn, is this true?” Blondine was clearly scandalized.
“It’s not that I dislike it, as much as I just... prefer red.”
