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With dinner service complete and our dessert plates being cleared, the servers offer us coffees and fine whiskeys to end the evening meal. My father and Gerard’s both order scotches, and our mothers decide on another glass of champagne each, in lieu of the traditional after-dinner drinks, like they’re celebrating.
When asked if I desire anything else, Gerard interjects by saying, “A bottle of the reserve, if you don’t mind. And two glasses.”
“Certainly,” the server of short stature responds, nodding approvingly, before leaving the table.
“A bottle of wine?” I ask Gerard, amused since I’m already slightly tipsy from the two glasses I consumed at dinner.
“Are you saying no?”
“Of course not. Never.”
The friendly conversation continues around the table, everyone joyous with the season and company. A few moments later, my parents are being served their after-dinner cocktails, and the sommelier uncorks the wine at Gerard’s side. The wine expert pours enough of the grape liquid into Gerard’s glass for him to aerate, sip, and ultimately approve. Our glasses are filled, and the remainder of the bottle is set between my friend and me.
“So, what’s the occasion?” I ask, lifting my glass.
“It is Christmas.” He clinks his glass with mine, and we both drink. Then, Gerard grabs the bottle in his other hand and rises from his seat. “Take a walk with me?”
“And leave this lively party?”
“I thought you might approve of the suggestion.”
He offers me an arm, and I empty myself from my chair, locking my elbow with his.
“And where are you two off to?” his mother asks, bringing the entire table’s attention to us.
“I’m just taking Evelyn for an evening stroll. Would you all mind if we left your company?” he asks coyly, knowing full well that none of them would care one bit.
They just want to call attention to any time he and I spend together—alone.
His mother gives a knowing look to mine while our fathers both smile broadly.
“Of course we don’t mind,” my mother answers for all of them. “You two enjoy your walk.”
Gerard pivots on his heel, leading me away from the table and out of the private dining area, down the long hall toward a part of the hotel I’ve yet to see, despite coming here for years. We tend to only stay on one end, and this section is generally used for resident staff.
“So, where are we going?” I ask, squeezing his arm.
“It’s a surprise.”
Intrigued, I allow him to escort me farther down the hall and into an ultra private room that resembles a small aquarium with fish tanks lining the lower half of the walls. At the end of the space, a large floor-to-ceiling window opens up to the dark foliage below the summit.
“What’s this room?” I question, peeking at the colored fish swimming in the illuminated waters.
“Just a sitting room,” he says.
I peer over my shoulder, finding Gerard resting the wine on a nearby table along with his glass.
“It was the one room I had a say over when we acquired the place—design-wise, that is.”
“I like the fish.”
He steps toward the entrance, brightening the lights slightly, allowing me to see the details of the walls more clearly. “Do you like the decor?”
I scan the framed artwork—approximately a dozen masterful reproductions of Van Gogh’s work. His more noted and popular works are represented, but I’m pleased to see some of my favorites and lesser-acknowledged masterpieces, includingWheatfield with CrowsandThe Red Vineyard. Near the window, overlooking the water, is a print ofStarry Night Over the Rhone.
“They’re all Van Gogh,” I say.
“Every last one.” He leads me toward the window. Pointing down at the sand, he asks, “Do you recognize that spot? Near the rock where the water meets its edge?”
