Jessica turned to Eric, puzzled, the man near the blanket said, “There you are, sir. I was afraid the food would get warm.”
“Not to worry, Timmy,” Eric said. “I know better than to keep one of your sumptuous meals waiting.” He turned to Jessica. “Jessica, this is Timmy Whitmore. He’s my right-hand man and my chauffeur when I want one. He’s in charge of my house and he’s the best damn cook in the county.”
Timmy inclined his head slightly. “It’s nice to meet you Ms….”
Totally nonplussed, Jessica answered automatically. “Hanley. It’s Jessica Hanley.” She turned to Eric who looked sheepish. “Didn’t you say you were a modestly well-off suburban architect who used to argue with your wife about money?”
“I did, didn’t I. I know that I owe you an explanation but can it wait until after dinner? Timmy’s meals are always works of art and he gets very huffy if his food isn’t presented just so.”
“Of course it can wait,” Jessica said. “But you’ll have to give me a moment to adjust.” Eric held her arm as she settled onto one of the leather cushions.
With a flourish Timmy pulled two plates from a hamper a few feet away and set one in front of each of them. Artfully arranged on fresh lettuce and watercress were half a dozen of the largest shrimp Jessica had ever seen, with a dollop of dill sauce and a few small toast-rounds on the side. “Good grief, Timmy,” Eric said. “These shrimp look like they should have saddles.”
“I know,” Timmy said, looking downcast and a bit irritated. “I tried to get U12s but all they had were U5s. They’re really too large to be as tender as I’d like, but the man in the fish store swore that they were superb. If they’re not….”
Eric tasted one. “Well, Timmy, your man was right. They are delicate and crisp, cooked exactly right. Not chewy at all.”
Timmy beamed, the smile giving his singularly unattractive face an appealing glow. “Thank you sir.”
Feeling like she was in the middle of a James Bond movie, Jessica speared a shrimp with a slender shrimp fork and tasted, then dipped the shrimp into the sauce and took another bite. “These are delicious,” she said and watched Timmy’s smile grow still wider. “I make cold shrimp often, but with cocktail sauce with extra horseradish, or a cold mayonnaise. I’ve never made anything like this sauce. It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you. I’ve met only a few people who appreciate shrimp with mayonnaise,” Timmy said.
While they ate in silence, she watched Timmy deftly open a bottle of Dom Perignon and fill two flutes, each half full. “This meal is delightful,” Jessica said as she lifted her glass.
“And the company is a perfect complement,” Eric whispered, holding her gaze until her hand shook. He lifted his glass and touched the rim to hers, enjoying the single clear note it produced. “To an enjoyable evening, the first of many I hope.”
“To an enjoyable evening.” She sipped the wine, knowing she was already intoxicated.
When they had finished their shrimp, Timmy whisked the plates away and replaced them with larger, prearranged dinner plates. “I made cold smoked breast of duck with a chilled pasta primavera.” Moving with surprising grace for such a large man he placed a sauceboat on the blanket. “There’s a light vinaigrette for the duck.” He placed small bread plates, each with two tiny hot rolls, beside Eric and Jessica. Jessica was amazed that the surface of each butter pat was covered with a tiny staff and notes of music. “These are beautiful, Timmy,” she said.
“I enjoy doing that. You might call it a hobby of mine.”
“That’s along with cake decorating and baking the most delicious breads you’ve ever tasted.”
“Actually, I once worked as a food stylist on photos for a cookbook,” Timmy boasted, removing the champagne glasses and replacing them with white wine glasses. “I have a sauvignon blanc from Chili, 1992. It will go perfectly with the duck and was very reasonable.”
“Timmy haunts the local wine stores.”
“I found this one at Zachy’s actually. It was so well priced that I bought us a case,” Timmy said.
“Jessica?” Eric asked.
“If Timmy recommends it, how can I argue?”
Timmy beamed as he uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into Eric’s glass.
“Anyone can find a good fifty-dollar bottle of wine,” Timmy said. “I can find a good bottle of wine at under ten dollars. What do you think?”
Eric tasted and nodded. “Right as usual.”
Beaming, Timmy handed Eric the cork and half-filled each glass. “Keep the cork,” Eric said, handing it back to Timmy, “and you can recork the bottle before you leave. If we finish even half of this wine, I’ll never be able to drive home.”
As they ate, they made small talk. “Do you know why the host breaks the wine cork?” he asked.
Jessica took a sip of wine to moisten her dry mouth and tucked her legs underneath her. “I always wondered why the waiter hands it over, but I didn’t want to sound as unsophisticated as I felt so I never asked.”
“Most of these rituals are left over from the dim past when there was a real need for precautions. Now it’s mostly just snobbery and uptight people who like to make a simple glass of wine into a Japanese tea ceremony.” He reached out and Timmy handed Eric the cork which he in turn handed to Jessica, his fingers lingering on hers. “You’ll notice that the imprint of the winery is on the cork, with the year.” He laid the cork in Jessica’s palm, rubbing the rough surface along her skin. “In the olden days unscrupulous people used to fill an empty bottle with jug wine, then recork it and sell it as the expensive stuff. So, rather than break the expensive bottle so that wouldn’t happen, they broke the inexpensive cork.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” She held the cork under her nose. “Why do they smell the cork?”
“Before wine was sterilized, pasteurized, and otherwise purified, occasionally bad yeasts would get into the vats and, instead of fine wine, you’d get fine vinegar. Actually the word vinegar is from the French, vin meaning wine and agre meaning sour. And if the wine was sour, you could smell it in the cork.” Eric smiled. “These days, wine is never sour and there’s no need to smell the cork. The only ones who sniff it are those who want everyone to think they know something.” He reached over and wrapped his long fingers around Jessica’s then slowly drew the cork from her hand.
As his fingers slid from her hand, Jessica’s breath caught. She gazed at the attractive man who sat across from her, then looked at her plate. She lifted a small forkful of the duck to her mouth and tasted it, unsure of whether she’d be able to swallow. To break the tension she was feeling, she said, “This is very unusual, Timmy. I really like it.”
“I’m so glad. I didn’t know anything about you or your taste in food, so it was difficult to plan the meal.”
“Well, Timmy, I’m easy. I enjoy tasting new things and I can’t imagine anything that you created that I wouldn’t like.”
Eric gazed into her
