Summer Desserts

of voice, Summer knew the answer before she asked the question. “And the director?”
    “He, too, is superb. How would you feel about a new step poppa, chérie? ”
    “Resigned,” Summer said, then smiled. That was too hard a word. “Pleased, of course, if you’re happy, Mother.” She began to prepare the brown butter sauce while Monique expounded.
    “Oh, but he is brilliant and so sensitive! I’ve never met a man who so understands a woman. At last, I’ve found my perfect match. The man who finally brings everything I need and want into my life. The man who makes me feel like a woman.”
    Nodding, Summer removed the skillet from the heat and stirred in the parsley and lemon juice. “When’s the wedding?”
    “Last week.” Monique smiled brilliantly as Summer glanced up. “We were married quietly in a little churchyard outside Paris. There were doves—a good sign. I tore myself away from Keil because I wanted to tell you in person.” Stepping forward, she flashed a thin diamond-crusted band. “Elegant, oui? Keil doesn’t believe in the—how do you say?—ostentatious.”
    So, for the moment, neither would Monique DuBois LyndonSmith Clarion Morrison. She supposed, when the news broke, the glossies and trades would have a field day. Monique would eat up every line of publicity. Summer kissed her mother’s cheek. “Be happy, ma mère. ”
    “I’m ecstatic. You must come to California and meet my Keil, and then—” She broke off as the knock interrupted her. “Ah, this must be your dinner guest. Shall I answer for you?”
    “Please.” With the tongue caught between her teeth, Summer poured the sauce over the suprêmes. She’d serve them within five minutes or dump them down the sink.
    When the door opened, Blake was treated to a slightly more voluptuous, slightly more glossy, version of Summer. The candlelight disguised the years and enhanced the classic features. Her lips curved slowly, in the way her daughter’s did, as she offered her hand.
    “Hello, Summer is busy in the kitchen. I’m her mother, Monique.” She paused a moment as their hands met. “But you are familiar to me, yes. But yes!” she continued before Blake could speak. “The Cocharan House. You are the son—B.C.’s son. We’ve met before.”
    “A pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Dubois.”
    “This is odd, oui? And amusing. I stay in your hotel while in Philadelphia. Already my bags are checked in and my bed turned down.”
    “You’ll let me know personally if there’s anything I can do for you while you stay with us.”
    “Of course.” She studied him in the brief but thorough way a woman of experience has. Like mother, like daughter, she mused. Each had excellent taste. “Please, come in. Summer isputting the finishing touches on your meal. I’ve always admired her skill in the kitchen. Myself, I’m helpless.”
    “Diabolically helpless,” Summer put in as she entered with the hot platter. “She always made sure she burned things beyond recognition, and therefore, no one asked her to cook.”
    “An intelligent move, to my thinking,” Monique said easily. “And now, I’ll leave you to your dinner.”
    “You’re welcome to join us, Mother.”
    “Sweet.” Monique framed Summer’s face in her hands and kissed both cheeks again. “But I need my beauty rest after the long flight. Tomorrow, we catch up, non? Monsieur Cocharan, we will all have dinner at your wonderful hotel before I go?” In her sweeping way, she was at the door. “Bon appétit.”
    “A spectacular woman,” Blake commented.
    “Yes.” Summer went back to the kitchen for the rest of the meal. “She continually amazes me.” After placing the vegetables on the table, she picked up her glass. “She’s just taken her fourth husband. Shall we drink to them?”
    He began to remove the foil from the bottle, but her tone had him pausing. “A bit cynical?”
    “Realistic. In any case, I do wish her happiness.” When he removed the cork, she took it and absently waved it under her nose. “And I envy her perennial optimism.” After both glasses were filled, Summer touched hers to his. “To the new Mrs. Morrison.”
    “To optimism,” Blake countered before he drank.
    “If you like,” Summer said with a shrug as she sat. She transferred one of the suprêmes from the platter to his plate. “Unfortunately the calf’s brains looked poor today, so we have to settle for chicken.”
    “A pity.” The first bite was tender