Summer Desserts

lovely with the kind of quiet looks that remain lovely through the years. Her pure, rich brunette hair was liberally streaked with gray, but styled in such a way that the contrasting colors enhanced her looks.
    Lillian had always had style. She’d been his partner, always, had stood up to him, stood by him. A strong woman. He’d needed a strong woman. She was the best damn first mate a man could ask for. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, quite tenderly.
    “I love you, Lily.” When she touched his cheek and smiled, he took her hand, feeling like the condemned man walking his last mile. “We’d better go. We’ll be late.”
     
    Blake hung up the phone in disgust. He was certain Summer would be back that evening. But though he’d called her apartment off and on for over an hour, there’d been no answer. He was out of patience, and in no mood to go down and be sociable in Monique’s suite. Much like his father had done, he tugged on his tie.
    When all this was over, when she was back, he was going to find a way to convince her to go away with him. He’d find that damn island in the Pacific if that’s what it took. He’d buy the damn island and set up housekeeping. Build a chain of pizza parlors or fast-food restaurants. Maybe that would satisfy the woman.
    Feeling unreasonable, and just a little mean, he strode out of the apartment.
    Monique surveyed the suite and nodded. The flowers were a nice touch—not too many, just a few buds here and there to give the rooms a whiff of a garden. A touch—only a touch of romance. The wine was chilling, the glasses sparkling in the subdued lighting. And Max had outdone himself with the hors d’oeuvres, she decided. A little caviar, a little pâté, some miniature quiches—very elegant. She must remember to pay a visit to the kitchen.
    As for herself—Monique touched a hand to the chignon at the base of her neck. Not her usual style, but she wanted to add the air of dignity. She felt the evening might call for it. But the black silk pants and off-the-shoulder blouse were sexy and chic. She simply couldn’t resist the urge to dress with a bit of flair for the part.
    The scene was set, she decided. Now it was only a matter for the players….
    The knock came. With a slow smile, Monique went toward the door. Act one was about to begin.
    “B.C.!” Her smile was brilliant, her hands thrown out to him. “How wonderful to see you again after all this time.”
    Her beauty was as stunning as ever. There was no resisting that smile. Though he’d been determined to be very aloof andvery polite, his voice warmed. “Monique, you don’t look a minute older.”
    “Always the charmer.” She laughed, then kissed his cheek before she turned to the woman beside him. “And you are Lillian. How lovely that we meet at last. B.C. has told me so much of you, I feel we’re old friends.”
    Lillian measured the woman across the threshold and lifted a brow. “Oh?”
    No fool, this one, Monique decided instantly, and liked her. “Of course, that was all so long ago, so we must get to know each other all over again. Now, please come in. B.C., you’d be kind enough to open a bottle of champagne.”
    A bundle of nerves, B.C. crossed the room to comply. A drink would be an excellent idea. He’d have preferred bourbon, straight up.
    “Of course, I’ve seen you many times,” Lillian began. “I’m sure you haven’t made a movie I’ve missed, Ms. Dubois.”
    “Monique, please.” In a simple, gracious gesture, she plucked a rosebud from a vase and handed it to Lillian. “And I’m flattered. From time to time I would retire, this last occasion has been the longest. But always, going back to the film is like going back to an old lover.”
    The cork blew out of the bottle like a missile and bounced off the ceiling. Calmly Monique slipped an arm through Lillian’s. Inside she was giggling like a girl. “Such an exciting sound, is it not? It always makes me happy to hear champagne being opened. We must have a toast, n’est-çe pas? ”
    She lifted a glass with a flourish, and looked, to Lillian’s thinking, just like the character she’d played in Yesterday’s Dream.
    “To fate, I think,” Monique decided. “And the strange way it twists us all together.” She clinked her glass against B.C.’s, then his wife’s, before drinking. “So tell me, you are still enchanted with sailing, B.C.?”
    He cleared his throat, no longer certain if he should watch his