Midnight in Brussels (6 page)

So Amanda felt like she was going to Bruges for her mother, too. She thought about the elaborate embroidery her mother used to do. She’d mend and sew clothes for people to put food on the table, had taught Amanda how to sew and embroider. Inez did housekeeping for the more fortunate people who lived in Mountain Home, and she cleaned the doctor’s office on Sundays. She never had a day off to spend with her two daughters.

At night, after a long day of laborious work, she’d lie down, exhausted, and would fall asleep till morning and then start the same thing all over again – seven days a week. Amanda remembered sitting and watching her sleep at night. She’d touch her mama’s pulse, wondering if she was still alive because she slept so quiet and sound, and that was before she had leukemia.

“Here you go, Mr. Miller. A double Scotch.”

“Thank you. It’s Richard, remember?”

“Oh, right. Okay. Richard.” She gave him a broad smile and batted her eyelashes.
There you go, that should keep you and Frenchie happy.

“How about going to lunch with me tomorrow, Amanda? There’s an early Christmas Eve party at the Pyrenees, a late lunch, and I’d like to take you.” His smiling, blue, sparkling eyes locked onto hers.

“Uh, well, I don’t think─” she blushed and stepped back, suddenly panicking. Was he asking her out on a date?

“Go with me. I’m a good guy. You don’t have to worry. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

“I don’t know. I─I’ll have to think about it.” She hurried off to the kitchen.

In a quick movement, Frenchie followed Amanda. “Amanda, you should go with him. He told me he was interested in you, and he’s not married.”

“But I’m married!”

“I know, ma chère, but you must think about your future. What will it hurt to go to lunch with him? Let him grow on you. Lance and I are going to be at the Pyrenees, too. And so are some of the other customers that come in here, so you’ll know a lot of the people. Hasn’t Paula mentioned it to you? I think she and Drake are going.”

“I haven’t talked to Paula in over a week.”

“Well, you must go with him, ma petite. Tell him you will.” She reached up and gently patted Amanda’s cheek. “He won’t bite. Give him a chance, yes?”

Amanda had mixed emotions. Her brow furrowed as she thought about the possibility. Yes, he was a very attractive man, someone she would have never in her whole life had dreamed she could ever be with. He was so out of her class. He seemed kind and gentle, polite, attentive, successful, sexy … older and wiser … sexy …

Chapter 9

There was a knock at her door. Amanda stood still, wondering if she was doing the right thing. It bothered her that technically she was still married, even though it had been a year since Arlie had disappeared, and here she was going on a date with an older man she didn’t know from beans.

He knocked again, louder.

She grabbed her fleece-lined denim jacket and purse and opened the door. “Hi, I’m ready.”

“Good, shall we?” Richard held out his hand and took hers as she stepped out the door and down the steps.

His touch sent a thrill through her.

“This is a lovely little house, reminds me of the cottages in England,” he remarked.

“You’ve been to England?”

“Yes, I have.” He placed his hand in the small of her back as they walked to the curb and to his navy blue Cadillac.

“I’m going to Bruges.”

“Bruges?”

“Yes, it’s in Belgium.” She stepped into the car, relieved that he wasn’t touching her anymore. He closed the door behind her.

“So, you’re going to Belgium?” he asked with a grin as he slid into the seat next to her and started up the engine, pulling away from the curb.

“I’m saving my money to go. I just about have it all now.”

“That’s one place I’ve never been. But I hear Bruges is a very romantic city. It’s Belgium’s Venice because of all the waterways.”

“I know.”

“What about the real Venice? Have you thought about going there?”

“No. I’ve read about it and all, but I’m drawn to Bruges. So that’s where I’m going. Nothin’s gonna change my mind about that either.” She said it with such finality, the dialogue stopped.

They rode along in awkward silence. Richard was in deep thought about the beautiful young woman sitting next to him. Not only was she perfect on the outside, he suspected she was perfect on the inside. She was too young to have been tainted by the wiles and whims of men, too young to have been subjected to the deceiving, clever workings of the world. At least he hadn’t seen the familiar signs of callousness and cynicism that he usually found in most of the women he came into contact with on a daily basis.

A great big plus was she hadn’t come onto him like other women when they found out he had money. He figured Frenchie must have told her about his financial status. He’d even asked Frenchie out on a date when they’d first met five years earlier. He’d been instantly attracted to her wide smile; her short, stylish, black hair; her big dark eyes and sun-tanned skin; and her adorable Frenchness. She turned him down, though. Said she was too busy to be dating, and she meant it. He’d been disappointed at the time. But now, he felt he’d stumbled upon a treasure in Amanda, and he truly wanted her.

Amanda’s long legs were shapely in a pair of designer blue jeans. Of course he didn’t know she’d purchased them at the thrift store for only two dollars.

She also wore a yellow cashmere turtleneck sweater she’d borrowed from Paula. He noticed it fit her loosely, not the usual skin-tight sweater that most young women would squeeze into for effect.

“What is the perfume you’re wearing? It smells delicious.”

“Avon’s Honeysuckle.”

He was impressed that she was wearing Avon and proud of it in a time when women were flaunting designer perfumes. “You not only smell good, you look good, Amanda. Yellow suits you.”

She blushed and looked away from him out of the passenger window. “It’s one of my favorite colors. I like purple, too.”

“It was like we planned it, we match,” he added.

“I know. How weird is that?” She laughed as she took a closer look at his pale yellow sweater vest and blue plaid western shirt neatly tucked into his belted blue jeans.

He grinned as their gaze met. “Blonds must like yellow and blue, I guess.”

“Yep, I guess so.”

Chapter 10

The Basque bars and restaurants in Bakersfield were well known and always packed with patrons coming from all over the valley. Usually dinner was the only meal that was served at the Pyrenees in east Bakersfield, with two seatings – early and late, the exception being on Christmas Eve when the late lunch was added. The food was excellent and it was indeed like a huge family party, whether or not you knew the people sitting next to you.

The Woolgrowers, another popular Basque restaurant and bar that Richard frequented, normally served lunch as well as dinner, but it didn’t have the same setup as the Pyrenees. Dinner at Woolgrowers was served at separate tables like any restaurant, at any hour, not just two seatings. But it still served family-style in tureens, bowls, and on platters.

Richard held Amanda’s hand as they entered the Pyrenees bar. He commented as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, “Bakersfield is known as the Basque gourmet capital of the U.S., Amanda. Just a little tidbit of information for you, in case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know, but then how would I? I know nothing about the Basque people or Bakersfield.” She smiled at him.

He returned the smile and added, “Well, the Basque emigrated from the Pyrenees region near the Bay of Biscayne of Southern France and Northern Spain. They settled here in the San Joaquin Valley as sheepherders and ranch hands, and it didn’t take them long to open up traditional Basque restaurants like this one. California has the highest population of Basques than any other state, as a matter of fact, and it has a major wool-growing industry because of the Basque people.”

The daughter of the proprietor came from around the crowded bar to greet them. “So good to see you, Richard. Just two, this afternoon?”

“That’s right. Did we make it in time for the Christmas lunch?”

“You just made it. Another five minutes and we would have had to turn you away.” She grinned and motioned him to follow her.

He knew she was teasing him.

They followed her across the dark bar’s worn wooden-planked floor past the ornately carved bar through a single doorway leading into the backroom which was as large as the bar room. Curtained windows were on the two outside perimeter walls; the kitchen and the bar butted up against the two inside walls.

There were two long rows of wooden picnic-style tables lined up, end to end, from the front to the far back window wall. Chairs full of diners were already seated at the tables that were covered with white tablecloths. Platters and tureens of food were being placed for the diners to pass from one person to another. Open bottles of wine were plentiful, spaced for the patrons to pour into small glass tumblers, not typical wine glasses - true Basque style.

This particular meal on every Christmas Eve was a special time, a celebratory annual event. Later on in the evening, Christmas tamales would be served in the bar to the drinking patrons. So it was an event for all at the Pyrenees.

Normally, meals at the Pyrenees and other Basque restaurants included soup, salad, beans, French fries, wine, and coffee, plus several entrees and side dishes. Entrees offered might include steak, lamb, pork, chicken and seafood dishes. Side dishes would feature sweetbreads, tongue stew, lamb stew, paella, oxtail stew, and many family-owned recipes handed down through the ages. Dessert was usually limited to ice cream, fruit and hard cheese, Gastaeu Basque (a rolled cake with luscious filling) was a favorite, and of course, there would be flan.

Amanda had never experienced such a friendly dining atmosphere. She was stunned by the camaraderie between people who had never met before and were sitting next to or across from each other and acting as if they were old friends. She waved at Frenchie who blew her a kiss from where she was sitting at the end of the other row of tables. Paula and Drake weren’t there. They’d stayed at home since Paula wasn’t feeling well.

Richard grinned as he watched Amanda’s reaction to the Basque feeding process. He was sitting across from her, sipping his red wine from the short glass.

“This is so different, ain’t it?” she asked in a quiet voice as she leaned toward him across the table.

“You mean the number of people all dining together?”

“Yes. I ain’t—I mean, I haven’t seen anything like this before. And the food, there’s so much of it.”

“There’s another Basque house a block down the street called Noriega’s. We’ll go down there and have a drink afterwards so you can see it, too.”

“Is it the same as this one?”

“Pretty much. Only it has a handball court out back.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not. Anyone can play on it and when the Swiss Olympic team was touring they dropped by and played. It was quite an event for the regulars. There are a lot of Italian-Swiss residents in Bakersfield, too, who come to these places.”

“I’d like to go to Italy and Switzerland some day. Have you been there?”

“Yes, I have. Both are incredible. I prefer Switzerland, though … it has the Jung Frau which contains the highest peak in Europe. And then there’s Zurich, the lakes, the train rides up the mountains, cog trains—”

“What’s a cog train?”

A short, older man wearing a Christmas tie and white shirt and a white apron reached over Amanda’s shoulder. “Here you are, my friend. Your lamb chops, just as you like. Bon appetit!”

“Joe, those look perfect! Thank you.” Richard reached for the platter and forked two of them onto Amanda’s plate. “Joe cooks these for me. They’re not on the regular menu, but I have to have them every time I come here. He makes a special garlic butter paste and smears it on them. Wait till you taste these, you won’t believe it.”