Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,61
Charlotte. My husband does this all the time. Our cooking school would be more successful if there weren’t so many one-star reviews on TripAdvisor about him not bothering to learn students’ names.”
“That may be more information than . . . our new friend needs.” Now Charlotte can see the sadness beneath Basil’s maddening qualities. It’s also Ernesto’s sadness. He loves Basil and is struggling to cope with his memory deficits. His forgetting Charlotte’s name really isn’t personal.
“I was so hoping to run into you here. And where is your darling sister-in-law?” He looks past Charlotte into the party.
“Ruth’s not my sister-in-law,” Charlotte says. “She’s my brother’s girlfriend. She stepped out for a minute. She’ll be right back.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I have a very—very—strange thing to tell you. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m sure it’s a mistake. But last night . . . I happened to talk to my old friend, the Baroness Frieda’s accountant. I told him I’d run into a former employee of the baroness. I told him her name, I described her. I assumed he’d know her. He’s been with the baroness forever. He basically lives at her house, that’s how often she demands his physical presence.
“Well, here’s the strange part: He’d never heard of your sister-in-law. He didn’t recognize her description. He never had her name on a payroll, never cut a check with her name on it. So I sent him the picture that Lydia took of us. And he swore he’d never seen her before. Isn’t that peculiar?”
Why is Chef Basil telling Charlotte this? Does he want her to doubt Ruth’s credentials as a former abused employee of the Baroness Frieda? Does he relish the possibility that his accountant friend’s memory is as bad as his? There’s a chance that he’s trying to sow suspicion and discord in the family. But that seems like the least likely possibility.
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,” Charlotte says.
“I’m sure there’s a very simple explanation,” says Ernesto. “Which is that poor dear Basil has no idea what that girl’s name is.”
“Ruth,” protests Basil. “Her name’s Ruth. Carla just said Ruth. And what about the photo? I sent him her picture.”
By now the patio is crowded, and with the party swirling around her, Charlotte doesn’t have time to consider the fact that a man with a memory problem has just told her that his friend can’t remember meeting her so-called sister-in-law.
Still, it is unsettling. The black mark beside Ruth’s name is getting darker.
Across the courtyard, Charlotte’s mother is sitting on top of a picnic table, surrounded by fascinated listeners. How can this be the same woman who made Charlotte take care of Rocco while she played the tragic abandoned wife? How can this be the person who burned down their house and almost killed Rocco?
Charlotte says, “Try the cheese-and-green-chili tamales. They’re the best.”
“Oh, yes,” says Basil. “I know the woman who makes them—Estella. They are the most delicious in Oaxaca. And believe me, Carol, the bar is set pretty high for that.
“Ta-ta,” says Basil, and as he walks away, it occurs to Charlotte that he remembers the name of the woman who makes the tamales—and not hers. But of course he and Estella live here. Charlotte is the outsider who will be gone by tomorrow night.
Rocco and Reyna are chatting in a corner of the courtyard. Daisy has sidled over to them and is leaning against him. Rocco and Reyna are smiling and nodding. Rocco looks relaxed and—
Of course it’s just at that moment that Ruth arrives.
The air around her crackles. Ruth looks semi-demonic, like one of those Satan-haunted girls in horror films whose heads spin on their necks. She’s holding a large package in front of her as she struts through the crowd and places herself squarely between Rocco and Reyna.
“I’m Ruth,” she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Rocco’s fiancée.”
Charlotte reaches them in time to hear Reyna say, “Rocco’s told me so much about you. He’s been telling me what a wonderful time you both are having in Oaxaca.”
By now the party guests notice: Something’s going on. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Mom charges through the space that opens up around her.
Ruth wheels around to face Mom. “Happy birthday!” She thrusts the package at Mom.
“Thank you,” says Mom. “I’ll just put it on the table with the other presents, even though I insisted there be no presents. I remember saying that any gift would be given to the poor. I’m still