darkness of the hotel room revealed nothing about who or where she was, and it took her a moment to remember her identity and circumstances. Then she heard the knocking again. Oh, she thought, it must be room service with my dinner. She reached out and turned on the nearest bedside lamp.
Come in, she called, but her voice sounded feeble, unused, so she repeated herself.
I would if I could but I can’t, a voice called through the door. A woman’s voice. The damn door’s locked!
The woman drew back the covers and got out of the bed. She felt dizzy, so she stood for a moment, with one hand pressed tightly against the faux-brick wall. Then, when she felt able to, she walked across the room and opened the door. It was dark in the hallway—it seemed to be dark everywhere in this hotel—but in the gloom she could see Livia Pinheiro-Rima standing and holding a tray.
I’ve got your supper here, Livia Pinheiro-Rima said, and pushed past the woman into the room. Where should I put it? Without waiting for an answer, she lowered the tray onto the bed and then wrung her hands together, as if they were sore from carrying it. Your husband’s gone out to dinner, she said, so I intercepted the swarthy youth they sent up because I thought you might like to see a friendly face, stuck up here all by yourself.
The woman remained standing by the open door. A friendly face? she asked.
Well, a familiar face, if nothing else. Or maybe not. Don’t you remember me? I’m the woman who saved you from freezing to death last night when you ran out of the hotel in your skivvies. If that’s not friendly, I don’t know what is.
Yes, said the woman. Of course. I just didn’t expect to see you again.
Really? Not ever again?
Well, not up here, said the woman. With the tray.
You’ve got to learn to take things at they come, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. That’s one thing I’ve learned. Now come, back into bed with you before you freeze to death. We’ll pretend you’re a little girl in the nursery and I’m your beloved old nanny. That should be a comfort to both of us, I imagine. Into bed, my poppet!
Although the woman had no desire to indulge this fantasy of Livia Pinheiro-Rima’s, she was cold and tired and so dutifully returned to the bed, and in this way temporarily forfeited her rights to a rational existence.
There’s a good girl, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. Now let’s see what Cook’s sent up for our supper. She removed the two silver domes from the dishes on the tray and exclaimed, Lucky girl, it’s your absolute favorites! Cock-a-leekie Soup and Toad-in-the-Hole! Let’s get this soup in your tummy while it’s still piping hot.
Livia Pinheiro-Rima replaced the dome on top of one dish and carried the bowl of soup, a spoon, and a large white cloth napkin around the bed to where the woman lay. You’ll have to sit up, my dear; you can’t eat soup lying down like that. Let’s prop you up and make you comfy cozy. She put the things she carried down on the bedside table and helped the woman sit up, placing the pillows behind her back, and drew the blankets tightly up and around her. There we are, she said. She sat down on the bed and tucked the napkin into the neck of the woman’s underwear so that it fell down over the gold coverlet. Then she picked up the bowl of soup. She paddled the spoon through the soup and then lifted it out of the bowl and said, Open up.
I can feed myself, said the woman.
You keep your little mitts beneath the blankets where they belong, said Livia Pinheiro-Rima. Ouvre la bouche, mon petit chat.
The woman opened her mouth and was fed the soup. It’s good, she said.
Of course it’s good. Do you think I’d feed you bad soup? Ouvre. The woman opened her mouth and was fed more soup. She realized she quite liked being fed soup while snuggled up in bed in the dim pink-lighted room with the snow falling outside the curtained windows. It was the warmest and safest she had felt in days.
When the bowl of soup was finished, Livia Pinheiro-Rima pulled the napkin out and wiped the woman’s lips. Then she re-tucked it beneath her chin. Ready for our Toad-in-the-Hole?
Yes, said the woman.
Yes, what?
Yes, please, said the woman.
There’s a good girl.
Livia Pinheiro-Rima returned the empty soup