“Best of luck—with that idea,” Gabe managed with a sickly grin.
“Well, listen to you, huffing and puffing. I might as well be tagging along with a rusty old locomotive. This can’t be a good idea, Dr. Havers. Much more, and I shall deprive myself of your company so that you can return home.”
“Never mind. We’re here.”
“Here” turned out to be Turnabout’s finest eating establishment, The Rouge in the Drinkwater Hotel. Someone kindly opened the do
or, since Gabriel, in his weakened state, was unable to manage that feat; and inside they went. Although the hour was too early for the noon meal, a few waiters were wandering around, setting up tables and spreading fresh linens.
To Hannah’s continued amazement (this seemed to be a day for amazing things), Linus Drinkwater himself greeted them. “Welcome, Doctor. It’s good to see you up on your own feet.”
“Howdy, Linus. Yeah, I figured it was time I saw the town from a standin’ position. You got things ready?”
Beaming, Linus smoothed his handlebar mustache. “I certainly do. Right this way, please. I’ve provided a nice quiet corner for you, with a privacy screen.”
Since Gabriel had the use of only one wing, as he described it, the hotelier and an assistant were quick to accept their wraps and hats, pull Hannah’s chair out, and offer her a napkin, a menu, and a question about tea.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll both have tea.” Himself seated, Gabriel impatiently waved the man away. “A full teapot, lots of cream and sugar, okay? Then leave us alone for a while.”
“By all means.” The beam did not diminish, but only grew more expansive.
He merely smiled, as innocent as a newborn babe.
“What’s going on?” she asked with a grin.
“Why, Hannah, how distrustful you are! Can’t a gentleman take a lady out to eat at a nice place?”
“I do thank you. But what is it that you want to discuss alone?”
“You look beautiful.”
“Distraction from my question.”
He softly touched her hand. “Do you know how truly beautiful you really are?”
She grinned. “I love complements. Thank you. I’m not used to this kind of attention.”
“I could go on all day. Oh, here’s our tea,” he diverged, looking up at the server’s appearance, and a soft clink of china. “Will you pour?”
It was while they were sipping from the lovely fragile cups (reminiscent of those beautiful sets at Abigail’s Table) that he laid the first bombshell upon her.
“You got another telegram on Monday?”
The spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the saucer. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, I might’ve been abed, Miss Burton, but I’m aware of what goes on in this town. People tell me things.”
“Gossip, huh?”
“Another delay takin’ place?”
Flushing slightly, she shifted in her chair. The seat was nicely padded, upholstered in red velvet, but its texture had suddenly become less than comfortable, and she wanted nothing more than to leave it. “Yes. Unavoidable, if you must know.”
“Oh, well, then, that makes it all right. S’pose he apologized, too, this man of your dreams.”
“As a matter of fact,” she replied coldly, lifting her chin, “he did.”
“Ahuh. Does he like cats?”