“Mrs. Delacroix,” he said, “my apologies for the delay. I have the signed contract for this evening’s event, and the staff needs your approval before we bring out the next service.”
He held out the folder.
The waiter beside him moved aside. The conversation at Bernadette’s table stopped.
I took the folder but did not open it.
“Thank you, Mr. Prashad.”
Bernadette stood so quickly that her chair scraped the floor.
“Wilma, what is this?”
Mr. Prashad turned toward her. “Mrs. Delacroix is the person responsible for the event agreement.”
Bernadette looked at me. “Responsible how?”
“The contract is in her name,” he said. “Her company is underwriting the evening.”
Nobody spoke for a few seconds. I could hear the kitchen door swing shut behind me.
Bernadette gave a short laugh. “That cannot be right. The committee arranged this.”
“The committee discussed the arrangements,” Mr. Prashad said. “Mrs. Delacroix completed them.”
“You never told us.”
“That was one of her conditions.”
Bernadette’s face tightened. “Wilma, you had no right to interfere.”
“I did not interfere,” I said. “I paid the bill you were trying to reduce.”
A classmate near the table said, “You paid for all of this?”
“My company did.”
Bernadette looked around the room, as if somebody else might correct the situation for her.
“Why would you do that?”
I set the apron strings loose but left the apron on for another moment.
“Because I wanted the reunion to have the service it needed.”
“Do not pretend this is generosity.”
“I am not pretending anything.”
Her voice dropped. “You planned this.”
“I planned to attend a reunion. I also made sure the hotel was properly staffed.”
“You wanted to embarrass me.”
I looked at the people watching us. Some had been laughing when she handed me the apron. None of them were laughing now.