The luncheon was almost exactly as Sue had predicted, and it was a leisurely affair, but Lucy found it surprisingly enjoyable. It was pleasant to take time over a meal and to savor each course. Somewhat surprisingly, Madame encouraged them to discuss each dish, and the conversation became quite lively as they shared favorite recipes and family traditions.

“What’s the best way to make an omelet?” asked Rachel, confessing that hers always stuck to the pan.

“You must use . . . I don’t know the English . . . la beurre,” advised Madame.

“Butter,” said Sue.

“But-tare,” she repeated, trying out the word. “Not only in the pan, but you put some in with the eggs, too.”

“Vraiment?” Sue, who watched calories with the concentration of a robin chasing a worm, was doubtful.

“Oui, absolument,” insisted Madame. “And I always beat the eggs with une fourchette.”

“A fork? Not a whisk?” asked Sue, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “What about the pan? Le Creuset?”

Now it was Madame’s turn to be surprised. “Non, non, non. Only copper. It distributes the heat evenly.”

“I guess that’s the problem,” admitted Rachel. “I’ve been using an old Teflon pan.”

“Not Teflon!” protested Pam. “You’re poisoning yourself!”

“It’s too late for me, then,” admitted Rachel. “Most of the Teflon is worn off.”

“What is this Teflon?” asked Madame, and they all laughed.

“It’s a nonstick coating on pots,” explained Lucy.

“Ah, you Americans.” Madame shook her head and clucked her tongue. “In France, but-tare is the nonstick coating.”

Lucy couldn’t remember enjoying a meal more, not even Richard’s seafood feast the night before. Then there had been more than a hint of pretension in the lavish presentation, and she’d felt guilty about the exorbitant cost. But at Madame’s table the food was not only an exhibition of their hostess’s culinary skill but also a genuine expression of her regard for them. But when it was over, after consuming two huge meals in two days, Lucy felt rather sluggish.

“Want to catch a movie?” asked Ted. “Pam and I are meeting Richard at the cinema.”

“What’s the movie?” asked Bill.

“Dunno. But Richard says it’s a must-see,” said Pam.

“Then I guess you must,” joked Lucy, who was beginning to wonder about Ted’s infatuation with his old friend and about whether Pam was growing a bit tired of it. These days it was always “Richard says this . . .” and “Richard says that . . . ,” as if Richard was the ultimate authority on everything under the sun. “I think I’d like to get some exercise, maybe walk along the quais.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Bill, turning to Sue and Sid. “Want to come?”

“No, thanks. We’re going to a concert with Bob and Rachel over at the Sainte-Chappelle.”

“How lovely. Have a good time,” said Lucy, taking Bill’s hand and strolling off with him. “Where shall we walk? The Île Saint-Louis?”