Fudging the Books (32 page)

Grandmère squinted. “Is she not here to attend the brain trust?”

“She’s not on the list of attendees. I’ve got to meet her.”

“You have read all her works,
non
?” Grandmère mimed opening a book. “
Sont-ils de bons livres?
”

“Yes, they are very good books.
C’est fantastique
.” Occasionally my grandparents resorted to their native tongue. “She is very knowledgeable.” Lara Berry was the go-to cheese maven for American cheeses. “I’ve seen her on talk shows, too. She has quite a sharp sense of humor.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“
Bon
. Then it will not matter that she is bossy.”

“Bossy?”

“
Oui
. Bossy. This is the correct word. She barks orders.” This coming from my grandmother, who could bark with the best of them. Some called her
the little general
.

“Was Prudence being rude to her?” I asked. Prudence Hart, a woman with very strong opinions, was the owner of La Chic Boutique. She could rub people the wrong way.

“Perhaps.” Grandmère chuckled. “Lara would not back down.”

“Good for her.” I appreciated a woman who could stand her ground.

The door to the shop flew open again. The chimes jangled. Matthew, my cousin, who reminded me of a Great Dane puppy mixed with a sheepdog, all arms and legs with a hank of hair invariably dangling down his forehead into his eyes, raced in. “Have you heard?”

I nodded. “That Lara Berry is in town? Yes.” Lara not only knew her cheeses; she also knew wine. Her latest book,
Educate Your Palate: A Connoisseur’s Guide to American Cheese and Wine
, was a must-read for people like Matthew and me. Thanks to Lara’s research, I had discovered a wealth of new farms and creameries that put out excellent artisanal cheeses. Matthew had learned about a number of independent wineries, citing from Lara’s book that at the turn of the century there
had been about two thousand wineries in America; now there were over eight thousand. “Grandmère saw her—”

“No,” Matthew cut me off. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Have you heard about Meredith?” His wife and my best friend. “She’s pregnant!”

“What? You’re kidding.” I did a happy jig. “How far along is she?”

“Three months.”

I stopped dancing. “Three months and neither of you said a word to me?”

“She thought if she said something, she might jinx it. We’ve been trying. She lost one last year.”

“She what?” I yelped. She hadn’t confided in me? What kind of friend was she? What kind of friend was I not to have sensed her pain?

Matthew shrugged. “What can I say? Everyone’s got a
secret.”

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