Dr. Rosenthal was saying, “I’m a party-crasher. May I come in, Miss Smith?”
“You’re most welcome. Someone is going to have to assure these other gentlemen that I don’t have termites in the attic; I’m depending on you, Doctor.”
The psychiatrist smiled down at her. “That is an appeal hard to resist. I must say your improvement since yesterday is astounding. You’re looking lovely—Miss Smith.”
Johann smiled and gave him her hand. Dr. Rosenthal bowed over it and kissed it—not a quick and frightened peck such as Salomon had given it, but a kiss that was soft and warm and unhurriedly sensuous. Johann felt a tingle run up her arm. (Hey, what is this?) (Stay off his couch, Boss. He’s a wolf—I can tell.)
When he straightened up he held her hand a moment longer than necessary, smiled again, then moved away. Johann thought of asking him if that was his standard way of treating patients, decided not to—but felt slightly annoyed that the other two doctors had not offered the same homage. Yonny Schmidt had been born at a time and place where hand-kissing was unheard of; Johann Smith had never taken it up; Miss Johann Smith was discovering that the silly custom was habit-forming. She felt flustered.
She was saved by another voice from the door, that of her butler. “May we serve now, Miss Smith?”
“Cunningham! It’s good to see you. Yes, you may serve.” Johann wondered who had given instructions to make the meal formal?
The butler stared over her head and said tonelessly, “Thank you, Miss.” Johann was startled. The butler, like all the male household staff (and some of the females), was sudden death armed or unarmed; his manner alone could intimidate news snoops. (The poor man is scared!) (Of course. So calm him down, Boss.)
“But first come here, Cunningham.”
“Yes, Miss.” Her household chief walked carefully toward her, stopped a very respectful distance away.
“Oh, do come closer. Look at me. Right at me, don’t turn your eyes away. Cunningham, the way I look is a shock to you. Isn’t it?”
Cunningham swallowed without speaking; his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Oh, come now,” Johann said firmly. “Of course it is. But if it upsets you, think what a shock it is to me. Until yesterday I didn’t even know that I had been turned into a woman. I’ll have to get used to it and so will you. Just remember this: Underneath I am the same cantankerous, unreasonable, unappreciative old scoundrel who hired you as a guard-footman nineteen years ago. I’ll go on expecting perfect service, notice it as little, and remember to say ‘Thank you’ as seldom. Do we understand each other?”
The butler barely smiled. “Yes, sir—I mean ‘Yes, Miss’.”
“You meant ‘Yes, sir’ but you’re going to have to learn to call me ‘Yes, Miss’ and I’m going to have to learn to expect it. We old dogs must learn new tricks. How’s Mrs.
Cunningham’s lumbago?”
“Some better, she says. Thank you, Miss.”
“Good. Tell Mary I asked. You may serve.”
The brunch was almost merry. Johann tasted the wine when Cunningham offered a sample, approved it but declined a glass herself. She barely touched it to her tongue but the flavor spread like strong brandy and she had’ been startled almost into choking by the vibrant wonder of its bouquet. Yet the bottle she recognized as that of an adequate but not spectacular Chablis. She played safe with orange juice.
Table talk was lively and directed mostly at the hostess with no reference to her status as a patient. The men seemed to vie for her attention—and Johann found that she enjoyed it. She laughed frequently, answered their sallies, and felt witty herself.
But she could see that Jake was not eating much and looked at her all the time except when she looked back… at which his gaze wavered and shifted. Poor Jake. (Eunice, what are we going to do about Jake?) (Later, Boss—one thing at a time.)
She was startled again when Cunningham came to remove her plate from her lap table—startled to see that scrambled eggs and two rolls had disappeared as well as orange juice, half a glass of milk, and one of three link sausages. “Coffee, Miss?”