He nodded, his eyes narrowing somewhat, perhaps with humor. “You’ve just confirmed it.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Monsieur Giraud,” he said. “There was nothing sinister, I assure you, in the question. It was mere conjecture.”
“But how . . . ?”
“Simplicity itself. It’s clear that you are a man of taste regarding your palate. Your clothing further bespeaks a certain degree of wealth, and your accent—indeed, even the way you hold a wineglass—betrays good breeding. Finally, your coloring is pale.”
“Yes?”
“Surely that is enough.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
He ticked off the steps of his deduction with the fingers of his right hand. “First, you can afford a chef. Second, you would demand fine meals, especially at home. Third, if you yourself spent the required amount of time behind a hot stove, your complexion would be ruddy like my own. It is not. Ergo, you have a chef.”
“You’re very astute,” I said.
He waved it off. “It’s nothing. Child’s play. Literally, in my case. My father was something of a stickler for such matters. I’ve kept it up as a hobby, more or less. Just now I made an educated guess, and your reaction confirmed it. True deduction is a closed system—it confirms itself.”
“Still, I’m impressed.”
“Well, then perhaps you’ll permit me to impress you with my small skills as a chef. Would you care to lunch?” The eyes were sharp now, though the face was relaxed and friendly.
“It’s rather early,” I said, hesitating a moment.
He continued. “Egg of pigeon poached in red wine, escargots, rognons aux fines herbes, all accompanied by the finest wine on the Côte du Rhone, served at the chef’s table.”
“It is a great temptation,” I said. “You, of course, though you haven’t said it, would greatly appreciate an introduction to a certain local brewer I mentioned.”
He smiled. “Your deduction, though obvious, is flawless.”
“And your discretion?”
“Unimpeachable.”
I walked back to him.
“At what time shall we eat?” I asked. Later I would recognize that slight turn of the lips as a beaming smile.
“We can begin immediately, if you’d like to come down to the kitchen.”
“Gladly.”
We crossed through the tables to a door that didn’t leave much room to spare for us and opened it. A short stairway led to the kitchen. He stopped at the bottom.
“And the introduction?”
“Pardon?”
“To the brewer?”
“Ah yes. You’ve already met him.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”
I nodded. “A vôtre service.”
