Murder at the Hall

By Robert L. Jackowski

Aimee had an unhappy childhood, and an even unhappier marriage to a jock. She decided to join a Theater Repertory Group, where she met Henri. He became enamored with her and made up his mind to make her his own. He had no wish for Aimee to be involved in a public and lengthy divorce, where his and her reputations could be questioned and jeopardize his business and social arrangements. He decided to end her marriage to the jock, and felt that a divorce would complicate his life and take too long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489726940

Robert L. Jackowski

Bob Jackowski is a retired financial executive during which he met many characters that could be fictionalized. He is a native New Yorker who currently lives in Simpsonville, SC.

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CHAPTER 1

AIMEE NOW

It’s a dark, gloomy day, typical of April in Paris, and perfect for a funeral. In Ernest Hemingway’s former apartment, 113 Rue Notre Dame-des-Champs, that her husband insisted on buying, and which is hers now. Aimee rises from their double bed, remembering that Henri wouldn’t allow even a queen sized bed, because he wanted her close and accessible. But this will no longer be. He died in her loving arms, in this bed, only three nights ago.

She knows she must get dressed, because it is getting late. She must be on time, indeed, a bit early, at Hotel des Invalades, for the burial of her husband, Henri Jacoben, who was one of France’s most distinguished authors, screenwriters, and producers. He was a Chevalier des Amis, and this allowed the internment of his ashes near Napoleon’s sarcophagus.

While tears glisten in the corners of her hazel eyes, a smile is beginning to emerge as she recalls her husband’s desire to be known as Hitch, after the Englishman, Alfred Hitchcock. Henri, while fifteen years older than she, always made her laugh, particularly when she was annoyed. She removes her nightgown, Hitch’s favorite, naughty and black, and remembers how she and he enjoyed undressing for bed. She looks at her reflection in the full length double, gilt mirror. Critically she appraises herself. Not bad for a sixty-five year old, only a minor lift here and there is needed. Hitch always insisted that she look her best, and she promises herself that she would make an appointment with Doctor Germaine Rene, a world renowned plastic surgeon. Hitch would like that, she mused.

Marie, her personal maid, enters the bedroom without knocking. Aimee is no longer shocked or embarrassed at having Marie see her nude.

Smiling, Aimee recalls the first time Marie entered her boudoir unannounced and saw her naked. She started to instruct Marie to knock first and ask for permission to enter, but Marie interrupted her, and simply said: Madame, I am your personal assistant in all respects. I am here to help you choose your under and outer garments, assist with your makeup, and perfect your French, with the proper accent. Marie graduated from the Sorbonne with honors and chose to become a part of Hitch’s household staff in return for a small salary, living quarters, and most importantly, Hitch’s tutelage in the literary arts.

Properly cowed, Aimee became a good student, but her South Carolina drawl, and mixing in English with her French, when excited, caused many of Hitch’s friends and associates to be bemused when talking with her. Marie, however, was always encouraging, and became her confidante and her best amie.

Ah memories, Aimee murmured aloud. I could spend hours, no days, no months, no years remembering my time with Henri. But, I must get dressed. Marie asks: Madame, do you need my assistance? No merci, smiling at Marie and her fractured use of the melodious French language despite living in Paris for the past twenty years or so.

Both women smile at Aimee’s selections. The black lacy thong and bra were Hitch’s favorites because they left little to the imagination. The black garter belt and silk stockings were laying next to the other lingerie. Grinning, Aimee recalls Hitch having a tantrum when she first undressed for him. Non, Non, ma Aimee, pantyhose detracts from your allure! Next evening Hitch presented her with gift boxes from Chanel, a size 4 mini cocktail dress, a demi-bra from Juliana Rae, labeled Indulgence, a garter belt, titled Coquette from Crazy Heels, silk stockings from CervinParis. All were black. She noticed that there were no panties but inspected the garter belt and saw that none were needed because the design included a thong. Men, She laughed.

Marie, please bring me cafe americain, and deux chocolate croissants, in her fractured French, which brought a smile to both. This was Hitch’s preferred petite dejeuner.

Alone again, at least temporarily, Aimee picks up her lingerie, and dons the lacy matching black bra. Next, comes the black garter belt followed by the silk stockings. Glancing in the mirror, she nods, knowing that Hitch would approve.

Marie reenters the boudoir bearing a silver tray. Marie eyes her critically, and smiles her approval. She places the tray on the small table in front of the mirror where the unmade bed is reflected. Marie states: Madame you look beautiful. Monsieur was a lucky man.

Aimee, grinning, says, Marie, I told you many a time, to call me Aimee, especially when we are in private, but Marie states, Not today. You need to be formal and correct for this ceremony. If you insist, Marie, but I insist that you accompany me, whether as ma amie or aide. Your Choice. She has grown accustomed to Marie’s attention to the nuances of French society.

The silver, French Press is emitting a delicious aroma of dark, French roast coffee and cognac which complement the salivating smell of heated, chocolate croissants. The coffee cup is a common, white porcelain mug, which was the first purchase that Hitch and she made at Les Halles, when they moved to Paris. Poignantly, the twin cup is missing.

Marie says, Madame, we must hurry now, I will get Monsieur’s favorite dress for you, the black mini with the deep, lacy décolletage. You can use the black mantilla to cover up.

Aimee applies her lipstick, and uses her eyeliner to complement her large, hazel eyes. No other makeup was needed. She then placed a drop of Chanel behind each ear, between her breasts, and just below her naval, just as Hitch insisted upon and liked. Marie helps her put on the dress, and then brushes and combs Aimee’s auburn, undyed hair. A simple double strand of black pearls and earrings complete the ensemble. Marie advises that Aimee wear only the three inch high heels, because the length of the ceremony will require standing for long periods of time.

Aimee and Marie are ready to leave. Suddenly, trumpets disturb the quiet. The funeral entourage has arrived. Marie helps Aimee with her shawl and takes the cylinder, which was actually a humidor presented by the Managing Director of Corona, Cuba’s premier cigar manufacturing company. The steel container was enameled in black and embossed in gold, with images of the Director, Henri and his favorite cigar roller, Pedro. Now, it contained Henri’s ashes and one cigar. These will be interred at Hotel des Invalades.

The cortege consists of a gleaming black open carriage, with the hallmark of the Chevaliers des Amis adorning the doors. A footman and driver are wearing black suits with the crest of the Order on their left breasts. The escort consist of four Knights in their all black regalia which includes capes and chapeaux adorned by all black plumes, and of course, their sabers in their black hilts. All are mounted on matching black stallions who stand 15 hands. They are led by their Grand Master, Charles Dupres, whose black attire is trimmed in gold, befitting his rank. His mount is a Gold Palomino who dwarfs the other horses. He and Henri were lifelong friends.

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CHAPTER 2

THE FUNERAL

The footman escorts M Dupres to the front door, and rings the doorbell three times, in accordance with custom. Nothing happens, because Henri disabled the bell, which he considered annoying. The Grand Master chuckled. Use the Brass Knocker to knock three times, he ordered, and the door was immediately opened by Marie, who presented the humidor to the footman who placed it in the specially prepared urn that will be interred at Les Invalades. The groom did an about face and proceeded to the carriage, followed by Marie. M Dupres stood at attention waiting for Aimee.

Aimee, nervously approaches the doorway. Dupres bows and kisses Aimee’s hand. He holds onto her because he senses her instability. He offers Aimee his arm and escorts her to the waiting carriage, while the head maid, Renee, closes the front door quietly. He and Aimee sit next to each other, facing forward. Marie, sitting opposite, is quietly sobbing. The gold stallion is harnessed to the lead carriage horse.

Dupres gives the signal to proceed, and eerily, the only sound to be heard is the striking of the hooves on the pavement, in synchrony. The neighborhood sidewalks are filled with friends and those who are merely curious, but all is silent to show respect for the passing of one of France’s most modern literary personages, and his widow.

All streets are devoid of traffic, by order of Mayor Robert Beauchamps, another friend of Henri’s. The funeral route takes them past Notre Dame, the Parthenon. Musee d’Orsay, and after an hour and a half, they arrive at Hotel des Invalides. During this time, silence reigned, interrupted by only occasional sobs of Aimee and Marie.

The Honor Guard dismounts and grooms appear immediately to take charge of the horses. The Knights line up, two on each side of the steps, stand at attention and draw their swords. They extend their arms horizontally with the blades pointed towards the sky.

The Grand Master alights from the carriage, and assists Aimee, who is trembling. Dupres again offers his arm, and Aimee smiles slightly in gratitude. They proceed to the steps, followed by Marie and the footman who is carrying the custom urn that accommodates the cigar box of Hitch’s ashes and favorite cigar.

As Aimee, the Grand Master, Marie and the footman pass by the Knights, they lower their swords to a 45 degree angle, honoring their deceased Brother.

The interior of Les Invalades is well lit today in contrast to the usual, subdued lighting. The Maitre d’hôtel, Francois de Chalet, greets the cortege as they approach Napoleon’s coffin. A black dais, trimmed in gold, with a throne for Grand Master Dupres, with a plush, black velvet chair for Aimee, on his right are the only seats there. A black lectern is to Dupres’ left, and to his right, a five foot black marble pedestal bearing the urn containing Hitch’s ashes. Facing them are twenty cushioned black chairs for Marie, of course, and for the many dignitaries who have assembled to honor this literary giant. Because of the security details for the French President and the Prime Ministers of France and Great Britain, and the Vice-President of the United States, there was no room for the public.

The speeches droned on and on. Aimee forced herself to listen intently, but found it difficult not to yawn, because, after all, they were eulogizing her husband. After each speaker finished, he or she approached Aimee. All bowed as they paid their respects to the beautiful widow in black.

Finally, after three hours of these orations, the moment of internment arrived.

The Knights form up along the aisle on whose flanks the resting places of Napoleon’s son, l’Aiglon and Marshall Foch of World War One fame, leading to the Chappell de Ste. Theresa, where Henri’s ashes will be encrypted in a wall near the heart of Vaubon who designed Les Invalides. The Chevaliers’ sabers are drawn, with arms, again, stretched horizontally and swords pointed skyward.

The footman approaches the dais. He bows slightly to Aimee, more deeply to his Grand Master, and removes the urn from the stand. He turns, raising Henri’s ashes and steps off the black dais, and, slowly walks towards the honor guard. Dupres rises, bows to Aimee, and helps her from her chair. Aimee accepts his arm, and they slowly walk towards the footman. Marie then follows. The dignitaries rise and join the procession. The security details line up behind the honor guard, and some stay behind, all scanning the many doorways.

Slowly, accompanied by Chopin’s Funeral March, appropriately played on an antique harpsichord, the ashes, held aloft by the footman and followed by Aimee, Dupres, Marie and the dignitaries, proceed to Hitch’s final resting place. According to custom, the sabers are lowered from the vertical to a forty-five degree angle, symbolizing a protective canopy. Being led by Dupres, Aimee is startled when she spies the rectangular opening in the wall. She feels dizzy, and Dupres holds her arm more firmly in support, whispering, Madame, Hitch expects you to be brave.

Aimee nods her thanks, and stands unbowed, despite a single tear in the corner of her right hazel eye.

The footman presents the urn to the Maitre de Chalet, who gives it to a liveried aide, who places it in its intended place.

Both Aimee and Marie gasp as the stainless steel sheath, painted black, is screwed into place. Finally, the black marble cover, embossed in gold with the Insignia of the Chevaliers des Amis, and merely his name: Henri Hitch Jacoben is secured to the wall. No dates are listed. According to custom, personages who are interred in Les Invalades are timeless.

M de Chalet turns, bows and approaches Aimee. He offers his arm and Aimee is escorted from the Chappell, followed by Dupres, the honor guard and Marie. Nothing is said, Nothing needs to be said. Down the steep steps, Henri’s Rolls Royce is waiting with Jacques, the trusted chauffer and bodyguard, holding a single crimson rose that Hitch always had for her after attending an event. Aimee smiles ruefully, and pledges that she will not cry in public. Hitch would not have wanted that. She turns, kisses M de Chalet on both cheeks and thanks him. More difficult for her, she thanks Dupres, and seats herself in the rear seat. Aimee beckons Marie to join her at her side. Both are surprised when the door is slammed shut by a gust of wind.

Aimee and Marie are silent, each thinking about the events of the last, three days. The trip back to the apartment on Rue Notre Dame only took ten minutes despite traffic. Paris, as it should, returned to its boisterous, charming self. The sun broke through the gloom, the temperature rose, and the sidewalks were again filled with people, many walking their beloved dogs. Aimee saw that all of the outside seating were occupied at their favorite cafe, Greenville, which was only doors away from their home.

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CHAPTER 3

GREENVILLE

Aimee did not have to knock. Renee was waiting and opened the door before Aimee had a chance to use her key. Renee was a little over five feet tall, with graying chestnut hair that she refused to color. While some might call her pudgy, voluptuous is a better description. Hitch, in jest, often remarked about her sex appeal. Nevertheless, Aimee felt comforted when Renee hugged her, expressing her sorrow of Hitch’s passing.

Madame, can I bring you some tea? Non merci, I need to rest.

Aimee turns to Marie, and thanks her for being there for her, but asks that she have privacy until she calls for either her or Renee.

Aimee walks slowly up the stairs to the boudoir, and knows that lovemaking will no longer be a part of the routine after arriving home. She opens the door to the bedroom, and doesn’t want to acknowledge that it is hers and not ours. Nevertheless, she quickly kicks off her pumps, loosens the zipper to her dress, and lets it drop to the floor. Next, she unsnaps the garter belt, and slowly, rolls the black, silk stockings off her long legs, and lets them join her shoes. Slowly, she removes her bra and thong, in the manner that Hitch always desired. Aimee, now nude, approaches their bed, bunches up the negligee, places it over her head, and lets it cascade over her perfect body.

Collapsing on the bed, Aimee falls asleep with the haunting memory of Lucinda Williams, singing her plaintive song, Greenville. She tosses and turns, dreams of fragmented incidents of her past, her growing up, her parents, the servants, her tutors, her friends, finishing school, college, marriage, murder…..

Aimee suddenly awakens. Although she slept for hours, she is not refreshed. She shudders because she is chilled by the perspiration that has left her black negligee soaked. Reacting, she calls out: Renee draw me a hot bath. Marie, pack my luggage, s’il vous plait. Aimee removes the straps from her shoulders and allows the naughty, black garment fall to her feet.

Renee, her cheeks red as a beet, rushes into the bedroom. Madame, are you OK?, l heard you yell for me, but I could not understand what you want.

Lapsing into the fractured French that characterizes Aimee’s use of the language. Desole, Renee, I just need a hot bath to help me relax. Merci. Renee turns and enters la salle de bains and prepares the oversized French bathtub. After turning on the hot water, which is preadjusted to the correct temperature, she placed the drain stopper, and allowed the tub to fill. She was waiting for the water level to reach the first embossed red rose, and then opened a small vial of attar and rose oil into the water. She turned off the tap when the water reached the second rose. At this level, she knew that Aimee could soak herself to her shoulders. Renee sighs, all is perfect.

While the bath was being made ready, Marie brought Aimee a black silk robe which was the last gift that Hitch gave to her. She smiles her thanks to Marie, and tying the solid gold cincture around her waist, she hugs Marie. Tu es ma bon amie. I have decided to return to Greenville to sort things out. Please call Ramon, our pilot, and make the necessary arrangements to depart tomorrow in our, no my, Gulfstream. I expect you to accompany me.

Mas oui Madame, eh, Aimee, but I need a week to prepare. My passport has expired, and even with your connections, it will take that long to renew. There are also details that must be attended to. Aimee, you also need some time alone. You should leave tomorrow, and I will follow next week.

OK Marie. Pack seven sets of underwear and hose, two midi skirts, four demure blouses, three cashmere sweaters, one pink, one white, and, of course, Henri’s favorite, the black one. Hmm, three pairs of matching slacks, and the usual travel cosmetics….Oh, six pairs of shoes, low heels. I will wear the doeskin boots tomorrow, with the complementary slacks, blouse and the short chinchilla coat. Also, pack my black, lightweight raincoat and two long dresses. Call our travel agent and book me into the Hyatt in the Presidential, double suite for two weeks, with an option for another week. I will also require a car and driver, who is to be available 24/7. Please specify a four door Escalade with tinted windows.

Oui, Aimee. all will be ready. What time do you wish to depart?

Please tell Ramon to be ready to depart at 10:00. This should allow me to clear customs in Charlotte and then proceed to Greenville at a reasonable hour. Please ask the Hyatt to order a case each of Moet Chandon, a St. Emilion Bordeaux, an Oregon Pinot Noire, and Sauvignon Blanc. Also, a small keg of Thomas Creek ale, six liter bottles of Hendricks gin, Makers Mark, Belvedere vodka, and Dewar’s. Oh, appropriate mixers, club soda, ginger ale, coke or pepsi, etc. Also, a chef needs to be on standby until midnight each day to prepare canapés and an occasional meal. Having made her decision, Aimee’s spirits improve, and enters her bathroom. She thanks Renee, who assists her into the tall tub, who then leaves to give Madame her privacy.

Aah, the water is perfect, Aimee exclaims, and I will enjoy this scented bath, knowing that the attar alone costs 250 Euros for ten ml. When the temperature of the water cools, Aimee calls for Renee. Please bring the towels, purchased from the Hotel de Louvre, because of their luxuriant pile which soaks up bath water better than any towel that can be imagined. Alighting from the tub, Renee wraps Aimee in the oversized towel, and helps dry her. She then hands Aimee the silk bathrobe.

Entering her bedroom, which is empty except for her, she rings for Marie, and asks her to bring her a Croc monsieur. Aimee is addicted to this French twist of a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Chérie, Marie says, You need something more substantial. Non Marie, je voudrais cette, plus te, s’il vous plait.

Bon, Aimee, your Parisian accent is perfect.

They both laugh quietly.

Marie goes to prepare the repast herself, and Aimee, alone again, says, "Alexa, play Chopin!. The etudes of this tragic Polish composer echo the sadness that dwells in her heart. Marie hears these laments, and a tear glistens in her left eye.

Marie enters and places the requested, meager meal on the same table where the day began. She hugs Aimee, and says, Please play something else….Monsieur would not approve. He died happy in your love, perhaps Offenbach? Aimee nods her acquiescence. Marie almost shouts, Alexa, play Offenbach. The strange, but also comforting strains of Barcarole fill the room and displace most of the somber thoughts that haunt this room. Prior to experiencing The Tales of Hoffman, which was not initially well received by the Parisian opera aficionados, Aimee only thought of the Italian maestros, Verdi and Puccini, when she thought of Opera at all. But, she became addicted to this French fantasy.

Hitch, you taught me well. Vivre la difference!

Finishing her sandwich and tea, Aimee asks Marie to make sure her diplomatic passport is placed in her purse. This will help her avoid any harassment from US authorities. Aimee was appointed an alternate delegate to the United Nations which entitled her to diplomatic immunity. Marie, leave me now, and wake me at 6:00. I want to arrive early and avoid the morning Parisian traffic to Paris-Le Bourget, where the Gulfstream is housed, merci.

Certainement, all will be ready for your departure.

Aimee swallows the two Tylenol PM capsules that Marie thoughtfully brought her. She walked slowly to her side of the bed and then stops and turns. No, I’ll sleep on Hitch’s side tonight. The sheets and pillow still carry his scent. She uses the small footstool to help her climb onto the still, slightly indented mattress. She falls asleep almost immediately.

Too soon, 6:00 arrives. Marie gently shakes Aimee’s shoulder, who sighs and says, Merci, Marie, I am up. I recall dreaming, but I don’t remember what those dreams were.

Marie had already laid out Aimee’s traveling clothes, and Aimee smiles her thanks and proceeds to her morning toilet. Marie, prepare the same breakfast as yesterday, merci.

Aimee steps into the custom, American style shower, that Henri had thoughtfully arranged. to be built for her. The shower was oversized, no doors, and a small, recliner for Henri to watch. A small tear appeared in her left, hazel eye since the recliner was unoccupied, but she also smiled, thinking of romantic and pleasurable memories.

Finished bathing, and drying off, Aimee applied the imported Japanese emulsifier which helped to maintain her flawless complexion and skin. No cellulite disfigurations for her!, she exclaimed. She also applied her minimal makeup. She did not brush or attempt to style her hair, because Marie would be angry. She put on her robe and entered the bedroom where Marie was waiting.

Aimee, let me do your hair. A French twist for traveling? Bon idee, Marie. Renee will bring your petit de jeuner when I am finished. Marie first brushes Aimee’s hair, and then styles it into the practical traveling do. It didn’t take long and Marie calls for Renee to bring the breakfast.

Renee enters, using the same silver tray, and the same silver French Press, whose aroma of French Roast coffee and cognac fills the room. The chocolate croissants also contribute to the delicious ambiance. The only sad note is the solitary white porcelain mug.

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CHAPTER 4

THE FLIGHT

Aimee was ravenous. The croissants disappeared toute suite. Marie was amazed because Aimee usually ate very slowly. Aimee, should I bring you more? Perhaps jambon et oeufs? Smiling, Aimee replied, non merci. I will dine on the plane. Remind Helene to have the ingredients for a gourmet meal for me, Ramon, and she. In addition to being an excellent pilot, who acted as Ramon’s second, Helene was a Cordon Bleu Master Chef. Helene was also her goddaughter. Aimee insisted that any meals served on board the Gulfstream should be sufficient to include not only guests, but also crew.

Of course, I want the dark chocolate coconut truffles for desert, that is Helene’s specialty. Marie laughs, because Aimee always picked the desert first when planning a menu. To start, haricots with garlic and oil, accompanied by my favorite Alsace wine, Pierre Sauvages, boeuf bourguignon with Chateau Pavie Macquin, and to finish with the truffles, Zind-Humbrecht Clos Gervurztraminer. The Gulfstream is equipped with a full gourmet kitchen which was selected by Helene, whose only complaint was that the range and ovens were electric.

The Gulfstream G650ER was the stretched version, and many dignitaries were jealous of the appointments. Each seat for ten guests converted to a bed, with privacy curtains. The master bed room suite had a specially designed sleep number, circular bed. Aimee was always accessible to Henri. When the plane was leant to someone, this suite with its ensuite bath were off limits.

Marie, please tell Jacques to be ready to leave for the airport in fifteen minutes. Even with traffic, we should arrive at Paris-Le Bourget by 9:15 and make the 10 am departure time, since her chauffer would be allowed to drop her off at the steps to the Gulfstream. Because of her diplomatic connections, the airport concierge will have arranged the necessary clearances.

Jacques knocked three times at the door, precisely at 8:15. He quickly loaded the luggage into the boot of the Silver Cloud. Aimee gave Renee and Marie hugs and kissed them both on their cheeks to thank them for their help in her moments of melancholy and need. Jacques then held the door for Aimee, who quickly settled herself on the posh, rear back seat. She did not raise the privacy screen, and asked Jacques about the traffic. No problem, Madame, the N2 is all clear. Marie called M Beauchamps and the Mayor arranged for the route to be clear of traffic. Indeed, Aimee was dropped off at the stairs of the plane at 9:00 .

Au revoire, Paris, Aimee murmured as she climbed the steps to her plane. Helene greeted her with a small smile and hug. I am so sorry. I will miss him too, and the pats on my derriere. Aimee smiled at this, because Hitch always thought of himself as a lady’s man, but he was always faithful apart from the all too familiar caresses he gave to close female friends. Initially she was shocked at this display of familiarity, but Henri was always correct when Aimee was not present. He enjoyed seeing Aimee a bit jealous, and considered his actions, foreplay.

Helene, I will sit in the first row. Please make up the bunk behind me. I will not use the master for this flight. Please bring me a Perrier Jouet. Noticeably, Aimee slipped into American English since boarding and her Carolinian drawl became more noticeable. She slipped into the comfortable seat and awaited her bon voyage toast. Helene went to the galley and extracted a 2013 Perrier, which she knew that Aimee would enjoy. She selected two Baccarat flutes, and placed all on a silver tray bearing the Chevalier des Amis crest. She was happy that Aimee appeared relaxed.

The bottle was presented, and Aimee nodded her acceptance. Helene wrapped the bottle in the black, champagne towel bearing the crest, and proceeded to uncork, with an audible pop. Aimee, I’d like to join you in a toast to Hitch as she poured a half inch in one of the flutes. Hmm, excellent as she tasted this favorite sparkling wine. She then poured the proper two-thirds into Aimee’s flute. Next she tossed the dregs of the tasting wine into a small bowl. She then filled her own Baccarat flute to the prescribed amount.

Aimee, I toast the many happy memories of traveling and cooking for you and Hitch. As he would wish for you, I, also, wish you many happy years accompanied by cherished memories.

Thank you, Helene. Everyone has been so kind to me. Aimee, you deserve kindness and consideration. Helene finished her champagne and topped off Aimee’s. She then went to the cockpit to assist with the preflight checks. Ramon chuckled and said, where’s my champagne? Later, when you take a break.

With all systems working properly, the twin Rolls Royce engines were brought to taxiing power awaiting permission to line up for departure. The control tower ordered them to go to runway 3 and take off immediately. All other planes were told to wait.

Aimee sipped her champagne, and relaxed as the thrust of the takeoff pressed her back gently into her seat. They quickly reached cruising altitude, since Ramon loved to force the Gulfstream into a fighter plane angle. He was once a lead pilot in the Spanish aerial acrobatics team. When they were level, she poured more champagne into her glass.

When Ramon turned-on the autopilot, Helene returned to the main cabin and asked Aimee if she wanted anything. Please bring me triscuits and cheddar cheese squares, six will do, and a bowl of boiled peanuts.

Sure.

After Helene served these snacks, she returned to the galley to prepare the meal. She started with the truffles. While it might appear that a prosaic recipe was used, Helene adds her own twist to her food preparations. For example, she mixes in a cherry liqueur into the truffle mix. She uses a Polish concoction called Wisniowka because it has a higher alcoholic content and it is not as sweet as the French version. The higher alcohol content guarantees a better infusion of the cherry flavor.

She then minces a truffle and dried porcini mushroom and places them in a jar which already contains sesame oil, washes the French cut green beans, and gathers the ingredients for the main course. She decides to use the eight quart pressure cooker, because she can brown the sirloin steak, onions and garlic in the cooker’s liner pan. She cuts the sirloin into remarkably uniform 3/4 inch squares and dredges them in a mixture of freshly milled, unbleached flour, Kosher salt and freshly ground tellicherry peppercorns and mustard seeds. She scrubs the unpeeled carrots and cuts them into 1/2 inch slices. She coarsely dices a medium red onion and 4 cloves of garlic. Helene decides to garnish the boeuf bourguignon with Angel hair pasta, and heats a medium sized pot of salted water. Hmm, have I forgot something? Yes, I need to slice fresh white and dry mushrooms, which she does. Oh, I’ll tie the tarragon, rosemary and parsley sprigs together for the bouquet garni.

She puts two tablespoons of olive oil in the pressure cooker’s liner and presses the browning button. She puts the onion and garlic in the heated oil for two minutes, constantly stirring, and then places the dredged beef in the pot. After all sides of the cubes are browned she adds two cups of the Macquin, one cup of beef broth, the carrots, the fresh and dried mushrooms and the bouquet garni. She closes the pressure cooker and presses the stew button. Smiling, she knows that this is a foolproof method because the cooker will default to a warming mode when the programmed time is completed.

The water in the pot is boiling and she places the green beans in the water and blanches them for two minutes. After removing them, she puts them in the jar containing the minced truffle and garlic, and sesame oil. She tightly places the lid and then shakes the jar to coat the haricots. She places the container in a bed of crushed ice to cool.

Helene then begins her signature truffles. In a heavy sauce pan, she heats 4 ounces of condensed milk, until the edges are bubbling, and adds 1 cup of semisweet chocolate chips. She removed the pan from the heat, stirring constantly until the mixture was smooth. She then mixed in two tablespoons of the Wisniowka and put the bowl in the flash freezer for 7 minutes. Using a large melon baller she formed the truffle mixture into rounds which she then rolled in a sweetened shredded coconut mixture, and placed the finished truffles in paper candy cups.

Sighing her satisfaction, Helene entered the main cabin, and started setting the banquet table for three. Since this was not a formal dinner, she used the lilac