“Good evening, Mrs. Sinclair,” the chef said with a polite nod in my direction, his voice carrying a subtle authority that rippled through the silence. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
A ripple of confusion crossed the faces of my son and his in-laws. Marlene’s fork clattered against her plate, sending a tiny fragment of lobster skidding across the tablecloth. She glanced between me and the chef, her assured composure momentarily faltering.
“You know each other?” my son asked, his voice laced with disbelief and an edge of annoyance.
