Fran stood looking in her full–length mirror and thought she had it. After trying on five outfits, she’d settled on a sleeveless dress of off–white silk, with an emerald–green, hip–length, open jacket, also of silk. Since Hank was tall, she could wear her off–white, strapless heels. For jewelry, she chose pearl earrings and the two strands of genuine pearls her parents had given her for a wedding present. This would be the first time she’d worn them since that awful day.
If this was what Hank had meant when he’d said, “Wear your best bib and tucker,” she had done her best to comply. It was a saying her mother used quite often when she wanted her to get dressed up. She was amused that Hank had used the same expression when he’d asked her to dinner and she’d asked what she should wear. After all, there are dinners and there are dinners. What had her puzzled was the fact that he was picking her up at four o’clock. Why so early? A four o’clock dinner does not require your best bib and tucker. That would be out of place. But hey, that was what he’d said, and hers was not to question why.
But what in the world were a bib and tucker? The bib couldn’t possibly be the kind for a baby. She found that she was actually quite intrigued with the odd old phrase. She would have to look it up.
When Hank pulled up in his Lexus, Fran was just coming out the door with a tray of whiskey sours. It was her turn to be impressed. He was wearing a black gabardine suit, a gray shirt and tie, and expensive–looking black loafers. He had a tall, muscular body and the suit complemented his physique. The day she had first met him, when he had helped Jim take the stove back, she really hadn’t paid much attention to Hank except to notice his dimples.
When Hank saw Fran, he was speechless. She looked absolutely stunning. The rich color of her jacket was so striking against her auburn hair. He couldn’t seem to find the voice to tell her that, so he simply said what made sense. “Can I help you with that tray?”
“As a matter of fact, you can.” She looked him up and down and said, “My goodness, Hank Childers, you look downright elegant.”
He finally managed to say, “Thank you, Milady. I can clean up pretty well if I have a mind to.”
As they walked toward the pond, she said, “I thought you would enjoy having a drink out here by the pond before we left. You seemed to really enjoy sitting here yesterday. I hope you like whiskey sours.”
Hank put the tray on the table. “Thank you, I like them very much.” He finally found his voice. “You look absolutely amazing, Frannie. You’d never know that just yesterday you were a fisherwoman.” He smiled and poured them each a drink.
Fran smiled back, “And thank you, kind sir. I’m glad you approve of my best bib and tucker. By the way, I was so taken with that phrase, which I’d heard many times before you got me thinking about it, that I Googled it. I thought I knew what a bib was, but I sure was curious to know what a tucker was.” She paused and took a sip of her drink.
Hank looked at her. “Well, come on, Frannie, don’t keep me hanging. I only used that phrase because it was my way of making sure you’d get dressed in your best clothes. You’ll know why when we get to where we’re going.”
Fran was pleased that she could tell this brilliant man anything. She said, “Well, the phrase is as old as the word ‘milady.’ It dates back to the eighteenth century and means exactly what you said, ‘to get dressed in your best’. The bib was a piece of clothing that went from the neck to the waist. It could be even longer. It could also be the frill down a man’s shirt. The turcker was like a wide lace collar or some form of fancy lace that went around the neck and covered the shoulders. All of that being said, I certainly got the message to get all dressed up.”
The two of them sat at the table, comfortable to be able to just sit in silence, soaking up the peacefulness of their surroundings.
When Hank finished his drink, he stood, looked at his watch, and said, “I don’t mean to rush you, Frannie, but we have to drive back to Cleveland. You can finish your drink in the car. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, Hank. I didn’t realize that’s where we would be having dinner.”
His dimples took over as he said, “That’s not exactly where we’ll be having dinner. But I think you’ll enjoy the place I have in mind. It’s kind of a surprise.”
Hank took the quickest route for Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. Fran sat upright, puzzled by her surroundings. Hank approached an airfield with hangars of privately owned airplanes and said, “You aren’t afraid of flying, are you, Frannie? It never occurred to me until now that you might be.”
“Well, no, absolutely not. But where are we going?”
Hank took her hand as she got out of the car and put his arm around her waist very lightly as he led her to the Learjet 55 on the airstrip. A valet whisked the Lexus away.
“I’m taking you to a terrific restaurant in Lake Wales, Florida. I think you’ll love it. And not to worry, Frannie. I’ll get you back home tonight. I can’t guarantee the time, but it won’ t be too late.”
As they entered the plane, Fran was overwhelmed by the luxurious cabin. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, walking around the the cabin. She checked out the amenities, then felt the richness of the beige leather chair as she sat down. Sighing, she looked at Hank and asked incredulously, “Is this plane yours?”
Hank laughed. “No, it belongs to a good friend of mine, Lloyd Sebastian, one of the CEOs I work with. His wife is one of those women who invite me to dinners. I think I told you about those dinners. Anyway, I saved his neck once when he initiated a very expensive project that quickly started to go south. It got so out of hand he asked me to step in and straighten out electrical problems on the assembly line. I think I put in over a hundred hours of work on that line, and fortunately, the problems went away. Lloyd has never forgotten it and has offered to let me use his plane a number of times. This is the first time I’ve taken him up on it.”
He was sitting across from Fran, and as he stopped talking, he took both of her hands in his and said very seriously, “Frannie, I’ve only been around you on a few occasions. Each time, however, I’ve enjoyed your company so much. You’ve shown me laughter and a lighter side of life, something I haven’t experienced very often. From the time I was twelve, all I’ve known was work and responsibility—although I did have some fun while I was at Case, and the credit for that goes to Jim Murray. Anyway, this is just my way of showing you my appreciation. And, in doing so, I will once again get to enjoy your company.”
When he gave her that adorable smile of his, Frannie’s heart melted. He had practically brought her to tears. What a wonderfully sweet man, she thought. She said, “Those are very kind sentiments, Hank. I can’t thank you enough for making me feel like I can actually be a viable person again. I needed to hear those words so much.”
“Oh my gosh, how could you ever say that about yourself? Maybe you haven’t figured it out, yet, but you are about as viable as they come.” He gave her hands a squeeze and looked up to see Jack. “Oh, hi, Jack. Frannie, this is Jack Higgins, our pilot.”
Jack held out his hand and said, “Nice meeting you, Frannie.”
Fran looked up to see a very good–looking, middle–aged man with silvery white, wavy hair. She smiled, shook his hand, and said, “I was told I would be in good hands. I trust Hank was right.”
“If the good Lord’s willin’ and the creek don’t rise, we should get there just fine.”
Hank said, “Was it Johnny Cash who coined that phrase? I know he had a popular song with that title. I think that was in the late ‘50s. We should ask Fannie; she’s an expert on phrases. She can Google it for us.” He looked at Fran and gave her a wink. “By the way, Jack, when do we take off?”
“The tower gave us clearance for 5:10. You guys just made it. We have about five minutes. I’m here to remind you to buckle up.”
Fran looked around the cabin and said, “This looks like a very classy office. There are telephones, computers, fax machines, copy machines, arm chairs, and desks. Also, a microwave, a TV, and a fridge. The works! You could leave New York, and by the time you got to California, you’d have time to sell the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“That’s the whole idea,” said Hank. “These planes can actually pay for themselves in time saved and deals made while in the air. Would you like me to fix you another whiskey sour, Frannie? We just have to wait until we’re airborne, first.”
Just then the jet revved its engines, and they slowly started to move. Fran’s face glowed with pleasure. “Oh, Hank, this is so exciting! I can’t believe this is happening. And you still didn’t tell me the name of the restaurant. Where are we going?”
Hank totally ignored the question. “Make sure your seat belt is fastened.” He double checked to make sure, then said, “As soon as we get underway, I’ll fix us another whiskey sour and some appetizers.”
“Thank you, Hank, but I’m too excited to eat anything. And anyway, I want to save my appetite for the restaurant. You know, the one I don’t know the name of.”
When they were airborne, Hank undid his seat belt, got up, and poured himself a glass of sherry. “How about some sherry? Or a glass of water, or whatever you want?” he asked.
“Well, okay, since you’re having a sherry, I’ll have one. Now come on, Hank, tell me where we’re going, please.”
Hank handed her a glass of sherry and held his up. “To a wonderful dinner at Chalet Suzanne.”
Fran tapped her glass to his and said, “To Suzanne— whoever the hell she is. Tell me what makes her so special.”
Hank cleared his throat and said, “Well, for starters, she has the best darned food you ever ate. It’s fine dining at its best. The place is so colorful. It’s like a slice of Switzerland. There are at least fifty colorful chalets for lodging. Then, there’s the restaurant itself, also Swiss in design and decor. The landscaping is beautiful, and there’s a small lake, or large pond, and a grassy landing strip. Eric and Dee Hinshaw are the present owners. The Hinshaw family has passed the business down for generations. You’re going to love it, Frannie.”
Fran sipped on her wine. She asked, “Are we going to land on that grass landing strip you talked about?”
“No way! Not with this Learjet. We’re going to land at the Orlando International Airport, where they’ll service it while we’re gone. It should take us about fifteen minutes tops to get to Lake Wales from there. Our reservation is for 8:00. We have plenty of time.”
Fran spent most of her time looking out the window. At one point, she looked at Hank and said, “I love a window seat, don’t you?”
Hank looked up from his book, smiled, and said, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Frannie.”
Jack’s voice came over the intercom. “Okay, folks, we’re ready for touchdown. The temperature in sunny Florida at 7:25 p.m. is 84 degrees. Your limo awaits you. See, Frannie, the good Lord was willing and the creek didn’t rise. You kids have a great dinner, and I’ll see you two around 9:30.”
Fran stepped out into the hot sunshine. “Wow, this is something. I can’t believe we’re actually in Florida.”
Hank was happy that this surprise had worked out so well—at least so far. Now for the next part.
The limo was waiting, just as Jack said it would be. It seemed like it took no time at all, and there it was, Chalet Suzanne.
Hank helped Fran out of the limo, and she was all eyes. “Oh, Hank, it’s just like you said it was! I feel like we just landed in Switzerland.”
When they entered the lobby of the restaurant, Fran’s eyes were drawn in all directions. She felt she had stepped into a graceful old world and couldn’t help but notice the baby grand piano in the one corner. The pictures and accessories were outstanding. The room was pink and elegant.
An attractive, middle–aged woman approached them and Hank gave his name. Although they were fifteen minutes early, she smiled and led them to a cozy table by a window.
A waiter approached, and Hank ordered a bottle of wine. Fran had no idea what kind it was; she only knew it was French—maybe even Swiss. Each of them was handed a beautifully bound menu. Fran noticed there were no prices.
Hank said, “Would you like me to go over the menu for you, Frannie?”
She nodded.
“Well, first of all, the entrées are: curried saffron shrimp, Black Angus beef served with classic sauce béarnaise, Maine lobster prepared according to a time–honored Chalet Suzanne recipe, pan–seared sea bass with seaweed salad and white truffle sauce, and duck à l’orange—crispy duck leg and seared duck breast. So, what do you think, Frannie?”
“Oh, my word, they all sound delicious, but I’d like to try the duck. What are you going to have?”
Hank said, “I’m going with the Black Angus.” He put down the menu and said, “Now for starters, I suggest you have the broiled, caramelized grapefruit. Okay with you?”
“I’ve never had that, but it sounds delicious. I’ll try it.”
“Then what would you prefer, a salad, soup, or both?”
“That spinning bowl salad sounds great.”
“Good choice. I’m going to have that, too.”
Frannie smiled and said, “If you recommend it, then I know it’ll be good. That’s something I’ve eaten before, and when it’s made well, it’s delicious.”
The waiter had come back with the wine while they were deliberating over the menu, and Frannie felt like a pampered kitten as he poured her a glass of wine and waited for her approval. When he came back again, Hank ordered for the two of them. Now she felt not only pampered but very, very special. She looked at Hank and saw him in quite a different light from before. He was no longer that rumpled fisherman with the floppy hat. He was a man of the world. He’d taken charge of almost every aspect of this evening, but not in a manipulative way. Hank always made her feel he cared. He wanted to make sure she was satisfied with everything. She had never been catered to like this by David. By contrast, this man genuinely cared about her feelings. He wanted to please her just because she was Fran, and he made her feel that she mattered. Nothing more.
The grapefruit came. She licked her lips and oohed and awed. It was wonderful. The salad was delicious. When the waiter brought a dish of frozen lemon ice in a little silver bowl, she looked puzzled.
The waiter said, “This is to refresh your palate, Madame.”
When the duck was placed in front of her, she began to salivate. It smelled heavenly. Hank chuckled to himself because she hummed slightly as she ate. She said, “Oh, Hank, there are no words to describe this meal. I don’t know how I can ever thank you for doing this for me. Now if I wanted to repay you by cooking you a meal, you wouldn’t judge me, would you?”
Hank laughed, “No, Frannie, I wouldn’t judge you. I would be thrilled that I was getting a home–cooked meal. I’m not much of a cook myself. Now, would you like some dessert?”
“Goodness, no. I would like some coffee, though, if you don’t mind. I hate to see this dinner end.”
“Certainly.” Hank signaled the waiter, then asked for two coffees and the check. “I guess coffee qualifies for prolonging the dinner. Then we’ll have to be getting back. It’s not yet 9:00, though, and I’d like to show you around a little.”
The two of them drank their coffee slowly. Fran just couldn’t get enough of their surroundings. “I love this place,” she said. “If I didn’t thank you before, Hank, I want to do it now.”
Hank laughed, “Frannie, you’re a treasure. I want to thank you for letting me share this evening and my favorite eating place with you. And you didn’t thank me just once or twice. You’ve been thanking me since we got on the plane.”
The pair left the restaurant and took a brief stroll around the village. Every chalet was painted a different color. The landscaping was outstanding. The limo driver opened the door and the two climbed in. As they said farewell to Chalet Suzanne, they couldn’t know that in a few more years, it would no longer exist.
Jack was waiting for them on the runway, and they took off at 9:50. They touched down at Cleveland Hopkins at 12:15. Hank had Fran back home by 12:40.
He walked her to her door and said, “Frannie, I have to fly to Schenectady tomorrow evening. I’ll be there for three weeks, perhaps a little longer. But please don’t forget me, because I hope we can do some more fishing together.” He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he knew it was still too early for that.
Fran was very tired. She wanted to ask him in, but she had work in the morning. She said, “Gosh, I’m going to miss you, and I’lll look forward to going fishing. We surely did have fun, didn’t we? And Hank, I have to thank you one more time for a most wonderful evening.”
Hank knew he couldn’t show her how he really felt, so he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. He said, “Frannie, get a good night’s sleep. I’ll think of you while I’m in Schenectady and give you a call when I get back.”
Frannie watched him drive away and thought, I don’t know when I’ve had a better time. Hank is a keeper. I’m really going to miss him.