Chapter 28

Dinner was an interesting affair from several standpoints. In addition to the lady and the young couple I'd seen at breakfast there was now a fourth guest in the lodge, an elderly man—I guessed somewhere in his mid-60s, though I could have been off 10 years in either direction—who'd checked in that afternoon. All five of us had either opted voluntarily for or been pressured into the 7:00 dinner hour, and all of us likewise seemed to be social imbibers. When I went down to the bar at 6:30 the couple were already there, and the woman and then the man drifted in separately shortly afterwards.

I introduced myself to the couple—first name only, no point to proclaiming my sought-after full name to strangers—and we started chatting idly while we sipped our cocktails. They were Hugh and Sarah Collins, and were indeed enjoying their honeymoon; they'd been married the Sunday before. I'd been wrong in my ideas about their mis-scheduling for the snow, though; they'd come for the woodlands—there were hiking trails all around, it seemed—and had hoped to avoid crowds. Well, a snow-free ski resort surely offered the latter.

The middle-aged woman, when she arrived, joined us, though I got the impression she'd have preferred to have been on her own. Her name was Celeste something-or-other. The older guy, who showed up last, was a good deal more convivial; he was Douglas, "call me Doug," and I never got his last name either. He seemed to set kind of a bead on Celeste, whose initial response was a little frosty; but he was so easy-going and friendly that it was hard to snub him, and after a few minutes she seemed to warm up a little.

In the "dining hall" the waitress suggested pointedly that we all sit together at one table. It seemed churlish to refuse, so we all did. There were no menus, because it appeared that the chef was taking it easy on himself pre-season. We had a choice of two appetizers, shrimp cocktail or a cold charcuterie, and two entrees, beef fillet or veal marsala with morel mushrooms. Except for Celeste, the others opted for the surf-and-turf combination, while I had the cold cuts and the veal. Celeste, it turned out, was vegan, which gave the waitress momentary pause; but for her the kitchen produced a mixed green salad and a stir-fry of zucchini, broccoli, cauliflower and two sorts of beans, with a few carrots in there for color. It was all really quite good; from a culinary view, at least, I seemed to have chosen well.

Wine was available by the bottle or glass. Without any consultation Doug sprang for a bottle of red of which everyone was invited to partake. The others accepted, I pleaded that my meal wasn't conducive to it and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio. Dessert was apple strudel, and both espresso and cordials were offered. But the party quickly broke up; the newlyweds were the first to go, and Celeste excused herself shortly thereafter. That left Doug and me, and I pleaded a weariness I didn't feel; his ebullience was more than I wanted to deal with alone, and he was more interested in my background than I cared to share.

Once I got back to the room, though, I found I actually was a little tired. Susan and I spent a short time exchanging amusing observations about my dinner companions, but by 10:30 I was in bed and not long after I was asleep.

Sunday was a day of rest for me. At breakfast the honeymooners came over briefly to say good-bye; they were on their way home after "a truly fabulous time, everything I ever dreamed of," the new Mrs. told me.

Well, to each his own; for myself I think I'd want a slightly more exotic location to celebrate my wedding. Susan agreed; "at least Hawaii or somewhere," she said. "Maybe Tahiti, someplace warm and relaxing and wonderful."