Chapter Eight
Her return to the apartment was met by quizzical expressions, Anna as usual concerned and Fred uncomfortable. He had no idea of how to approach Martha with Antonin’s request.
Not much was said during the evening meal, taken across the street in the local bistro. Martha sat uneasy, her bottom refused to quieten, Francine’s cane strokes obviously having bitten deeper than she at first reckoned. Anna wasn’t speaking to Fred, and vice-versa. And Fred tried so many ways to think of some means of approaching that subject.
Eventually having watched Martha squirm and knowing what Fred wanted after a fashion that is, she impulsively threw the spoon into the stirrer. “Fred has something to ask Martha. It’s apparently something he finds troubling and embarrassing. Don’t you Fred?”
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