Standing behind the seated Albert, Robert kissed the top of his head. He draped his arms around Albert’s neck and thought, He’s gone quite bald, poor love. At least he’s stopped trying to hide it, cuts it very short.
He’s gone quite bald, poor love. At least he’s stopped trying to hide it, cuts it very short.Readjusting his reading glasses, Albert asked, “What do you think of quenelles?” He turned the page of the cookbook he was reading.
“I don’t. What are they again?”
“You grind fish and—”
“Stop. No,” said Robert firmly.
“They’re not for you, they’re for the aunts’ birthday party. They love fish. Rosie, too.” Albert craned his neck to peer up at Robert. “Me, too.”
They“Why ask me, then? Go on and make them.” Pointing at the open book in front of Albert, he asked, “Elizabeth David?”
