CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The luncheon salon within Les Avants-Sur-Montreux Hotel was wonderfully quaint. Blue and green wallpaper covered the rooms in a style so antiquated it appeared to Mary as revolutionary, a slap against the trends, a refreshing assault of the rational. It made her happy. The salon also afforded a view of the entire village and valley beyond. Streams fed into forestation, and Mary’s mind wandered to discern their final destination. Herds of cattle meandered across the vista, bringing the simplistic joys of existence into a conversation too long reserved for the harsher elements of life and survival in this modern world.
Both Mary and Polidori had opted for the Emince de Veau a la Crème, but neither had expected the heady rush of shallots, garlic, and cream to consume bot
