Mum's the Word Read Free Page A

proceedings.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œMy dear, all that is kept exceedingly hush-hush. The members take a vow of silence. As for those who don’t make the grade, blabbing would be professional suicide.”
    â€œHeavens!” If that poached eye did not stop gawking at me, I might be driven to take a poke at it with my fork. Maybe not. My mind dodged the dreadful vision of yellow goo running out. “In other words, these Mangés are sort of like Masons with cooking spoons? Given to secret handshakes and coded eye twitchings?”
    Ben caressed my layman’s brow.
    â€œThese are the people who one year ago announced to the world—the thinking world, Ellie—that they had singlehandedly tracked down a recipe for a minestrone dried soup mix, created by none other than …” The maroon velvet curtains stopped rippling in the breeze from the open window. Tobias Cat, who had been stalking his tail, sat frozen. “… By none other than Leonardo Da Vinci.”
    â€œGracious! And history has written him off as an artist who dabbled in aviation, anatomy, et cetera, et cetera.” Must quell the urge to ask if the soup would be marketed under the label Momma Mona. My beloved was clearly infatuated with this gourmet sect.
    â€œWhy have the Mangés written to you?”
    Ben stood up. The bed heaved, threatening to keel over. I hugged the rim and the room settled back into shape. My spouse was standing before the dressing table mirror, taking a good hard look at himself. His eyes danced with emerald sparks.
    â€œEllie, I hold here in these hands” (staring as though they had sneaked up and attached to his arms while he wasn’t looking) “I hold here an invitation from the Society to present myself for consideration as a Potential Member.”
    I strove to look dazzled.
    â€œSpeechless, aren’t you? The question I keep asking is, Why me?” He was pacing in front of the marble fireplace, every fourth step hitting the board that squeaked.
    I adore this man. He is my knight in shining armour. Hewho saved me from a fate worse than death—Aunt Astrid’s scorn, thinly veiled as pity: poor Ellie, single by default! But there are times when his masculine smugness, poorly disguised as self-deprecation, irritates me just a smudge.
    He stopped pacing and tossed me a wry smile. “Hard to credit isn’t it? Me! Son of a humble greengrocer!”
    His father is as humble as the ruler of an oil well kingdom. Poppa considers himself a fruit and veggie magnate.
    â€œAnd think how proud your mother will be,” I enthused. Confidentially, Magdalene is opposed to any organization not run on strict Roman Catholic lines. And surely it was too much to hope that all Mangé members were of the faith.
    â€œEllie, I wonder what made the Mangés pull my name out of the hat? Abigail’s is doing well but not on an international scale, and
The Edwardian Lady’s Cookery Book
has yet to make me a household name.”
    â€œYou’re far too modest.” I was background music.
    Ben leaned forward to touch my hair. Missing by inches he paced on. That dratted board still squeaked with every fourth step.
    â€œMy entire life hanging in the balance and I did not know it. Do you think the society may have sent one of its members to dine at Abigail’s undercover?”
    â€œA point to ponder.”
    Gripping the letter with both hands he strove to unravel its secret code. “Sweetheart, I told you about the suspicious-looking chap with the ginger wig and the eye patch.”
    â€œI remember being quite frightened.”
    â€œOh, my God, Ellie, wasn’t that the Thursday when Freddy let the salads reach room temperature?”
    Freddy, for the record, is my cousin. Supposedly he is Ben’s right hand man at Abigail’s. We felt we owed him something because on the whole he was pretty decent about our inheriting Merlin’s