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demand a table with a window, and if I don’t get it—”
    Ginny glowered. “It’s that disagreeable woman—
again!
Doesn’t she ever shut up?”
    â€œNot in my experience,” Tricia said.
    Cristophano arrived with another waiter, and while the newcomer set up the gleaming champagne bucket next to Antonio, Cristophano placed champagne flutes in front of each of them. “May I pour?” he asked Tricia, showing her the bottle.
    â€œDom Pérignon!” Ginny exclaimed. “Someone sure thinks you’re hot stuff.”
    Tricia felt her cheeks grow warm with a blush. She spoke to the waiter. “Yes, please pour.”
    Nearby, EM and her companion were escorted to another table, and peace descended on the room once again.
    Tricia sampled the champagne, giving it an approving nod, and Cristophano filled the rest of their glasses.
    â€œMay I take your orders now?” Cristophano asked.
    â€œI think we’ll just enjoy the champagne for a few minutes. Perhaps you could give us five or ten minutes,” Angelica suggested.
    â€œVery good, madam,” he said with a curt nod.
    Tricia almost expected the man to click his heels as he turned away. She turned to Ginny. “What looks good to you on the menu?”
    â€œI was thinking about—”
    â€œWhat do you mean the champagne isn’t complimentary?” EM Barstow demanded of her server. “That table has free champagne.”
    Angelica rolled her eyes, swirled the contents of her glass, and took a healthy gulp. “Great stuff.”
    EM continued her loud, sour rant for another minute or two whileher red-faced dining companion silently stared at the napkin draped across her lap.
    â€œPerhaps tomorrow we’ll try one of the other restaurant options,” Antonio suggested hopefully.
    â€œI’m game,” Tricia agreed.
    â€œMe, too,” Ginny said.
    â€œWhy don’t we talk about something else?” Angelica suggested. “Has anyone seen the list of authors who are on board and giving presentations?”
    â€œThere’s a chef from the Good Food Channel. Larry what’s his face,” Ginny said. “I think he’s going to give a couple of demonstrations, too.”
    â€œI’ve watched Larry Andrews on TV dozens of times; he’s wonderful,” Angelica agreed. “Seeing him cook in person would be heavenly.”
    â€œNikki Brimfield-Smith’s mother—that cozy mystery author—is supposed to be on board, too,” Ginny said.
    â€œOh, yes, Fiona Sample,” Tricia said. “I’d almost forgotten. It’s too bad Nikki and Russ couldn’t have afforded to come on the trip. It would have been lovely for Nikki and her mom to spend some quality time together.”
    â€œNikki said her mother was going to detour to Stoneham to see her grandson after the trip,” Ginny said.
    â€œHow nice,” Angelica said.
    â€œWhile we gush over authors, what do you intend to do, Antonio?” Tricia asked.
    â€œI will relax with my
bambina
. I will read. And I will think about where Nigela Ricita Associates can expand its holdings in southern New Hampshire.”
    â€œYou’re supposed to be on vacation,” Tricia chided him.
    â€œWorking with my employer is such a joy, I consider it an honor,” Antonio said, giving Angelica a wink.
    Tricia saw one of the leather menu folders go sailing through the air and hit the floor behind Angelica’s chair.
    â€œThis menu is disgusting. How can they not offer a chicken dish for dinner?” EM demanded.
    Lobster and beef Wellington weren’t good enough?
Tricia wondered. If EM continued her temper tantrum, they were sure to have a less-than-enjoyable meal, no matter how good the company.
    Antonio reached for the champagne bottle. “May I top up your glasses?”
    â€œYes,” the three women at the table quickly answered.
    An amused Antonio quickly