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The Luncheon

by W. S. Maugham (1874-1965)

I caught sight of her at the play, and in

answer to her beckoning, I went over

during the interval and sat down beside her. It was long since I had last seen her, and

if someone had not mentioned her name I hardly think I would have recognized her.

She addressed me brightly.

How time does fly! We're none of us

getting any

younger. Do

you remember the first

time

I

saw

you? You asked me to

luncheon.”

Did I remember?

It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had

a tiny apartment in the

Latin

quarter

overlooking

a

cemetery,

and

I

was

earning

barely

enough

money

to

keep

body

and

soul

together.

She

had

read

a

book

of

mine

and

had

written

to

me

about

it.

I

answered, thanking her, and presently

I

received from her

another letter

saying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; but

her

time

was

limited,

and

the

only

free

moment

she

had

was

on

the

following

Thursday; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a

little

luncheon

at

Foyot's

afterwards?

Foyot's

is

a

restaurant

at

which

the

French

senators

eat,

and it was

so far beyond my

means

that

I

had never even

thought

of

going there. But I was flattered, and I was too young to have learned to say no to a

woman.

(Few

men,

I

may

add,

learn

this

until

they

are

too

old

to

make

it

of

any

consequence to a woman what they say.) I had eighty francs (gold francs) to last me

the rest of the month, and a modest luncheon should not cost more than fifteen. If I

cut out coffee for the next two weeks I could manage well enough.

I

answered

that

I

would

meet

my

friend-by

correspondence-at

Foyot's

on

Thursday at half-past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearance

imposing rather than attractive. She was, in fact, a woman of forty (a charming age,

but not one that excites a sudden and devastating passion at first sight), and she gave

me

the

impression

of

having

more

teeth,

white

and

large

and

even,

than

were

necessary for any practical purpose. She was talkative, but since she seemed inclined

to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.

I was startled when the bill of fare was brought, for the prices were a great deal

higher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me.

A

little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.

Well, it was early in the year for salmon and it was not on the bill of fare, but I

asked the waiter if there was any. Yes, a beautiful salmon had just come in, it was the

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first they had had. I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have

something while it was being cooked.

she

answered,

never

eat

more

than

one

thing

unless

you

have

a

little

caviare, I never mind caviare.

My heart sank a little. I knew I could not afford caviare, but I could not very well

tell her that. I told the waiter by all means to bring caviare. For myself I chose the

cheapest dish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.

to

work

after

eating

heavy

things

like

chops.

I

don't

believe

in

overloading

my

stomach.

Then came the question of drink.

She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white teeth.

I fancy I turned a trifle pale. I ordered half a bottle. I mentioned casually that my

doctor had absolutely forbidden me to drink champagne.

She ate the caviare and she ate the salmon. She talked gaily of art and literature

and

music.

But

I

wondered

what

the

bill

would

come

to.

When

my

mutton

chop

arrived she took me quite seriously to task.

Why don't you follow my example and just eat one thing? I'm sure you'd feel ever so

much better for it.

of fare.

She waved him aside with an airy gesture.

anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than

that, and I eat that more as an excuse for conversation than anything else. I couldn't

possibly eat anything more unless they had some of those giant asparagus. I should

be sorry to leave Paris without having some of them.

My heart sank. I had seen them in the shops, and I knew that they were horribly

expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them.

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