A Disasterous Birthday Celebration in the South of France by Jane Shortall

The Luncheon Party

We assured him it had not changed, and everything had been superb. Claude in turn told us how he and Madame had enjoyed a very good lunch too, and then, the important stuff having been debated, in a trice he hooked up the little car and hauled it back on the track. He examined the underneath and pronounced it fit to drive.

Maggie drove away, offering grateful thanks and saying she might have a little rest during the late afternoon; she had an invitation to a splendid dinner party that same evening. But it wasn’t to be.

She phoned me later to tell me she would now be able to stay in and watch TV all night, because unfortunately the hostess of the swish evening affair, (Chinese, and a fabulous cook) when preparing some ducks earlier, had chopped off one of her fingers with a cleaver. Her party, naturally, was cancelled.

What impressed me most was that she had calmly walked out of her house, got into the passenger seat of her car, called to her husband to please look on the chopping board, get a bag of ice, put the finger in it and drive to the hospital.

He acted quickly and it turned out that while we were all eating, drinking and laughing, this brave and gutsy lady had spent the afternoon in our local hospital, not too far away, having surgery to re-attach the finger.

Lucky then, that we didn’t plan anything for Friday 13th, wasn’t it?

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The Luncheon Party

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