Somerset Maugham. The Luncheon
Part 4
She ate the caviar 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 said:
‘I see that you're in the habit of eating a heavy luncheon. I'm sure it's a mistake. Why don't you follow my example and just eat one thing? I'm sure you'd feel much better then.’
‘I am only going to eat one thing,’ I said, as the waiter came again with the menu. She waved him aside with a light gesture.
‘No, no, I never eat anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than that. I can't 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. ‘Madame wants to know if you have any of those giant asparagus,’ I asked the waiter.I hoped he would say no. A happy smile spread over his broad face, and he assured me that they had some so large, so splendid, so tender, that it was a marvel.
‘I'm not in the least hungry,’ my guest sighed, ‘but if you insist I don't mind having some asparagus.’
I ordered them.
‘Aren't you going to have any?’
‘No, I never eat asparagus.’
‘I know there are people who don't like them.’