----by Somerest Maugham
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 recognised her. She addressed me brightly.
‘Well, it’s many years since we first met. 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
the 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.
‘I never eat anything for luncheon.’ She said.
‘Oh, don’t say that!’ I answered generously.
‘I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far
too much nowadays. 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 first
they had had. I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked
her if she would have something while it was being cooked.
‘No,’ she answered, ‘I 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.
‘I think you are unwise to eat meat,’ she said. ‘I don’t
know how you can expect to work after eating heavy things
like chops. I don’t believe in overloading my stomach.’
Then came the question of drink.
‘I never drink anything for luncheon,’ she said
‘Neither do I,’ I answered promptly.
‘Except white wine,’ she proceeded as though I had not
spoken.
‘These French white wines are so light. They’re
wonderful for the digestion.’
‘What would you like?’ I asked, hospitable still, but not
exactly effusive.
She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white
teeth.
‘My doctor won’t let me drink anything but Champagne.’
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.
‘What are you going to drink, then?’
‘Water.’ 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.
‘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 ever so much
better for it.’
‘I am only going to eat one thing,’ I said, as the waiter
came again with the bill of fare.
She waved him aside with an airy gesture.
‘No, no, I never eat 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.
‘Madame wants to know if you have any of those giant
asparagus,’ I asked the waiter.
I tried with all my might to will him to say no. A happy
smile spread over his broad, priest-like 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. The fact
is, you ruin your palate by all the meat you eat.’
We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic seized
me: it was not a question now how much money I should
have left over for the rest of the month but whether I had
enough to pay the bill. It would be mortifying to find myself
ten francs short and be obliged to borrow from my guest. I
could not bring myself to do that. I knew exactly how much
I had and if the bill came to me I made up my mind that I
would put my hand in my pocket and with a dramatic cry
start up and say it had been picked. Of course, it would be
awkward if she had not money enough either to pay the
bill; then the only thing would be to leave my watch and
say I would come back and pay later.
The asparagus appeared. They were enormous,
succulent, and appetizing. The smell of the melted butter
tickled my nostrils as the nostrils of Johovah were tickled
by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites. I watched
the abandoned woman thrust them down her throat in
large voluptuous mouthfuls, and, in my polite way, I
discoursed on the condition of the drama in the Balkans.
At last she finished.
‘Coffee,’ I said...
‘Yes, just an ice-cream and coffee,’ she answered.
I was past caring now, so I ordered coffee for myself
and ice-cream and coffee for her.
‘You know, there’s one thing I thoroughly believe in,’
she said, as she ate the ice-cream. ‘One should always get
up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more.’
‘Are you still hungry?’ I asked faintly.
‘Oh, no, I’m not hungry; you see, I don’t eat luncheon. I
have a cup of coffee in the morning and then dinner, but I
never eat more than one thing for luncheon. I was speaking
for you.’
‘Oh, I see!’
Then a terrible thing happened. While we were waiting
for the coffee, the headwaiter, with an ingratiating smile
on his false face, came up to us bearing a large basket full
of huge peaches. They had the blush of an innocent girl;
they had the rich tone of an Italian landscape. But surely
peaches were not in season then? Lord knew what they
cost. I knew too—a little later, for my guest, going on with
her conversation, absentmindedly took one.
‘You see, you’ve filled your stomach with a lot of meat’
—my one miserable little chop— ‘and you can’t eat any
more. But I’ve just had a snack and I shall enjoy a peach.’
The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only
enough for a quite inadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an
instant on the three francs I left for the waiter and I knew
that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the
restaurant I had the whole month before me and not a
penny in my pocket.
‘Follow my example,’ she said as we shook hands, ‘and
never eat more than one thing for luncheon.’
‘I’ll do better than that,’ I retorted. ‘I’ll eat nothing for
dinner tonight.’
‘Humorist’, she cried gaily, jumping into a cab. ‘You’re
quite a humorist!’
But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that
I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a
hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the result
with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone.
Summary of Luncheon
Summary of 'The Luncheon' the writer of 'The Luncheon' William Somerset Maugham,
in this short story, relates about a lady who is an admirer of his stories.
She wins the author's favor and expresses her wish to meet him at a high class restaurant.
William exposes the false motives of modest eating habits, of the middle classes with a touch of humor.
Twenty years ago the author was living in Paris, when he had met a lady,
who is an admirer of his stories. She had met him at a play and relates to him the incident
during the interval which had occurred at that time. She had read a book written by him, and had
written a letter to him about her views. Another letter was posted, stating about her visit
to Paris and her desire to have a little luncheon at the Foyots, a restaurant where French senators eat.
William was not a rich man and had never even thought of visiting that restaurant, nor did he possess the art of refusing her request.
Estimating the cost of a luncheon, which should not cost more than fifteen Francs,
he decided to cut down coffee from his menu, so that he could have enough for himself for the next two weeks.
His meeting was fixed on Thursday, at half past twelve, through correspondence.
The lady was in her Forties, talkative, and not attractive. She had ordered for Salmon,
and Caviar, while the Salmon was being prepared. William had ordered for the cheapest dish mutton- chops.
After the meal, she had ordered for white champagne. She kept enjoying the meal, and chatting about art,
literature, and music, while William kept wondering about the bill.
The bill of fare was soaring above that which he had anticipated.
When the waiter had come with the bill she waived him aside with an air of gesture and ordered for Asparagus,
the horribly expensive dish. William’s heart sank, his mouth watered, and yet he had to quell his emotions.
Adding to worsen the situation, she ordered for ice-cream and then coffee, all the same announcing that
'she never ate anything for luncheon - just a bite' Thoughts kept reeling through William's mind about
how he was going to pay the exorbitant bill or how could he feign an act of his pocket having been picked.
To his utter dismay, the head waiter walked up to the table with a large basket full of huge Peaches.
She picked up one protesting that her meal was just a snack, and that she could certainly enjoy the Peach.
The bill was finally paid, and William found himself with just a few Francs for the tips,
and not a penny left in his pocket for the whole month. William believes, that he had had his revenge for then,
when the Twenty years had passed by, he met her weighing One Hundred and Thirty -Six Kilograms.
-----by Rituraj singh
