“I had the pleasure of working with your countryman, recently. He left me a generous gift I thought we could enjoy together, once I had the proper ingredients to pair it with.” He is still fussing around the kitchen as he speaks, cleaning up on the go and keeping his workspace as pristine as possible. All garbage is disposed off quickly and properly, and the dishwasher is stacked with more items as he finishes with each one.
He seems quite pleased with himself when he finally steps out of the kitchen, removing his still pristine apron and hanging it up in its usual spot, before serving the dinner.
“Lobster and prawns poached in cultured butter, with added sea-salt for a natural tinge.” He announces, carefully placing the dish in front of Bethany, followed by an identical serving for himself. “paired with saffron-infused potato fondant and wild sea vegetables.”
The scent of saffron fills the air as he removes the lid off the plate, pale smoke rising into the air, sweet and richly seasoned.
“As for the star of our evening…” Wesker presents her with a beautiful, decorated bottle painted in copper and emerald tones, still glimmering with a layer of thawing ice. “chilled, crisp, blonde ale from madame’s homeland.” He smirks, opening the bottle and filling the room with a scent of apples, honey, and citrus, as he fills a glass for himself, extending the rest of the bottle to her without any pretence of contending for the coveted drink, further.
Bethany sits at the table, the harp resting comfortably against her right shoulder while the wistful lilt of Eleanor Plunkett comfortably drifts in the space between the two of them. Her plucking of the strings is just a tad too slow to be true to the melody, a hesitation born of inexperience as she is still finding herself when it comes to learning the instrument and hand positions. A contrast to Albert's perfect control in the kitchen. Another reason for the pauses in her playing, Bethany quietly admits to herself. He is enjoyable to observe when in his element, approaching the simple task of dinner with the same methodical precision applied to anything else.
And whatever it is he is putting together, smells absolutely divine.
The space between the notes lengthens. Bethany presses her cheek against the smooth wood of the harp as if in a temporary defeat. And temporary it may be, but with the prospect of food approaching further practice will be shelved until they have both eaten, at the very least. The harp is eased back into its usual place, for now.
His ritual of presentation is performed with clear pride, as it should be with such skills. Even one of Bethany's former roommates who had attended Le Cordon Bleu culinary school was no match for his ability, nor the seemingly effortless confidence in its delivery. And deservedly so, the array of scents is dazzling yet harmonious. "Al, this is wonderful. I hope you get given many more generous gifts if it puts you in a sharing mood like this," she grins, accepting the bottle from him and taking the opportunity to affectionately squeeze his fingers while doing so.
Seafood is a treat she simply does not partake of often enough and the first forkful of buttery lobster is sufficient to elicit a muffled appreciative moan that is rapidly stifled. It's good. He has earned every iota of possible entitlement to that pride.
"Oh, it's amazing. You've thoroughly spoiled me tonight." Her free hand snakes across the table to gently grasp his, and give another squeeze.
The ale is excellent too, all the flavours pleasingly complementary.
"I looked into the subject of the song I was playing earlier," Bethany shares after draining a measure of her glass.
"It's a sad tale. In some ways a bit familiar, too. The woman from this song; her family's lands were stolen, then rented back to them." Cromwell, of course. This was well known to him as it was hardly the first time this subject has came up.
"The Plunkett patriarch had a lease, but then he died, and a few years later his wife was imprisoned and exiled by the 'landlord'. Their son was married with two daughters, and he was murdered. The son's widow was able to get a portion of the old lands back, and eventually the exiled mother returned, too." Bethany pauses to partake of the potato fondant. "Though, the son's widow passed, leaving the two daughters orphaned. One of whom is the lady Eleanor the song is named after."
"When the girls grew up they found the old lease their grandfather had signed, it was still valid and per its terms the lands should have been theirs all along and for some time to come. They took legal action, and originally were able to get the lands back along with some compensation for the occupation, though that was later overturned, and they lost."
Bethany frowns. The struggles of the people from the past do not seem too dissimilar to those of the present. In a way this, specifically, is reminiscent of what had happened to her own mother's family.
"Without this context, it's just a beautiful song. I think it's interesting that beauty can come from tragedy, can even be a way to remember it if you care to dig below the surface."
Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from those who came before, or perhaps, simply, the more things change the more they stay the same.
