Holography 3
As a Reminder and a Promise
by
Pat Foley
Chapter 25
Home again, Sascek let her into the house and stationed himself outside it, talking to the perimeter guard, who were conspicuous by their presence today. She sighed, thinking that no doubt Sarek had increased security all around due to the press' renewed interest in her. Well, it wouldn't last forever. She walked into her kitchen, determined that once and for all it was going to be her kitchen. She might be saddled with Vulcan guards, but by god she would chop her own carrots. And came up against T'Rueth.
"Good afternoon, my lady," T'Rueth said, taking a tray of confections out of the oven that Amanda knew for a fact Sarek found irresistible, and that she made him perhaps three times a year. And not very well at that. Amanda sighed, watching as T'Rueth poured a ladle of some shimmering glaze over the confections and thought of her poor husband, who more than she liked to admit, ate vegetables seasoned with her own blood when she nicked her fingers chopping them. Of course she washed them off and hoped for the best and Sarek never complained, and she hoped he never knew, but –- who was she kidding in the face of all this? Both a vegetable and a fruit salad sat ready for the table that looked more like art sculptures than entrée. On the stove something delectable was simmering. And she'd seen in the oven as well a planth, a mushroom like fungus, which in spite of its origins and composition could taste absolutely delectable when seasoned and long baked, and surrounded by equally roasted vegetables. It was quite a feast.
"My god, am I out of my league," she murmured.
"My lady?"
"It looks and smells wonderful, T'Rueth. Thank you."
"I am honored, my lady."
"Amanda."
T'Rueth gave her a reproving look. "As I was saying, my lady, it is my pleasure to prepare meals in this kitchen again."
Amanda winced and closed her eyes. "Again? You were here before?"
T'Rueth gave her a startled look. "Of course my lady. Before I went to the Palace."
"How long?" Amanda swallowed and asked in a small voice. "How long were you here?"
"Since before your husband was born. I remember when I'Chiya was just a cub, and they both were teething. I'Chiya on all the chair legs, you can see the marks, still there - and Sarek on I'Chiya's ears. What a pair they were. "
Amanda winced. "Ouch."
T'Rueth looked back from her cooking. "Did you injure yourself, my lady?"
Amanda drew a deep breath. "Just a twinge from a painful conscience. T'Rueth, I am sorry. I didn't know."
"Sorry?"
"That you had to go to the Palace. That Sarek – and I-"
"It is understandable and admirable for a young wife to wish to run her own household." T'Rueth said placidly, sliding another tray of confections in the oven. Amanda wondered who she thought was going to eat all this food. "But now that you have Council duties, as well as all others, it is only logical -"
"Council duties?" At T'Rueth's enquiring look she shook herself and swallowed. So it wasn't just the reporter. "Yes, Council duties. I used to think it was admirable to …want to run my own household. Now I wonder if it was rather selfish."
"Selfish? T'Rueth pondered the English term. Amanda had noticed even Vulcans conversant in English puzzled sometimes over emotional terms. As if they weren't taught them. "To one's self. This is a rather large house to handle on one's own."
"T'Rueth, how long were you planning to stay?"
"To stay, my lady?"
Amanda eyed her, suspicious, suddenly realizing something. "You aren't here for …just the Council week, are you?"
"Matriarch asked me to come back, and of course, I agreed," she said, blithely garnishing one of the fruit dishes with rose petals.
"Yes, of course," Amanda said faintly. "Thank you, T'Rueth."
T'Rueth was more interested in business. "I understand my lady doesn't care for dining in the hall. Perhaps you'd care to have the table set on the terrace? It should be comfortable this evening. And my lord has always preferred to dine there when the weather is fine."
Amanda seldom put dinner out on the terrace, because it meant her lugging everything out there, and then carrying everything back. Nor, except for formal dinner parties, did they ever dine in the main hall. She'd never quite seen the point. The kitchen was huge, and had a biggish table at one end, probably meant for the kitchen staff, but it didn't seem to mind the family using it. And a very pretty little breakfast nook off to one side that overlooked the gardens that they used as often as not for breakfast through dinner. Not that Sarek - her lord - wouldn't - didn't – help clear. She never even had to ask, even though she felt he'd starve before he'd actually prepare something for himself in the kitchen. He seemed to regard that as totally out of his bailiwick. The most she'd ever seen him do was dial the servitor for tea, and that rarely.
Nor had her logical Vulcan husband ever said one word to her, not once, not ever about liking to dine on the terrace, or she would have gladly done it anyway. In absence of that, taking everything out to the terrace just seemed like a lot of work for illogical al fresco dining.
And she winced inwardly at T'Rueth's repeated use of the archaic titles, reminded of what the cook would say about the usual conclusion to an evening meal, when her lord helped his lady clear the table. She'd probably be shocked. Maybe she should be. Even after twenty years of Sarek unabashedly pitching in to help her clear, as if he'd been born to kitchen chores, when she knew he most decidedly had not, Amanda was starting to agree with her. What had she been doing all these years?
She belatedly met T'Rueth's patiently waiting gaze. "Yes, thank you. That would be lovely."
Probably tied up with Council business, Sarek was rather late coming home. He came flying through the hall obviously looking for her, finding her perhaps by the sheer process of elimination, and not apparently expecting her where he found her. Hardly surprising considering she almost never served dinner out there. Spying her through the long windows on the terrace, he caught himself in his headlong rush, and approached at his more usual sedate pace. She was sitting morosely at the expertly set table, pondering her own inadequacies and feeling useless.
"I did not know we were dining here, my wife."
"T'Rueth thought you would enjoy it."
"Indeed." His gaze swept the table, a little wide eyed at the elaborate, formal setting, even in this casual location, and the many dishes, something to which he was no longer accustomed after years of her casually thrown together meals. She was more of the salad and a one dish type of cook. And since they had fruit galore, she never bothered much with prepared desserts. Spock had never liked sweets; conscious of her weight, she never ate them herself, and though Sarek did like them, he had a tendency to indulge when she did offer them that made her think Vulcans had a predictable weakness in that vein, and so she tried not to play up to it, thinking he wouldn't appreciate her for it.
She didn't miss his lingering glance over the table. "I guess that means you would."
"Amanda?"
"Nothing. Are you hungry?"
"Yes. Very."
Sarek ate with appetite. That wasn't unusual; he generally ate lightly at midmeal and was invariably hungry by evening. Now she was beginning to wonder if he deliberately starved himself so that even her meals were palatable.
She told herself such pettiness was beneath her. But she found her meal a little hard to swallow, in spite of the fact that the food was varied, prettily arranged, and delicious. It felt like a large portion of crow, to be exact. The more he ate, the less she wanted to. As the sun set, the outside lighting came on, including the fountain lights. She watched the play of water and light, and sighed.
"There aren't even any bugs," she muttered crossly.
"Amanda?"
'I'm just perversely complaining that everything is perfect."
Sarek paused at that, his eyes wide. "And this is a source of concern?"
"It is if I want my own kitchen back."
He flicked a careless brow, and plucked one of T'Rueth's confections off the serving dish. Before he'd finished the rest of his dinner. If he'd been Spock, she would have swatted his hand for such table manners. Though with Spock, she'd have had no need to. Unlike her husband, her son had always been a picky eater. He wasn't the type to grab for desert before he'd finished dinner. He wasn't the type to grab for desert at all. In fact, even finishing dinner was a moot point for her finicky son, who was totally unlike his father in that respect. Far from cheerfully devouring whatever she put before him, Spock always regarded his dinner with deep suspicion, as if she were trying to poison him. He didn't much care for anything new, didn't like anything prepared differently than she'd prepared it a thousand times before, and regarded a cookbook or a new recipe as an instrument meant to torture him. Indeed, if one of the carrots on his place was slightly longer than the other, he could scarcely bare to eat it. Neither she nor Sarek knew where he got these traits.
Whereas her husband was now reaching for a second sweet. She wondered if he felt he had to grab them while he could and chided herself for such waspishness. Sarek had lost a lot of weight in vrie; the chronic fever had wasted him almost to nothing; he had much to make up for. She told herself that now that he really was over it, had convinced himself by releasing her that he was over it, and was relieved of that stress; naturally he would have more appetite. It wasn't a damning reflection on her own cooking. But she had trouble convincing herself of that.
"I will speak to T'Pau – and T'Rueth in the morning, about sending her back to the Palace if that's your wish," Sarek offered, and unabashedly went back to his dinner.
"'She was a good cook, as cooks go, and as cooks go, she went.'" Amanda muttered
"What?"
"A quote, from the immortal Saki. Never mind. You mean to bail me out the way you did twenty years ago? I think not."
Sarek eyed her. "No?"
"Sarek, she cooks like a dream."
"Naturally."
Amanda drew a sharp breath, and then half smiled. He was Vulcan, and he couldn't help telling the truth. One of Saki's besetting sins. But it wouldn't hurt her to tell it either. "It would be awfully selfish of me to deny you that purely so that I can cook for you badly. And have my kitchen to myself."
He paused in wolfing down, at least for him, and albeit with perfect manners and utterly Vulcan control – but wolfing none the less - a fruit dish that had been made to look like the petals of a flower, the one that T'Rueth had garnished all along the edges with real rose petals. Rose petals actually were an exotic confection in themselves to Vulcan taste buds, and a section of her garden was set aside for harvesting to Vulcan markets, which paid a premium price for them. Humans could eat them too, but she never thought they had much taste at all, herself. And she always felt eating them was rather…silly. She always forgot to use them in dishes, even though Sarek, and even her fussy son, if they were in that section of the garden, would sometimes pluck and nibble on rosebuds like chipmunks. Even after all these years it rather startled her. What was worse was that for a time in certain fashionable and cosmopolitan Vulcan circles, it had been di rigueur to have a centerpiece of Terran roses, whereby at the conclusion of the dinner the Vulcan guests plucked the petals and buds and ate them for dessert.
The first time she'd seen that, she'd turned crimson with the effort not to laugh or even crack a smile. Sarek had been concerned enough to take her home as soon as was socially politic, even though she'd assured him she was fine. And then in the aircar, she'd put her head down and laughed, howled really, until the tears rolled down her cheeks. Please don't eat the daisies, with a vengeance. She'd tried to explain it to her mystified husband, but she was afraid it rather suffered in translation.
And it was obvious her concerns were suffering in translation now. Sarek was regarding her with a puzzled air.
"You do not cook badly."
"Next to her I do. I mean…" Amanda gestured to the elaborately prepared dishes, all beautifully set. "look at all this."
Sarek looked at it again, eyes narrowed as if seeking to understand what she meant, and raised an inquiring brow.
"Don't you see it?"
"I confess I do not."
"You are hopeless. You are so…so dense!"
"Indeed." Sarek scanned the table again, as if looking for something out of place, then raised his eyes back to hers. "Perhaps. I obviously don't understand the problem now. You have said the food is not unpalatable."
"I can't do anything near to like this," she said in frustration. "Not even if I spent all afternoon. Oh, maybe, if I apprenticed to T'Rueth for a while, I could turn out something similar. I'm not stupid."
Sarek did raise his brows in surprise at this, but she was too caught up to even notice.
"I'm not saying it's a skill I can't learn. But in the twenty minutes or so that I usually spend throwing a meal together after class, there is no way I can do anything like this. And I don't care how it sounds, but I don't want to spend all that time in the kitchen. At least… not every day."
Sarek's brow cleared. "Amanda… do you think I care whether the fruit I eat is made to look like a flower arrangement?"
"I don't know," she regarded him morosely. "You might."
"I don't."
"Then why does she do it?"
"Because it is her profession, and she is a professional."
"She still makes you dishes I rarely do. And about ten thousand times better."
Sarek looked at her a moment, astonished. "Are you…jealous?"
Amanda drew herself up. "Sarek-"
"You are jealous… of a cook." Even his voice was astonished.
Her face flamed. But she had nothing to say for herself.
"I don't think I have ever known you to be jealous before," Sarek pondered, reflecting on that. "How very interesting." He looked back at the table, and looked at her again, and shook his head, mystified.
"You never give me cause to be jealous."
His eyes widened. "Am I giving you cause now? Over a cook?" He looked down at the food again, wide eyed and taken aback, as if the food, or his hunger, had suddenly betrayed him.
"No, not jealous like that. But you're right, I feel- I just-"
Sarek's look of inquiry deepened. He couldn't be trying harder to understand.
Amanda's was miserable with jealousy and shame, shame predominating. She'd been so happy to be released, to have her home and life back, and she'd relished the thought of enjoying that. And she couldn't help it, but she did resent losing even a part of what she had so long hoped to regain. Her life before. Her normal life. Their normal lives. Was she so wrong, so selfish, to want that? Part of her said no, but part said yes, she was.
"She knows this kitchen inside and out. And you. Since before you were born. And she cooks like a dream. And now I find out T'Pau didn't send her here just for the council day or week, but forever."
"I told you I would speak to her." Sarek went back to his meal as if that were settled.
"I don't want you to."
He raised a brow. "You wish her to stay?"
"No, but - I don't want her made to leave again because of me."
"Amanda, if there is any question between whether I would have you unhappy or T'Rueth back in the kitchen, that is no contest."
"Oh, don't make me feel worse."
"The fact that I value your happiness displeases you?"
"No, that my happiness requires such selfishness displeases me. I don't want to spend hours every day in the kitchen doing all this," she waved at the elaborately set table. "But why should you have to put up with my inadequate cooking because of my selfish-"
"I have said-"
"Oh, Sarek, I'm not stupid." Amanda gestured to the table. "She knows exactly what you want."
Sarek eyed her. "And you believe you don't?"
"At times, no."
Sarek shook his head, mystified. "I quite agree." He pushed his plate away.
Amanda straightened, hurt in spite of some sense of relief that he was at least admitting the truth.
Sarek sat back, fixing her with a look. "Amanda. We have been married many years. Long enough for you to understand certain facets of my character. Indeed you have commented before about various statements I have made concerning my …likes and dislikes. You have in fact, remarked quite adversely on my tendency to harp, I believe is your term, on such. I therefore find it …incomprehensible," he shook his head at that, as if in astonishment, "Quite incomprehensible, that you still do not understand this about me. Indeed, I am amazed that you now consider that I have ever been shy, as you might say, about getting exactly what I want."
She looked at him, and drew a breath.
"Exactly what I want." He nodded once, as if that was settled.
"And you are saying you don't want all this?" She asked suspiciously.
"It's very pretty, and the food is good," Sarek said, tilting his head in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "If you wish T'Rueth to stay, I have no objection. If you wish her to go, I also have no objection."
"You mean, you'd be just as happy to go back to eating my hastily thrown together meals, made by my own two hands…and too often nicked fingers?"
Sarek frowned. "The latter has been a serious concern of mine, as I have often remonstrated. You are abysmally careless of sharp instruments. Avoiding exposure to such would be a positive factor to T'Rueth's staying." He covered one of her hands with one of his, possessively, protectively, and shrugged, for real this time, a human shrug of his shoulders. "But I suspect it would avail me of nothing. You'd find something else difficult or dangerous to do to plague me. Attack the roses with sharp pruning shears. Do your own aircar maintenance. Take in orphaned lematya kittens. Or something worse." He raised his brows. "Of the myriad horrendous possibilities that present themselves to my speculation, I would far rather have you nicking your fingers, as you say, in the kitchen."
"I am not careless," she said, stung
Sarek fixed her with a dark glare. "Yes. You are."
"I'm not. I'm just…human. And sometimes…not all the time, but yes, sometimes, I am in a hurry to fix dinner after my last class and I just-."
"Amanda, you are my bondmate and I am undeniably biased in your favor. I will even admit to loving you, Vulcan as I am. However, my bias only extends so far, and nothing can alter the undeniable fact that you are abysmally careless of your person. I would have to lock you up to have any peace of mind on that score." Sarek glanced at her affectionately. "And I have already agreed not to lock you up. Though I still find the prospect, at times, very tempting. No more so than when you have a sharp instrument in your careless hands. Keeping you out of the kitchen has therefore some merit-"
"You're just overprotective. You're obsessive over that. You'd keep me wrapped in cotton wool if you could."
"I believe I have exonerated myself on that score, my wife."
Amanda flushed at this reference to her recent release. "Let's not get into that right now. And get back to the real issue. I find it hard to believe you wouldn't want T'Rueth to stay. Surely you would have preferred it if she had been here all these years– as she used to be before I came."
Sarek brows rose, and he gave her a look of skeptical disbelief. And then shook his head. "No."
"She cooks so much better than me."
Sarek sighed, as if wearying of the argument. "You seem to prefer her dishes. I have stated I have no objection if she stays."
"I'm asking what you want."
"I have stated that."
"All right. Then I'm asking why you don't want her here. Because it isn't logical that you wouldn't, given she is a much better cook than me."
Sarek sighed slightly. "She is a professional cook. You are my wife. I can appreciate the competent results of a trained professional. As to whether such efforts compare with those prepared by my wife, with her own two hands and nicked fingers, as you say, there is no comparison," Sarek regarded her blandly, not a chink in his Vulcan calm, in spite of his words. "I will confess I have found it rather…charming…that my wife has always preferred to… care for her own household with her own hands. So long as that is what you have wished to do," he shrugged, "I have enjoyed the experience in turn. But these are tedious, repetitive chores. I have absolutely no objection if you now find them so- or have found time more at a premium - and wish to hand them over to others. As I have said, I have every expectation you will simply find something else to do which will both charm and exasperate me."
Amanda stared at him disbelievingly. "Oh, you are too good to be true."
"I don't understand."
Amanda drew a deep breath. "I think that is one of the prettiest speeches you have ever made to me."
Sarek's brows rose to his bangs in astonishment. "A discussion on whether or not to retain a cook?"
"You really don't know what you just said, do you?"
He frowned slightly. "Perhaps not, since at the moment, I am finding you utterly incomprehensible."
Amanda looked down. Probably Sarek didn't understand what he had just said, or what it meant to her. And he was probably right. Unlike her son, Sarek had never been a fussy eater. Sensualist that he was, he had never dwelt overmuch on the pleasures of the table, and always seemed perfectly content with whatever she made. Perhaps he was enough of a sensualist that any reasonably prepared food was appetizing to him. Perhaps it was just Vulcan control, or Vulcan indifference. She'd at least never known him to complain in that regard. She should give him credit for knowing his own mind. Unlike her. Right now she was finding it hard to reconcile her own conflicting views. "Maybe because right now I can't understand myself. Sarek, I really don't know what to do about T'Rueth. I think she really wants to stay, and I hate to be the reason she's sent away again."
"As you have so often said, it is your kitchen."
"No. It is yours. I just have…borrowed it for a few years."
"Amanda," Sarek shook his head again, chiding her.
"And as much as you keep telling me you don't care about" she waved her arm at the table "things like this, I think you must care a little bit." She eyed him. "You know, on Earth, there is a common saying. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
Sarek's eyes did widen at this and he actually drew back a little in shock, as startled a reaction as she had ever seen from him, when he was in full control. "What a barbarically gruesome expression."
"Not literally," Amanda said in exasperation. "It means a woman should cook well enough to obtain a man's regard."
"I see." Sarek shook his head in disbelief and eyed her warily. "It will take me some time to recover from the …violent image of that idiom. Particularly from my wife. I would much prefer that you never used it again." He gave her a last wary look. but then he drew a measured breath, reestablishing his control. "As for the meaning inherent in it. No. Not my heart. My requirements are entirely different, and do not include the duties of a cook. Or for that matter, a scullery maid. Or a gardener."
"On the one hand, that is a pretty sentiment. On the other, the more duties you remove, the more it emphasizes just one, and that's hardly an estimable vocation."
Sarek flicked an eyebrow. "That depends on who is doing the estimating."
Her face flamed. "This is the attitude that when I am among human women, sends most of them up in arms – and highly critical of me. Sarek, a concubine's duties begin and end in bed. A wife is supposed to – to manage her household."
"I quite agree. But managing it does not entail being maid of all work. It does not require that you dig the garden and clean the floors and prepare the meals and scrub the sehlat when he gets muddy. All of which you have done at times. Unnecessarily so."
"But it does require I show up in bed."
"That is one task cannot be delegated. Nor would I expect that you would wish it so. If you are jealous of even a cook."
Amanda sighed. "We are getting off the original subject of the argument."
Sarek shrugged. "I am not arguing. I am accepting that you can retain or delegate such chores. It is your household and your decision. Apart from those tasks we have mentioned as undelegatable, I am entirely indifferent."
"Even if you say you don't care, I think you should have the dishes you care for prepared to perfection."
"Perfection comes in many forms. What I care for is you."
She glanced up at him. "That's sweet. But no one except you would consider my cooking perfection in any form."
"I was not speaking solely of culinary skills."
She flushed. "You are biased."
"I should certainly hope so. Appropriately so, since in this, mine is the only opinion that matters. Other than yours. But as you seem to have great difficulty coming to one, perhaps mine will have to suffice." He looked at her troubled face. "Amanda, you have no cause to be jealous. I gather the traditional human response would be for me to be…flattered and pleased by your jealousy, but I find incomprehensible any pleasure that comes at the price of such unhappiness on your part. Nor does your shocking idiom have any relevance to my heart. I am perfectly content for things to return in our household as they were. In some respects, I too would prefer it. However, if you want her to stay I have no objection. I do not expect my wife to perform tedious chores, any more than," he searched for an appropriate analogy "than you have ever expected me to dig your garden. I have other required tasks. You have other required tasks. There is no difference. I have hired gardeners for those chores. This is the same."
"Not quite the same. I have the garden, you haven't the cook." She sighed. "The problem is, I want both. I want you to have a decent cook. But I'll miss the …intimacy…of having the house, and the kitchen, to ourselves. And badly as I do it, I'll miss cooking for you." She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe – we should keep her, but give her lots of time off?"
Sarek watched her fondly. "That seems a reasonable compromise. I only wonder at the painful struggle you have taken to reach such a trivial decision."
"It isn't trivial to me."
"Yesterday you were very emphatic that the house, and the kitchen, were yours," he said, puzzled again. "Today, you have said it is not, and you seem very …emotional about this. I don't understand. I have never understood your attitude regarding attendants. Does having a cook, and servants, make this less your home?"
Amanda sighed. "Sometimes it feels that way."
"Your feelings are inaccurate," Sarek assured her.
"My feelings aren't logical. That's why they are feelings. Sarek. Can you get T'Rueth to call me something other than "my lady"."
"That is your proper title. What else should she call you?"
Amanda sighed. "How about my name?"
"That is somewhat improper. Why do you dislike the title?"
"It makes me feel funny."
"Funny?"
"Weird. Look I acknowledge that you're head of the ruling clan-"
"Indeed," Sarek looked amused. "I am relieved that my wife accepts this."
"But I just married you."
"We have been married some time."
"I meant I only married you. I'm not Vulcan royalty. My blood isn't blue – or green, for that matter. I'm not Vulcan."
"Which even my mother has come to conclude was never a requirement for marriage to me. Or for the assumption of that title."
"I've had twenty years experience otherwise."
"That is past."
"And it might not take me another twenty years to get past it myself, but I'm not sure how comfortable I can get with it this week." She looked at him. "There have been a lot of changes, recently, my husband. At least, at least in my own kitchen, if it is still my kitchen, and my home, I'd like to be myself." She looked up at him. "To get back to being myself. To have permission to be myself, as I was. Do you understand?"
He blinked at that, thinking of years ago, Mark saying something similar to him regarding his wife. "Yes."
"Thank you."
"Amanda, you do not need my permission for that, but you do have to tell T'Rueth. Or someone must. Have you asked her?
"I tried. She ignored it."
"You must remember, she has worked for many years in T'Pau's household, where such informality would never be considered. She probably thought she misconstrued your meaning. However, if you wish, I will see what I can do to convince her."
"She might take it better from …her lord."
"That is my proper title. One of them, at any rate. You should not hold it against T'Rueth for following the ancient forms."
"I guess I'll get used to that too." She looked at him. "Sarek, she – T'Rueth – said something about Council duties. And a reporter today implied the same thing."
"You have Council duties, my wife," As if that settled that issue, Sarek reached for another sweet.
"No one has told me," Amanda said pointedly.
Sarek paused, giving her an astonished look. Then he settled back, eyeing her speculatively. "I plead cultural blindness in turn, my wife. I had forgotten that you might not know of them."
"What are they?"
He rocked back in his chair, shrugging. "Nothing very onerous. Sitting at Council now and then. Reviewing and voting on occasional legislation. You are not required to attend full time, only in those cases where all the clan leadership must be present to render judgment."
She swallowed hard at this. "And in those cases I am required?"
"Of course."
She drew a breath. "Sarek, all that is in High Vulcan."
"You are competent in that language."
"Not conversant."
"It is an archaic language, and you have not had the opportunity to become facile." Sarek shrugged. "Anything you fail to understand, you can ask."
"Is there no way for me to…get out of this?"
"To get out of it? It is a duty inherent in your position as my wife. It is required."
"So there's no way I could avoid it."
"Your only option would be divorce."
She sighed. "That seems a little extreme."
"A little. Indeed. Amanda you need not be concerned. That is why T'Pau assigned T'Lean to you. She has long performed such duties for my mother – for as Matriarch T'Pau is also not required to attend every session, nor does she care to, but must be present to render judgments on certain issues. T'Lean is well versed in attending such sessions, in unbiased listening, and she has the computer skills necessary to consolidate issues into coherent summaries and presentations. It is part of her function. She was present today as usual in the attendant's section on your behalf."
Amanda's jaw had dropped. "She was?"
"Naturally. As I had expected. It is part of her duties in serving you. You should expect to see regular reports. And T'Lean will bring you whatever you need to evaluate such issues as require judgments, and inform you of the schedule. She will update your computer calendar and inform you of those sessions where your personal attendance is desired or required."
"I thought it was her duty to wait on me hand and foot."
"That too, of course. But I excused her that duty this morning, as you had indicated you had had enough of her yesterday." He eyed her. "Perhaps that was presumptuous of me, she is your attendant. But you were still sleeping, and I decided rest was more beneficial to you than her questionable attentions, given you did not seem to care at all for them yesterday."
"You excused her… for this morning. Meaning she'll be around tomorrow morning."
"This evening, in fact. Council ran late as it often does on the first business day but she should have come back when I did. I am surprised you have not seen her."
Amanda looked down unhappily at her plate. "Great."
"Amanda, if you do not care for her attentions, excuse her from those duties."
She drew a deep breath. "I had thought to excuse her altogether. But Sarek, I didn't know about the Council duties. I can't be in two places at once."
"Which is the reason T'Pau assigned T'Lean to you. It is traditional for a First Attendant to be assigned to a First wife upon her assumption of such duties." Sarek flicked a brow. "Though that has been long delayed. It is about time T'Pau did so."
"Well, I can't excuse her now,"Amanda said crossly. "I'll have to think about this."
"I hope the decision does not come as painfully as the one about the cook," Sarek said, regarding her doubtfully. "Amanda if you are concerned about any of this, you can ask me."
"That's easy for you to say. It's hard for me to ask about things I'm not even aware of!"
"True. I was remiss in informing you. I will endeavor to be less…culturally blind. For the present, decide what you want to use of T'Lean's services, if any, and inform her of such. That is all that is required."
She drew a deep breath. "Yes. Thank you."
Sarek regarded her thoughtfully. "Amanda, I dislike seeing you troubled. Servants and attendants are supposed to be a source of aid, not otherwise."
She forced a smile to her face. "Like I said, it's just …a lot of changes, in a short time. I'll be okay." She sighed. "And I'll talk to T'Rueth. As you say, it's my kitchen, and I have to get used to all my new roles. Including managing all these attendants."
"Very well. But tomorrow is soon enough. For now, perhaps you would care for a walk in the garden, my wife? This evening is cool enough it should be very pleasant."
"Yes, I'd like that."
He rose and held out a hand. She looked down at the table, and up at him, frowning a little, the habit of years not easily abandoned.
"Amanda," Sarek said, amused and exasperated. "Leave that. T'Jar will see to it. She has her responsibilities-" He took her hand firmly. "And you have yours."
"I guess there are …certain advantages to having servants," she said, giving the table one last lingering look as he drew her to her feet.
"Indeed. And if we are on the subject of your duties," Sarek reached a hand to the clasp in her hair, "there is one you are neglecting."
She flushed, looking up at him while he undid the clasp with his usual fussy care, careful not to pull her hair in the process. "I'm sorry. I guess I was so thrown by T'Rueth, that I forgot."
"A situation easily remedied," Sarek said, freeing her long hair and putting the clasp on the table. "But perhaps it will help your…jealousy…to know there are some duties only you can fulfill. Which I wish only you to fulfill. And that I will have no other."
"You're not going to let me forget that, are you?" she said, half amused, as he led her off.
"There is a certain novelty in finding an area in which I can make you jealous, my wife." He ignored the approach of T'Jar to clear the table, and indulged in his first impulse, to encircle his wife's waist with his arm. "I might keep T'Rueth around only for that."
"Would you indeed?" she asked, teasing in turn.
"Wholly apart from her…excellent cuisine."
"You!" Amanda laughed, and wrapped her own arm around her husband's waist, and let him lead her off, into the gardens.
To be continued…