With the way the past week had treated him (and by this he really only meant that Maisie had tried to pry from his not-cold-and-dead-yet hands his one secret) had left Eddie with a strong desire to go somewhere that he would most likely not run into anybody he knew. He frequented many places when he wasn't otherwise occupied, and Martini's was a place he enjoyed for the most part. As always when he went out for the night, Eddie was dressed very well, and looked sharp as ever.
The hostess guided him to his favorite seat--quiet, by the window--and then, not too long after he had made himself comfortable, the waitress showed up. She was a pretty, petite brunette, and Eddie flashed one of his make-her-knees-weak smiles at her. She always seemed to be the one to wait on him, but he was not blind as to why.
"Good evening, Mr. Carmichael," the waitress greeted.
"Good evening, Isobel. Have you been well?"
After some brief chatting, Eddie ordered his favorite wine, a red wine from southern France. As would be expected by any who knew him well enough, he spoke the French words perfectly, slipping right back into the language that he had always used with his mother's parents, and even with his own parents and siblings to some extent. It came as naturally to him as breathing, and in just another moment, the accent was gone and he sounded perfectly English as he thanked Isobel and she left to get his drink.