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The incident before the wall of paintings didn't dampen anyone's appetite. Paul Mellon made no further comment on that painting—perhaps he had seen plenty of young men like Henry, eager to show off.

Henry, for his part, didn't press it either. Maybe it was simply a different method of aging the canvas. And even if he had stumbled onto a genuine treasure, it wasn't as though they'd let him walk away with it. In fact, after voicing his doubts, he already felt a pang of regret.

Paul and Rachel Mellon were old money, worlds apart from brash youngsters like Tony Stark. To embarrass them at the table might have consequences—hopefully none that would affect Miss Hepburn's matter. Original content can be found at novèlfire.net

But Givenchy seemed unconcerned. His conversation with the Mellons flowed with ease, while Henry remained invisible, perfectly executing the table manners he had learned.

There was no need for him to praise the food—even though it was indeed excellent—since no one cared about his opinion.

The truth was, his seat at the guests' table was borrowed prestige, the halo of standing in for Audrey Hepburn. Without her name, he'd probably have been eating with the household staff.

So Henry was more than happy to quietly enjoy the meal.

It was during this after-dinner chatter that Givenchy revealed his true purpose.

"I came today on behalf of Miss Audrey Hepburn."

"I heard she was hospitalized. Is she doing well?" Paul asked.

Rachel answered first: "She's had surgery, and it went smoothly. Isn't that right, Henry?"

Setting down his soup spoon, Henry dabbed his lips with his napkin and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"And is there anything we can do to help?" Paul asked again.

Givenchy leaned in. "Paul, in fact, I'd like to ask if we might borrow your private jet to take Audrey home to Switzerland for Christmas.

"I've visited her—she's weak, as one is after surgery. Flying on a commercial airline, even in first class, would be uncomfortable and potentially risky for her recovery. Chartering a medical flight through an airline would be complicated, and she'd be bound to their schedules.

"That's why I thought of you. If you and Rachel could help, Audrey could return home sooner. Otherwise she'll have no choice but to remain in Los Angeles until she's strong enough for long-haul travel."

Paul asked, "Would you mind sharing details of her surgery?"

Since they were finishing the last course—a light mushroom soup—Henry asked politely, "Is it all right to speak of it now?"

"Please, go ahead."

"All right." Henry gathered his words. "Miss Audrey Hepburn was diagnosed with a rare appendiceal cancer, already with some spread. It was classified as stage II—still operable.

"Two days ago, she underwent an open abdominal surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. The incision was about fifteen centimeters, the operation lasted around two hours, and it was a success.

"She will still require follow-up and chemotherapy. Her first post-op check is scheduled for three days from now at Cedars-Sinai. If her recovery goes smoothly, she'll be moved from her current ward to the convalescent wing.

"But more than simple medical care, she wishes to return to her home in Switzerland. Life there is quieter, simpler. Her doctors are optimistic about her recovery."

In those days, there was no such thing as minimally invasive surgery—the larger the operation, the larger the incision had to be.

An ordinary appendectomy might leave a five-to-ten-centimeter scar. But Hepburn's procedure also involved removing parts of the intestine where the cancer had spread, so the wound was larger.

The Mellons, at their age, with their lifelong focus on health, didn't need medical training to picture the scene. And with Hepburn's naturally frail build, her weakness after surgery would not be easily overcome.

The couple exchanged a look. Paul nodded gently, and Rachel smiled as she told her friend:

"We have no travel plans at the moment, so we'll gladly lend our plane to Miss Hepburn.

"Given her condition, the jet may need modifications to meet medical requirements. We'll cover all expenses—both the refitting and the flight itself.

"You may tell Audrey not to worry about such trifles, and to focus only on her recovery. Once she's well, we'd love to welcome her here at Oak Spring and have a proper conversation."

Givenchy beamed. "My lady, your generosity is more than we could hope for. On Audrey's behalf, I thank you."

Rachel replied warmly: "I've heard of her dedication to UNICEF in recent years, how she has helped countless children in need. What we're doing is a mere trifle. Please don't think twice of it."

Paul lifted his glass. "Then let us raise a toast—" Everyone followed his lead. "—to Miss Audrey Hepburn's swift recovery."

"To her recovery!" they echoed, each drinking in moderation, no more and no less than the hosts.

The evening's purpose had been fulfilled to perfection. Givenchy was overjoyed, his cheeks flushed, and looked ready to rush back to Los Angeles to deliver the good news.

Sensing his eagerness, Rachel chuckled. "Stay the night, my friend. You've come all this way, yet we've hardly had a chance to talk.

"And Paul has acquired quite a few new treasures—he's dying to hear the opinion of a master of style. If you leave now, I'll have to endure his sulking alone."

Even Henry, watching Givenchy's impatience, felt awkward with the unfinished wine in his glass.

His Kryptonian body couldn't be intoxicated by ordinary alcohol—it was like drinking water. But of course, no one else knew that.

Givenchy sighed in surrender. "Drink up, boy. We're staying the night. This is a privilege few guests are granted—make the most of it."

"Yes, thank you, sir, madam," Henry replied.

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