by Rue Allyn
She glanced at him, wondering how he could possibly know that.
“Your plan was to seek work in America, and take your brothers off Bat’s hands. That did not happen. Why not?”
She sighed and looked for words. “Bat told me he wanted to stay on at home, and told me to travel.”
“Told you?”
“Oui, told me. Things are not good with Bat,” she said in a very restrained voice.
Louis patted her leg, and dropped the subject. “How are you dealing with exhaustion and décalage?” he asked, with an impish grin.
“Terribly. I can feel myself falling asleep, even now. And I do so need a bath.” Bishou stood. “Let me go back to the hotel and sleep. Perhaps I can see you, tomorrow afternoon?”
Louis also stood. “I will drive you back.”
“No, you won’t,” said Etien, also standing. “If you drive a young lady back to Pension Étoile, Louis, those old birds will gossip for a week.”
“And if you do it, they will say Etien Campard has not only a wife, but a mistress,” Louis returned. “Stay out of trouble, will you?” There was a little volley of friendly half-insults, but Louis eventually won his point. He escorted Bishou outside, where a neat little Mercedes convertible, top down, waited behind a yellow Panhard. Louis held the door for Bishou to get into the white convertible. Of course, thought Bishou, it would be white.
They drove as slowly as the autobus, down the narrow dirt path and back to the equally narrow main road. Even the road was green, half-covered with grass.
“I’ve never ridden in a Mercedes before,” said Bishou.
“Really?” He shifted gears and glanced at her in surprise. “Are there not many in New England?”
“Non. They’re diesel, and don’t start well in cold weather.”
“Only you, Bishou, would know the man’s reason why no one owns the car. A woman would be more likely to say it is not pretty, or it is not very comfortable.” Louis glanced at her as she leaned back to look at the trees and the sky. “I am so glad to see you, mon amie. I cannot quite persuade myself yet that you are real.”
She closed her eyes, letting the sun beat upon her face and the wind blow through her short hair. Birds chirped. A distant animal hooted. “I’m real, Louis.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “So I see. I will pick you up tomorrow afternoon, around three. Is that agreeable to you?”
“I will be ready,” she promised.
It took about twenty minutes for him to reach the pension. There was not much traffic, but he did not hurry. She was half-asleep when they arrived.
Louis reached out and touched her shoulder. “Ah. Are you asleep?”
“No. But I was drifting off. Thank you for the ride, Louis.”
Louis got out and opened the car door for her. She gave him her hands, and he clasped them. He gazed into her eyes.
“It is still a dream,” he said. “I will know for certain if I come here tomorrow, and you are not here. And never have been.”
Bishou smiled. “I’ll be here, Louis.”
“Promise me?”
“I promise.”
She watched the white car drive off. He still doesn’t believe I’m real, she mused. He expects to have the rug yanked out from under him.
The pension was nearly empty, a good time to take a bath. She bathed and washed her hair. The warm bathwater made her so sleepy that she returned to her room, donned her pajamas, wound her little traveling clock, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.
Chapter 15
The deep horn of the Mauritius Pride as it docked told her it was morning even before she opened her eyes. She had slept the day through, and the night. Her little alarm clock said eight o’clock. She got up, found fresh clothes, and made her way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. After that, she went downstairs.
The sisters greeted her. “We tapped on your door last night, and never a sound,” said the elder sister, Eliane. “I hope you don’t mind — I used my passkey to look in and make sure you were all right.”
“I don’t mind. Was I snoring?” Bishou asked with a grin.
“Perhaps a little,” Eliane admitted.
“You were certainly exhausted,” the other sister, Marie, commented. “Come, come, we still have some coffee and croissants.”
They led her in behind the counter, back to their own area, and sat her down.
“Now,” said Eliane, patting her knee. “Was that Monsieur Dessant who brought you home?”
“Oui. He is an old friend.”
“He is? Where did you meet him?”
“I was a translator at East Virginia University when he attended the World Tobacco Conference there.”
“I thought he spoke English,” said Eliane.
“Yes, he does, and very well. But he was not certain his knowledge of English would be enough for an entire conference, so he hired someone through the university to assist him — me.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Marie exclaimed. “But, you know, he has a reputation, do you not?”
“Reputation? How so?” Bishou pretended she did not know.
“He did a very foolish thing in his younger days,” said Eliane.
Marie pooh-poohed her elder sister. “But it was so romantic, and how was he to know? He arranged for a mail-order bride, and fell in love with her at once when she arrived. She was incredibly beautiful, Mademoiselle. I remember seeing her. And the wedding! The entire island was there, I think.”
Eliane took up the tale, frowning. “And she turned out to be a criminal. She and her lover had murdered the real bride. She broke away from her lover, and ensnared Louis Dessant instead. Monsieur was so entranced; he even killed a detective to protect her.”
“And they ran away, throughout France,” Marie cut in. “They were on the run for at least a year. And when the police finally caught them, she killed herself — right before his eyes — rather than be arrested. She knew how evil she was. But poor Monsieur Dessant, he was taken.”
“He paid for their crimes,” Eliane said sternly. It was difficult to tell her actual feelings from her expression.
“How did he end up, back here?” Bishou asked, wondering how they would respond.
“This is his island,” Marie replied. “He is one of us. We wouldn’t let him down.”
Those words rang in her ears as she wandered down the streets of Saint-Denis. He is one of us, we wouldn’t let him down. Not much different from her family, really.
Bishou stopped before a dress shop. Sundresses hung in the window. If she stayed in Saint-Denis much longer, she might have to get one. Her own clothes felt so hot. Another shop window displayed high-heeled shoes. Sexy, feminine, attractive ones, the kind she never wore. Another store was a jewelry shop. Skip that. The next was a bridal boutique. Skip that, too, she told herself.
Bishou bought coffee at a little café, and sat at a table on the sidewalk. Very Parisian, she thought. When she finished her coffee, she continued on toward the université. As she crossed the street to enter the université gates, a little yellow car cut her off. Startled for a moment, she realized the car was a Panhard. Driving it was Etien Campard.
He was not smiling. “What are you doing here, Bishou?”
She slid in beside him. “Why are you here, Etien?”
He pulled over to the curb, parked, and shut off the engine. “Answer my question, Bishou, please.”
She regarded him with surprise. “Etien, why are you upset?”
“I want to know what you are doing in this part of town.”
Suddenly, Bishou understood. She was touched.
“Etien.” She smiled. “Let me show you. Come, get out of the car.” When he hesitated, she repeated, “Viens.” Come. In the tense of a friend.
Unwillingly, Etien got out of the car. Even more unwillingly, he took her hand. She clasped it firmly, and drew him across the road. They entered the université gates and she took him to the “Jobs Board,” as it was known in America, and sho
wed him the posting.
Etien read the notice, at first uncomprehendingly — an advertisement for a tenure-track professor of comparative literature, and the job’s requirements. Then he started to smile with relief. “You qualify.”
Bishou nodded. “And I need the practice. I don’t have any teaching experience since I received my doctorate, just pre-doctorate experience. I had an interview with the doyen yesterday. I was just coming back to remind them. Even though I am a woman, and I shocked them severely. They didn’t know I was female until they met me yesterday. Getting the job might be my greatest struggle.”
“A college professor?” Etien reread the notice. “It says part-time.”
“I know it does. Starting positions often are.”
She felt the difference in his grip. “I’m sorry I …” Etien stopped, searching for words.
Softly, Bishou said, “It was you who saw warning signs about Carola, wasn’t it? And you’ve never forgiven yourself for not stepping in and saying more.”
Etien said nothing.
“Etien, you are a faithful friend. Don’t punish yourself because you didn’t act. You made up for your caution ten times over. You stood by Louis when the rest of the world deserted him.”
“I had to,” said Etien. “We were like brothers. We still are.”
“I know.” Bishou still held his hand. “I saw you and heard you together last night.”
“I think he loves you, Bishou. I hope he does. How do you feel about him?”
“Whatever we feel is between him and me, Etien.”
“How could a woman not love him?” Etien asked.
Bishou smiled, and squeezed his hand. “I have no answer to that question, mon ami.”
“I was so frightened when I saw you wandering around town,” Etien confessed. “I was afraid the whole business was starting again, a woman sneaking off to make plans against him. I didn’t feel strong enough to go through it a second time.”
“Once was enough, Etien,” she agreed. “It won’t happen again, I promise. You must learn to trust me, Etien. I know it will be hard, at first. Your conscience still punishes you.”
“Yes, it does,” he admitted. “I know I must — let go — enough to trust.”
“So does he,” she said softly.
Etien started. “I — I hadn’t really thought of it like that. He is the burned child who fears the flame, is he not?”
“I may just go back home.”
“I hope not,” Etien replied. “At least, get a job and stay in the neighborhood. He’s not made of stone.” Suddenly, he smiled, a shy, sweet smile.
Bishou laughed. Gently, she kissed his cheek. “Now you must go home. Or are you going back to work?”
“I’m going home for lunch. I probably will tell Denise, you know.”
“You have a treasure in her, and she in you,” Bishou replied.
“I only wish the same happiness for Louis. I hope you understand,” said Etien apologetically.
“I do understand. Go home. Au revoir, Etien.”
“Au revoir, Bishou.”
Etien left her at the université and went back out to his car. Bishou stared at the posting for a long moment. Then, she heard a woman’s voice.
“Docteur Howard?”
“Oui.” She turned, and recognized the elder secretary. “Bonjour, Madame Ellis.”
“I thought that might be you, Docteur.” She stood beside Bishou and also regarded the job board. “Were you looking to see if there were more postings?”
“No, I was showing the advertisement to a friend.”
“So I saw. That was Monsieur Campard, was it not?”
“Oui, Etien Campard. We were ‘pen pals’ before we met.”
“Ah, I see.” Pen pals were common here.
“I should tell you — Monsieur le Doyen is favorably disposed to having a woman on staff, and he is greatly respected by the université. He comes to us straight from the Sorbonne, you know.”
“So I saw, after I researched him.”
“Ah! You did? Where?”
“The université library, in America. The College for Humanities here is a school to be proud of.”
“We are so new,” said Mme. Ellis, “the newest of the schools, you know. The schools for sciences and technology were established first. We were almost an afterthought.”
“That is sad,” said Bishou. “Humanities are very important. Philosophy, literature — they make a student think about right and wrong. They make a scientist wonder about ethics. Everyone must think about how they will conduct their lives.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” said Mme. Ellis. “Of course, I do not know for certain whether they will hire you. I am not in the inner circle of these decisions.”
“I understand, and thank you for your kind words.”
“What are you planning to do if you don’t get the job?”
Bishou smiled. “I am superstitious enough not to speak of the future.”
“Do you — is it rude to ask — do you have plans to stay here nonetheless?”
“I think perhaps yes. As I told Monsieur le Doyen, this is a beautiful land, much like the Université of Virginia, where I got my doctorate.”
“I think he was surprised that une Americaine would know so much about French universités.”
“Academia is the same, almost everywhere. Harvard, Yale, Cornell, Purdue, Columbia, Duke, Notre Dame — if you go to one of them, you will be as comfortable there as you are here.”
Mme. Ellis smiled. “But they do not speak French.”
Bishou laughed. “Perhaps, perhaps not. After all, East Virginia University is not famous for its French-speaking population.”
Mme. Ellis smiled again, and held out her hand. “Au revoir, Docteur, et bonne chance.”
“Merci, Madame.” They shook hands, and the secretary walked back to work.
Wonder of wonders, thought Bishou. The secretaries are rooting for me. Some things are universal, after all.
• • •
Bishou had walked farther than she realized. She waited at the université bus stop, and caught the bus back to Missy’s. Then she strolled down the street to the pension. She saw the little white convertible, and realized guiltily that it was past three o’clock. Bishou opened the front door of the pension and stepped inside.
Louis was whiling away the time at the counter, talking to the two sisters. They were almost overwhelmed at having the millionaire in their little pension. But he was being very low-key, having a nice conversation with them about the weather and fishing and tourists. It was the ladies’ reactions, rather than the sound of the door, that made him turn.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Have you enjoyed your morning?” he asked.
“Very much, thank you.”
“Do you need anything?” He glanced at her clothes, perhaps to hint that she should change from her academic outfit. “It will probably be dark before I bring you back.”
“D’accord. I want to fetch some things from my room.”
She ran up the stairs to her room, unlocked the door, went inside, and rummaged through her backpack. She pulled out a cotton summer housedress and flat shoes, and put them on. She found her cardigan, and slid her papers into a leather binder. Then she locked her room and hurried downstairs.
“I am ready.”
Louis said goodbye to the sisters, and accompanied her out the door. Once in the car, he turned to her and said, “Tu es très jolie.” His tone was familiar and personal.
“Merci.”
“You should have nice shoes, and a sundress,” he said. “Perhaps we will buy those before you leave the island.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
He smiled and started the car. They were driving down a grassy, green jungle road when he spoke again. “I told Etien I was not bringing you over for dinner at their place, that we were dining at my house.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he affirmed. “I wanted a chance
to speak to you without ten thousand interruptions.”
Bishou smiled. “Those boys were lively, weren’t they?”
“Their parents were just as bad. Denise kept repeating herself, and Etien kept interrupting.” Louis shifted gears. “I was stunned enough, without their interference. You never did explain why you came here. Except to say that you wanted to see how I was doing.”
She leaned back, and closed her eyes. “Well, that was the truth.”
He reached over with one hand, and touched two fingers to her cheek — a kiss of sorts. “And what else?”
“The freedom of travel, I suppose. Bat said, just get out of here for a while, and this was a good destination.”
“His letter said he did not know your forwarding address.”
“He merely meant I hadn’t sent him a timetable. I just took things as they came.”
“Did he know you were coming here?”
“Yes, he did.” She sat up as they left the city and entered the greenness of the countryside. She smelled vegetation. Jungle foliage hung down at the sides of the road. Unknown animals called to each other. Beautiful birds sang in the trees. The island’s two great volcanoes, covered with greenery almost to the peaks, could be seen in the distance. The sky was summery blue. “It is spring here, isn’t it — well, as much spring as it becomes?”
“Oui.” He turned down another road, and then a third one. They drove toward a beautiful, three-story white house with elegant brass and wrought-iron railings on its balconies, and open windows everywhere. Under a large shade tree sat a table with chairs. It was a fairyland home. Louis pulled up in front of it, stopped, and shut off the engine.
“Chez toi?” she asked in wonder. Your home?
“Chez moi,” he affirmed with a smile.
“How beautiful!”
“I’m glad you like it.” He got out of the car, came around to open her door, and held out a hand. She took it, and they walked hand in hand to the house.
Two ladies waited inside the front door. Louis introduced them. “My housekeeper, Bettina — ”
“ — and Madeleine,” Bishou finished, holding out a hand to each of them. “The Campard boys told me your names. I am pleased to meet you.”