by Susan Finlay
“Bonjour. How are you this fine day?” Dave said.
“Good. Taking a break. Nice weather for sitting outdoors.”
“It sure is. Have you met Mademoiselle Maurelle Dupre?”
Maura glanced around for another person, but then remembered she was now Maurelle Dupre.
The man shrugged. “Seen her around.”
“Maurelle, this is Jacques and Genevre Henriot. Oh, and the little girl on the swing is their granddaughter, Emelie.”
She looked over at the girl on the swing and stared. The girl, she guessed, was around four year old. Emelie reminded her of herself at that age—long braids, skinny, swinging as high as she could, her legs kicking rapidly in sync with the motion of the swing.
Someone coughed, and Maurelle turned her attention back to the man. He was looking at her with his eyebrows raised. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
“Likewise,” Jacques said.
His wife didn’t say anything.
Jacques and Dave chatted about mutual acquaintances, giving Maurelle a chance to study the troglodyte home. The face of the house appeared normal: wood structure painted light blue, with darker blue framed picture windows, and a white front door split in the middle so the owner could open only the top half for fresh air if he chose. The veranda in front of the door was tiled with white limestone. The rest of the house, however, was buried in the hill. She couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like on the inside. Was it dark and dreary, or warm and inviting?
A few minutes later, once they were out of earshot, Dave said, “Their daughter, Veronique, and her little girl, Emelie, moved here a year ago after her husband abandoned them. The grandparents are helping to raise the girl.”
He led her down the narrow lane, turned, and headed west toward the center of the village, stopping at last in front of a two-story house. “Here we are. This is it.”
She gazed at the old house. Dark green ivy blanketed the chalky white facade like a mother protecting her young, reaching out her arms gently and stroking the white shutters surrounding each window. Maurelle smiled at her romanticized depiction. She was getting carried away.
A sudden hint of perfume in the air drew her attention to the purple bougainvillea planted in a large pot next to the front door. She soaked in the lovely scent and shaded her eyes as she looked up at the top of the tall plant, where its vines entwined with the ivy near the top of the door.
Dave pulled open the arched front door and motioned for her to enter, but she hesitated. “It’s okay. Go ahead inside.”
She stepped inside and halted in the vestibule near the bottom of a walnut staircase. To her right was a cozy white and brown room. An imposing open fireplace edged with dressed stones was the focal point, surrounded by an old, upholstered chair, a sumptuous ivory sofa, a shiny walnut coffee table topped with a vase of yellow daffodils, and a gleaming rustic ladder-back chair. But it was the splendid grandfather clock between the fireplace and staircase that held most of her attention. The ornate wood carvings and the golden pendulum made her smile, calling forth memories of a similar clock in her own grandparents’ house when she was a little girl.
The front door slammed, startling her. She turned swiftly toward Dave. He looked as surprised as she, and she guessed that he hadn’t meant to shut it that hard. A minute later he dropped her duffel bag on the hardwood floor with a solid clunk and an elderly woman rushed out of the kitchen and stared at them.
“Bonjour, Grand-mère,” Dave said, smiling warmly. “I’d like to introduce you to Mademoiselle Maurelle Dupre.”
Maurelle smiled politely and extended her hand. “Bonjour, Madame. I am pleased to meet you. You have a charming home.”
The elderly woman gave her a cool stare.
“And this is my grandmother, Fabienne Laurent.”
Fabienne turned her attention to him, pressing her lips together for a moment. “How could you bring that woman here, into my home?” she demanded, nodding toward Maurelle. “You had no business.”
“She had no place else to go.”
Fabienne snorted. She raised her hands to shoulder level with palms out and upward. “Well, she can go back to where you found her. She is not my problem and she shouldn’t be yours.”
Dave moved closer to his grandmother and stood face to face with her. Fabienne didn’t back away, but leaned in closer, staring angrily at him.
“She was living in one of the abandoned caves.” He turned his head, glancing briefly at Maurelle, and then back to his grandmother. “She was all alone.”
Fabienne stood like a marble statue.
“If you can’t do this for her, then please do it for me. You owe me, Grand-mère.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I owe you nothing! How could you say such a thing when you are a guest in my home?”
“I’m a guest here because you wanted me here,” Dave said flatly. “And now you have the nerve to act as if I’m freeloading. I’m the one who should be upset, considering how you got me to come here in the first place.”
She pouted, then said, “Why don’t you take her to Simone’s house?” She placed her hand over her mouth for a brief moment, and added, tauntingly, “Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t do that, now can you?”
Dave’s face turned crimson. “I guess it’s time I packed my bag, which is what I should have done the minute I found out you’d tricked me into coming to France.”
When he turned and headed toward the stairs, Fabienne shouted, “Wait!”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“I suppose she can stay in the spare room,” she murmured. “For a little while, perhaps.”
With three quick strides, Dave stood back in front of his grandmother and placed his arms around her, squeezing her. When he released her, he kissed her on both cheeks and whispered, “Thank you”, which made the elderly woman blush, though she shrugged again as though it was all nonsense.
Maurelle breathed a short sigh of relief—although she wasn’t at all sure she really wanted to stay here.
While Dave and Fabienne discussed arrangements, Maurelle pondered her own problems. During the night she could sneak out and hike to Orleans or possibly down to Tours. She’d be far enough away by the time they noticed her missing. So preoccupied was she that she jumped when Dave placed his hand on her elbow. He smiled at her and she gave a nervous smile in return; then he led her upstairs, carrying her duffel bag over his shoulder. On the landing he gestured towards a door at the end. When he opened it, pink sun spilled out of the room into the narrow hallway. He reached inside and set her bag down, then smiled at her, and motioned for her to enter.
“If you need anything, you can find me in the room next door. There’s a bathroom on the main level.” He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to the stairs.
Upon stepping into the tiny bedroom, Maurelle was greeted by sunlight radiating through lovely sheer pink curtains. She smiled and slowly appraised the room: hardwood floors, a dark green rug with pink and gold flowers, a twin bed covered in an ivory bedspread, and light green walls with a pair of paintings. One painting showed a Parisien boulevard at dusk, with the Eiffel Tower beyond. The tower was beautifully lit up in gold against a dark blue sky. The other showed a river and bridge, which she guessed was also in Paris— the Pont Neuf Bridge, perhaps. It was lined with street lamps that glowed green or gold in the foggy night and cast long reflections in the water. The hazy greens, grays, and golds gave a peaceful yet lonely feel to the painting. Wondering why images of Paris should be here in the country, she reluctantly moved away and ran her hand over the high-backed leather chair in the corner.
Moving past the bed and trying to avoid looking at it, she reached down and picked up her bag. She set it down on the chair and tried to focus on looking for her map while she fought the urge to check out the bed. Maurelle couldn’t let herself be tempted. She needed to leave tonight while everyone was sleeping. But then she
did look at the bed and thought about lying on a mattress, swaddled in a soft blanket. She moved forward and stroked the bed’s chenille bedspread and its puffy pink pillows, imagining her head cradled on them. Her spirits lifted briefly. Perhaps she could lay her fears to rest for one night. She would wait until dawn to escape—before everyone awakened but after she had slept.
There was a quiet knock on the door.
Through the closed door, Dave said, “Sorry to bother you, but I need to tell you something. I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to leave you here for a while. I won’t be gone long. You can get settled and then go downstairs for lunch. Grand-mère is making lunch for both of you.”
A wave of panic hit her at the thought of facing that woman alone. “I—I’m not hungry,” she lied. “Please tell her she doesn’t need to fix anything for me.”
He opened the door and peeked inside. “She won’t bite. And besides, you’ll love her cooking. She can even make sandwiches that are out of this world.”
Her stomach groaned, betraying her, and she reluctantly nodded her head. “Okay, thank you.”
“Grand-mère wanted me to tell you to come down for lunch in twenty minutes. I’ll be back in a couple of hours—maybe sooner. Okay?”
She nodded again and attempted to smile, though hearing that she’d be alone with a woman who didn’t really want her here was already resurrecting her sense of danger, tensing her muscles, and giving her a knot in her stomach. “Yes, fine, thank you.”
Later, as Maurelle descended the stairs, she caught the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen and thought Dave must have decided not to leave after all.
She walked into the kitchen, expecting to see Dave and Fabienne. Instead, there was another elderly woman, with obviously dyed red hair. They sat across from each other at the table, and when they saw her Fabienne said, “Here she is. Come in and sit, Maurelle. Please join us for lunch.”
She motioned to the chair beside her, where a plate with a baguette, another with salad niçoise, and a bowl of steaming soup were already set out.
Maurelle smiled politely and sat down, very much aware that the two women were staring at her.
“Bon appetit,” Fabienne said. As Maura took her first bite of bread, Fabienne added, “Oh, I forgot to introduce you to my best friend, Jeannette Devlin.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Maurelle said.
Fabienne smiled smugly. “Jeannette is the grandmother of Dave’s girlfriend, Simone.”
Maurelle picked up her spoon and carefully put it into her soup, taking a small mouthful.
“Dave and Simone are leaving tomorrow on a sightseeing trip through France,” Fabienne said. “Unless, of course, Dave has to postpone the trip because of you.” She turned to Jeannette.
“Oui,” Jeannette said. “That would be such a shame. They’ve been looking forward to it. The lovebirds will enjoy the sights, certainly, but we suspect that they’ll enjoy being alone together more.”
“Oui. C’est vrai!” Fabienne said. The two old ladies chuckled.
Through the rest of the luncheon, Maurelle listened only intermittently, digesting new information along with her meal. Of course Dave would have a girlfriend. He was a good-looking man. Didn’t he know it was a mistake for a man in a relationship to invite another woman into the home where he was staying? What kind of man would do that?
She finished her soup and salad and began nibbling the crusty bread on her plate. During a rare pause in the older women’s chatter, she complimented Fabienne on the food. And then, when conversation resumed, Maurelle retreated into her own mind again, this time going back to the day she’d caught her own boyfriend cheating on her. How could she have known how drastically her life would change after that?
“Are you all right?” Jeannette asked. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, dear?”
Maurelle looked up, embarrassed. “I—I’m fine. I’m tired, I guess. Would you mind if I went upstairs to rest?”
The two older women exchanged a look that Maurelle couldn’t interpret, then Fabienne said, “Of course you may. We’ll take care of the dishes, dear.”
Maurelle padded out of the kitchen, ran up the stairs and into her room, flinging herself on the bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dave left his grandmother’s house and walked to Café Charbonneau to see Simone about borrowing her car since Fabienne had never learned to drive and therefore relied on other people to take her places or to run errands for her.
The bell jingled on the door when he opened it, and Simone called out, “Bonjour.”
He smiled and walked over to the table she was wiping clean.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but Grand-mère asked me to run errands for her in Vendome. Since she doesn’t have a car, I need to ask if I can bother your car.”
She tilted her head. “Isabelle is working today, and it’s slow. I could drive you wherever you need to go.”
“That’s not necessary. These errands could take a while and they won’t be fun.”
She shrugged, handing over the keys. “No rush. Keep it as long as you need. You know where’s it parked, don’t you?”
He nodded. Simone always parked in the same space in the small parking lot behind the café. Finding the car wasn’t the problem, but getting into the tiny car was a real challenge.
After traveling for half an hour to Vendome, the nearest large town, and spending an hour running errands, Dave drove back toward Reynier. During the drive, he thought about Maurelle. He couldn’t imagine how she’d lived in that cave. How desperate she must have been to resort to that. What she was running from had to be pretty serious. Was it something she had done? Or something done to her? He instinctively felt the latter was the more likely, as she seemed to him to be honest and straight. He drove up the slight hill to the café, pulled into the parking lot, and turned off the engine. As he walked into the café and handed Simone’s key back to her, he also reminded himself ruefully that his instincts weren’t always to be trusted.
Simone slipped the key into her apron pocket while she waited on a customer. Dave quickly stepped outside before she finished and could engage him in conversation.
He rushed toward his grandmother’s house.
“Dave, wait!”
He stopped and turned around to see Jonas Lefevre jogging toward him.
“I’m glad you decided to stick around here awhile,” Jonas said.
“Me too.”
“I’ve been hoping to meet up with you before I drive to Paris. I’ll be leaving in about an hour. Have to meet some buyers. Do you know how hard you are to catch? I guess you’ve been too busy the last few days—and you’ve been holding out on me, from what I’ve heard. A new lady friend and you didn’t tell me? I’m dying to meet her.”
“Simone? You’ve met her.” Dave started walking again. Jonas sped up to keep pace with him.
“Don’t play dumb. You know I’m not talking about Simone. It’s the mysterious stranger. Everyone is talking about her—and about you. You’ve made it to the top of the gossip chain. Quite a feat.”
Dave shook his head. Just what he needed—to be the most gossiped about. “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“There is usually at least some truth in what the busybodies around here say. You and I both know that privacy isn’t really possible here in Reynier.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
“So, tell me about her. I haven’t seen her yet, but I hear she’s pretty. Are you and she . . . .”
“No. I’m helping her temporarily. She’s homeless.”
Jonas tilted his head and studied Dave’s face, then gave him a sly grin. “Aha. I guess that means you won’t mind introducing her to me.”
“Yeah, right. Lillian would skin you alive if you brought her home.”
“So it’s true she’s staying at Fabienne’s house?”
Dave nodded.
“I’ll tell you what. She
can stay there, and I’ll help her out with whatever she needs. How’s that?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jonas laughed, then patted Dave on the shoulder. “That’s what I thought. The French blood courses through your veins after all.”
“It really isn’t like that. I’m not in a ‘relationship’ with anyone—not with Simone or Maurelle, okay?”
Jonas smiled. “Okay, okay. I won’t mention it again. Let’s get together for beers when I return from Paris.”
“Sure. Call me when you get back.”
As Dave entered Fabienne’s house five minutes later, he was surprised by the silence that was pierced only by the ticking of the grandfather clock. He walked into the kitchen and then back into the living room. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked softly on Maurelle’s door. When she didn’t respond, he opened it and peered around the corner. The room looked as if she’d never been there. He checked the wardrobe, hoping she might have unpacked her bag, but felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The wardrobe was empty. He rushed downstairs and this time noticed his grandmother asleep on the sofa—she had been hidden by the high back.
He rubbed his face with his hands, then began pacing as he considered what to do.
“Oh, you’re home,” Fabienne said, sitting up and looking at him bleary-eyed.
“What happened?” Dave asked, running his hand through his hair. “What did you do? Where is she?”
Fabienne’s eyes widened and she gulped sleepily. “Upstairs resting.”
“No, she’s not there. And neither are her bags.”
Fabienne shrugged, and lifted her arms, turning her hands palm upward.
“I know you didn’t want her here. Did you do something to chase her away? At least be honest with me about this.”
“I really don’t know anything. She must have slipped out after I fell asleep.”