Promises to Keep

by Patricia Sands

  “It happens these days.”

  Kat took his hand and kissed his palm. “I know this is much more intense for you, because you have to protect Adorée. I’m so sorry it ever happened.”

  “I am the one to apologize,” he said. “I’m sorry that you are involved in this. You’ve seen me at my worst at times because of it.” His sad expression and emotion-charged words brought Kat to the brink of tears.

  “Then that’s a good thing,” she assured him, hoping to lighten the air. “If this is your worst, I’m certain I can deal with it. I could say the same about me. I definitely am having awful moments from time to time.”

  Philippe swallowed hard and shook his head at her words. His look conveyed all he wanted her to know.

  They sat silently for a few moments until Philippe remembered that a car and driver was waiting for them. They quickly showered and dressed.

  Walking straight through the lobby and out to the sidewalk as instructed, Katherine squeezed Philippe’s hand and murmured, “Just keep me close.”

  He squeezed back.

  A black SUV was waiting, its motor running, and a solidly built middle-aged man in an equally black suit held open the back door for them. He spoke rapid French as they climbed in and Philippe translated.

  “He apologized, but the windows are blacked out so we will not be able to see where we are going.”

  Kat nodded, her eyes wide.

  The vehicle stopped in an underground garage, and they were immediately ushered into an elevator and then to an office, where Inspecteur Thibideau rose to greet them. Kat was aware of a distinctive smell of strong tobacco in his presence. His manner was professional and to the point. After thanking them for their assistance with this “criminal issue,” he explained to Katherine that they hoped she could help by identifying the suspect in a parade d’identification.

  He called for an officer to escort her to the room from where she would view a number of men from behind a mirrored window. Trying hard to appear calm and collected, she waved to Philippe and left the room. She was certain she would have no problem identifying the man who had scared her so badly.

  She followed the officer through a labyrinth of hallways and glass doors that silently opened and closed as they made their way. They stopped in a small room with no chairs and a two-way mirror.

  “Madame Price, you will see six men walk onto the low platform, where they will turn to face this way. Please take your time and do not respond until you are completely certain which man you wish to identify. This is most important.”

  A few minutes later, Kat’s stomach tensed with nerves as the six men mounted the platform and stood in profile. All of them were around the same height and weight, but two of them were bald and one had very curly hair. Three of them clearly had not shaved, and one had a full beard.

  Kat looked intently at their stature and at their clothes, which ranged from dirty jeans and T-shirts to a tailored suit. She was surprised that she could not immediately tell who had been following her. Then the officer spoke into an intercom, and the six men, numbers hanging around their necks, turned to face her.

  She recognized him now: standing second from the right and wearing the same scowl he had both times he had come into her life. The toupée and nose were unmistakable, even though his clothes were completely different.

  The officer escorted her back through the maze of corridors to Philippe and Inspecteur Thibideau, her job done.

  Thibideau thanked her for her help and said, “We will continue to have our undercover operatives watch you both at all times until this matter is resolved. But I cannot divulge any information regarding dates or time. We need to maintain the utmost secrecy. I will just say that it is necessary for us to move very quickly. Of course, you will not visit your property on the Cap until after we speak again. I cannot stress enough how important it is that you stay away. In all other ways, please carry on as usual.”

  Their curiosity was piqued once again when he added, “A most reliable operative is helping us in a very sensitive way that will ensure we succeed, and soon.”

  With that, he rose, shook their hands, and buzzed for yet another officer to accompany them to the exit.

  They arrived back at their apartment midmorning, and after changing his clothes, Philippe went straight to work. Kat decided she needed a quiet day at home. After all the worry of the preceding weeks, a long soak in a bubble-filled tub was in order.

  It was unusual for her to spend an entire day at home. She had established a rhythm of sorts to her life, one that was dictated by choice rather than deadlines imposed by a job. It felt lovely to luxuriate in the bath, but as soon as she dried herself and dressed, she felt a surge of anxiety as the events of the past twenty-four hours replayed in her mind. All this stress and worry was so unlike her normal state. Her usual it-will-all-work-out attitude had been pushed to the limit, and not being able to talk about it with Molly and Andrea had removed the safety valve for her fears.

  She settled into the window seat and opened her iPad to a novel by one of her favorite authors. As much as she tried to lose herself in the story of a teenage boy who steals a painting, her mind kept wandering. She was glad of the interruption when the cell phone vibrated on the table.

  “Bonjour, chérie!”

  “Bonjour, Simone! How lovely to hear from you. How are you?”

  “I’m calling to ask if you might drop by today. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I’m flattered, Simone. Truly.”

  “I would like to treat you to lunch. À treize heures?”

  “Thank you! I’ll see you at one o’clock. May I bring something with me?”

  “Rien du tout, merci. I have all I need. Do you like escargots, snails?”

  “If you had asked me five months ago, I would have said no. But now I am a fan.”

  On her way to Simone’s, Katherine stopped by the market to tell Philippe about the invitation.

  “So thank you for those delicious meals of fresh escargots you’ve treated me to these past few months.”

  “Zut! That was another little gastronomic hurdle you had to cross. I remember the look on your face the first time I put them on the table.”

  Kat nodded. “I was sure I would hate the taste and the consistency, and I was so wrong. I wonder how she will prepare them.”

  He looked at her intently then led her to a quiet spot, leaving Gilles to handle the lineup of customers. “Are you okay? You seem to be trying very hard to be relaxed and chatty.”

  Kat blinked and nodded. “You’re right. I’m working on it, but I’m okay, honest, and I always feel good when I visit Simone. She’s so calming. I’ll be just fine by the time you see me later today.”

  Philippe put his arms around her. “Yes, you will. I know that. You are the calm in my life, Minou, and I thank you for that.”

  He returned to serving customers and Kat left, reassured that she was loved and appreciated by the man she trusted with her heart. She could almost hear Andrea saying, “Remember, Kat, whatever the problem, it will all work out.”

  Katherine walked up the driveway to Simone’s house carrying a bunch of carrots in one hand and a bright winter bouquet in the other. Near the house, she noticed a thin leather case, barely larger than a business card, lying by the edge of the driveway, and picked it up. Inside was an embossed crest and a card identifying Detective Guillaume Beaufort.

  Kat slipped it into her pocket and was debating whether to mention it to Simone, when she opened the door. She was leaning on her cane and smiling broadly in welcome.

  “Bonjour, Simone! Ça va?”

  “Oui, oui, chérie! No wheels today!”

  Katherine held out the flowers, which Simone graciously accepted, then she held up the carrots. “I’m just going to slip around the back for a minute. I haven’t seen Eeyore, ah, Victor, in over a we
ek.”

  “Come through here. It’s easier to go out the back door to the yard than it is to go around. Everything is so overgrown at the side of the house.”

  Once she was back outside, Katherine looked down the sloping garden, past the remnants of a vineyard, a few rows of olive trees, and a large patch of dried brown sunflower stalks. The end of the property was heavily wooded, with no apparent view to the sea. Looking across to Philippe’s property, she could just make out the chimney and the ridge of part of the roof. She wondered if Simone ever ventured down to the sea at the bottom of her property—to the cove. It was unlikely. It wouldn’t be possible for her now. The terrain was too rough and the slope to the sea probably too steep.

  The donkey trotted over when called and nuzzled her arm, too polite to simply grab the carrots. “Ah, burrito, I know what you want,” she said as she scratched between his ears. He snuffled with contentment and happily ate her gift.

  With her back to Simone, Katherine put her hand on the leather ID case. She wrestled with her thoughts for a moment and made her decision. It was always better to be honest and up front.

  “He is as happy to see you, as am I, chérie,” Simone said from the doorstep, as Katherine came back into the house. “He was bobbing his head at you. That’s his happy move.”

  “Then this will be my happy move back,” Katherine replied, turning back and bobbing her head to the donkey. As she looked at the ground for a moment, she was stunned to see a small pile of dark unfiltered cigarette butts neatly gathered by a rock at the side of the path.

  Simone motioned her into the large salon. There were several large wicker baskets on the floor that had not been there on earlier visits. Kat took the ID from her pocket and showed it to Simone.

  “This was lying at the edge of your driveway.”

  Simone’s jaw twitched slightly, but her demeanor remained relaxed.

  Simone took the leather case without looking at it, then sat down and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit down with me, chérie. We had a commotion last night in the woods near the sea. The police came to my house, and two very fine officers spent the evening here, even after I went to bed. They were such gentlemen, and very handsome, I might add.”

  “What was going on?” Kat asked.

  Simone gave her a straightforward look. “Do you know, I did not ask. They were not forthcoming, but they assured me they were here to make certain I was safe. Really, that’s all I cared about. I do not have time to worry about other matters. As long as they are being taken care of by other people, that’s all that’s important to me. Perhaps I will hear about it on the news. Perhaps not.”

  “Obviously someone dropped this. Shall I make some calls and arrange to return it?” Kat reached out to take the ID back.

  Responding just a touch too quickly, Kat thought, Simone assured her she would make the call, and she held on to the leather case. There was a surprisingly emphatic tone to her voice that indicated the matter was not open to discussion.

  For a moment Kat considered that perhaps Simone was the police’s secret helper. Then she decided she was letting her imagination run wild. How could Simone be involved when she could barely walk? Inspecteur Thibideau had told Kat not to discuss anything with anyone. If the police were taking steps to ensure Simone was not affected by what they were doing, so much the better. Kat had no doubt it was all connected.

  Her gaze wandered the room. A large hearth with a massive log mantle made a dramatic statement against the white walls and white painted stone of the fireplace. As in the studio, all the furniture was painted or upholstered in white. The only colorful things in the room were the bright throw cushions and the rugs scattered on the terra-cotta tiles.

  “What a spectacular mantle.” Kat got up to take a closer look.

  “Oui! C’est un beau manteau de cheminée. It was carved from an old cherry tree on the property that used to have the most spectacular blossoms. We used to lie down on blankets beneath it and pretend the world was a beautiful place.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, as though she had been transported back there by her memory. Then Simone blinked and returned to the present. “Look carefully, you can see initials carved into it.”

  Katherine found two sets, “S.G. + G.D.” and “J-L.G. + O.R.,” and rubbed her fingers over the second.

  “That is Jean-Luc and Olivier,” Simone said. “The first summer they met, we came here for August, as Parisians do.”

  Kat moved her hand to the first set, but Simone said not a word about it.

  “Bon! This is where we—I mean you—can set up the crèche, if you still would like to do so. I will be able to see everything, but I can’t reach up to place all the santons.”

  “I am happy to do this for you, Simone, and I can’t wait to see your collection.”

  As Kat unpacked the wicker baskets—which were full of Christmas decorations—and unwrapped the clay santons, Simone told her stories, as if her memories were also being unwrapped.

  She had been raised on a dairy farm in Normandy, near Bayeux, she said, where hard work was just part of normal life. Her family produced milk, cheese, and butter that was sold at their local cooperative.

  “We were known for the rich flavor of our butter. Papa said it was because Maman had a magic touch with the churn and recited poetry as she worked. Maman said it was because the cows were so content eating the sweet grasses and herbs in our meadows while Papa sang to them. They would tease and argue about this all the time. In those days, people took great pride in what they produced and helped each other as a matter of course.”

  “How delightful,” Katherine murmured, picturing it all.

  “We were happy, chérie. That is my strongest memory: we were happy.”

  Simone was the youngest, with three older brothers. When the German occupation began, their life changed dramatically and her father’s health began to decline.

  “You cannot imagine how our world was destroyed. The German soldiers made us give them most of our products for nothing. My brothers would hide a separate stash that we shared with neighbors as best we could. It was not long before food was scarce and my brothers, in desperation, secretly slaughtered a cow in the middle of the night. This was discovered, and the Germans took my oldest brother away because he insisted he had done it all on his own. I will never forget the look in his eyes as he stared at us to be quiet. We never saw him again.”

  Katherine had to remind herself to continue unwrapping santons and put them on the mantle.

  “I am certain my father had his first heart attack the night they took Marcel away. He was never the same and grew very weak.”

  Simone described how she and her brothers tried to keep the farm running as well as possible.

  “There was never enough food and fuel, and we were often cold and hungry. The Germans forbade us to go anywhere unless we had a special pass, so it became difficult to share anything with neighbors or help each other in any way. We stopped going to school, but our mother made certain we read every book in the house and even over again before we had to burn them to keep warm. She would read to my father for hours to distract him from his misery and despair. It’s the only way to escape the brutality for at least a few moments, she would tell us.”

  She paused and looked at the scene Katherine was creating on the mantle. “Merci, chérie. You are making this old lady very happy and unlocking doors I have kept closed for a long time.”

  Pointing, she said, “The santon of the woman churning butter, that is one my father gave my mother before I was born. The farmer with the cow at his side is one my mother gave him at the same time. The woman sitting in the chair reading is the first one I gave my mother when we put up the crèche again, in Paris, many years after the war.”

  She went on to point out others that represented her brothers and other meaningful people or circumstances. Her vivid descriptions of vil
lage life made the farming community in Normandy come alive in Kat’s imagination.

  “Simone, you paint images with your words just as you do on your canvases,” she said. “You need to record your story so it doesn’t get lost. I could help you.”

  “Ah, oui. You are right. Let’s do it together in the new year.”

  Katherine made a mental note not to forget her promise.

  Simone was suddenly wide eyed. “But I invited you for lunch and we have eaten nothing,” she said.

  Kat smiled. “Listening has been so much better than eating.”

  With the help of her cane, Simone stood up. “Come to the kitchen, where I have everything ready. It’s a simple meal. We can finish the crèche later or another time if you have to go.”

  Simone asked her to put a covered pottery dish in the preheated oven for fifteen minutes. The dish was still warm from whatever preparation occurred earlier.

  A simple salad of greens was sitting in a bowl on the table, and Simone tossed it with her homemade vinaigrette.

  Katherine was surprised to see an obviously fresh baguette on an olive-wood cutting board.

  Noticing the look, Simone explained. “I don’t eat bread as often as I used to, but when I do, Nathalie at Le Palais du Pain in the market has one of the young men deliver it on his bike. Her grandmother was a good friend of mine. She taught Nathalie all of her baking secrets.”

  Soon the timer rang on the stove. Kat pulled the dish out and took off the cover to reveal escargots inside large mushroom caps surrounded by a white wine sauce and covered with cheese. She could smell garlic and tarragon in the sauce.

  They sat down to eat, and Katherine savored every morsel.

  “It’s an old favorite recipe,” Simone said. “I’m sure Philippe has brought the same snails from Gaston at the market. They are from Normandy—the best. Jean-Luc called them the Kobe beef of snails. And the mushrooms are local.”