Not Exactly Allies

by Kathryn Judson

CHAPTER 62 – PREDAWN

  Bertin Nason sat in his room and watched the moonlight hit the garden. All the rooms facing the lake were reserved for paying guests, but he thought that he preferred the hotel's garden in any case. But the moonlight was too much. He went to his computer to write an email to Marie-Bertrade Durand.

  "Dearest Marie-B" he wrote, and then stared at the computer screen. It struck him as unacceptable to send an email to dearest anybody. The method of delivery was wrong for such deep matters.

  He picked up a pen and a piece of paper.

  "My dear Marie-Bertrade," he wrote. And stopped.

  He mustered his courage and dove back in. "I hope you will forgive me my little mysteries of the past few weeks, but I had hoped to get matters more lined up and get back to Paris to tell you in person that I have resigned from the police force."

  He stared at his handiwork. Oh, that was a great approach. Let's admit to plans getting messed up and a resignation, right off the bat. That ought to impress her, he thought.

  He tried to convince himself that Marie-Bertrade loved him well enough that he didn't need to impress her. It didn't work. He wanted to impress her, and that was that. He tore up the letter and started again.

  "To the most beautiful woman in the world and the holder of my heart," he began. The approach scared him silly, but he decided to go with the flow and see where it took him. "I wanted desperately to come to Paris and tell you my news in person, but the man I was working for died of a heart attack and suddenly I am doing his jobs as well as my own. I wish I had talked to you before I came home to take this job, because now I am afraid you will think it was unfair of me to take such a big step without your input, but I beg of you to forgive me because all I could think of was that for you I wanted to be something besides a police sniper and suddenly into my lap drops this chance to be the assistant manager at a hotel I have loved all my life, in a part of France that is dear to my heart, and I could only think how it solved so many of my problems, our problems, to come and grab the job and then surprise you with it. But everything is on its head with Etienne's death. I am so sad, for he was a friend, and so awestruck that the owners of the place want me to carry on in his stead, at least for now. Such an awesome chance, and such an awesome responsibility. Such trust on their part, and all I can think of tonight is how far I am away from you, and-"

  Bertin froze. Even if this was a good letter – and he was not sure that he dared send it after all – even if it was a good letter and explained everything to her, and he did get up the courage to send it, it would surely get to her too late? Surely she must be close to giving up on him by now? Surely he had gone too long without talking to her, while he foolishly tried to line up everything just so, so that he could lay better prospects at her feet.

  He set the letter aside. He couldn't quite tear it up. It had possibilities, he thought.

  He toyed with another letter, very business-like, explaining his respect for police officers and his even greater respect for the women who could marry them, but his decision that, for himself, he could not stay in the service and ask a woman to marry him. It was a character flaw, perhaps, but he could not do it. And so he had gone back home, where he had a good reputation, and experience in hotels, and this opportunity had fallen from the sky like answer to prayer, and then his friend and mentor had died, like a visit from the very devil, and here he was, caught in currents he could barely understand, with no chance to come to talk to her in person like he needed to do.

  His mind rebelled. No, you young fool, like you want to do, it said.

  His heart flung insults at his mind. No, you do need to talk to her, it said.

  Before his pride could overtake him again, he rang up the Durand home phone number, a private number that Leandre Durand had entrusted to him. A sleepy woman's voice answered. Bertin panicked and hung up.

  His phone rang soon after. He picked it up reluctantly.

  "Is anything wrong?" Perrine Durand asked, now very alert. Bertin could imagine her sitting up, with the light on, ready to write notes. "Someone from this number just called?"

  "I am sorry, this is Bertin Nason," he admitted miserably. "I did not realize the time. I… Well, I should not have called and wouldn't have, if I had noticed that it was four o'clock in the morning."

  Was that a stifled giggle he heard? He thought he might deserve that.

  "This is Perrine Durand, in case you are also worried that you might have misdialed."

  "I meant to call, but…"

  "But you are all right? That is the main thing. If there is trouble and you need anything…"

  "No, no. Well…"

  "You are not in Paris by any chance?"

  "No, I am home. In the Vosges, I mean, which is where I grew up. Specifically, I am at Gerardmer." He didn't know what else to say. He'd wanted to talk to Marie-Bertrade, not her mother, for pity's sake. And to wake her up in the middle of the night? What a bonehead he was! What a bonehead she must think he was!

  "Here, now, you must want to talk to my daughter, I think?" Perrine said.

  "Yes, but please do not wake her. I will call back. I am so sorry. I was not thinking. I will call back."

  "Don't you dare ring off, young man, after I have gone to the trouble of walking down the hall and am already in her room to wake her up and she is waking up, I think? Yes. Berti, will you wake up, darling? No, no, everything is all right, or almost all right. Bertin is on the phone and-"

  "Oh, Bertin! Are you all right? Sorry, Mama, I did not mean to jerk your hand like that. Oh, Bertin, talk to me. Are you all right? Talk to me."

  She sounded so worried. He could not reassure her fast enough to suit himself. "I am fine, really. But Etienne died of a heart attack and everything is on its head and I can't come see you right now and I have a new job I want to tell you about and are you all right? Tell me you are all right. I will die if anything is wrong and I am not there for you."

  Perrine pried loose from Marie-Bertrade's grip, caressed the hair out of her daughter's glistening eyes, and left to fix some tea and bake some cookies. It seemed likely that Berti would need to talk to her mama when she finished talking with Bertin, and it also seemed likely that there would be plenty of time to bake a batch of cookies before the young lovebirds rang off. Perhaps several batches of cookies. She dug out recipes given to her by neighbors in Australia, back when Leandre had been assigned to the embassy there. She wouldn't admit it to anyone in France, except of course Leandre, but she thought her neighbors in Australia baked cookies that rivaled any treat traditional to France.

  She looked at the clock. Leandre had said he'd try to get home today. She hoped he could make it. She hoped it wouldn't be very long, in any case. She wanted desperately to have his arms around her, and hear his reassuring whispers in her ear. So much in their lives was changing. She felt very much in need of his unquestioning, unfailing love.

  A dozen cookies later, the front door made the reassuring sounds of being unlocked and opened in a familiar way.

  "You're home early," Perrine said, as her Leandre walked in.

  "You're up early. Or is it you are up late?"

  "Early. Bertin called."

  "He's in trouble?"

  Perrine shook her head. "He's talking to Berti."

  "But he's all right?"

  "He sounded at the end of his rope, to be honest with you. But I think he's all right now." Uncontrolled giggling came dancing through the air from Marie-Bertrade's room. "See what I mean?" Perrine said, playfully.

  "The bonehead, calling in the middle of the night and scaring everybody."

  "As if you have never called me in the middle of the night, just to talk? Especially when we were courting?"

  "Ummm," Durand said. He swept Perrine into a hug. "I am sure that is different, but don't ask me how," he said. "And now I think I will eat you instead of the cookies, if that would be all right with you?"

  "Just think," Perrine said, melting into his chest, "It will not b
e that many years until the children are all moved away, and, God willing, we will be alone again, just like at the beginning."

  Durand stroked her hair. "I do not know about you, but I hope you will forgive me if I have mixed feelings about that. Especially with Marie-Bertrade. The boys – why is it that with the boys I am not so worried about them moving away?"

  "Because you are a father, and she is your daughter," Perrine said, as if stating a simple fact.

  "I am sure that that makes sense somehow," Durand said, agreeably. He fell silent, and solemn.

  "You are thinking of that Arab family? Who lost a son?" Perrine said.

  "Was it so obvious?"

  "Are they all right?"

  "They seem to be. Everything has gone back to what it was, more or less. They do not want outsiders around, and so we have all gone back to having parallel lives that touch each other only when bumped. It is a strange world we live in."

  "Here now. Don't give up," Perrine said.

  "Never," he said.