The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel

by Mj Roë

  “Sure. Okay. I guess I wouldn’t mind having dinner earlier. I didn’t get much lunch. There’s a hotel, a Sofitel, on rue Beaujon just off the Étoile, between avenue Hoche and avenue de Friedland. It’s just down the block. I’ll wait for you out front so you won’t have to find a parking space.”

  “I know the street. Watch for a dark green Renault. À bientôt. Salut.” He was gone.

  She replaced the receiver. A half hour.

  Back in her room, she opened her laptop and sent a quick email to Mark:

  Sorry, I missed your call earlier. Monique and I were out walking the dog. I tried you on your cell phone. Assume you were out for a jog. Won’t be able to talk later. I’m going out for the evening with an old friend from Sorbonne days. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye, A.

  She reread it before clicking the send button. She had tried to sound nonchalant, but it seemed rather abrupt, so she went back and inserted two more quick sentences:

  Book signing done. Be home soon.

  She also decided to delete the part about being “with an old friend from Sorbonne days.” He could assume she was out with Monique and Georges. Click. Message sent.

  The dark green Renault pulled up to the curb in front of the Sofitel. Anna stood just inside the hotel door. It was too cold to wait out in front. She wore a heavy, black wool coat and high-heeled, black leather boots. Waving off the bellman, who was making motions of escorting her, she pulled her melon-colored wool scarf closely around her ears and neck and ran to the car.

  C-C got out and opened the passenger-side door for her. “Bonsoir.”

  “Bonsoir.”

  The car smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. C-C closed the door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pulled the Renault away from the curb without looking at her. “I thought we might take a little drive before dinner.”

  “And where would that be to?”

  “You’ll see.” He said as he negotiated the typical traffic jam in the Étoile around the Arc de Triomphe.

  “Wouldn’t it have been better to take the side streets?” Anna inquired about halfway through. There were cars everywhere around them.

  He didn’t answer her.

  As they turned right onto the Champs Elysées, the spectacle was breathtaking. The famous boulevard lined with barren chestnut trees strung with lights was lit up for the holidays. There were crowds strolling the sidewalks, stopping in the shops, and socializing in the cafés and restaurants. At avenue Georges V, C-C turned right.

  Anna guessed where they were going. Georges V leads to the Pont de l’Alma, the bridge which crosses the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. The last time she saw him, a decade ago, they had spent the entire night until sunrise parked near the Eiffel Tower. “Are we going to the Tour Eiffel, by any chance?”

  “I thought we should start where we left off.” He wasn’t looking at her.

  “But, C-C, it’s been so long. A decade. We are both different people today.”

  “We are also the same two people, Anna.”

  She watched him as he drove. He still wasn’t looking at her. The car crossed the Alma Bridge.

  “There was a bad accident here in August.” C-C said it more to himself than to her. “In the tunnel, under the bridge.”

  “You mean the Princess Di accident? I know. I was in Paris. I had just arrived the day before. Monique, Georges, and I drove to Le Havre that day, the day of the accident, and there was the oddest event in the port.”

  For the first time, he looked over at her. His eyes shone like two icy, gray pebbles in the darkened car. The effect made her shudder.

  “What kind of odd event?”

  “It was the strangest thing, C-C. I was sitting on a bench, writing in my journal, making notes on what I was seeing, hearing, smelling—you know, for future reference for my book. Monique and Georges had walked down the waterfront. Georges needed to check out something for a movie set. He’s in the movie business. Anyway, I was alone, and there was this commotion at the end of the quay. A helicopter and a truck of some sort. Some people yelling at each other.”

  They had arrived in front of the Eiffel Tower, the Trocadero side. C-C pulled over into a temporary parking spot and lit a cigarette.

  “Are you still smoking?” Anna wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “Not as much. Only once in a while. If it still bothers you.”

  “It does.”

  He doused the Gauloise in the ashtray. “I mostly have quit. It’s en vogue in France to quit these days, so I try. But it’s a stress reliever for me.” He smiled at her for the first time. “Sorry. Tell me more about what you saw in Le Havre.” He was astounded at the coincidence. If she was describing the scene as she saw it, that would have put them in Le Havre within a short distance of each other.

  “There’s not much more to tell. Only two old men running as fast as they could away from the port; then it looked like something was going on with the helicopter, and it took off. It was foggy. I couldn’t see what exactly was happening. But I always wondered if it had something to do with the Princess Di accident.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There was a British ship in the port. I suppose there are always British ships in the port of Le Havre, but this one just looked kinda official, like it belonged to royalty, and the helicopter was one of those yellow military ones used for emergency rescues. Anyway, when we arrived back in Paris—with the mourning in England and the funeral—well, I assumed it was just my imagination.”

  “Did you see where the two men went?”

  “No. They just disappeared. I was too engrossed in what was going on. Why?”

  “Oh, I was just curious if anyone followed them. That’s all.”

  “No, not that I saw.”

  “It’s a good piece of fiction, Anna,” he said. But he thought, So Diamanté and André Narbon did make it after all.

  “It will appear as a scene in one of my books, probably. Did you ever notice how a helicopter looks like a dragonfly?”

  C-C shook his head and gave her a little crooked smile. He leaned over toward her window and pointed to the second level of the Eiffel Tower. A panel of lights spanning the outer balcony read “J-747.” It was the countdown to January 1, 2000—the millennium. “I saw the panel when it was unveiled in April. There were spectacular fireworks. They promise an even better show for the millennium celebration.”

  “Do you think it was a conspiracy, like they’re saying—that Diana was assassinated?”

  C-C shifted uneasily in his seat. “I couldn’t say.” The car seemed suddenly stuffy. “I need to get out,” he said as he opened his door. “Let’s get some air.” In seconds they were standing underneath the Eiffel Tower.

  Anna stared up through the iron grids. The tower’s bright lights sparkled above them in the cold air. “I’ve always loved it, the tower, lit up at night. It’s so magical. Do you remember what we said to each other that last night, C-C? We made promises. I don’t remember the exact words. All I recall is a feeling, a special feeling, that we promised each other we would be here again. And I guess we are, but…” Her voice trailed off. She almost felt like crying. She turned to him, but she kept her distance. Their eyes met. “I searched for you when I was here in September.” She didn’t wait for a reaction. “I went to your apartment building. Elise was still there. She didn’t know where you had gone. I couldn’t go to your father. So I visited so many hospitals in Paris that I lost count.” She paused, heaved a huge sigh, and went on. “I finally found someone at La Pitié-Salpêtriêre who could at least tell me you were on staff there but that you were on leave or something. I left my card and Monique’s phone number and address.”

  There was no visible reaction. He just stood there looking at her.

  “Merde, C-C,” she finally said. “Didn’t you ever get it?”

  He cleared his throat. “Since we’re outside, can I have that cigarette now?”

  She nodded, put her hands in her pockets, and looked at the ground.r />
  His voice was calm, the practiced calm of an ER physician in the face of panicked friends and relatives. He cleared his throat as he took the cigarette from the packet, and then he said, “Actually, I did get it, and I did go over to the Durocher’s apartment. There was no one home. I even asked a neighbor. She said that the occupants were in America. I assumed you had gone again.”

  “You didn’t leave a message?”

  “Non.” He lit the cigarette and inhaled a full breath.

  “Why not?”

  He exhaled. A white cloud of smoke trailed slowly into the cold air. “I wasn’t sure why you had tried to contact me. After all, I hadn’t heard from you in nearly ten years.”

  The realization hit her. He had gone through much the same dilemma that she had. “Then you thought I had ditched you?”

  “At first, oui, then I wondered whether you had been kidnapped, murdered in America. I didn’t have any way of knowing.”

  “What do you think happened to all my letters?”

  He lowered his head, kicked at the dark sidewalk, ran his hands through his hair, and scratched his temple. “I…I never knew about any letters.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Honest, Anna. It’s a great mystery to me.”

  “But you never tried to contact me?”

  “I…the truth is I misplaced your address, Anna.” He looked at the ground again.

  “Misplaced?” Anna’s eyebrows rose. “Misplaced? How could you misplace an address of someone you cared about?”

  “I moved.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I looked everywhere for the piece of paper you had written it on. I could still see it in my mind, but I couldn’t remember it.”

  “And you couldn’t remember that it was somewhere in California? That there are phone directories to look information like that up in?” She crossed her arms and turned around, her back to him, to look up at the tower again. The wind was blowing, and her toes were beginning to freeze in her lightweight California boots. “You moved in with Reggie, didn’t you? That’s why you found it convenient not to find my address.”

  “That’s not exactly how it was. I can explain.” When Anna didn’t respond, he continued. “Yes, I moved in with Reggie. How did you know that anyway?”

  “Elise. I asked her if anyone had visited you after I left. She remembered a young lady who spoke English but wasn’t British or American. I figured out it was Reggie when she described her. I assumed that she and Bertrand had visited you together, but she told me that Bertrand had gone into the military and was stationed in Africa or Asia. I don’t recall which.”

  “She broke off with him when he left for Asia. Reggie didn’t like to be alone.”

  “So you moved in with her?” She emphasized the “you.” “Were you lovers, then?”

  “Anna, you were gone. I hadn’t heard from you in months.”

  “Did your father approve of the little tramp?” she snapped. She was still standing with her back to him, her eyes staring at the reflections of the tower’s lights in the numerous puddles of water the rain had made during the day.

  “By then it did not matter. We were no longer speaking. After you…” He touched her elbow lightly. “Look at me, Anna. Turn around.”

  She swung around angrily.

  “Reggie died two years ago. It’s a long story. In 1990, after I finished my residency, I joined Médecins Sans Frontières.”

  “Doctors Without Borders.”

  “Oui, and I went to Africa to work. You probably remember that Reggie was from South Africa. She always had this compulsion to go to Africa to work with the AIDS patients. And I…”

  He paused, took a drag on his Gauloise, and said, “It was an adventure for me. The Médecins Sans Frontières work in countries many people have never heard of. It is sometimes very dangerous work for the volunteers. They are often harassed. Some of the AIDS workers have even been kidnapped. Reggie became so fearful that she wanted to go back to her native South Africa. I preferred to stay in the sub-Saharan countries where the AIDS epidemic is the worst. It was when we were working in a hospital in Zaire, the Republic of the Congo that is, that she became ill.”

  Anna was staring at him, wide-eyed. “With AIDS?”

  “No, it wasn’t AIDS. It was a viral hemorrhagic fever known as Ebola. The disease is often spread in health-care facilities. There was an epidemic in ‘95 that affected many hospitals, including the one we were working in. There is no treatment. Researchers do not understand why some people are able to recover from Ebola HF and others are not. Reggie was unable to recover.”

  “Was it an awful death?”

  “The onset of the illness is very abrupt. It is the internal and external bleeding…” He looked down, hesitating. “After she died, I came back to Paris. It was not long after that that my mother passed away. I took leave and went back to work with the MSF in Africa after the funeral.”

  A couple passed nearby, lovers, arm in arm, leaning into each other as they walked. Anna and C-C simultaneously looked at them and then to each other.

  “So you never married Reggie?”

  “Non.”

  Anna had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It must have been awful for you.”

  He stomped out his cigarette. “Reggie introduced us, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you married, Anna?”

  “No.”

  “But there is someone, isn’t there?”

  She didn’t answer the question. They walked back to the car, together, in silence, side by side but not touching, keeping their separate rush of memories to themselves.

  CHAPTER 30

  The restaurant was noisy and smoke-filled, yet warm and inviting. The tables, topped with red checkered cloths, were crowded together and full of patrons, most of them young. A waiter motioned to them to take a bench by the far wall and set an open bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau on their table. There was a little sign on the table next to a flickering candle. “Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé!”

  “It’s the wine of the season,” sniffed C-C.

  “Oh, I remember that,” Anna commented with a wry smile. “The connoisseur of wines himself snubs his nose at Beaujolais Nouveau. I’ve had some this year. I think it’s rather good.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and helped her with her coat. As irony would have it, the only item of clean clothing that Anna had left was the persimmon-colored, cashmere V-neck sweater that Mark had given her. She had packed it in the bottom of her suitcase, thinking that she would wear it in Paris, but when Mark had had to fly back to Los Angeles, she had decided to leave it where it was. Tonight, getting dressed, she had found a spot on the sweater she was planning to wear, so she had no choice.

  C-C took off his coat, hung it on the rack with hers, and held her chair. He looked at her admiringly. “You have not changed a bit, Anna. Chic, as always.”

  He, on the other hand, looked haggard, as if the weight of the ten years had taken its toll. He seemed harder, too. She could hear it in his voice.

  “Do you live in those doctor clothes? I would have thought that you might have had at least a chance to change.”

  “I am actually officially still on call tonight.” He held up his pager. “It’s my life.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of it? The life, I mean?”

  “Do you ever tire of writing?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “To your book.” He held up his glass of wine. “May you sell many copies in France.”

  She clinked hers to his. “Santé.”

  They ordered fromage fondue raclette and fondue Bourguignonne. A rowdy group of young people was seated at the next table. It was hard to talk without shouting.

  The waiter delivered two fondue pots, one filled with boiling wine, the other with melted cheese. Next came a platter of beef chunks and assorted sauces, and a basket of crusty chunks of baguette. They each speared two or three of the beef chunks with long slim forks and set them cooking in the pot. Anna speared a
piece of the bread and swirled it in the melted cheese.

  “Where are you living now, C-C?” she shouted. To her relief, the noisy group of young people finally got up to leave.

  “I moved back to Elise’s apartment building recently. I like the location. Do you remember the Russian lady downstairs from my old apartment?”

  Anna nodded and laughed. “Madame Russe? Of course. She was a real character.”

  “I inquired about the apartment building recently, and Elise told me that apartment was vacant, so I moved in. It’s much bigger and has a double balcony. Elise takes good care of me, like always, even though I’m not home much.”

  “Elise didn’t tell you I had been to see her in September…looking for you?”

  C-C was silent for a minute. “Well, she did, actually. I hadn’t thought about it until just now.” He cleared his throat. “She said something about seeing you, but at the time I thought it was just age talking, that she had mixed up the years, as she sometimes does. It never occurred to me that it was a recent visit.”

  “Not even when I had left my card at your hospital?”

  “I have been very occupied these past months.”

  The waiter refreshed their glasses of Beaujolais Nouveau. Anna took a sip. “How did you come to know Elise, C-C? Originally, I mean.”

  “My grandfather knew her husband, Ferdinand, when he was alive.” Anna suddenly recalled that Guy de Noailles had mentioned Diamanté’s dead brother by the same name, whose wife was still living in Paris. It hadn’t crossed her mind at the time that Elise had referred more than once to her departed husband, Ferdinand. Another piece fit into the puzzle.

  “Have you seen your grandfather in Alsace recently, C-C?”

  “Not for some time. He is very old, almost ninety. He doesn’t travel much anymore. I’m sorry you never met him.”

  “Oh, but I did. Not deliberately. It was purely coincidental. You see, my grandfather and my grandmother passed away a couple of months ago. They were killed, actually, in a horrible car accident.”