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

by Mj Roë

  “It reminds me of you.”

  “You don’t mind if I picked out one of the letters to read, do you?”

  He seemed surprised at the question.

  “No, they are yours.”

  “I’ve only read the first paragraph of this one. You weren’t going to write again, were you?”

  “Not if you didn’t come for the wedding. Eight months is a long time. I couldn’t go on forever.”

  She fingered the fine, pale blue, linen-textured stationery. “You really never intended to send them to me?”

  “Non. Bien sûr que non. I thought you had married. You wouldn’t have wanted letters arriving from a French lover, would you?”

  She smiled and rolled seductively on her side. One bare tanned leg slid from under the robe. “Well, no.” Hesitantly, she asked, “Have you been with anyone, C-C?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been too busy with this house, my practice.”

  “Not even Martine? I saw the way she looked at you.”

  He laughed. “Martine? She’s a big flirt. I think I’ve been a huge disappointment to her.” He came over to the bed and leaned over her, positioning his hands on the pillows above her head. “Are you refreshed?”

  “Yes, much better. This robe feels so luxurious.”

  “You look better in it than I do,” he said as he turned off his cell phone, laid it on the end table, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “In that one,” he nodded to the letter in her hand, “I explained how I would feel if you were here in this room with me.”

  Anna watched him as he pulled the belt from his pants.

  “I also describe what I would do,” he said seductively as he disappeared into the bathroom.

  “You do?” she called after him as she heard the shower turn on. Two minutes later, the water quit running, and C-C was standing in the doorway with a towel draped around his waist.

  Anna propped herself on one elbow and studied him thoughtfully. He was long-waisted with no visible hips, slim, but not extremely muscular. “You look to me as if you could use a few days lying in the sun,” she said as she eyed the tan line on his arms that gave way to pale skin everywhere else. Then she added, licking her lower lip, “Let the towel drop. I want to see all of you.”

  Obediently, the bath towel fell to the floor. His body gave away the desire he was feeling. He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands out from his sides. “Me voilà.”

  She spoke in a soft voice as he came over to the bed and leaned over her. “What does the rest of your letter say?”

  “If you came to me, amour, eh bien, I would carry you to this bed.”

  “But I’m already here. What next?” She ran her fingers lightly through the graying hair at his temples.

  “I would undress you, bien sûr.” He laughed.

  “Well that is done, too.” She brushed his bare chest with her fingers.

  “A slight modification in sequence is all that is required.” He kissed her lips, his tongue teasing hers as he undid the tie around her waist and positioned his naked body next to hers. Gently, he kissed her shoulders, then her neck and behind the ears. The tongue moved down her body. When he reached her toes, he slowly drew them into his mouth, licking them one by one, and then he began inching his way up her leg until he reached the inside of her thighs, murmuring to himself as he gently aroused her. He touched her most erotic spots, unhurriedly, methodically, until he reached her lips again, his tongue sliding hungrily into her mouth. She moaned and pulled him into her, yearning for the sensual feel of his body as he came to her. Every inch of her wanted him.

  They were finding each other all over again. This time there was no interruption.

  Their desire fulfilled, C-C and Anna lay in each other’s arms. “Will you stay here with me tonight?” he whispered. “Diamanté will have no rooms left anyway. Lucie, Léo, and Père Truette should have arrived by the time we get back to the restaurant for dinner.”

  “So there’s no room at the inn?” she teased.

  “No room.”

  “Okay, but only if you promise me a repeat of what we just did.”

  He kissed her cheek. “C’est promis.”

  By the time Anna and C-C returned to the place de la Mairie, the square twinkled in bright lights, and a horde was dancing to the raucous music of a local rock band. The few lingering diners on the Ajaccio terrace listened to the music as they enjoyed an after-dinner liqueur.

  C-C looked at Anna lovingly. She had changed into a white linen skirt, white sandals, and a fuchsia tank top. Her long hair fell in cascading curls that covered her shoulders, and large, silver hoop earrings hung from her ears. “You look ravissante, amour,” he said, and he kissed the back of her hand.

  The music suddenly changed. The band switched from rock to a blues version of “La Vie en Rose,” at which point the couples on the dancing platform assumed an intimate stance.

  C-C slid his right arm around Anna’s waist, stared into her eyes, and drew her to him as he raised his left hand in invitation to dance.

  Anna took his hand, and they joined the crowd on the platform.

  Above the Ajaccio, from an open window, Elise nudged Diamanté with her elbow. They had been watching the dancers and enjoying the music.

  “Look, over there.” Elise pointed out C-C and Anna. “I think they have been making love,” she said with a certain air to her voice.

  “Now, how, chérie, do you think that?” Diamanté teased her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  Elise’s nose wrinkled and seemed to draw up into her forehead as she smiled into Diamanté’s face.

  “See how they are looking at each other as they dance? I know these things, o meu Lobo.” My Lobo, she called him now, because he was hers after all. “I have lived for a very long time.”

  “Not as long as I have.” He chuckled and hugged her. “But I think you may be right. Come, let’s go join the others. Everyone will be sufficiently famished by now.”

  CHAPTER 55

  C-C and Anna left the dancers and followed the side pathway to the private back garden of the Ajaccio. The air was cool, and a chorus of croaking frogs greeted them in the darkness. From the restaurant’s kitchen came mouthwatering aromas that filled the soft evening air.

  They found Jacques, Diamanté, and Elise seated at a long, rectangular table under the soft glow of a six-candle, wrought-iron, scroll chandelier hanging from a low branch of a towering plane tree. Tall glasses of pastis, the licorice-flavored aperitif, sat in front of them. White ironwork jardin chairs with green cushions were set around the table and, in the center on a white linen tablecloth stood a huge blue and green ceramic vase filled with tall, bearded irises.

  “Ah, les voilà,” Jacques said. “Lucie has arrived, and she has kicked me out of the kitchen for the night.” Indicating that he was helpless to do anything about the situation, he shrugged and held up his hands.

  “Well then, we will eat well for a change,” C-C teased. “I take it the restaurant in Rouen is closed?”

  “Yes, not much business in August anyway. She wouldn’t miss an opportunity to come down here and show me up, either.”

  “Oh, Jacques,” Elise scolded him, patting his hand lightly. “You know she’s delighted to be of help to us. You looked so tired tonight. You’ve been overdoing. Besides, she wouldn’t have missed the wedding for anything.”

  Diamanté had been quiet, but he couldn’t resist adding, “Moi, I’m looking forward to that duck!”

  “Lucie will prepare the duck, mon vieux ami,” Jacques retorted pointing to himself, “mais, c’est moi who will tell the story.”

  A loud groan came from behind them. It was Léo La Bergère, the jovial bon vivant who was Jacques’ great friend. “Ah non, non, et non enfin, Jacques. We can’t have that duck story, not tonight. It is too bloody for a celebration.” He kissed Elise on both cheeks and shook Diamanté’s hand. His face lit up when he saw Anna. “Ah, our beautiful américaine has returned
to France. Or didn’t Charlie ever let you leave?” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Eh bien, I see you have finally found your grand-père.” He glanced over in Diamanté’s direction. “What do you think of your granddaughter, heh, mon vieux?”

  Diamanté bowed his head in her direction. “She is much more beautiful than I am.” Everyone laughed.

  Pierre Truette was behind Léo. The quiet-spoken priest from Rouen greeted everyone and shook hands around.

  “Père Truette will perform the marriage ceremony on Sunday,” Elise told Anna as Truette sat down beside her. Elise patted his arm. The bride-to-be had changed into a vivid blue silk dress that matched her eyes. A shawl of the same color was draped over her shoulders.

  “Oui, and I am delighted to do so. This is a special occasion for all of us,” said Père Truette, respectfully.

  They all took their places at the table, and Martine served pastis to the new arrivals, brushing against C-C as she passed him. Then she announced to the group, flashing a discreet wink in C-C’s direction, that she was off for the evening and heading for the dance platform and then bed. He squirmed a bit. Anna gave him a knowing look through her lowered eyelashes, which he did his best to ignore.

  “What is the schedule for the wedding?” Anna asked just as Guy joined them. She noticed that he was walking less energetically than he had the last time she saw him.

  He kissed her warmly on both cheeks and took the chair next to hers. “Oh, ma chère, I forgot to include that information in my letter, n’est-ce pas?” He nodded toward Elise, who was busy chatting with the priest. “Elise, explain the grand plan.”

  Elise looked up. “We were just finalizing the last-minute details. The civil ceremony will be at la mairie beginning around four o’clock in the afternoon. Afterwards, we will have a little procession to the religious ceremony, which will be held in the abbaye. There will be a reception at the Ajaccio following the religious ceremony, and then, in the evening, we will have a fabulous private dinner, just for our special guests, in the back garden. Lucie and Jacques are in charge of the menu.”

  “And it will be a nine-course extravaganza!” Jacques added.

  Everyone in the group put their hands to their stomachs and blew a little air through their lips in wonderful anticipation of the culinary experience.

  “Are you sure you are up to that grueling schedule?” C-C asked Elise.

  “I’m planning on closing the shutters and taking a long siesta beforehand,” Elise answered, wrinkling her nose at him as she smiled.

  “I think I had better have a siesta also,” Anna whispered to C-C.

  Returning her smile, he gently brushed her hair away from her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Lucie came out onto the terrace. She looked even larger to Anna than when she had seen her in Rouen. C-C rose from his chair to greet her.

  “Charlie!” The woman enveloped him in her arms and shook him back and forth as she kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Bonsoir, Lucie. Comment vas-tu?”

  “Patapouf,” she said with gusto. “Fatter than ever. I like my own cooking too much.” Then she spotted Anna. “Anna!”

  Anna got up to greet her and was wrapped in the pair of meaty arms as well. “Bonsoir, Lucie. It’s good to see you again,” she said when she had finally got her breath.

  “Heh, Lucie, are we going to eat tonight or non? Are you still picking out the duck?” Jacques clucked at her.

  “Oh, Jacques, attends, be patient. I’ve just come to announce that the first course will be served shortly.”

  “And it will be?” Léo inquired with his eyebrows lifted.

  “Truffes in puff pastry,” Lucie announced.

  “Ah, that’s it!” exclaimed Jacques. “She’s been out in the hills picking the wild mushrooms.”

  The evening waiter, an extra whom Diamanté had brought from Nice for the month, entered with a tray and began serving them.

  Twenty minutes later, Lucie returned to announce the second course, an herb soup.

  “It’s called l’ourteto,” she informed the group. She explained to Anna, “It’s an old provençale soup. The name means petit jardin, little garden.”

  Anna tasted it and nodded her head approvingly.

  A salad of haricots verts and green hazelnuts was next, followed by la pièce de résistance: thinly sliced duck breast au romarin, draped over a mound of ratatouille-like vegetables and served with violet asparagus, small zucchini flowers, and miniature potatoes.

  “Eh bien, Lucie has finally outdone herself,” Léo announced as he savored the show-off dessert: an earthy, elegant, and mysterious concoction that consisted of a fresh pear tart topped with candied baby eggplant and lavender-scented ice cream. They all nodded in agreement.

  Coffee and glasses of Calvados followed. By the time they had finished eating and drinking, it was after midnight, the band had finished, and the square was quiet.

  “It was such fun,” Anna said to C-C as they, followed by Max, walked to C-C’s house in the darkness.

  “They are quite a group when they get going.”

  “I had to laugh when Jacques passed on telling his duck story. Actually, I thought he was going to tell it when he launched into that booming,” she lowered her voice and tried her best imitation of the Corsican accent, “And now I will tell the sad story of the duck.” Then she laughed, “But he caved in with all the hissing and booing.”

  “He was in rare form tonight.”

  They had reached the house. As C-C opened the door for her, she said, yawning, “Doesn’t Diamanté ever take that beret off and keep it off?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. He gives the impression that he was born in it.”

  “I wonder if he sleeps in it?”

  “One thing is certain: he’ll probably die in it.”

  “Oh, C-C,” she said, shaking her head.

  CHAPTER 56

  Anna awoke late the morning after the dinner welcoming the wedding guests. Jet-lagged and slightly hung over, she rolled over and yawned. The side of the bed where C-C had been was empty. On the nightstand, tucked under a vase with a fresh rose, she found a note: “Gone to check on a patient. Back around eleven o’clock. There are tea bags in the kitchen. Je t’aime.”

  Anna swung her feet off the side of the bed and looked at the clock. Eleven o’clock was a half hour away. She went into the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth, then found her gray running shorts and a white tank top in her suitcase and slipped them on. As she descended the staircase barefoot, she peeked toward the front of the house. Not a soul in sight. Good. No patients waiting in the foyer.

  In the kitchen, Anna found a felt-lined, mahogany tea chest on the marble counter. As she filled a copper tea kettle with water from the faucet, she eyed the gas stove. It was one of those stunning miprofessionnel stoves she had read about, made of cast-iron and with elegant, polished brass hardware and painted with the same hard enamel used on car finishes. This one, a glossy aubergine to match the color of the intricate detail in the antique tiles above the work counter, had beautiful oven doors, and its top was brushed stainless steel. She set the tea kettle on one of the six gas burners. The medallion in the center of the backsplash read La Cornue.

  “Whew!” she whistled. “This one’s the top of the line. Wonder why he spent so much money on a stove he doesn’t even use?”

  When the water was boiling, she found a china cup and saucer in the cupboard, selected a chamomile from the assortment in the tea chest, placed it in the cup, and poured the hot water over it.

  The scent of roses and lavender coming through the open French doors drew her into the back garden. The sun beat down from a flawless blue sky, and the air was hot and still. She plucked a fresh mint leaf from a pot on the terrace, sniffed its distinctive aroma, then placed it in her cup of tea. Except for the grasshoppers and cicadas, the garden was deserted. She wandered around to the south side of the house, where Clo the gardener had created a paradise of multicolored ros
es, all in full bloom. A small pathway led to a bench by a birdbath under a rose arbor at the back corner. The white roses on the arbor extended to cover the entire wall of a small building. As she studied the tile-roofed structure, Anna took a sip of her tea, savoring the sweet flavor of the mint followed by the cool aftertaste. There were no windows, only a large garage door with a small door beside it. She tried the handle on the smaller door. It was unlocked. The light spilling in from the outside fell across a sleek black roadster, the distinctive three-pointed Mercedes star on the back of its trunk flanked by SL55 and AMG.

  She whistled again. If this was C-C’s car, something bothered her. She knew doctors in France didn’t make the kind of money that they do in the U.S. C-C certainly didn’t earn enough to afford all this as an ER physician in Paris. She recalled what he had said about not having very many patients here. How then? This handsome house? The expensive renovation? A caretaker for the grounds? This car? Her eyes narrowed. She closed the door and wandered back through the garden and into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close.

  C-C crept up from behind and pulled her to him. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, but I’m still jet-lagged. And I think I had a little too much Calvados.”

  “I see you found the tea.”

  “Yes. I drank it in the rose garden. It is so beautiful out there.”

  “It’s Clo’s life. He will be happy to hear you appreciate it.”

  “I’ll tell him myself when I meet him. C-C, I noticed a building that looks like a garage next to the garden. What’s in it?” she asked innocently.

  “My car.”

  “Do you use it often?”

  “Non. Occasionally I go to Nice or into the mountains. But I don’t get much time off to go any farther than that.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you. You, the traveler that I remember.”

  “I guess you discovered another thing that’s different.” He nuzzled her ear, speaking softly. “Diamanté and Elise have invited us for a late lunch. He wants to get to know you better. I promised them we’d be there by one o’clock. We’ve got two hours, amour. Let’s go upstairs.”