Chapter 18 – Henri
Spotting the parcel, lying alone and forgotten near the bank of the river, Henri Signac and his girlfriend were walking alongside, Henri frowned as he leaned forward to pick it up. He stared at the address. “Mon dieu.”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Janie West, asked, tilting her head at Henri’s remark.
“Il est un… it is a parcel, ma chérie. It is for no one that I know but my grandmother lives in Béziers so it is possible… although I do not recognise the street. Rue de Safont. It is possible it is near the market but normally they are named after saints. I do not know of a Saint Safont. The same with the Place des Poètes and the, er… area of the composers, Debussy, Satie, et cetera. Perhaps Safont created a symphony that I have not heard of.” He handed Janie when she held out her opened palms.
“Oh, not heavy as I expected. Exciting though, isn’t it.”
“What is, Janie?”
“The thought that you could reunite the parcel with its… not its owner but who it is intended to reach… so yes, its new owner.”
“How?”
“Take it on the plane with you when you go home. Will it be long before you see your grandmother?”
“I was going to see her next weekend. She is travelling north to see my mother so she will be there the day before I get back. She would take it, I am sure, but I cannot take it to her.”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not know what is in it.”
“It’s very light. And you haven’t bought much since you arrived so may you have room?”
“Maybe, but I still do not know what is in it,” Henri repeated.
“I don’t understand.”
“When they ask me ‘Did you pack everything yourself?’, I cannot say ‘yes’.”
“Lie.”
“Ma chérie! I cannot lie!”
“OK, so we open it.”
“No. That also I cannot do. It is against the law to open something belonging to someone else. It would be…”
“Treason?” Janie joked.
“Of course not, treason. We are not in the dark ages, but it is… sacrosanct.”
“So we take it to the post office.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not trust the English.”
“Thanks.”
“No, sweetie. I do not mean you. I mean–”
Janie laughed again. “It’s OK. I’m just teasing.”
Henri’s heart pounded as he thumped the suitcase on to the airport scales.
“Merci, Monsieur Signac.” The check-in desk clerk looked at Henri’s passport as the scales pinged an acceptable weight and chuntered out a label. “Avez-vous un bon séjour?”
“Oui. Très agréable, merci.”
The clerk nodded without smiling. “Et… vous avez emballez ce cas vous?”
Henri remained silent, smiling weakly.
“Monsieur.”
“Oui, seul.”
“Bon. Bonne route.”
“Merci.” Henri’s hand shook as he took back the offered passport. He hoped he’d be calmer at the other end.
Henri heard his mother squeal as he appeared through the arrival gates.
“Henri! Henri!”
Henri blew out a lung full of air, relieved not only at the sight of his mother but a clear passage through ‘Rien à déclarer’. Only a beret and a string of garlic around his neck would have made him look more French and the airport staff had shown little interest in him. He always liked to look smart regardless of whether business or pleasure and the last few hours had felt like neither.
Henri’s suitcase safely stowed in the boot, Madame Signac zipped through the streets of Paris in the little white Fiat, not caring about the dents already adorning its bodywork. One particular tunnel usually brought back some nasty memories but she was too busy listening to Henry’s tales of life across the channel to spot the ‘Pont de l'Alma’ sign. One city tunnel looked very much like another and she was driving on automatic, so accustomed to the journey from Charles de Gaulle along the A1 to Rue Saint-Germain, Villeron, north east of the city centre.
When they arrived back at the modest town house, Madame Signac’s eighty-four-year-old mother, Silvie, was there to greet them. She had made onion soup and fresh bread and they were soon sat around the table, Henri repeating much of what he had already told his mother in the car.
Ever since he’d arrived back in his home city, Henri had been deliberating when best to mention the parcel to his grandmother. She too would have disapproved of him risking prison to bring it back, or at the very least a heavy fine. But he couldn’t wait any longer and took advantage of his mother clearing the plates to the kitchen.
“Mamie.”
“Oui, Henri.” His grandmother stretched her right arm across the table and clasped Henri’s left hand. “Je vous ai manqué. Il a été trop long. Six mois?”
“Oui, six ou sept. J’ai une question.”
“Oh?”
“Béziers. Connais tu Rue de Safont?”
“Oui, il est près du marché, près du Place des Poulenc. Pourquoi?”
“Madame Belfont? Vous la connais aussi?”
“Madame Belfont?”
“Oui. Normandie.”
“Ah, non.”
“Merd. Pardon, Mamie.”
“Madame Belfont non, mais je connais Monsieur Belfont de l'église, peut-être son mari.”
“Je l'espère.”
“Pourquoi?”
“Je dois une parcelle pour elle. Voulez-vous prendre à elle?”
“Est-il important?”
“Oui, je pense.”
“Bien sûr, puis Henri. Je reviens le lundi. Est-ce ok?”
Henri squeezed his grandmother’s hand then let go when his mother returned with a plate of hot Crêpe Suzette.
After her offer of afternoon tea had been politely declined, Normandie Belfont thanked the old woman and shut the door.
With the parcel in both hands, Normandie walked through to her sitting room and placed the parcel on the coffee table. Although the address was smudged in several places and had been rewritten, the brown paper faring little better, she knew who had sent the parcel. Whatever it held, she would make a cup of tea then open it.
Except that curiosity got the better of her.
Delicately removing the brown paper, she placed it beside her on the chaise longue and proceeded to divide the cardboard box’s two halves of sellotape with a letter opener.
Lifting away the two flaps, she removed the layers of pale green crepe paper.
For a moment, she stared at the contents.
“Non,” she said as the first tear rolled down her face.
*** *** ***
Note from the Editor, Morgen Bailey
Hello. Thank you again for downloading this free eBook. My co-authors and I hope that you enjoyed it.
We would love to know what you think (and what you imagine the parcel to contain!) and invite you to email me at [email protected]. I will pass your comments on to the relevant authors. We would also be very grateful if you left a review as an encouragement for others to read this free novella.
You can learn more about this project on https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/courses/northampton-writing-courses/the-parcel-project-2015 where you can leave comments and read those left by other visitors.
Your support is much appreciated.
***
The Parcel Page 18