Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body In the Vestibule (13 page)
As she sorted her clothes into the washers and added detergent, she was lulled by the familiarity of the routine and settled down to watch the garments spin about through the glass doors. She was feeling betterâif not exactly ready to whip her weight in those tigers, at least able to go a few rounds with their cubs.
She opened an ancient Tauchnitz edition of Trollope's
The Small House at Allington.
Her quest for English books at the
bouquinistes
on the Quai de Pecherie near the apartment had turned up an astonishing number of books by Stephen King, Pearl Buck's
The Good Earth,
ancient Fodor's to everywhere, and this. She was up to chapter three and the radical contrast with her life at presentâor any other presentâwas entertaining. She was soon engrossed until the lines “Let her who is forty call herself forty; but if she can be young in spirit at forty, let her show that she is so” leaped from the page. Faith didn't intend to call herself forty for at least two decades, and when appearances did force the matter, her youthful spirit with some help from Canyon Ranch would show it without any advice from Mr. Trollope. Somewhat disgruntled with the intimations, she shut the book and decided to take a walk. The doors on the washers locked until the cycle ended and it had another thirty minutes to run. She could get a coffee.
The Small House at Allington.
Her quest for English books at the
bouquinistes
on the Quai de Pecherie near the apartment had turned up an astonishing number of books by Stephen King, Pearl Buck's
The Good Earth,
ancient Fodor's to everywhere, and this. She was up to chapter three and the radical contrast with her life at presentâor any other presentâwas entertaining. She was soon engrossed until the lines “Let her who is forty call herself forty; but if she can be young in spirit at forty, let her show that she is so” leaped from the page. Faith didn't intend to call herself forty for at least two decades, and when appearances did force the matter, her youthful spirit with some help from Canyon Ranch would show it without any advice from Mr. Trollope. Somewhat disgruntled with the intimations, she shut the book and decided to take a walk. The doors on the washers locked until the cycle ended and it had another thirty minutes to run. She could get a coffee.
It was a beautiful day, warm and filled with what Faith thought of as a Mediterranean lightâclear, sharp, and brightâcatching the strong colors of the stone buildings. Everybody in Lyon is always looking at something, she observed as she walked along. Shop windows, something in the street, and often you suddenly become aware that everybody is staring in the same direction. You stare, too, and it is a car being towed, garbage collected, a minor car accident, a helicopterâbut it all has the feel of an event because everybody watches.
And the light: She was constantly amazed at the beauty it imparted to the city, masking its flaws and, especially in the late afternoon, bathing vastly disparate neighborhoods in the same long, soft glow.
She passed the large Beaux-Arts Prisunic department store building and a few
clochards
who were leaning up against its walls, sunning themselves like cats, their faces turned upward. One was asleep. An old lady sat with her knitting. It seemed to be some sort of scarf. Faith saw her at this spot frequently. She always seemed to be at the same stage and she always had a different color yarn. In front of the group a young man was drawing an elaborate chalk portrait of the Last Supper on the pavement. His
casquette,
seeded with a few coins, was placed next to his chalks. He had written, “I am hungry. I am German. I want to go home” in several languages on a small card. Faith dropped some coins in the cap.
clochards
who were leaning up against its walls, sunning themselves like cats, their faces turned upward. One was asleep. An old lady sat with her knitting. It seemed to be some sort of scarf. Faith saw her at this spot frequently. She always seemed to be at the same stage and she always had a different color yarn. In front of the group a young man was drawing an elaborate chalk portrait of the Last Supper on the pavement. His
casquette,
seeded with a few coins, was placed next to his chalks. He had written, “I am hungry. I am German. I want to go home” in several languages on a small card. Faith dropped some coins in the cap.
She bought a newspaper and settled down at a table facing the rue de la République. It wasn't long before people-watching became more engrossing than the news. She was surprised to see Christophe walk by. It was early for lunch and he should have been in school, she supposed. He walked directly over to one of the
clochards
by Prisunic and soon the two were in deep conversation.
clochards
by Prisunic and soon the two were in deep conversation.
She finished her coffee and went over to them, intending to ask Christophe if he or one of his siblings could stay with Ben the next day. Her arrival sent a look of panic into the
clochard'
s eyes, and surprisingly, Christophe's. His “Madame Fairsheeld, how are you?” lacked a certain warmth.
clochard'
s eyes, and surprisingly, Christophe's. His “Madame Fairsheeld, how are you?” lacked a certain warmth.
Faith was intrigued. From the tone of the boy's voice as she approached, this did not seem like the acolyte at the feet of the master. It seemed like business, but what possible business could Christophe have with a
clochard?
The man appeared younger than most and, if cleaned up, quite presentable. He was not as far gone as some and although his
hair was in tangles, his face covered with some kind of rash, and his clothes filthy, there was the look of earlier prosperity about him. He was wearing a camel's hair coat cut like a bathrobe, even though the weather was very warm. Possibly, there wasn't much underneath. The coat had been a good one and she wondered how he had come by it. He sat without moving and kept his eyes on the ground. Beyond the initial greeting, Christophe had said nothing and was plainly waiting for Faith to leave. Instead, she asked the man where he was from. She wondered whether he was French or, like the sidewalk artist, from someplace else. This openly irritated Christophe.
clochard?
The man appeared younger than most and, if cleaned up, quite presentable. He was not as far gone as some and although his
hair was in tangles, his face covered with some kind of rash, and his clothes filthy, there was the look of earlier prosperity about him. He was wearing a camel's hair coat cut like a bathrobe, even though the weather was very warm. Possibly, there wasn't much underneath. The coat had been a good one and she wondered how he had come by it. He sat without moving and kept his eyes on the ground. Beyond the initial greeting, Christophe had said nothing and was plainly waiting for Faith to leave. Instead, she asked the man where he was from. She wondered whether he was French or, like the sidewalk artist, from someplace else. This openly irritated Christophe.
“It is not advisable to speak to these people, especially for someone not from France. The
clochards
can sometimes be quite crude and even violent.”
clochards
can sometimes be quite crude and even violent.”
“But your mother has told me they are harmless,” Faith protested.
“Oh, my mother,” Christophe answered, the words speaking for themselves. Faith realized she had to get back to her clothes and reached for a coin. As she put it in the still immobilized
clochard'
s outstretched hand, she noticed he wore a ring on his right hand. It was a heavy silver one, and when he put the coin into a small box by his side, she saw that it was a signet ring with a crestâthree small birds against a background of diamondlike shapes. It might have been stolen, but he would have been more apt to sell it than wear it. The mighty fallen or the black sheep of a noble family? The whole thing was odd. She said good-bye to Christophe, noted the relief in his eyes, and went back to the laundromat.
clochard'
s outstretched hand, she noticed he wore a ring on his right hand. It was a heavy silver one, and when he put the coin into a small box by his side, she saw that it was a signet ring with a crestâthree small birds against a background of diamondlike shapes. It might have been stolen, but he would have been more apt to sell it than wear it. The mighty fallen or the black sheep of a noble family? The whole thing was odd. She said good-bye to Christophe, noted the relief in his eyes, and went back to the laundromat.
She transferred her wash to the dryer. What was the relationship between Christophe and the
clochard?
And the ring. If slipped off, it would leave a mark.
clochard?
And the ring. If slipped off, it would leave a mark.
And the nails on both hands had been bitten until bloodyâjust like the nails of the
faux clochard.
faux clochard.
She struggled up the stairs with her clean wash and was
glad they were going out for dinner. She'd made reservations at Café des Fédérationsâa
bouchon,
that Lyonnais institution not exactly a bistro and not a restaurant, either. A
bouchon
âliterally a corkâwhere Tom would drink deeply of Monsieur Fulchiron's Morgon and they would eat quennelles in Nantua sauceâthose delicate, lighter-than-air fish dumplings floating in lobster sauceâor maybe
andouillette,
the Rolls-Royce of chitterlings.
glad they were going out for dinner. She'd made reservations at Café des Fédérationsâa
bouchon,
that Lyonnais institution not exactly a bistro and not a restaurant, either. A
bouchon
âliterally a corkâwhere Tom would drink deeply of Monsieur Fulchiron's Morgon and they would eat quennelles in Nantua sauceâthose delicate, lighter-than-air fish dumplings floating in lobster sauceâor maybe
andouillette,
the Rolls-Royce of chitterlings.
Feeling virtuous, she put away the wash and went back down the stairs to get Ben. It was still sunny and beautiful and she decided to walk to the Croix Rousse plateau, where Leonard lived. The exercise would be good for her. She knew she must be gaining too much weight, and even if Baby Fairchild was getting unheard-of nutrients, Faith had better keep herself in shape.
The tour of the
traboules
and
montées
of the Croix Rousse was something she had meant to do since she'd arrived, but she hadn't had the time. She took her guidebook and set out. As she crossed the Place des Terreaux, the spray cascading from the horses at the Batholdi fountain fell in a mist on her face. The afternoon had grown warmer and it felt lovely.
traboules
and
montées
of the Croix Rousse was something she had meant to do since she'd arrived, but she hadn't had the time. She took her guidebook and set out. As she crossed the Place des Terreaux, the spray cascading from the horses at the Batholdi fountain fell in a mist on her face. The afternoon had grown warmer and it felt lovely.
Faith began to make her way slowly up the incline, passing through the
traboules,
to emerge blinking into the daylight of the courtyards that were bordered by a series of long staircases crawling up the hill. Sometimes the steep stairs were set in long zigzags against the crumbling walls of the old buildings, which seemed ill suited to shore up the
colline.
Other staircases ran straight up to the next level in hundreds of small steps. Several times, she had to stop to catch her breath. It was like a labyrinth and she hadn't thought to bring any string. The Royalists had used these pathways and, more recently, the Resistance during the Second World War. It was said a man could live in the
traboules
indefinitely, always keeping one step ahead of his pursuersâable to duck into the apartment window of a
sympathizer, then to emerge from another into a further series of stairways and tunnels on the other side. As she followed the route suggested by the guide, the images of these desperate men and women became increasingly vivid in Faith's imagination. She began to worry about getting lost. Suddenly, she thought she heard the cries and running footsteps of those long-ago fugitives.
traboules,
to emerge blinking into the daylight of the courtyards that were bordered by a series of long staircases crawling up the hill. Sometimes the steep stairs were set in long zigzags against the crumbling walls of the old buildings, which seemed ill suited to shore up the
colline.
Other staircases ran straight up to the next level in hundreds of small steps. Several times, she had to stop to catch her breath. It was like a labyrinth and she hadn't thought to bring any string. The Royalists had used these pathways and, more recently, the Resistance during the Second World War. It was said a man could live in the
traboules
indefinitely, always keeping one step ahead of his pursuersâable to duck into the apartment window of a
sympathizer, then to emerge from another into a further series of stairways and tunnels on the other side. As she followed the route suggested by the guide, the images of these desperate men and women became increasingly vivid in Faith's imagination. She began to worry about getting lost. Suddenly, she thought she heard the cries and running footsteps of those long-ago fugitives.
There
were
cries, and she froze against the wall for a moment, before smiling in relief as a group of schoolchildren came racing around the corner. She emerged into the daylight at Place Colbert, noted an interesting-looking
fromagerie,
and sternly reminded herself she was there to get Ben, not Brie.
were
cries, and she froze against the wall for a moment, before smiling in relief as a group of schoolchildren came racing around the corner. She emerged into the daylight at Place Colbert, noted an interesting-looking
fromagerie,
and sternly reminded herself she was there to get Ben, not Brie.
Chantal greeted her at the apartment door and said the boys had had a wonderful time playing cowboys. Judging from the state of the kitchen, which was also Leonard's playroom, they had been riding the range hard. Faith collected Ben, stifled his cries of protest with a firm “If you cannot leave nicely, you cannot come back,” whichâamaâzinglyâworked, and thanked Chantal, arranging for Léonard to come to them on Tuesday.
She put Ben into his strollerâChantal had used it to take him from the
garderie
âand pushed him to the metro. It was one thing for Faith to do the circuit of the
traboules
and
montées,
but she shuddered to think of Ben on all those stairs. They arrived home quickly and Faith was folding the
pousette
up to put in the closet when Jean-François d'Ambert came down the stairs, carrying his briefcase.
garderie
âand pushed him to the metro. It was one thing for Faith to do the circuit of the
traboules
and
montées,
but she shuddered to think of Ben on all those stairs. They arrived home quickly and Faith was folding the
pousette
up to put in the closet when Jean-François d'Ambert came down the stairs, carrying his briefcase.
“
Bonjour
, Faith.” He kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “Let me do that for you.” He flourished a massive key ring that suggested either a life of crime or extensive holdings. He saw her glance.
Bonjour
, Faith.” He kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “Let me do that for you.” He flourished a massive key ring that suggested either a life of crime or extensive holdings. He saw her glance.
“It's ridiculous, isn't it, but I need them allâfor the apartment, our small
maison
secondaire
in the country, my office, the
cave
for the wine, of course, and
voilà ,
this little,
so very convenient
placard.
” He opened the closet door and carefully placed the stroller inside.
maison
secondaire
in the country, my office, the
cave
for the wine, of course, and
voilà ,
this little,
so very convenient
placard.
” He opened the closet door and carefully placed the stroller inside.
“Bouf,
it stinks. They really must do a better job of keeping this place clean. I will speak to the
régie
tomorrow.”
it stinks. They really must do a better job of keeping this place clean. I will speak to the
régie
tomorrow.”
“The
régie?”
Faith asked.
régie?”
Faith asked.
“Yes, theâhow do you say?âagents.”
She was quickly thinking of some way to extend the conversation, for as soon as he had taken his keys from his pocket, she'd noticed his hand and wanted a longer look.
“Will you be going to the country this weekend?” she asked, moving closer to him with what she hoped was unobtrusive scrutiny.
“No, it's too far for just a weekend trip and nothing is prepared. We will wait until the children are out of school. Now, you must forgive me, I am late for an appointment.”
It was all right. She had seen enough. The heavy silver ring he wore on his left hand was not a wedding band. It was the twin of the one the
clochard
she'd seen talking with Christophe had been wearing. Three small birds couchant against a field of diamonds. What did it mean? And whom was Jean-François going to meet? A business appointment so late in the day?
clochard
she'd seen talking with Christophe had been wearing. Three small birds couchant against a field of diamonds. What did it mean? And whom was Jean-François going to meet? A business appointment so late in the day?
Â
“Merci,
madame, I would love another cup,” Faith said the following afternoon as Madame Vincent profferred the elegant Sèvres, or perhaps Limoges, pot of steaming tea. The day had been another warm and sunny one. The rainy spell was broken. But it was not too warm for the tea and it seemed exactly right to be sitting on one of Yvette Vincent's velvet and gilt chairs, drinking cup after cup in companionable conversation. Solange and Valentina, obviously old friends, were making madame laugh hilariously with their gossip.
madame, I would love another cup,” Faith said the following afternoon as Madame Vincent profferred the elegant Sèvres, or perhaps Limoges, pot of steaming tea. The day had been another warm and sunny one. The rainy spell was broken. But it was not too warm for the tea and it seemed exactly right to be sitting on one of Yvette Vincent's velvet and gilt chairs, drinking cup after cup in companionable conversation. Solange and Valentina, obviously old friends, were making madame laugh hilariously with their gossip.
“
Tiens!
I shouldn't laugh. You two are terrible. And
what do you say of this poor old woman when her back is turned?”
Tiens!
I shouldn't laugh. You two are terrible. And
what do you say of this poor old woman when her back is turned?”
“That she makes the best macaroons in Lyon,” answered Solange, taking another from the cake stand.
“A recipe of my grandmother. A tyrant in the kitchen, she was.”The eggs must be lighter, Yvette,' she'd say, âkeep beating.'”
Faith thought she saw an opening in the conversation.
“Speaking of ancestors, is that ring Jean-François wears from his family?” It was clumsy, but it would have to do.
“Ring?” For a moment, Solange looked puzzled. “Oh yes, of course. It is not his marriage ring. That”âshe paused to roll her eyes at Valentinaâ“I can never get him to wear. But the ring of his family he does wear sometimes. It was his father's. All the men of the family have the same.”
So the
clochard
was a d'Ambert. A d'Ambert probably not on the A list of Lyon society and a d'Ambert certainly not frequenting these d'Amberts' Sunday dinners, Faith suspected. Curiouser and curiouser. The
clochard
with the ring, posing as the dead
clochard
, connected to the d'Ambert family. The pieces of the puzzle were all on the table, but there was still a lot of sky to fit together.
clochard
was a d'Ambert. A d'Ambert probably not on the A list of Lyon society and a d'Ambert certainly not frequenting these d'Amberts' Sunday dinners, Faith suspected. Curiouser and curiouser. The
clochard
with the ring, posing as the dead
clochard
, connected to the d'Ambert family. The pieces of the puzzle were all on the table, but there was still a lot of sky to fit together.
“Your face looks so odd, Faith. You have wrinkles in your forehead. What is troubling you?” asked Valentina.
“Nothing really, though I suppose I am bothered by some of the things that have happened this week. You knowâthe
clochard
and that poor girl's suicide.”
clochard
and that poor girl's suicide.”
Madame Vincent looked at her sharply. “I have heard of your
clochard.
Do you think the two had anything to do with one another?”
clochard.
Do you think the two had anything to do with one another?”
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