Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body In the Vestibule (4 page)
The room was filled with a glow produced by the warmth of the food, the people crowded around the table, and the candles Faith had placed wherever she could find
room. Everyone had brought flowers and she'd had to put the last bunchâbeautiful arum liliesâin the teakettle and prop them up on the mantel. They looked perfectly at home.
room. Everyone had brought flowers and she'd had to put the last bunchâbeautiful arum liliesâin the teakettle and prop them up on the mantel. They looked perfectly at home.
They'd started with champagne and
feuilletés salés
âassorted small crunchy bits of puff pastry wrapped around an olive, flavored with cheese, or forming the base for a bite-sized pizzaâthe French answer to cocktail peanuts. At the table, she'd served the first asparagus of the season from the Luberon in Provence, delicate pale green stalks, steamed with a lemony mousseline sauce. Then bouillabaisse. She'd toyed with the idea of trying to create a real American mealâfried chicken and dumplings, baked country ham, but she had neither the ingredients nor the
batteries de cuisine.
With only one rather small frying pan, it would have taken a long time to fry chicken for eleven. She did have a big pot, though, and having walked past the seafood, artfully displayed on crushed ice day after day in the market, she'd longed for the chance to cook as many varieties as possibleâwhich meant bouillabaisse. The only departure from her usual recipeâmore a fish stew than a soupâwas to remove the meat from the lobster and shrimp shells before serving. There wasn't enough elbow room at the table for the guests to do the dissections themselves, nor space for a bowl for the shells. There
was
room for a platter of slightly toasted bread liberally spread with rouilleâthe garlic and saffron mayonnaise, which is so delectable when dipped in the
jus.
feuilletés salés
âassorted small crunchy bits of puff pastry wrapped around an olive, flavored with cheese, or forming the base for a bite-sized pizzaâthe French answer to cocktail peanuts. At the table, she'd served the first asparagus of the season from the Luberon in Provence, delicate pale green stalks, steamed with a lemony mousseline sauce. Then bouillabaisse. She'd toyed with the idea of trying to create a real American mealâfried chicken and dumplings, baked country ham, but she had neither the ingredients nor the
batteries de cuisine.
With only one rather small frying pan, it would have taken a long time to fry chicken for eleven. She did have a big pot, though, and having walked past the seafood, artfully displayed on crushed ice day after day in the market, she'd longed for the chance to cook as many varieties as possibleâwhich meant bouillabaisse. The only departure from her usual recipeâmore a fish stew than a soupâwas to remove the meat from the lobster and shrimp shells before serving. There wasn't enough elbow room at the table for the guests to do the dissections themselves, nor space for a bowl for the shells. There
was
room for a platter of slightly toasted bread liberally spread with rouilleâthe garlic and saffron mayonnaise, which is so delectable when dipped in the
jus.
She'd been a bit worried that no one would want cheese after the first courses, but when she'd produced the platter from Richard, where admittedly she'd gone a little wildâcharollais, epoisses, picodon, bleu de Bresse, reblochon, and more St. Marcellin, there was a murmur of appreciation. Paul Leblanc had eyed the
fromages
with delight. “Cheese. You can always find room for cheese. It's like salad.”
fromages
with delight. “Cheese. You can always find room for cheese. It's like salad.”
Now they were all finding room for the cold compote of blood oranges with crème anglaise Faith had made the day before and the assortment of dark chocolates Tom had picked up at Bernachonâthe correct answer on the analogy section of the SATs to the question “Richard is to cheese as ____is to chocolate.”
Faith gazed happily at Tom, who was busy pouring a Sauterne to go with the dessert. He was a good host back in Aleford, yet France seemed to inspire him to new heights. He was off the leashâor rather without the collarâand enjoying every minute of it. She knew his sense of humor and general joie de vivre were a surprise to some of the people they were meeting. Protestants, correctly or incorrectly, were regarded as a solemn, rather dour bunch, and Tom behaved more like a priest.
Throughout the meal, the talk had ranged from new movies to politics to gardens. Paul Leblanc and Clément Veaux had discovered they shared a passion for growing things, waxing lyrical about the taste of a certain pear, poire William, plucked straight from the tree.
They were continuing to talk quietly to each other about pruning, while Georges Joliet again bemoaned the creation of the European Community.
“But you are a Communist, Georges,” Ghislaine Leblanc said. “Surely you are in favor of doing away with these artificial borders created by capitalistic wars?” Ghislaine wore her dark hair pulled back from her face, which emphasized her high cheekbones and the large full mouth that punctuated her question with a slightly mocking smile.
“Yes, it is true I am a Communist, but I am a Frenchman firstâ” he started to elaborate.
Valentina interrupted him. “You just don't want to be under the same flag as your Italiano in-laws.”
She addressed the group, “Georges is a Communist, but he draws the line at my family.”
Georges's face, under an untidy beard in classic anarchistic
style, was crossed by an expression of intense irritation. Then he apparently decided to treat his wife's remarks as a joke and forced a laugh.
style, was crossed by an expression of intense irritation. Then he apparently decided to treat his wife's remarks as a joke and forced a laugh.
The talk ambled on. Solange d'Ambertâa feminine and very slightly older-looking version of Christophe, despite five childrenâlit a cigarette. Her hair was shorter on one side than the other, and when she swept the chin-length side back across her head, only to have it tumble back in a silken curtain, the gesture looked so sexy and so fashionable that Faith instantly decided to find a coiffeur to duplicate the cut with her own thick blond hair.
“Were you here during the fight between the clochards yesterday?” she asked Faith.
“Yes, I watched from the window. Do you know what it was about?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I was watching from the street and the old one was shouting about money. I think the young one had taken some coins from the bowl to get more wine and the old one thought he was stealing them. Or maybe he was stealing.”
“Does this happen often?” Tom asked.
“Oh no,” Solange reassured him. “This is a very safe area.”
“Except for cars,” Delphine Veaux interjected. “Lyon is noted for car theft, but with our Renault Five, we don't worry. Now if we could afford a BMW or Peugeot Six-oh-five, that would be something else. We would be lucky to have it a week.”
“Cars
and
jewels, which we also do not have in abundance and so have been spared,” her husband added. “There has been a rash of burglaries around here, in Ainay, and a few across the river in the Brotteaux area. However, the thieves are not greedy. They leave stereos, TV, even cash and take only jewelry and occasionally a small and valuable bibelot.”
and
jewels, which we also do not have in abundance and so have been spared,” her husband added. “There has been a rash of burglaries around here, in Ainay, and a few across the river in the Brotteaux area. However, the thieves are not greedy. They leave stereos, TV, even cash and take only jewelry and occasionally a small and valuable bibelot.”
“Perhaps it's not greed but good taste,” Solange offered.
“In the Brotteaux, they find expensive new toys, in Ainay, all the valuables
tout Lyon
has passed down from generation to generation, and hereâperhaps a mélange.”
“In the Brotteaux, they find expensive new toys, in Ainay, all the valuables
tout Lyon
has passed down from generation to generation, and hereâperhaps a mélange.”
“This is a serious matter,
chérie.”
Jean-François d'Ambert appeared surprised at his wife's flippancy. “I can't understand why the
flics
have not been able to be a stop to it. What are we paying them for? To put tickets on our cars? Yes, they are very proficient at that, but when it comes to real crime, they have not a clue. Just last week, our friends the Fateuils were out of town for her mother's funeral and when they came back, pouf! All their good silverâ
disparu!”
chérie.”
Jean-François d'Ambert appeared surprised at his wife's flippancy. “I can't understand why the
flics
have not been able to be a stop to it. What are we paying them for? To put tickets on our cars? Yes, they are very proficient at that, but when it comes to real crime, they have not a clue. Just last week, our friends the Fateuils were out of town for her mother's funeral and when they came back, pouf! All their good silverâ
disparu!”
Faith was happy to have the opportunity to use one of her favorite French words: “Do you think it is the work of one
cambrioleur
âor
cambrioleuse
âor a gang?” Immediately, her mind was filled with scenes from
To Catch
a
Thiefâ
the female cat burglar being chased across the roof tiles of Monte Carlo by Cary Grant, roof tiles like the ones she could see from the apartment windows.
cambrioleur
âor
cambrioleuse
âor a gang?” Immediately, her mind was filled with scenes from
To Catch
a
Thiefâ
the female cat burglar being chased across the roof tiles of Monte Carlo by Cary Grant, roof tiles like the ones she could see from the apartment windows.
“There has been some speculation on both sides in the press. I myself think it is a well-organized gang, probably operating outside our borders. Are you interested in things of this nature, Faith? I would imagine you have a great deal of crime in your area. You are near to New York City, yes?”
The French whom Faith had met so far, unless they had traveled to the United States, had a very sketchy idea of distance. “I have a cousin in Milwaukee. Perhaps you know the family?” someone at the Duclos' last week had asked her in all seriousness. But everyone knew two thingsâthe location of Disney World and New York. They also assumed one had to have the equivalent of the Croix de Guerre to venture a visit to the latter and it was close to achieving such a dream to visit the former. Faith was beginning to think she should get the key to the Big Apple for all the public-relations work she
was doing. She was about to answer Jean-François when Tom beat her to it.
was doing. She was about to answer Jean-François when Tom beat her to it.
“The place we live, Aleford, is a
petit village
near Boston, about four hours' drive from New York City and,
oui
, my wife does seem to have an interest in crime, in addition to a particular knack for discovering dead bodies.”
petit village
near Boston, about four hours' drive from New York City and,
oui
, my wife does seem to have an interest in crime, in addition to a particular knack for discovering dead bodies.”
Everyone laughed, assuming it was some sort of American joke, a
blague
,
très drôle
. Faith did not correct them and shot Tom a look to
fermer
his
bouche
. Yes, she had been involved in some investigationsâa bit difficult to explain, especially in the midst of a dinner party and in a language for which she had a large vocabulary but unreliable grammatical skills. Jean-François seemed to find the joke particularly funny. Like the rest of his family, he was good-looking, but perhaps on the verge of carrying too much weight.
blague
,
très drôle
. Faith did not correct them and shot Tom a look to
fermer
his
bouche
. Yes, she had been involved in some investigationsâa bit difficult to explain, especially in the midst of a dinner party and in a language for which she had a large vocabulary but unreliable grammatical skills. Jean-François seemed to find the joke particularly funny. Like the rest of his family, he was good-looking, but perhaps on the verge of carrying too much weight.
“Since you are interested in crime, you will enjoy meeting our friend, Inspector Michel Ravier. He will be at the
vernissage
tomorrow night, unless he is called away. I will introduce you. You can ask him about the break-ins, but”âValentina Joliet's piercing dark eyes swept the roomâ“I do not think you have to worry.”
vernissage
tomorrow night, unless he is called away. I will introduce you. You can ask him about the break-ins, but”âValentina Joliet's piercing dark eyes swept the roomâ“I do not think you have to worry.”
“Could the
clochards
be responsible?” Faith asked, thinking to steer the conversation away from her own personal history.
clochards
be responsible?” Faith asked, thinking to steer the conversation away from her own personal history.
There was more laughter. “A
clochard
would take the wine and maybe the TV or something like thatâif he could figure out how to get into an apartment,” Paul said. “These men have been drinking so long, their mental state is not very clear. Additionally, in some cases they are schizophrenic or have some other form of mental or physical illness.”
clochard
would take the wine and maybe the TV or something like thatâif he could figure out how to get into an apartment,” Paul said. “These men have been drinking so long, their mental state is not very clear. Additionally, in some cases they are schizophrenic or have some other form of mental or physical illness.”
“But you seem to admire them so much. I see well-dressed people sit and talk with this
clochard
all the time.”
clochard
all the time.”
“Of course, we admire them. They are free. We envy them their lack of responsibilities. They never have to stand at the
guichet
at the post office and arrive at the front of the
line, only to be told by the cretin in power to go to another window. Or produce the birth certificate of their grandmother's second cousin once removed in order to get permission to buy a car. They don't mail letters, pay bills. They don't care about birth certificates, or passing the
bac,
or any other worries.”
guichet
at the post office and arrive at the front of the
line, only to be told by the cretin in power to go to another window. Or produce the birth certificate of their grandmother's second cousin once removed in order to get permission to buy a car. They don't mail letters, pay bills. They don't care about birth certificates, or passing the
bac,
or any other worries.”
It did not make a whole lot of sense to Faith, but she supposed it was all part of the incredibly complex nature of the French, which was even now being vividly illustrated at her dinner table. Envy of the
clochards
was part and parcel of the same impulses compelling the French to drive like maniacs when set free on the autoroutes. Tom had told her highway deaths were twice the kilometer rate as those in the United States. All that pent-up frustration had to go somewhere.
clochards
was part and parcel of the same impulses compelling the French to drive like maniacs when set free on the autoroutes. Tom had told her highway deaths were twice the kilometer rate as those in the United States. All that pent-up frustration had to go somewhere.
“
I
do not admire these
clochards
,” Madame Vincent said. “They are filthy and disgusting. They prey on people to get money for drink. You see them sitting so pathetically with little signs,
J'ai faim. Bien
, just try to give them food instead of money. I offered the one in front of the church a sandwich from the baker one day and he threw it at me! They are sick people, perhaps. I am sure this one is not so old. The drink has aged him, but he has no business on this earth. As far as I'm concerned, Lyon would be a better place if he and his friends were eliminated.”
I
do not admire these
clochards
,” Madame Vincent said. “They are filthy and disgusting. They prey on people to get money for drink. You see them sitting so pathetically with little signs,
J'ai faim. Bien
, just try to give them food instead of money. I offered the one in front of the church a sandwich from the baker one day and he threw it at me! They are sick people, perhaps. I am sure this one is not so old. The drink has aged him, but he has no business on this earth. As far as I'm concerned, Lyon would be a better place if he and his friends were eliminated.”
Faith was a bit surprised at the vehemence of Madame Vincent's remarks.
Jean-François agreed. “I am with you, madame. It does not do to become sentimental about these people. The police should round them up and make them go to the shelters. They cost us precious tax money better spent on things like catching criminals.”
It was yet again time to turn the conversation in another direction and Faith hastily searched her mind for a topic. She needn't have worried. Tom stretched his arms back and said, “I need a little exercise after all this. Why
don't we walk into the next room and have some cognac.” The somewhat askance looks that had greeted the first part of his statementâAmericans were known to jog at unseemly hoursâgave way to laughter and general movement. There were offers to help Faith clean upâoffers from the women, she observedâbut she refused, saying she would do it later.
don't we walk into the next room and have some cognac.” The somewhat askance looks that had greeted the first part of his statementâAmericans were known to jog at unseemly hoursâgave way to laughter and general movement. There were offers to help Faith clean upâoffers from the women, she observedâbut she refused, saying she would do it later.
The party drifted into different parts of the apartment. Ben was sound asleep in his small room. Amélie d'Ambert, age fourteen, had come to take care of him during the earlier part of the evening and also put him to bed before going back downstairs to her own apartment. She was very shy, very dark, unlike the others in her family, and Faith hoped to enlist her as a baby-sitter for the duration of their visit.
Faith joined the Leblancs, who were gazing at the Eglise St. Nizier, which was illuminated at night, the steeples and statuary silhouetted against the dark sky. The bright lights shone only on the front of the church, flattening it in a curious way that suggested one might walk around to the side and see wooden props holding up a stage set, rather than the ancient, massive stones of the church.
“I prefer the Gothic brick steeple,” Paul said, pushing away the strands of light brown hair continually falling across his forehead. He was losing hair from the top of his head and seemed to want to keep whatever was left, however inconvenient. “The new one is an atrocity. So much damage was done in the nineteenth century by all the Viollet-le-Duc fanatics seeking to harmonize and restore what was best left alone.”
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