Read The Body In the Vestibule Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body In the Vestibule (5 page)
“Here we go,” Ghislaine said, laughing. “Paul is a fanatic himself on the subject.”
But Faith was interested, and Paul promised to take the Fairchilds on a tour of his Lyon,
“le vrai Lyon,”
he added. She liked both of them so much and understood why Tom had become friends with these newlyweds, and newly
parents, years ago. Ghislaine worked at a travel agency on rue de la République and seemed happy to take time off to shop or just to meet Faith for a coffee. Faith felt as if she had known her for years.
“le vrai Lyon,”
he added. She liked both of them so much and understood why Tom had become friends with these newlyweds, and newly
parents, years ago. Ghislaine worked at a travel agency on rue de la République and seemed happy to take time off to shop or just to meet Faith for a coffee. Faith felt as if she had known her for years.
Clément Veaux came up behind them. “Everyone has a different Lyon. I will show you mine someday. Not, as you may suspect, the abattoirs, but the gardens and greenhouses in Parc de la Tête d'Or.”
“We took Ben to ride the carousel there last weekend and didn't have time to explore any further. We'd love to go.”
“
Bien
, it's done. We can go on a Sunday after we close the shop at noon and eat
pommes frites
and
saucisson
while we stroll. Benjamin can bring his
vélo
and join all the other children who ride like madmen on the pathsâas I did at his age.”
Bien
, it's done. We can go on a Sunday after we close the shop at noon and eat
pommes frites
and
saucisson
while we stroll. Benjamin can bring his
vélo
and join all the other children who ride like madmen on the pathsâas I did at his age.”
So that's where it starts, Faith reflected.
Vélos
in the park, then Renault 5's on the autoroutes. She looked down into the Place St. Nizier. It was late, but there was still a great deal of activity and noise. Cars were parked everywhereâon the sidewalks, in small streetsâin total disregard of regulations and, in fact, they wouldn't be ticketed. It was after six o'clock and anything went. She saw someone enter the building and wondered who it was. It seemed everyone in residence was here. The door was locked after the pharmacy closed each night, so it must be someone who lived here, someone with a keyâprobably one of the students from the top floor. She saw Marilyn walk by, arm in arm with a young man, her hair iridescent in the orange haze of the sodium vapor streetlight. Something about the way she was looking up at him suggested he wasn't a client, but a boyfriendâor her pimp? Ghislaine had told her the French word was
macquereau
,
mac
for shortâso much slang seemed to involve food, she'd noticedâthe national passion. Ghislaine had also told her the penalties for pimping were extremely severeâlengthy prison termsâwhereas,
although against the law, prostitutes were viewed as victims and rarely arrested. Faith sighed. Marilyn looked about eighteen. She hoped it was a boyfriend and they were off to the cinema.
Vélos
in the park, then Renault 5's on the autoroutes. She looked down into the Place St. Nizier. It was late, but there was still a great deal of activity and noise. Cars were parked everywhereâon the sidewalks, in small streetsâin total disregard of regulations and, in fact, they wouldn't be ticketed. It was after six o'clock and anything went. She saw someone enter the building and wondered who it was. It seemed everyone in residence was here. The door was locked after the pharmacy closed each night, so it must be someone who lived here, someone with a keyâprobably one of the students from the top floor. She saw Marilyn walk by, arm in arm with a young man, her hair iridescent in the orange haze of the sodium vapor streetlight. Something about the way she was looking up at him suggested he wasn't a client, but a boyfriendâor her pimp? Ghislaine had told her the French word was
macquereau
,
mac
for shortâso much slang seemed to involve food, she'd noticedâthe national passion. Ghislaine had also told her the penalties for pimping were extremely severeâlengthy prison termsâwhereas,
although against the law, prostitutes were viewed as victims and rarely arrested. Faith sighed. Marilyn looked about eighteen. She hoped it was a boyfriend and they were off to the cinema.
She went into the next room. People had brought in the chairs from the dining room. Valentina was sitting on her husband's lap and whatever she was whispering in his ear was evidently promising. His face was raptly expectant and he was stroking her long black hair. It was hard to imagine him at the barricades. Now he looked like a rumpled, slightly balding middle-aged man whose sole concern was whether to take another sip of cognac and possibly impair his projected performanceâor not.
Solange d'Ambert had lit another cigarette and was talking to Delphine Veaux about children. The surgeon general or whatever the equivalent was in France had not made much headway in changing the smoking habits of the French, and Faith worried about the effects of secondary smoke on the baby. The baby! She was feeling so well these days and was so busy, she occasionally forgot she was pregnantâsometimes for as long as ten minutes.
Tom came over and put his arms around her. “Tired, sweetheart?”
“A little, but it's such a nice party.”
It was Madame Vincent who decided that nice as it was, it was time to go, and her departure started a general exodus. The d'Amberts and Joliets took their chairs. The Leblancs insisted on taking home their hastily rinsed plates, glasses, and cutlery over Faith's protestations. “We have a
machine à laver, chérie.
” There were many kisses and Tom went down with the Veaux and Leblancs to unlock the door to let them out.
machine à laver, chérie.
” There were many kisses and Tom went down with the Veaux and Leblancs to unlock the door to let them out.
By the time he came back, Faith had cleaned up what remained, bundled it into several garbage bags, and was ready for bed.
Tom joined her and they spent a happy half hour or so discussing the partyâthe food, the people.
“I'm not too sure about Jean-François. Seems a little too sure of himself and
très
conservative.”
très
conservative.”
“Well, you could say that about Madame Vincent, too,” Tom said.
“Different packaging and more to my taste. Besides, he seems a little too willing to let Solange carry all the domestic burdens. Did you notice when anything about the kids came up, he laughed and said it was her department? I'll bet Jean-Francois never changed a diaper in his life.”
Tom held his nose. “Lucky man. It's not the part of fatherhood one rejoices in, Faith. Or the spitup on my cassock, either.”
Ben the infant had had an uncanny ability to recognize newly washed and ironed or expensive, fragile clothes and preferred these as targets for his projectile vomitingâthe baby-book name for the phenomenonâwhich always suggested to Faith and Tom that NASA was monitoring the stage. In Ben's case, the agency might have been surprised by the data. He never seemed to be in the mood when his parents were in jeans and old shirtsâand his range and accuracy were amazing. Faith figured with this second baby, it would now be close to the turn of the century before she could safely wear white or silk again in the presence of said offspring. After spitup came sticky fingers, then muddy sneakers, climbing into your lapâon and on until college.
“Imagine having five children,” Faith said, yawning. “Think of the dry-cleaning bills. And how could you talk to that many people in a day?”
“Maybe you don't, and how about not talking ourselves for a while,
ma poule?
” Tom liked these culinary French endearments. Calling your wife a “hen” or a “little cabbage” in English could kill the moment.
ma poule?
” Tom liked these culinary French endearments. Calling your wife a “hen” or a “little cabbage” in English could kill the moment.
Faith, very much alive, wrapped her arms around Tom's neck. “But of course, Monsieur Fairsheeld.”
Â
Â
Despite the relaxing nature of the night's final events and her fatigue, Faith couldn't sleep.
It wasn't Tom's slight snoring, although she had rolled him over twice to stop it and did so again with success.
It wasn't Ben. She'd already slipped out of bed once to check him. He'd kicked off the blanket, but the night was warm and he didn't really need it. Still, she tucked it firmly back around him. It felt like the maternal thing to do.
It wasn't that she needed to pee, though this month had seen a drastic increase in her number of trips to the w.c., revealing aspects of Lyon few visitors, fortunately, were forced to encounter.
She punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape, pulled the covers up around her shoulders, and listened to the darknessâan old trick for putting herself to sleep. It was completely quiet. She closed her eyes and prepared to drift off.
Maybe she should go to the bathroom one more time and then when she did get to sleep, she wouldn't be awakened. It was a good idea.
She got up, went down the hall, and afterward decided since she was so near the kitchen, she might as well have a little piece of the
pain aux noix
, walnut bread, she'd gotten to go with the fresh chèvre. Maybe she'd have a little of the cheese, too. She cut a slice of bread and spread it with the soft white cheese. As she sank her teeth into it, she realized the kitchen smelled like the lobsterman Sonny Prescott's bait shack back home up in Maine. It was the bouillabaisse debris. She wrinkled her nose and went back to the bedroom. The smell followed her, but she finished her bread and climbed back into bed, determined to sleep.
pain aux noix
, walnut bread, she'd gotten to go with the fresh chèvre. Maybe she'd have a little of the cheese, too. She cut a slice of bread and spread it with the soft white cheese. As she sank her teeth into it, she realized the kitchen smelled like the lobsterman Sonny Prescott's bait shack back home up in Maine. It was the bouillabaisse debris. She wrinkled her nose and went back to the bedroom. The smell followed her, but she finished her bread and climbed back into bed, determined to sleep.
Pillow plumped, covers up, eyes closed.
And her brain promptly resumed its feverish activity. She would have been in France two weeks on Monday. It seemed both that she had been here forever and not long at
all. They'd met so many people, eaten so much good food, and things happened every day. Not like Aleford, where one dawn blended effortlessly into the next and suddenly it was Sunday again, time for church. She patted her stomach. Whoever was waiting there was going to be going to work with Mommy. Lyon had put the final seal on her decision to go back into catering. Infants were delightful to cuddle and watch for varying amounts of time, but as companions they tended to pall rapidly, and this time Faith had no intention of remaining parsonage-bound. She was beginning to get sleepy. Coming to Lyon had been such a good idea. Think of the wonderful diet this little person was getting. He or she would have a head start in the gourmet department. There would be no cries of “Do I have to eat this?” but instead, “Mom, what great spinach soufflé.” It was a soothing image. Ben had been developing a scary preference for macaroni and cheese lately.
all. They'd met so many people, eaten so much good food, and things happened every day. Not like Aleford, where one dawn blended effortlessly into the next and suddenly it was Sunday again, time for church. She patted her stomach. Whoever was waiting there was going to be going to work with Mommy. Lyon had put the final seal on her decision to go back into catering. Infants were delightful to cuddle and watch for varying amounts of time, but as companions they tended to pall rapidly, and this time Faith had no intention of remaining parsonage-bound. She was beginning to get sleepy. Coming to Lyon had been such a good idea. Think of the wonderful diet this little person was getting. He or she would have a head start in the gourmet department. There would be no cries of “Do I have to eat this?” but instead, “Mom, what great spinach soufflé.” It was a soothing image. Ben had been developing a scary preference for macaroni and cheese lately.
Outside, a car horn sounded. Combative even in the middle of the night, she thought. Combative. That reminded her of the
clochard.
She tried to erase the image from her mind. He was nothing but an old drunk in need of help, like the man he had attacked. There must be organizations working with the
clochards
. Paul would know. He knew everything about Lyon.
Le Tout Lyon
, no, that was the group that put out the Who's Who listâeveryone who mattered, supposedly. Paul had told her he did not care to be in it. Faith bet the d'Amberts were, though. Marilyn, Marie, and Monique were probably not. Maybe that's why Marilyn had been crying. She would never be a member of
Le Tout Lyon, or Tout Paris
, for that matter. But really, why had she been crying? Faith turned over on her other side to try to get more comfortable. As soon as she did, the odor from the kitchen assailed her again.
Dégueulasse
, disgusting. It would stink to high heaven by morning. She should have had Tom take it down when he went to let everyone out. He was breathing quietly now, deeply asleep.
clochard.
She tried to erase the image from her mind. He was nothing but an old drunk in need of help, like the man he had attacked. There must be organizations working with the
clochards
. Paul would know. He knew everything about Lyon.
Le Tout Lyon
, no, that was the group that put out the Who's Who listâeveryone who mattered, supposedly. Paul had told her he did not care to be in it. Faith bet the d'Amberts were, though. Marilyn, Marie, and Monique were probably not. Maybe that's why Marilyn had been crying. She would never be a member of
Le Tout Lyon, or Tout Paris
, for that matter. But really, why had she been crying? Faith turned over on her other side to try to get more comfortable. As soon as she did, the odor from the kitchen assailed her again.
Dégueulasse
, disgusting. It would stink to high heaven by morning. She should have had Tom take it down when he went to let everyone out. He was breathing quietly now, deeply asleep.
Suddenly, she knew she'd never get to sleep if she didn't get rid of the smell. It might be three o'clock in the morning, but she had to take out the trash.
She put on her bathrobe and dropped the keys into the pocket, then slipped on a pair of espadrilles. She didn't want to make any noise going down the stairs and possibly awaken someone. Footsteps on the stone sounded like a cannon barrage. She took the two plastic sacks, bright blue and tied shut with an orange plastic cordâeven in matters of debris, the French were chicâand let herself out. Peering over the edge of the railing, she wished she could just drop them. If the
poubelle
had been open, she might seriously have considered it, but there was nothing to do but go downâand then back up again: 121 steps. She and Ben had counted them. She pushed the switch in the stairwell. The lights were on timers and you had to be pretty nimble going from floor to floor or the dim light from the naked bulb would go out before you reached the next one. Whether this originated from ecological or economical motives, Faith did not know, but she suspected the latter in a country that regarded nuclear power as the best thing since sliced
pain.
She spun her way rapidly down the spiral stairs, praying the bags would not break and send their contents flying all over.
poubelle
had been open, she might seriously have considered it, but there was nothing to do but go downâand then back up again: 121 steps. She and Ben had counted them. She pushed the switch in the stairwell. The lights were on timers and you had to be pretty nimble going from floor to floor or the dim light from the naked bulb would go out before you reached the next one. Whether this originated from ecological or economical motives, Faith did not know, but she suspected the latter in a country that regarded nuclear power as the best thing since sliced
pain.
She spun her way rapidly down the spiral stairs, praying the bags would not break and send their contents flying all over.
She was close to the bottom now. As far as she was concerned, she had no fear of heights, but when she was with Ben, it was another matterâshe held on to his hand like Super Glue when they made the ascent or descent. She'd been plagued with visions of his climbing over the railing to see the bottomâhe had begged to do that the first dayâand then plummeting to the stone floor below. She gulped. She was at the bottom.
She pushed the light switch hastily as the one above her went out and then went back up a few stairs to reach the top of the large dumpster, which, with its twin, was wheeled in and out of the building every other day with great rapidity
by men in bright coverallsâthe Departement de Propreté, literally, the Department of Cleanliness. The container was so large, it was difficult to stand next to it and reach the lid. You couldn't even see into it unless you were on the stairs. Faith had noted that both Solange and Madame Vincent used her method. She'd never seen anyone else put out trash.
by men in bright coverallsâthe Departement de Propreté, literally, the Department of Cleanliness. The container was so large, it was difficult to stand next to it and reach the lid. You couldn't even see into it unless you were on the stairs. Faith had noted that both Solange and Madame Vincent used her method. She'd never seen anyone else put out trash.
She put the bags down, then leaned over and flung the lid back.
Someone had been getting rid of some old clothes, she noted. Anything reusable was left to the side of the trash bin. These looked very worn. She picked up her bags and started to drop them in, and drop them she did, but not in the trash. Fish heads, bones, lobster and shrimp shells, orange rinds splayed out on the stairs as Faith screamed. She screamed again.
It wasn't old clothes. It was the
clochard.
clochard.
And he was dead.
The
clochard
of St. Nizierâhis mouth hideously slack, eyes rolled back, and one hand grasping the filthy
casquette,
still in place on his head.
clochard
of St. Nizierâhis mouth hideously slack, eyes rolled back, and one hand grasping the filthy
casquette,
still in place on his head.
The lights went out. Faith was alone with the corpse.
Faith stumbled down the few stairs to the vestibule and frantically pushed the button to turn on the lights. She intended to turn right around and run as fast as she could up those 121 steps to Tom and a phone.
But she knew she had to do something first. She had to make sure he was dead.
The thought was nauseating and she could hardly bring herself to approach the trash again. Slowly, she crept around to the side of the large container and groped for his hand. She could feel the slick plastic of the garbage bags surrounding him, then the rough wool of his coat. The stench of the rotting garbage made her feel faint. She followed the arm down to his naked wrist and tried to find a pulse. She did not even want to think about what she might have to do if she did.
There was no pulse. It wasn't just the smell of the trash. It was the smell of death that filled the hall.
Faith instantly dropped the lifeless hand and went up the stairs, pausing to close the lid of the
poubelle
that was now a casket. It didn't seem right to leave it open. Besides, she didn't like the idea of looking down on the body as she went up the stairsâand she knew she would look, no matter how much she told herself not to.
poubelle
that was now a casket. It didn't seem right to leave it open. Besides, she didn't like the idea of looking down on the body as she went up the stairsâand she knew she would look, no matter how much she told herself not to.
As she started to close the lid, she wondered what death throes had caused that convulsive grasping for his cap. His hand was like a leathery clawâthe skin in folds, crossed on the back by a deep scratch, perhaps inflicted during yesterday's fight. She let the top come down and it slammed shut. She shuddered and quickly started to climb the stairs, hitting the light switch at each landing in terror at being left alone in the dark again. The cold from the stone stairs traveled through the thin rope soles of her shoes and she clutched her robe closer to her body.
How had the
clochard
gotten into the building and why had he climbed into the trash?
Clochards
slept wherever they wantedâin the parks or under the bridges of the Sâone and Rhône in good weather; in shelters or the silk workers' tunnels, the
traboules,
in bad. If they could get into a building, they'd sleep in halls, but even
clochards
wouldn't sleep in dustbins, especially with the lid down. And the door to Place St. Nizier had been locked.
clochard
gotten into the building and why had he climbed into the trash?
Clochards
slept wherever they wantedâin the parks or under the bridges of the Sâone and Rhône in good weather; in shelters or the silk workers' tunnels, the
traboules,
in bad. If they could get into a building, they'd sleep in halls, but even
clochards
wouldn't sleep in dustbins, especially with the lid down. And the door to Place St. Nizier had been locked.
One more flight. She raced up and arrived at the door, panting for breath. It was only while she was fumbling with the keys that she realized no one had responded to her screams. Were the walls that thick?
“Tom!” She ran into the room and jumped on the bed, shaking him. “Wake up, Tom!”
Tom did not make the transition from deep sleep to consciousness easily even in the best of circumstances and it took a moment for him to sit up and ask, “What the hell
is the matter?” In another moment, he was out of bed, “Ben? Is it Ben?”
is the matter?” In another moment, he was out of bed, “Ben? Is it Ben?”
“No, Ben's fine!” Faith grabbed Tom's arm and pulled him back to the bed. She sat down next to him. “We've got to call the police. I don't know how it happened, but that
clochard
who's always outside the church is in the trash downstairs, and he's dead.”
clochard
who's always outside the church is in the trash downstairs, and he's dead.”
Tom shook his head and rubbed his eyesâhard. He knew that pregnant women had fancies, and during Ben's gestation, Faith had been fanciful indeed, yet it had usually taken the form of cravings for certain delicacies from New York restaurants and delicatessens that there was no way he could find at the Store 24 in Byford, the only source of food at ungodly hours. This hallucination was definitely something newâand one for the books.
“Darling, calm down and get back into bed. I think you've had a very powerful nightmare, but everything's fine. I'm here.”
Faith reached over and put on the light.
“I'm
not
dreaming! I wish I were! I couldn't sleep and the smell of all that fish was bothering me, so I took the trash down to the
poubelle
. And when I opened it, he was there. Dead. I even took his pulse.” At the recollection, she immediately got up to wash her hands. “Go look for yourself if you like, but we've got to call the police. I mean you've got to. They'd never understand me.”
not
dreaming! I wish I were! I couldn't sleep and the smell of all that fish was bothering me, so I took the trash down to the
poubelle
. And when I opened it, he was there. Dead. I even took his pulse.” At the recollection, she immediately got up to wash her hands. “Go look for yourself if you like, but we've got to call the police. I mean you've got to. They'd never understand me.”
Tom followed Faith into the bathroom, where she started to scrub her entire arm thoroughly with Roger & Gallet's sandalwood soap.
“All right. I do believe you. It just seems so improbable.”
Faith briskly dried off and they went to the phone.
After telling the beginning of the story several times to what was apparently the wrong branch of the Police Nationale, Tom managed to explain the entire situation and was told they would be there
immédiatement.
immédiatement.
“I'll have to let them in. Are you sure you're all right here?”
“Yesâand I certainly don't want to go with you.”
Tom left with the key and Faith stood by the windows overlooking the street. In what seemed like only seconds, two police cars pulled up. She was impressed.
They approached the door and gave three resounding knocks with the heavy iron door knocker. The sound filled the night and Faith saw several lights go on in the buildings surrounding the square. Presumably, screams were normal nocturnal sounds in this part of the city. Such knocks on the door were not.
Tom must not have reached the vestibule. They knocked again. Faith opened the window and stepped out onto the small balcony. She was intending to tell them he was coming when she saw the door open. Several more lights went on at the neighbors'.
She stepped back and closed the window, then went into the living room to wait. After a few minutes, she decided to make some tea. She was freezing and maybe if she did something, she wouldn't keep seeing the
clochard
's face in front of her everywhere she looked.
clochard
's face in front of her everywhere she looked.
The water had just come to a boil when she heard the keys in the locks and dashed down the hall to open the door. Tom stepped in first, followed by two policemen,
gardiens de la paix
in the city, she'd learned, not
gendarmes
, but they all wore those hats that made them look like children's book illustrations.
gardiens de la paix
in the city, she'd learned, not
gendarmes
, but they all wore those hats that made them look like children's book illustrations.
Tom appearedâwhat? Worried, embarrassed, tiredâhe was panting slightly and the
gardiens
, although trim, were winded. They were both tall, with dark hair. Their cheeks were flushed and so smooth, it wasn't clear whether they'd both recently shaved or hadn't started to grow beards yet. The greatest difference between them was that there was a thin film of sweat on one's forehead, causing the dark hair that grazed it to curl slightly.
gardiens
, although trim, were winded. They were both tall, with dark hair. Their cheeks were flushed and so smooth, it wasn't clear whether they'd both recently shaved or hadn't started to grow beards yet. The greatest difference between them was that there was a thin film of sweat on one's forehead, causing the dark hair that grazed it to curl slightly.
Faith stood contemplating the group for a moment, then asked, “What is it? What's happening?” No one seemed to be rushing forward to tell her anything.
“Why don't we sit down, sweetheart,” Tom said, and led her to one of the chairs left in the living room after the party. The police glanced around in some surprise at the lack of furniture and remained standing.
“Faith, honey,” Tom said gently, “There wasn't anything except trash in either of the
poubelles.
”
poubelles.
”
“What!”
“This is not to say you didn't see the
clochard,
” Tom started to explain, but then the younger of the two policemen interrupted.
clochard,
” Tom started to explain, but then the younger of the two policemen interrupted.
“If I may, Monsieur Fairsheeld? I have some English, madame,” he explained, and pulled a chair next to hers and sat down, but not before glancing over his shoulder toward his partner. Madame was in a fetching white
chemise de nuit
insufficiently covered by a robe of the same material, her blond hair was delightfully disarranged, and her blue eyes, perhaps even larger than usual at the odd events of the evening, were striking. Madame Fairsheeld had been in bed no doubt and would soon returnâit was a prospect with much appeal.
chemise de nuit
insufficiently covered by a robe of the same material, her blond hair was delightfully disarranged, and her blue eyes, perhaps even larger than usual at the odd events of the evening, were striking. Madame Fairsheeld had been in bed no doubt and would soon returnâit was a prospect with much appeal.
He pulled his chair a bit closer. “First permit me to introduce myself. I am Sergeant Louis Martin and this is Sergeant Didier Pollet.” He paused for emphasis. “Madame, what we believe has occurred is of course deeply upsetting. Occasionally, one of these men of the streetâwe call them
clochards
âwill wander into a building and sleep there. Yes, even in the dustbins,” he added as she seemed to protest. “Your presence most certainly awakened him, but he was afraid you would berate him, or worse, so he pretended to be asleep and as soon as you left,
phhtt”
âhe made one of those French noises impossible to reproduce, accompanied by appropriate gestures with his handsâ“out the door. So when we arrive, we find nothing.”
clochards
âwill wander into a building and sleep there. Yes, even in the dustbins,” he added as she seemed to protest. “Your presence most certainly awakened him, but he was afraid you would berate him, or worse, so he pretended to be asleep and as soon as you left,
phhtt”
âhe made one of those French noises impossible to reproduce, accompanied by appropriate gestures with his handsâ“out the door. So when we arrive, we find nothing.”
“But I felt his pulse! He didn't have one! And his face! I know he was dead!”
Both police looked troubled. This
Américaine
âso lovely, so young, and perhaps so crazy.
Américaine
âso lovely, so young, and perhaps so crazy.
“Besides, how could he have gotten into or out of the hallway without a key?” Faith's voice was triumphant.
“Ah.” Louis Martin looked slightly chagrined. “To be perfectly honest, you can get into most of these old Lyonnais apartment buildings with the same kind of key. Some, especially, have the knackâyou give a little turn and press hard, then
voilÃ
.”
voilÃ
.”
Faith reached for the keys on the table. “You mean I could get into any of the apartments around here with this key?” She held up the largest one, an ornate, ancient key four to five inches long that looked like the one the man in the iron mask would have greeted with whoops of joy.
“But yes. However, only the front doors, madame. Not the apartments themselves.”
“What a relief,” Faith replied, fully aware that her sarcasm was being totally wasted.
“So you see, he came here to sleep. We did, in fact, find some empty bottles, so he was perhaps not even aware where he was. They also explain his very slow pulse. Then, like
Princesse Charmante
, you awaken him and he leaves.” Sergeant Martin stood up, shared a congratulatory look with Didier at his
petite blague
, and prepared to leave.
Princesse Charmante
, you awaken him and he leaves.” Sergeant Martin stood up, shared a congratulatory look with Didier at his
petite blague
, and prepared to leave.
“Tom, what do you think?” Faith was not going down without a fightâeven if that fight was going to be with her husband.
In the vain hope of avoiding further discussion and possibly getting some more sleep, Tom chose to be circumspect. “I don't really know what happened. All I know is that there was no one in either one of the
poubelles.
We searched through the garbage and the only carcasses were the lobsters we consumed this eveningâor I should say, last.” He was very, very tired.
poubelles.
We searched through the garbage and the only carcasses were the lobsters we consumed this eveningâor I should say, last.” He was very, very tired.
It was hopeless. Faith knew what she had seen and no one, not even her own husband, believed her. She would have cried in frustration, except it would simply have added to the already-damning picture of instability that had been createdâthe word for crazy in French is
fou
, and she felt like an utter one. She hoped Tom hadn't told them she was pregnant. There were enough stereotypes floating around.
fou
, and she felt like an utter one. She hoped Tom hadn't told them she was pregnant. There were enough stereotypes floating around.
But, of course, he had.
They stood by the door, an uneasy parting. What does one say, particularly after the inevitable little black notebooks had come out and information back to childhood solemnly recorded? Tom thanked them for coming. Not at all, not at all. Anytime, and enjoy your stay in France. Didier was from Burgundy, he revealed in a rush of sudden intimacy. He hoped they would visit the vineyards, although perhaps madame was not drinking wine. He directed his eyes significantly below, but not too far below, her waist ⦠.
That was enough. Faith said,
“Au revoir. Merci,”
and firmly shut the doorâyet not before she heard their voices as they circled down the stairs, wondering whether it was a custom for American women to dispose of their garbage at such an hour. Certainly, one has heard about their fetish for showers and baths, but it was strange,
non?
“Au revoir. Merci,”
and firmly shut the doorâyet not before she heard their voices as they circled down the stairs, wondering whether it was a custom for American women to dispose of their garbage at such an hour. Certainly, one has heard about their fetish for showers and baths, but it was strange,
non?
It was very strange, indeed.
Â
Faith woke up in a fog the next morning. It was a moment before she comprehended that she was in Lyon and not her bed in Aleford, a bed fast acquiring a certain allure. She groped for Tom, but his side of the bed was empty. She sat up. Her head ached and her whole body felt heavy and cumbersome, more like the ninth month than the fourth. The events of the night before crowded her consciousness and the fog didn't get any clearer.
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