Whispering in French Page 23

  I saw her swallow and turn on the faucet, her eyes downcast on the task at hand. Finally, she nodded, yes.

  “All right then.”

  There was hope for them. A small pinch as of now. With luck and desire, it would grow. I hoped they would both find the strength and courage to untangle themselves from the web of anger, resentment, and sadness that kept them apart.

  “Claire?” I reached for a dish towel and began to dry the pot she’d used to make cocoa.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for helping us today. We couldn’t do it without you, I fear.”

  Her gaze met mine. There was not an inch of a smile. Her unhappiness was palpable. “I’ll help earn all our keep as long as I’m here.”

  “WHERE’S LILY?” MAX’S voice boomed over the laptop speakers, distorting the quality of the sound. Heather was nowhere to be seen. “Such a great girl, you’ve got there, Katie-girl. Restores my faith in the next generation.”

  “Why that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in a long time, Max. Where’s Heather?”

  “Just finishing up one of her classes. Did I tell you I built her a studio here?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a thousand decibel whisper, “She is a self-feeder. Never had one of those. Such a relief, although . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I’ve got to be nice now. Got nothing to entice her to stay otherwise. It’s kind of a pain in the ass to be honest. But I don’t want her to leave.” His eyes, magnified by his Porsche Design eyeglasses, blinked.

  “Seems like you have a problem, Max. You’ve got to decide if you want to work at being nice so you can be happy. Or . . .”

  “Yes? What’s the or?”

  “Or being a serious pain in the ass, and be alone.”

  “How many decades have I been chatting with you, Katie-girl?”

  “Um, maybe two and a half years, Max.”

  “Seems a hell of a lot longer than that.”

  “I know.”

  He shouted a laugh. “I’d a left a lot sooner if you didn’t make me laugh now and again. Wish it was more often.”

  I waited. I knew he was about to let loose with something important. It was a sixth sense; a look clients had when something became self-evident.

  “All this hokey talking about God knows what,” he continued. “It was leading to this, right?”

  “What precisely?”

  “That I gotta be nice to people to be happy.”

  “Well, let’s put it this way, generally people are happier when they are surrounded by others who are content. And kindness promotes happiness in others.”

  “But I’m a fucking narcissist, Kate. I don’t need happy people. I just need sucking up. A lot of sucking up. Let’s face it, the more the better.”

  I kept a calm, professional face and took a deep breath. “Max, do you—”

  He burst out laughing. “Got you!”

  I shook my head with disgust. Narcissists were just such a pain to deal with. I’d take a restrained psychopath over a narcissist any day of the week. Except Max. He was a special case. Perhaps he had had a great caregiver at some point when his mother—

  “Now, don’t start asking me about dear old Mom again. You’ve got that look. Mommy dearest is dead and buried forty-seven-feet deep at Forest Lawn and will never rise again.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass of Chivas. “The stake will make sure of that.”

  “Okay, well, now might be just the perfect time to ask how that stock is doing.”

  His face became stone-cold sober and he leaned forward. “Okay, look, it’s not rising as fast as I’d hoped.”

  “Just tell me it’s not falling.” When would life stop sending financial red herrings? Just once I wanted it to all work out neatly.

  “It’s not falling.”

  “And?” I waited as he flopped open an iPad. “I need to liquidate, how soon can the money be wired?”

  He looked away from the iPad. “Why do you need it so fast?”

  “I’ve got to buy out my uncle pronto, Max. He’s breathing down my neck. I think he’s worried the villa will collapse before I buy him out. He’s scheduled his lawyer to meet me at a notary’s office in just a few days. So I’ve got to sell everything, right now. Thank God the house in Connecticut sold in a bidding war the first week. Between that, the twenty-five I wired to you plus whatever miniscule gains, and every last dime I’ve got in retirement, and a loan from Barclay’s with a ridiculously high rate, I will have enough.” I wouldn’t tell him that I’d have literally seven hundred fifty dollars to my name afterward. I was risking it all, and for some reason it felt like no risk at all. Except the part about not sleeping at night.

  “Hmm . . .” He was staring at his iPad.

  “What? Did the stock drop?”

  “Nope.”

  “Max?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll email you my Barclay’s routing number for my checking account. Can you arrange for the money to be wired by tomorrow?”

  “If you say so, but—”

  Lily entered the bedroom office with Russ behind her. He was too large for the doorframe. She giggled and waved as she ran up to peer at Max on the laptop. “Where’s Heather?”

  “She’s coming. Who’s the dude?”

  “Russ Nation, mate. You?” He looked at me and winked.

  “Max Mulroney. You from Oz?”

  “And proud of it. The Dutch accent gave it away, didn’t it?” Russ had a megawatt smile and he wasn’t afraid to use it. “Sorry to interrupt, but Kate, I need a word. The guys and I have rustled up a few tarps. You okay with us laying them on the roof at first light? There’s massive sets of gnarly forecast to roll in tomorrow and we want an early chance to have at ’em before those mates from the North Shore fly in for the competition next week.”

  “No problem, Russ, I—”

  “You ever considered acting?” Max asked without a single perfectly capped tooth showing. I’d never seen the man so serious. He looked like a viper had him in a death bite he was so still.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Acting? Ever done any?” Max paused. “Ever seen a movie?”

  Russ laughed and it was, I supposed, a gnarly, bitchin’, tubular sight to behold if you were a surfer chick. He was just plain radical. At least that is what I thought was going through my daughter’s head given the fact that she was staring at him with utter adoration. Funny. It had no effect on me. Okay, maybe I could appreciate his strength, but that was only because he’d need it to put down the tarp. And thank God he must have great balance. Those tiles were slippery with probably three centuries of moss.

  “Yeah,” Russ said. “Course. Me and my mates see movies all the time. Hey, they’re showing a rerun of a golden oldie at the theater in Saint-Jean-de-Luz tomorrow. The Endless Summer. Wanna come with us, Kate?”

  “The roads aren’t even completely clear yet.”

  “Sure they are. Besides, you and I can take my motorcycle. No problem with my Triumph.”

  “I really think—”

  “Do it!” shouted Lily and Max at the same time.

  Heather came onto the screen and pulled up a chair next to Max before planting a kiss on his forehead. “Oh, it’s a party,” she said, smiling and looking every inch the gorgeous yoga instructor that she was. “Who’s that?” She blinked, her eyes fastened on Russ, the man of the hour.

  “Russ Nation,” Max said, lighting up a cigar. “Remember that name.”

  Heather immediately extracted the cigar and put it out. “Why?”

  “I think it’s time we take a little trip to see Kate Hamilton in the flesh, oh, and catch a surfer flick with Mr. Nation. Plot out a movie there. Got a spare bedroom, Kate?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Five days, three enormous tarps, and two very brief rainstorms later, I carried a 64-emblazed beach bag into the notary’s office in Bayonne. Sixty-four was the postal code for the region and a brilliant clothing company had snatche
d the magic number and plastered it on every possible item that could be sold in a store. Of course, the beach bag had not been made to carry business and financial files in it, but then again there were few items in the du Roque villa these days that did not serve one, two, three, or rather thirty-eight different uses.

  Magdali, Lily, Claire, and Youssef were so exhausted from the extra work of the Aussie boarders and Jojo’s temporary mairie that I’d finally broken down and asked Magdali to hire a maid for three hours a day.

  And thank God for Russ Nation, who’d managed not to fall through the ancient, delicate tile roof while temporarily patching it with huge tarps. A promise to actually go see The Endless Summer had been his only request in return. That was tonight. I was praying for an epic, tubular, raspy hurricane instead.

  The banker, M. Landuran, stood as I entered, as well as Jean-Michel and the Basque notaire, M. Zarantxu, and a lawyer, Mme Dulonge, whom I’d hired sight unseen to review all the documents prepared by the notaire.

  It was going to be uncomfortable. My uncle did not disappoint.

  “Kate, chérie, you have brought le chèque?”

  “Of course. M. Landuran, you have it? Certified?”

  “But of course.”

  “Jean-Michel, have you read the documents essentially removing you from any future rights to the Villa Madeleine Marie after your father dies?”

  The notaire spouted a haze of French legal words that made little sense to me. I looked toward my lawyer, whose CV had had more law degrees and meritorious mentions than any other lawyer I knew. She nodded her assent and I followed suit.

  Jean-Michel extracted a silver Cartier Panthère fountain pen and carefully uncapped it. “You know, Kate, this is a very sad day. You have effectively broken over three hundred years of tradition with this. You should be ashamed.”

  I loathed conflict. It was my Achilles heel. Oh, I could do it, and hide it, and always would, but still. I was clearly not a du Roque. “I would appreciate it if you would sign the document as agreed, Jean-Michel.” I stared him down, waiting for his painstaking signature to be drawn. His scrawl of old French names was costing me a half million euros. The exchange rate had only made it worse. I was down to zilch and had no backup plan. It was the most financially disastrous thing I’d ever done. I’d have to work the rest of my life since my pathetic retirement account was wiped out.

  M. Landuran unearthed a check from his beautiful black leather briefcase and passed it to me. I studied it, and then handed it to Jean-Michel. His effort not to smile was impressive. The notary informed all that copies of the document would be legally filed and we would be sent our own copies.

  I looked around the long table, and again felt like a foreigner in a foreign land. Would I ever feel like I belonged in this country?

  “I hear the villa sustained heavy damage in the storm,” Jean-Michel said. “It’s really too bad my father stopped the insurance.”

  The hairs on the underside of my arms prickled. He couldn’t be right. It was just another pathetic attempt to infuriate me. I refused to rise to the bait. “Well, then you should be glad that I was willing to honor our agreement. Then again, one should always be kind to the black sheep and petty criminals on one’s family tree. Oh, sorry. Your branch has been lopped off.”

  His mouth opened but I cut him off.

  “Good-bye, Jean-Michel. Or should I say adieu? Don’t ever come to Madeleine Marie again or I’ll set the dog on you.” Yeah, and he’d be licked to death. I turned without waiting for his retort. “Merci, everyone.” I walked out the door without another word. Exiting the elevator, I was met by M. Landuran who had hastened down the stairs to meet me.

  “Bravo, madame,” he said with a sly smile. “You reminded me of your lovely mother. How is she? Will she be joining you at some point?”

  “I think not. She’s in São Paulo or somewhere equally exotic at a guess.”

  He opened the door for me in the beautiful formal fashion in which all French gentlemen excelled and we walked toward the underground parking.

  “Mme ’amilton—”

  “You may call me Kate.”

  He pushed forward his lower lip and shrugged his shoulders. “I am so sorry. I cannot. Mme ’amilton, I am sorry to mention again that I am quite worried about your finances. You realize there is only seven hundred sixty-three euros in your account. And what about this business regarding insurance. Your uncle was incorrect, non? You will not default on the loan?”

  “You forgot the twenty-three centimes. And I wouldn’t worry about my uncle’s words. Sadly, he cannot be trusted.”

  “Madame,” he reproached. “How will you go on?” I stopped at the parking pay station. He extracted a two-euro coin from his pocket and handed it to me. “Allow me, madame.”

  I accepted it and paid the parking fee. “Don’t you worry,

  M. Landuran. As long as the villa doesn’t fall down the cliff, everything will be fine.”

  Liar, liar pants on fire. I couldn’t drive fast enough back to the villa to track down Jean, happily ensconced in front of the television, listening to the loud whispers adopted by gold announcers worldwide.

  “Insurance?” he said.

  “Yes, it’s up to date, correct? You paid it each year?”

  “Of course. Jean-Michel paid it the last few years. He said he would take his own personal check to the agence, using the proceeds from the sale of items each year. He might be an embarrassment to me now, but never forget that he would have been a fool to stop paying the insurance as he expected to inherit and wouldn’t take such a risk.”

  I shook my head. “I’m going to call again. Or ask M. le Maire to call for me. They still haven’t returned my call and it’s been three weeks. This is ridiculous. If we were in America, there would have been estimators out within three days.”

  My grandfather’s face had become ashen, and the veins in his hands more prominent. He’d been looking so much more vivacious lately. I’d chalked it up to Lily being there.

  I touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry so. You’re right. He just said that out of spite. I’ll get it straightened out.”

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell Mlle Lefebvre. And Jojo. They will help you.”

  “I don’t need help. Really. It’s not that complicated.”

  “I know you can do it. But sometimes, yes oftentimes, it is more comforting to have someone with you, even if it just feels like they’re supporting you silently.”

  “And sometimes, it’s easier to just do it yourself.”

  “You only say that because you’ve never had anyone support you in your life. Perhaps you should practice.”

  COULD THIS DAY get any worse?

  Yes, of course it could.

  I’ve found that bad things do not come in threes. They come in thirties. Not that I’m a pessimist, you understand. Introverts are not pessimists necessarily. I’m just rosy picture challenged. At least I wasn’t alone in this state. The oh-so-not-cheery Edward Soames as of late was the prince of moods.

  His room was semi-dark, the shades half drawn. The light of a forty-watt bulb burned by his bed after he informed I could enter.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “The obvious.”

  “Fine. I’ll just say the second most obvious thing then. I think it’s time for you to join us for lunch and dinner. Youssef said he could carry you down the stairs.”

  His blue-gray eyes were etched with too many hours of interrupted sleep, and his three-day growth of beard was darker than his slightly balding head. His one leg was elevated; the steel ring with pins ominous. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m far better here and I’ll herniate the man’s back. If you haven’t noticed, I weigh a stone more than him.”

  “Well then, we’ll move you to a room on the ground floor.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll be gone within two weeks at most. And the maire’s voice would send me over the edge.”


  “All right. Then I’m going to coordinate a round robin of people eating up here with you.”

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop. Just stop. And stop telling the children to come in here to comfort me.”

  “I haven’t told them that.”

  Silence prevailed.

  “Okay. I told them once. Only once.” I dragged a faded upholstered chair next to his bed. “So, look, I might have a bit of a problem and you’re an engineer.”

  “Don’t start trying to make me feel useful.”

  “Shut up,” I said harshly. “Just shut up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for myself, Kate. I feel sorry for anyone trying to help me. I don’t want to be helped. How many fucking miles did we walk and you still don’t get it.”

  What was this? Why was fate always tossing my mirror image via a recalcitrant British Army dude? “Got it. Get it. I’m not trying to get you to feel useful. You might not have the answers but I have to start somewhere. So here it is: I don’t know if my idiotic uncle paid the house insurance and I’m still waiting for a call back. I bought him out this morning. So, if I have to buy a new roof, how much will it cost, do you think? I need estimates for materials and labor.”

  “Pass me my mobile.”

  I did as he asked, left briefly to get a notebook and pen, and then opened the shades to let in the light. He gave me a dark look but said not a word as he was already talking to someone on his phone.

  I turned the oblong window lock and pulled open the two long windows, which groaned from disuse. A gush of warm air poured around and behind me into the stale room.

  And I could see her.

  The lady lying on the peaks of the Pyrenees. Les Trois Couronnes. The Three Crowns. Wisps of clouds draped above her as she slept. She was just so beautiful and peaceful-looking. I wondered if I’d ever truly find long lasting peace. I could talk the game of fulfillment to clients, but it was harder to hold on to than anything else in life.

  Below me, Mlle Lefebvre had trespassed the front entrance and was looking under our hydrangea, still calling for her cat.