Invitation to Provence(40)
Franny looked at the small girl staring down at her shoes. She was wearing a skimpy coat that looked as though she’d grown out of about a year ago, and her shiny black hair had been lopped into jagged bangs. She looked exactly like one of her hurt, bewildered animals at the clinic. Suddenly, the child threw her a quick, darting glance and Franny saw that her eyes were bright blue. Her name was written in bold letters on the plastic packet around her neck. SHAO LAN CHING , it said, and in brackets after it (MARTEN).
“Poor baby, she looks like a little refugee,” Franny said.
“She’s no refugee. Don’t you realize she’s another Marten, heading for the family reunion.”
“Oh my god, then of course she must be my cousin!” Franny hunkered down and took the girl’s chin in her hand, lifting her face so she could see her properly. “Hello, Shao Lan,” she said gently. “I’m your cousin Franny and this is your new friend, Clare. We’ll take care of you now. Don’t worry about anything. Okay?” But Shao Lan looked silently down at her shoes.
“Do you think she speaks English?” Franny asked doubtfully, and Clare said she’d bet she didn’t understand a word.
Taking Shao Lan by the hand, Franny picked up her little plastic case, shocked by how small it was, barely big enough for a doll’s clothes. They boarded the train and sank into their comfortable seats, glad to be on their way at last. Shao Lan ignored them. She closed her eyes as the train sped through the countryside. All she wanted was to be back home with grandmother in their room on Hu Tong Road. She thought about running away.
FRANNY WAS WONDERING what the Chateau des Roses Sauvages would be like and whether her Aunt Rafaella would like her, and what it would be like living in a French village. It’s just a dream, she reminded herself. In a few weeks it’ll all be over and you’ll be back to being the nice Dr. Marten, the kindly vet in Venice Beach, California, paying your mortgage on time and loving other people’s animals because you don’t have time to spare for one of your own. And avoiding men so as not to make another mistake.
30
WHEN THE TRAIN FINALLY pulled into Avignon, the skies were gray, rain threatened, and a cold, gusty wind whipped at their legs. Franny buttoned Shao Lan into her skimpy overcoat, then she pulled on her sweater, hunching her shoulders against the wind. She watched Clare, who was pacing like an irritated panther, her black hair blowing horizontally, searching for the car that was supposed to meet them and take them to the chateau.
“It’s no good,” said Franny, shivering by now. “They must have forgotten us or got the wrong date or something. We’ll have to rent a car and drive there ourselves.”
At the car rental a stern woman in a crisp white shirt and a silk scarf printed with the firm’s logo informed them brusquely that no cars were available.
“But there must be cars,” Franny said frantically, because by now she was frozen as well as worried. “Please check your computer again.”
The woman checked. “Well,” she said reluctantly, “perhaps there is something. A car was just returned, but it hasn’t yet been examined and cleaned.”
“We’ll take it,” Clare said, “just show me where I sign,” and she winked at Franny as she handed over Marcus’s credit card.
Half an hour later they were in a too small red Fiat that smelled of French cigarettes and heavy perfume. It was so small they had to stack most of Clare’s suitcases next to Shao Lan, squashed into the backseat. Franny drove and Clare read the map. It took them an hour to find their way out of the maze of one-way streets. All the signs seemed to say TOUTES DIRECTIONS, and whichever road they took just seemed to lead them deeper into suburbs. By some accident or miracle—depending on which way you looked at it, Franny said, disparaging Clare’s map-reading abilities—they found themselves on the right road, but by now the rain was slicing sideways across and the windshield wipers were struggling just to keep afloat.
“Shit,” Clare said, then clapped a shocked hand across her mouth, glancing back at the child. “Do you think she heard?” she whispered.
“We’ll never know. That child is never going to speak,” Franny said, peering wearily through the murk. She didn’t know how it could get any darker, but somehow it had. She braked at a stop sign and felt the car pull to the left. “Uh-oh,” she muttered as lightning illuminated the sodden landscape and thunder rolled. Then Shao Lan screamed and they turned, surprised, to look at her.
“At least now we know she has vocal cords,” Clare said, turning back and holding a flashlight over the map, praying they were on the proper route because they hadn’t passed a gas station in forever and there wasn’t even a house along this godforsaken road.
The car gave another little jiggle, pulling to the left, and again Franny straightened it out. Then suddenly the engine stalled and they were aquaplaning, teetering on the edge of a ditch before the car finally settled, with a whoosh like a relieved sigh, the right way up but on the wrong side of the road.
There was a long silence. Franny had the wheel in a death grip. She stared terrified through the windshield. “Jesus,” Clare said, shaken. “I didn’t bargain for this. Are you sure this is Provence?”
Franny thought of the much-anticipated blue skies and sunshine, the scents of the famous countryside, the wonderful old chateau, the food and the wine. She glared at the gloomy reality outside. She was jet-lagged and exhausted and in the middle of nowhere in a storm. “Our cell phones won’t work here,” she said. “We’ll just have to wait for a passing car and thumb a lift.” She took two Snickers bars from her bag and offered one to Shao Lan, who simply turned her head away. “It’s okay, baby,” Franny said persuasively, “it’s just good American chocolate.”