Invitation to Provence(56)



Haigh emerged from the pantry with a single chocolate chip cookie on a plate. He put it in front of her along with a napkin. “Old American custom,” he said, “milk and cookies, only here we keep it to single digits. One cookie only, they’re bad for the teeth.”

Little Blue looked blankly at him, she didn’t know what he meant by digits and customs.

Haigh took the chair opposite. He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, hands clasped. She was such a skinny little thing, so tired, so wary, so pathetic. For once there was softness in his eyes as he said, “Tell me about Bao Chu. I’d like to know her.”

The child’s eyes came alive. “You would like to know Bao Chu?”

“Well, she’s your grandmother, isn’t she? I want to know all about you, Little Blue. Where you live, what it’s like in Shanghai, about school …”

“My two favorite things are school and my grandmother,” she said eagerly. “I love them both.”

“Hmmm, got good teachers at that school?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I learn English there.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What kind of English?”

Little Blue blushed and hung her head. “I learned that English on the street from the others.”

“I thought so. And I’m sure Bao Chu would not like to hear you say those words.”

“Oh, no, never,” she said, shocked. “I never said that to Grandmother.”

Haigh grinned. “Better not say it in front of this grandmother, either.”

“Oh, I won’t, I won’t, I promise.”

“We need to go shopping soon, before the stores close,” he said. He was wondering where Franny and Jake were when Juliette wafted into the kitchen amid a racket of yaps and yelps.

“Did I hear the word shopping?” She dropped a kiss on Little Blue’s hair. “Bonjour, mon petit chou” she said, squeezing her in an enthusiastic hug. “And if it’s shopping, then I’m your girl.”

Haigh gave her one of his pointed looks. “Hardly a girl, Madame.”

“Age is a state of mind, Haigh, you’d do well to remember that. Anyhow I’m younger than you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t remember, Madame,” Haigh said loftily. “And Miss Franny was supposed to accompany us to town, but she seems to have disappeared.”

“She’s at the lake with Jake,” Little Blue said, and they looked at her in surprise.

“Is she now?” Haigh said drily.

“Et alors” Juliette cried, “drink the milk, child, and let’s go. You need a party dress for the grand soirée.”





45





IT WAS SIX in the evening and Rafaella had yet to emerge from her room to join her guests. She sat by the open window, in the old ground-floor library that since the advent of her arthritis had become her boudoir, surrounded by the oaken shelves of leather-bound books her great-grandfather had bought to impress his bride and the silver-framed photos of beloved dogs through the years and pictures of aunts and uncles and her mother and father. Mementos of her long life were scattered all around: a favorite rose-colored silk shawl bought in Kashmir on a long-ago trip to India; an elaborate beaded lamp of many colors from Morocco; an English silver box containing her children’s first soft curls. Lucas’s gift still stood on her dressing table, a scrolled and flowered Venetian mirror that she still used.

They’d been lovers for only a few months when he’d bought her the mirror, as a gift after a long absence—playing polo, she assumed. She was never sure that was all he was doing, but she was too proud to go looking for him, and she knew Lucas was just not the faithful sort.

She’d forgiven him everything when he gave her the beautiful Venetian mirror. He set it in front of her and showed her her reflected face, tracing her features with his finger. “How could I ever forget you,” he murmured. Then he’d kissed her and the mirror had reflected that kiss. In fact, there was little, Rafaella thought now, that this mirror had not seen.

The hall clock groaned and creaked and struck 6 P.M ., its tone a half-beat flat, as it had been for decades. But tonight was different, and the chateau was no longer silent. She could hear water gurgling in the old pipes as her guests took their baths. A TV blared the news—that would be Juliette, always a TV addict. A child’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and her high voice excitedly called for Franny. Those noises mingled with the clip-clop of high heels on the parquet, the yapping of the Pomeranians, and Haigh’s authoritative voice giving orders to the waiters recruited from town because tonight all the villagers were invited guests. The band hired for the evening was testing the microphones on the terrace. There was the rattle of trays and silverware as tables were set, and the smell of flowers was everywhere.

The silence of loneliness was banished. Rafaella lifted her head. She took a great draft of the sweet air, filling her lungs, smiling, imagining that the chateau breathed with her. It was alive again and tonight was a new beginning.



LITTLE BLUE was taking a shower in her very own bathroom. She had never had a bathroom or even a real shower before, and she spun under the warm jets, shaking her head like a puppy under garden sprinklers. She’d had a wonderful time. Juliette had found the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, and she’d also picked out more things, shorts and T-shirts, sundresses, bathing suits, cute sneakers, and the softest little sandals. When they got back to the chateau, Juliette had simply thrown the cruel black Mary Janes into the garbage. Then she’d kissed her and said, “Go see Franny, ma petite. She will help you get ready.”

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