Dead Cold (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #2)(68)

‘No, there’s no spirit here. Your ego and emotions have squeezed it out. How can the divine live among all these loud colors? There’s too much you and not enough Higher Power. Still, you’re doing your best and you’re quite a pioneer, bringing meditation to the Townships thirty years ago—’

‘Forty,’ said Mother, finding her voice, though it was a squeak.

‘Whatever. It didn’t matter what you offered, since no one knew any better.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I came here hoping to find someone with some karma to share.’ CC had sighed and looked around, shaking her disillusioned, enlightened, bleached head. ‘Well, my path is clear. I’ve been given a rare gift and I intend to share it. I’ll be opening my home as a meditation center, teaching what I learned from my guru in India. Since my company and book are called Be Calm, that’s what I’ll be calling my meditation center. I’m afraid you’ll have to change the name of your little place. In fact, I’m feeling it might be time for you to close altogether.’

Em feared for CC’s life. Mother probably had just enough strength to throttle CC, and she looked as though she meant to.

‘I sense your anger,’ said CC, displaying an immediate grasp of the obvious. ‘Very toxic.’

‘Mother didn’t take her seriously, of course,’ said Em after she’d described the scene to Gamache.

‘But CC planned to use the name of her center. That could have been a disaster for Mother.’

‘True, but I don’t think Mother believed it.’

‘The center’s called Be Calm. That phrase seems to keep coming up. Wasn’t it the name of your curling team?’

‘Where’d you hear that?’ Em laughed. ‘That must have been fifty, sixty years ago. Ancient history.’

‘But interesting history, madame.’

‘I’m glad you think so. It was a joke. We didn’t take ourselves seriously, and didn’t much care whether we won.’

It was the same story he’d heard before but he wished he could see her expression.

Henri limped over, lifting first one paw then the other.

‘Oh, poor Henri. We’ve stayed out too long.’

‘Should I carry him?’ asked Gamache, feeling badly because he hadn’t remembered that the biting snow could burn a dog’s paw. Now he remembered last winter struggling to carry old Sonny the three blocks home when his feet couldn’t take the cold any more. It had broken both their hearts. And he remembered hugging Sonny to him a few months later when the vet came to put him to sleep. And he remembered saying soothing things into the stinky old ears and looking into the weepy brown eyes as they closed, with one final soft thump of the ragged, beloved, tail. And as he felt the final beat of Sonny’s heart Gamache had had the impression it wasn’t that his old heart had stopped but that Sonny had finally given it all away.

‘We’re almost there,’ said Em, her voice now thick, her lips and cheeks beginning to freeze in the cold.

‘May I offer you breakfast? I’d like to continue this conversation. Perhaps the bistro?’

émilie Longpré hesitated just an instant, then agreed. They dropped off Henri then made their way through the dawn to Olivier’s Bistro.

‘Joyeux No?l,’ the handsome young waiter said to Gamache, showing them to the table by the freshly lit fireplace. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Gamache held the chair for Em and looked after the young man going to the cappuccino machine to make their bowls of café au lait.

‘Philippe Croft,’ said Em, following his gaze. ‘Nice young man.’

Gamache smiled delightedly. Young Croft. The last time he’d met Philippe, during an earlier case, he’d been less than likable.

It was just eight o’clock and they had the place to themselves.

‘This is a rare treat, Chief Inspector,’ said Em, surveying the menu.

Her hair was standing on end from the static caused when she’d removed her tuque. But then so was his. They both looked as though they’d had a small fright. Now they sipped their coffees, feeling the warmth spread through their bodies. Their faces were rosy and their cheeks beginning to thaw. The smell of fresh brewed coffee mingled with the wood smoke from the young fire, and the world seemed cozy and right.

‘Do you still want your curling lesson this morning?’ Em asked. Gamache hadn’t forgotten their date and was looking forward to it.

‘If it isn’t too cold.’

‘This morning should be perfect. Look at the sky.’ She nodded out the window. There was a delicate glow in the sky as the sun considered rising. ‘Clear and cold. By this afternoon it’ll be a killer.’

‘May I suggest the eggs and sausages?’ Philippe was at their elbow, his order pad ready. ‘The sausages are from Monsieur Pagé’s farm.’

‘They’re wonderful,’ confided Em.

‘Madame?’ Gamache invited her to order first.

‘I’d love the sausages, mon beau Philippe, but I’m afraid at my age they’re a bit much. Does Monsieur Pagé still provide your back bacon?’

‘Mais oui, home cured, Madame Longpré. The best in Quebec.’

‘Merveilleux. Such luxury.’ She leaned across the table to Gamache, genuinely enjoying herself. ‘I’ll take a poached egg, s’il vous pla?t, on a piece of Sarah’s baguette and some of your perfect bacon.’