The Peacock Emporium(74)

“How noble of you.”

“A plain old gynecologist, now, that’s different. I can understand the attraction of that. Although I can’t see how you’d ever get any work done.”

Jessie giggled. Suzanna squirmed with embarrassment.

“Bit of a dark horse, isn’t he? Alejandro, I mean. Jason always says it’s the quiet ones who are the worst.”

“How do you know all this?”

“He was in the park when I took Emma over there on Sunday. I sat on the bench and we got chatting.”

“What was he doing there?”

“Nothing, as far as I could see. Just enjoying the sun. Actually, I won’t say enjoying. He looked pretty miserable until I came along.” She looked up at Suzanna. “He was doing that Latino brooding thing, you know.”

“I thought midwives were meant to be female.” Neil sipped at his coffee. “I don’t think I’d want a male midwife if I was having a baby.”

“If you were having a baby, that would be the least of your worries,” Suzanna snapped, and began to tack Polaroids of customers above the north African maps.

“I don’t think I’d like you to have a male midwife, come to think of it.”

“If I was about to go through the hell of pushing a whole human being out of my body, I don’t think the decision would be yours, actually.”

“I’m going to look this woman up online, just to see what she looks like.” Jessie rested the stepladder against the wall.

“Is he still in love with her, then?” Suzanna asked.

“Didn’t say. But you know what, Suze, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he’s the type who likes them married.”

“I thought you said there was no gossiping in here,” Neil scoffed.

“So he doesn’t have to get emotionally involved.”

“What do you mean?” Suzanna watched Jessie as she maneuvered the stepladder toward the stairs.

“Well, he’s pretty laid back, isn’t he? You can’t imagine him chasing after someone, or lost in the throes of passion. Some men like to sleep with women who are already involved with someone else. It’s safe for them then. The woman isn’t going to make any emotional demands. Am I right, Neil?”

“Not a bad strategy,” said Neil. “Not one I’ve ever managed myself.”

Suzanna sniffed, trying to disguise the flush to her cheeks. “You read too many magazines.”

“You put them here.” Jessie threw her bag onto the hook on the cellar door, and held out a starched white apron. “Mrs. Creek made this. Nice, isn’t it? Do you want me to get her to do another one for you?”

“No. Yes. Whatever.”

Jessie tied the strings around her waist, then smoothed the apron over her legs. “Oh, look, the lady with the children wants serving. I’ll go . . . No, he doesn’t do it for me. Too . . . I don’t know. I just like men with a bit more life in them.”



* * *



—

Arturro had sacked all the young men in his shop. Just like that, with no warning. Mrs. Creek was the first to discover it, when she walked past on her way to the market. She told them shortly after Neil had left. “I heard a load of shouting and goodness knows what, and he was blowing off steam like a bull in a field. I was going to go in for some of that nice cheese, the one with bits of apricot in it, but to be honest I thought I’d better give him a chance to cool down.”

Jessie and Suzanna stood very still, as they had since Mrs. Creek had begun her story—she had stretched it out over some considerable time, making the most of her unexpectedly rapt audience. When she finished, they exchanged a look.

“I’ll go,” said Jessie.

“I’ll keep an eye open for Arturro,” said Suzanna.

He hadn’t come in yet.

Jessie went to Liliane’s, not to pry, of course, just to suss out the atmosphere, as she put it. Initially, she thought, Mrs. Creek must have been exaggerating. Liliane, although reserved as always, was as poised and polite as she normally was. But when Jessie mentioned the delicatessen, she had become distinctly annoyed. She was no longer using it, she said. Some people in town thought their way of treating customers pretty shabby.

“Anything in particular?” Jessie pressed.

“Let’s just say,” said Liliane, her mouth set in a grim line, her hair as rigid as her jaw, “that there are those who might have been expected to behave like gentlemen but who think nothing of playing practical jokes more suited to the playground.”

“Oh, bugger,” said Jessie, when she got back. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Do we confess?” said Suzanna, feeling faintly sick.

“If the boys have lost their jobs, I guess we have to. It’s our fault.”

Suzanna thought of them, how they had once occupied an unhealthy portion of her imagination.

“You go.”

“No, you.”

They were giggling nervously now.

“It was your idea.”

“You bought the sugared almonds. It was going fine until the sugared almonds.”

“I can’t believe I’m thirty-four years old and I’m feeling like I’ve got to go and see the headmistress at school . . . I can’t do this. I really can’t.” Suzanna leaned back against the counter, deep in thought. “How about if I pay you?” She giggled again.