The Provence Puzzle: An Inspector Damiot Mystery(38)
“You loved your husband very much.”
“We were very close.”
“But you are reasonably happy? Running a restaurant…”
“Reasonably? Yes… What about you? Are you reasonably happy in your métier?”
“Nobody’s ever asked me that before.” He stared at the ceiling, barely visible in the light from the fireplace and bath. “I’ve never thought about it Whether being a policeman satisfies me…”
“Did you always want to be a detective?”
“Such a thing never entered my mind! When I first went to Paris, years ago, I had to find a job while I studied law at night. I worked as a waiter, took tickets on a bus, was a telephone repairman… Then I went to classes during the day and got a job at Au Printemps as a night watchman. Which gave me more time to study. After three years, quite by chance, I discovered that I could apply for a job at the Prefecture. The fact that I had been studying law was in my favor…”
“And now you’re a famous detective!”
“The newspapers exaggerate!”
“Do you enjoy your work at the Prefecture?”
“I’m happiest when I’m away from my office. Working on a case. Meeting people. Asking questions… That’s when I’m really happy.” He felt her body, beside him, relaxing again as he talked. “When I’m doing that, every day is exciting…” Moving closer, pressing his mouth against her lips, he felt her fingers moving slowly down his spine. He buried his face in the soft cloud of her hair, breathing deeply of her fragrance as his lips found her ear.
Her caressing fingers had discovered the scars on his hip.
She gasped.
He realized that his scars had reminded her of another man. If Julien Bouchard had lived, survived that skiing accident, his body would probably have been scarred.
She was sobbing. Quietly…
He kissed her cheek. It was wet with tears.
Her fingers were stroking his scars…
“I understand,” he whispered.
“Do you? Yes! I believe you do…”
“‘But if my queen weeps, I too will weep…’”
“You will weep?”
“A famous poet wrote that. Many years ago. He was born in Provence…” His lips found her mouth again.
CHAPTER 13
Damiot opened his eyes and squinted at the luminous dial of his wristwatch on the bedside table.
Almost nine?
Aurore must have slipped away in the night…
He slipped out of bed and hurried toward the nearest windows, the tiled floor cold under his bare feet, flung the curtains apart, and opened the inside shutters.
The gardens beyond the open windows were a glare of sunshine. Good weather again, grace a Dieu!
Sunday morning? The villagers would be going to Mass.
Leaving the curtains open, moving with purpose, he hurried into the bath and splashed cold water on his face. Brushed his hair and slipped into his robe.
When the gar?on brought breakfast, he must ask him where he had first heard the legend about a monster appearing at the Chateau…
Settling into bed again, he noticed the glasses and empty Calvados bottle on the bedside table. They had finished that last night, before they slept…
If only this good weather would last through the night. No matter. Clear or not, he was going to get inside that Chateau. On his own…
His thoughts were interrupted by the gar?on’s discreet knock.
“Come in!” Pushing himself to a sitting position as a key turned and the door opened.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Aurore!” Wearing another robe, more tailored, and with her hair brushed away from her face, she had brought his breakfast tray.
She laughed. “I’m the Sunday gar?on when we have only one guest.”
A small black body skidded across the tiled floor and jumped onto the bed.
“Bonjour, Fric-Frac!”
The dog kissed his hand with the tip of her tongue and barked her pleasure.
Damiot looked up as Aurore set her tray on the bedside table. “Won’t you have coffee with me?”
“I’ve work to do.” She smiled as she collected the glasses and brandy bottle. “Will you be dining with us tonight?”
“Most certainly! I’m going out this morning but I should be back late in the afternoon.”
“Good.”
“Your friends from Paris will be dining here…”
“I’m breaking the news to Michel over breakfast. He always cooks a special breakfast every Sunday, which we have in the kitchen.”
“I want to drive up to the Chateau after dinner, and I was wondering if I might take Fric-Frac with me?”
“By all means!”
“What time will your guests arrive?”
“Around eight. They’re spending the day in Cannes.”
“Then I shall have an early dinner.”
“Enjoy the sunshine today!” She carried their glasses, with the empty bottle, toward the door. “It’s all for you.”
Damiot smiled as he watched her leave. She hadn’t even mentioned last night. The next move, obviously, would be up to him.
He bit off the end of a croissant as he filled the small porcelain bowl with coffee. Fed a piece of croissant to Fric-Frac before he tasted the steaming black brew.