“I’d rather not,” Thomas replied.
“Why? We’re all friends here.”
“Because this moment belongs to your friend. He’s doing quite well, in fact.”
“Are you really that good?”
Thomas glanced over at Mia, who was listening rapturously to Paul’s song.
“Didn’t she star in an English comedy? I forget what it was called, but I saw it four or five years ago, in London.”
“Did you live in London then?” asked Lauren.
“No, it was just a short stay for work.”
“Speaking of which, what exactly do you do?”
“How did Paul and Mia meet, anyway?”
“Do you always answer a question with another question?”
“Not always, but often.”
“Why?” asked Lauren.
“Now you’re doing it, I see,” Thomas said. “I’m not just being nosy, I promise. Actors travel a lot; so do musicians. I was in love with a violinist at the time, but I wasn’t able to maintain a long-distance relationship.”
“Paul and Mia met because of that movie,” Lauren said. “Don’t mention it to her, though. It brings up unpleasant memories. Heron-screen partner was also her partner in real life, but his loyalty was pure fiction. You didn’t hear that from me, though.”
“And since I’m deaf, I suppose Lauren’s secret is safe,” Mia cut in, turning toward them. “I had gone to Montmartre and taken refuge in my best friend’s restaurant in Paris. Paul was one of her regulars. And since we have no more secrets between us, let me give you a little friendly advice. If you’re in love with a woman who travels, travel with her. That’s what I do with Paul.”
“Would you mind if I bowed out a bit early?” Thomas asked. “I’m exhausted and have a big day tomorrow.”
He took out his wallet, but Arthur waved a hand in the air, indicating that there was no need.
Outside, the night was cool and the sky full of stars. Thomas decided to walk back to the house on Green Street. He needed some time alone to think, and the half-hour stroll would do him a lot of good.
Raymond was pacing the Columbarium, taking in every tiny detail, just as he had always done before operating.
“I don’t like saying it, but I have to admit your husband knew you very well,” he said. He tried unsuccessfully to inhale the scent of a bouquet of wild roses that crowned the altar. “They barely have much of a scent, anyway, so I don’t mind that my sense of smell is gone,” he grumbled.
He walked up the aisle and sat down in the last row, to get an idea of what Camille’s guests would see the next day.
“This is a waste of time. Even if Thomas showed up last and sat way back here, Manon would eventually notice him. Think harder, old man, it’s tomorrow or never.”
He surveyed the room from the altar to the front door, his gaze halting on a chair reserved for Camille’s husband. He glanced past the front row to the electric organ, then to the door once more, before returning to the organ.
“Not the priest’s place, no. But this could do the trick,” he concluded, quite pleased with himself.
He stood up and ran his hands over the creases of his pants. As he did so, it occurred to him that not even death had put a stop to his old habits.
It turned out that he hadn’t wasted his evening after all. Feeling pleased, he happily walked right through the wall.
What use was there in doing things the same old way?
Raymond reappeared in Thomas’s room, then sat at the foot of the bed, looking down at his son.
“Are you asleep?” he whispered. “I found a solution to our little problem. We’ll need to leave a bit earlier than planned. A little before nine o’clock, at the latest. Should I wake you in the morning?”
