Now that my professional cap is off, the worry about the key comes back. But then an unrelated thought strikes me. The bad boy Henri I danced with at the carnival, the standoffish Henri I witnessed at his parents’ place, and the thriving Henri in Dordogne are three distinct personalities that seem to have sprouted from the still unfinished twenty-year-old I once knew.
Which one is the real him?
Henri, Audrey, and I are in the basement sports room. It’s five in the afternoon. Dana’s team is still in the house, searching the attic now. To quell the knot in my stomach, I tell myself the attic is the most likely place for the key to be, tucked away in some old box inside a trunk, or encased in an object, or sewn into a tapestry.
They’ll find it. They have to.
Besides Dana’s team, it’s just Henri, Audrey, Odile and me. Odile’s husband Quentin, who’s Henri’s handyman and groundskeeper, has taken a day off to make some repairs to the couple’s own house, which they rent out. The cleaning crew of two young locals who don’t live on the estate, have gone home. The bloggers will arrive tomorrow morning.
Odile is in the kitchen, gearing up to cook for the four of us. Dana and her team will dine at their hotel in Brive. Odile has promised something special for dinner. I ate little for lunch, so I’m getting hungry.
Having finished the security upgrade of my room, Audrey is in her second favorite element. She’s at the other end of the gym, laying into a sandbag with a series of punches that would make a heavyweight boxer think twice. Her focus is absolute.
Across the room from her, Henri and I are in the middle of a ping-pong battle. He’s better at this than ten years ago. I’m just as mediocre as I used to be.
“Ready to admit defeat, Your Highness?” he teases, serving the ball.
I manage to return the serve. “In your dreams, de Bellay!”
The ball zips back and forth between us.
Henri scores another point. It’s very annoying how good he’s gotten at this.
“You’ve been practicing,” I accuse him.
He grins. “What stopped you from doing the same?”
I ignore that inconvenient question. The ball comes at me again, spinning. To my surprise, I manage to smack it back.
“What’s that?” I ask him. “Is it legal?”
“It’s a pendulum spin, and yes, it’s legal.” Henri glances at me. “I can’t believe you returned it! Let’s try again.”
This time around, I fail.
He pulls a smug face. “Just as expected. Your previous success was a fluke.”
“A fluke? You sent me two super mean spinning balls, and I returned them fifty percent of the time.” I put my hands on my hips. “It’s called ‘talent’ in my book. I’m a natural at this.”
“Shall I serve another pendulum? How about a backhand topspin?”
“No,” I say archly. “Please revert back to straight serves.”
He frowns. “Don’t you want to prove that you’re a natural by making the sample of your successful returns bigger, and thus more representative?”
“No, I do not,” I reply. “I am perfectly content with my current sample size and success rate.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bows ceremoniously.
We play some more to the rhythmic backdrop of Audrey’s punching.
I’m having tons of fun.
How weird!I thought my time here would feel like a never-ending ordeal of awkwardness, but I have yet to experience any. Being around Henri here at his estate conjures up a wild, bewildering combo of familiarity and novelty that I find myself enjoying a little too much.
Finally, Henri scores the winning point and throws his arms up in victory. We put the paddles down. I glance over at Audrey, who’s now stretching, her workout complete. She’s drenched in sweat.
“How about we raid the kitchen for some water and lemonade, and see what Odile is cooking?” Henri asks.
