‘Can’t afford to be.’ I smiled.
‘Neither can my mother, but that doesn’t seem to stop her.’
I went to the kettle. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Tea? No, thanks. I want emergency treatment for shock.’ Chucking his phone down on the table and levering himself to his feet, he crossed to the dresser and poured a vast vodka. ‘Would you like one?’
‘No, thanks.’
The swing door to the dining room creaked open to reveal Nicole edging through it backwards, heaving the hoover after her. Opening the cupboard in the wall, she shoved the vacuum cleaner inside, closing the door quickly before all the mops and brooms could fall out, and dusted off her hands.
‘How was your day?’ Luc said to her. ‘Have you made some friends?’
She pulled an iffy face at him, waggling one hand in the classic gesture of dubiousness that I guessed she had picked up from Emma. Divested of her hijab and back in jeans, a jumper and sneakers, Nicole looked like any ordinary teenager. I asked her whether she wanted some supper but no, she had already eaten Welsh rabbit – ‘rarebit’ had proved beyond her, as it does with most English people – and was going to wash her hair. With a polite nod at both of us, she toddled off, and Luc looked at me.
‘No good?’ he queried.
‘It seems the women at the mosque were not what you might call regular little sunbeams.’
‘Ah.’
‘Indeed.’
Luc sat down again and examined his vodka as if there were a fly floating in it. ‘Difficult, isn’t it?’ He sighed.‘Difficult to get the balance right between faith and all its strictures and traditions as the same time as being a modern young woman.’
‘Very, but I think she’ll get there. She’s bright.’
‘I agree, but I suspect it takes a good deal more than intelligence.’ Taking a long pull of his drink, his eyes roved vaguely round the kitchen as if in search of an answer, suddenly sharpening as they lighted on Alphonse’s empty bed. ‘Where’s the dog?’ he cried in alarm.
I sat down opposite him with my cup of tea. ‘Jess has got him.’
‘Jess?’
‘ Yes, Jess.’ I started to explain.
***
After telling me the sad tale of the death of Luc’s wife – and, boy, was it sad; it had upset me, even though I had never met the woman – Jess made strenuous efforts to lighten the mood. Yesterday had been hell, she said, the worst Christmas dinner possible, given some old dear had nearly choked to death on the ever-so-English Christmas pudding, accusing Jess after a helpful soul had performed the Heimlich procedure of dangerously packing the Christmas pudding with sixpences only to discover it was her own tooth she had choked on.
‘I think it might have been her remaining tooth as well,’ Jess added, which gave us both the giggles.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t mock,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m seventy-two next week. It’ll come to me very soon.’
‘Are you really?’ I said in surprise. ‘You don’t look it.’
‘And what does seventy-two look like?’ she said with a smile.
‘Well, not like you for sure. You look amazing, bloody gorgeous in fact.’
And she did. Today wearing a knee-length, loose but beautifully unstructured pale-grey jersey dress, she had teamed it with grey suede ankle boots and yellow tights which showed off her fantastic legs. Her hair framed her face in soft wings, and a richly textured yellow and silver medallion on a grey leather cord hung round her neck.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply. Then her shoulders drooped. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Alix. Whatever I look like, I can’t pretend I’m not feeling my age.’ She waved a hand at our surroundings. ‘I could do with more time off from this.’
‘Can’t your staff manage without you?’
‘Yes, of course they can. I don’t flatter myself that I’m indispensable. It’s just that…’ She broke off and bit her lip.
‘What? Tell me.’
