‘Oh, no,’ says Laurent. ‘This isn’t good. Not for the cat or Bibi.’
I’m already off my stool and heading for the door with a piece of lemon drizzle in my hand. Madame B is making her way down the steps, nimbly but not fast enough to catch up with the dog.
Bertrand, the mayor, is out in the square now shouting at the dog and the cat, which appears to be his from the way he’s calling affectionately to it and threatening the dog. The cat runs across the road and up the nearest plane tree outside thetabac, with Bibi in hot pursuit, just about to fling himself into the road.
‘Bibi,’ I say, and wave the cake at him. ‘Bibi!’ I bend over and hold out the cake. Bibi slows. I creep forwards, holding out the crumbling slice.
Bibi stops, and looks at me as an approaching turquoise car comes into view. It’s Monsieur Martin, in his electric vehicle. The dog turns back towards the cat across the road.
‘Bibi!’ I try again, just as the cat hisses and spits and waves a taunting paw at him. Bibi looks back at me, then barks and launches himself towards the cat, racing out into the road as Monsieur Martin is hurtling up it.
I lunge and grab Bibi, scooping him up just before he throws himself in front of the car. Monsieur Martin toots and raises a hand to me, cigarette dangling from his lower lip, oblivious to the near miss.
‘Oh, Bibi!’ Madame B is nearly with me now, holding out her hands for her dog. ‘Oh, Bibi,’ she says again as I give him to her, and he licks her face excitedly. She pushes her face into his furry body. ‘Bijou,’ she says. ‘Mybijounette,’ she repeats, telling him she doesn’t know what she would do if anything happened to him. I stand and stare at Madame B.
‘Bijounette,’ I repeat, the name triggering something in me.Then I remember the wording on the walls of the mill. Bijou and the heart. I look at Madame Bertou. Suddenly, I have a gut feeling that there is more to that name than it just being a pet’s name. It seems to mean everything to her. It’s as if she’s carrying everything she cares about in her hands, in that name. I take a deep breath. I may be wrong … but then again, I may be right. I have to try. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ I say simply.
For a moment she says nothing and then, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’re Bijou – the name with the heart by it, on the old mill wall!’
She says nothing.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? It’s your name on the old mill wall. You have a past with that place.’
She looks up slowly from hugging the dog and takes a deep breath. ‘Merci,’ she says, stiffly but meaningfully, ‘for saving Bibi. I am very grateful to you.’
Laurent joins us. ‘Bravo, Juliet, you were very brave. Especially as it was Monsieur Martin driving. I feel you may need a Calvados right now.’
I smile at him, but I can’t let this go. I turn back to Madame B. ‘Madame, it’s you, isn’t it? You wrote those words on the walls of the mill, didn’t you?’
She holds my stare. ‘Yes, it’s me. I’m Bijounette.’
‘You’re Bijounette?’
She nods. ‘I was young, well, younger … and in love.’
‘Madame Bertou?’ says Laurent.
She looks at him with tears in her eyes. ‘I loved your grandfather very much. After your grandmother, Jeanne, left, and you were away, I had hoped there was going to be a chance for us. I used to visit him at the mill, help where I could.’
Laurent is clearly in complete shock.
‘I think we could all do with a Calvados,’ I say, and gesture tothe table and chairs outside the bar. Madame B dips her head, as if a huge weight has been taken off her shoulders, and lets me guide her to the table. Laurent goes into the bar and brings out three glasses and a bottle of golden liquid.
Just then the church bells chime, and the three men check their watches, clearly desperate to stay but knowing lunch will be on the table. They get up to leave, telling each other they’ll return soon, but barely able to keep their eyes off us. As they make their way out of thetabac, their heads swivel back to try to keep up with what’s going on.
I take a sip of the strong liquor; it burns as it slips down my throat, making me cough a little. Madame B and Laurent do the same.
Chapter 29
‘Iloved him. I had always been in love with him. And I thought maybe, when your grandmother left, there was a chance for us. And there nearly was. He used to call me Bijou, his jewel, Bijounette, a small trinket. It was a term of affection. It’s why I gave it to Bibi. Because she is my jewel … and also to remind me of that time.’
‘I could see the hurt that Claude’s grandfather had caused, stealing Jeanne from your grandfather, but hoped he would come to love me. I drew on the walls in pencil. But,’ she swallows, clearly finding the memory hard, ‘when your grandmother wanted to return, he came to speak to me. Told me his plan to take her back. It was for the best.’ She sips her drink. ‘I begged him not to. I even begged him to keep me in his life if he did take her back – keep me a secret – but Raoul was an honourable man and wouldn’t do that. He kissed my cheek and wished me love and happiness. I never went near the mill again. Instead I would sit and watch from my window, waiting for market day to catch a glimpse of him. He inspired me to take on theboulangerie. I trained and took over from the last baker, just to be close to him. But after Raoul died I closed theboulangeriefor good.’
‘Youwere the baker?’ says Laurent, surprised.
She nods. ‘I did my apprenticeship before you came to live with your grandparents. I went away for two years and spent even longer training in different parts of France to learn how to make bread, hoping it would help me stay close to Raoul.’
