Fabrice gave a little half smile.“Bon appétit.”
That said, he tucked into his food.
Lucy kept a vigil close by, alert and expectant, and throughout their meal Fabrice fed the dog so much of the chicken that Cady finally said: “Maybe next time I should make Lucy her own bird.”
Fabrice chuckled and slipped another chunk of succulent thigh meat to the canine.
“So, you never asked me what brought me all the way from California,” Cady said.
He didn’t reply.
“I have this wooden rabbit. It’s a carousel figure, and I—”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people obsessed with that carousel.”
“Who else is obsessed with it?”
“Every once in a while, a stranger comes along, asks to buy it, to look at it.” He waved his hand, as though smelling something noxious.
“People are interested in history,” said Cady. “That’s what brought me to France. I was in Paris taking photographs of carousels for a book.”
He helped himself to more potatoes.
“Good dinner?” Cady asked, pouring him more wine.
He shrugged.
“So... the carousel’s still here? In the outbuilding?”
He remained quiet for so long that Cady assumed he wasn’t going to answer. But finally he said, “It’s not even recognizable anymore. The place caught fire a long time ago, and then things got lost.”
“Could I see it?”
“Why would you want to?”
“Well, as I started to tell you, I have a carousel figure in the shape of a rabbit. I call him Gus because I always thought he was carved by Gustave Bayol. But it turns out he wasn’t. Anyway,” Cady added hastily, seeing his attention drift to the dog again, “he fell over and I found a box in his belly, with a photograph that I believe was taken by your great-grandfather. And in the background is the carousel.”
Fabrice let out a long sigh and washed down the last of his chicken with wine.
“I could get the box from my room. Maybe you would recognize the woman in the photograph.”
“I don’t have time for such nonsense.” He got up, tossed his napkin on the table, and limped out of the kitchen.
Cady remained at the table for a long time, wondering if she should follow him or if he was coming back. Finally she got up, cleared the table, and washed the dishes.
The dog arched her back like a cat, stretching so hard that Cady heard her spine crack.
“I guess it’s you and me, Lucy,” Cady said softly, grabbing her flashlight. “Let’s go stir up the ghosts outside, shall we?”
That night in bed she worked her way through more ofLe Château.
Before she fell asleep, Cady made up her mind: She wasn’t going to leave Provence until she got a good look at the Clement carousel. Whatever remained of it.
And if there was any possible way, she was going to figure out who her mystery woman in the photograph was.
She glanced at the note for the hundredth time:Souviens-toi de moi.
Remember me.
