“What?”
“I’ve been readingLe Château—and before you stop me, I’m just asking whether ‘Anon’ was translated properly. In English ‘anon’ means something’s going to happen soon, but it’s archaic English, rarely used.”
“You should always read a book in its original language.”
“You mean it wasn’t translated properly?”
He picked up her camera and studied it, playing with the dials and knobs, looking through the lens. Finally, he said: “That translation was suspect, yes. But in this case, Anon is a name. There is no translation.”
“Who does it refer to?”
“What are you taking pictures of?” Fabrice asked, ignoring her question.
“I thought I’d take some of the château grounds, if that’s all right with you. The old buildings, the olive trees, and—”
“When are you going shopping?” Fabrice demanded.
“I just went yesterday.”
“We need more bread. And we’ll need dinner tonight.”
“I got some pasta yesterday, and a few other things I could throw together for dinner....” At the look on Fabrice’s face, she cleared her throat and said, “Never mind. I’ll run into town and pick up a few things. Happy to do it.” Cady wanted to take her computer to the Internet café anyway. On top of which, a daily trip to theboulangeriedidn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.
“What kind of sauce for the pasta?” Fabrice asked.
“I was thinking a simple marinara, but I’m flexible. Do you have a favorite?”
“Alfredo.”
“Okay then, Alfredo it is. I’ll make a big salad, and garlic bread. Of course.”
“What’s ‘garlic bread’?”
“What’sgarlic bread?” she repeated, unsure if she had understood him correctly. How did anyone not know garlic bread? “It’s... bread, with garlic. And butter. Lots of butter. In fact, that might be the most important part. You warm it in the oven and...” She sighed and sought the proper word. In English, she said, “Ambrosia.”
He fixed her with those questioning hawk eyes.“Que-ce que c’est‘ambrosia’?”
“I don’t know the word in French. In Englishambrosiameans the food of the gods.”
“Ah.” He nodded and said,“Ambroisie.”
“Ambroisie. Good to know. But seriously, you’ve never had garlic bread?”
He shook his head.
“And here I thought you Frenchies were more accomplished than Americans in all things food-related.”
Once again Fabrice grunted in reply, setting a tiny cup of espresso in front of her, with a square of chocolate on the plate.
“But this, right here,” she said, holding up the sweet morsel, “makes up for a lot.”
Fabrice scowled at her over the rim of his espresso cup. “I thought you said I wouldn’t even know you were here. This morning I know you are here.”
Embarrassment washed over her. Cady hadn’t realized she was being chatty; it was rare for her.
“I...” She tried to think of something to say.
He gave her another dismissive wave of his hand. “Ignore me, I’m a mean old man. This is why I’ve lived alone all these years.”
