“It’s not really your place to be living with my cousin, either, but you’re doing it.”
“Itisstill his château, after all.”
“I realize that,” Jean-Paul said stiffly. “I’m just frustrated that I am unable to get him to open up tome. It’s a little—what is the word?—gallingto have tried for so long, and then you come along with your whiskey, and just like that...”
“Well, then... Monsieur Mirassou, would you honor us with your presence at dinner this evening?”
Jean-Paul relaxed and smiled. “I accept with pleasure. However, if I may be so bold, it is not even noon. I see you have your camera with you. Why don’t we take a trip to Avignon? There’s a historic carousel in the Place de l’Horloge that you could photograph for your collection.”
“Why would you want to take me to Avignon?”
“Do you not wish to pick up a new rental car?”
“I do, but... Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“It is not exactly that,” Jean-Paul said as they stood and gathered their things. “I simply want to be sure you are able to make a fast getaway, just in case.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
1900
CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Maëlle
The sounds of hammering and the whining of hand-cranked drills fill the courtyard as Bayol’s crew gets to work, assembling the numbered pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. Five men work to put the carousel together, while the others busy themselves with the construction of the salon façade, the entrance of which will be flanked by two special horse statues evocative of the carousel figures within the structure. Panels with intricately painted scenes line the walls, their gilded frames following liquid Art Nouveau lines.
The engineer tinkers with the steam engine, and joins the rods and cranks. The front rod moves up and down, the rear rod swivels on its hinge as the ride rotates on its track under the platform floor. It is essential that everything work smoothly, without a hitch, before they return to Angers.
The crew eats together in the servants’ dining room off the large kitchen on the ground floor. It is only when they are seated that Maëlle realizes perhaps the rumors are true, that the Clement family is not as wealthy as they first appear. Léon tells Maëlle that half the servants’ chambers are empty; he points out where the rugs are threadbare,corners of the gardens untended. He mentions, with scorn in his voice, that Madame Clement has worn the same dress twice since they arrived two weeks ago.
“I wear the same dress every single day,” Maëlle says with wonder. What must it be like to don a different gown each morning, changing again for dinner? “Their closets must be enormous.”
Léon laughs, a full-throated sound that she has not heard in too long. Maëlle tries not to smile, not to show how much it means to her. Is it her imagination, or has he been less attentive than before? When she asks him about it, he declares it is because he is in charge of the work crew; he must be even more discreet.
But for a man in charge, he disappears frequently during work hours. The other men keep his secrets; they won’t tell Maëlle where Léon goes, using vague terms like “taking a break” or “he had to run into town for supplies.” As if Maëlle doesn’t know, much better than Léon, what supplies they may or may not need. When he disappears, the result is chaos on the job site. Romain is a talented carpenter but he does not understand how the mechanism—the cranks, gears, and shafts—must interact with his woodwork. Guy is a gifted engineer, focusing exclusively on the engine, the rods, and the tracks. The others are too young to take the initiative, so they wait for guidance.
In Léon’s absence, Maëlle steps in to read the blueprints and coordinate their efforts. Soon the men begin to look to her for direction.
When she throws herself into her work she can forget that Léon looked too long at the attractive scullery maid this morning. When she feels the wood beneath her hands and watches how the disparate pieces come together, the art of the carousel sings to her like a siren.
Madame and Monsieur Clement stop by the job site to inspect the progress. It is only then that Léon appears, giving them the tour as the man in charge. Maëlle notices how he lingers by Madame Clement’s side, attending to her every remark. He makes her laugh; she throws her head back, showing delicate white teeth; her long neck—there is asmall heart-shaped mole that seems more enhancement than flaw—is adorned with a glittering gold cross.
Just looking at Josephine’s ecru lace dress makes Maëlle feel insignificant and small, like an ant. She has never been one to lust after wealth, but now she wonders: What would it be like to wear such a thing? Beside Josephine’s bright vivacity, Yves Clement looks inconsequential; he is graying, and his slight frame is almost gaunt. He says little, seemingly content to allow his wife to shine. Maëlle can’t help but imagine a man like Léon in his place, standing tall, wearing a beautiful brocade vest and brandishing a silver-headed cane.
Maëlle averts her gaze, praying that no one could sense what she is feeling.
She looks up to find Josephine’s eyes on hers. It is probably her imagination... but it seems like Josephine is reading her mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PRESENT DAY
AVIGNON
Cady
“All the way from Paris to Avignon,” Cady said as they gazed at the cobbled ruin of the Pont d’Avignon, “I had that stupid song stuck in my head:‘Sur le pont d’Avignon, l’on y danse, l’on y danse.’”
