He held out his hand. Fabrice looked at it, sighed, and shook hands with Jean-Paul as though it pained him.
“Cady,” he said with a nod to her. No kisses this time.
She followed him out the door to the hall.
“Jean-Paul,” she called.
He hesitated for a moment before turning around.
“I’m sorry about this. You know how cranky he is.”
“I do. I’ve known him my whole life, Cady, as has my mother, and her father before her.”
“I didn’t mean... I don’t mean to barge in where I’m not wanted.”
“He wants you more than me, or anyone else in the family, apparently.”
“Well... thank you for today,” Cady said, coming to stand near him. “I really enjoyed the tour of Avignon.”
“Thank you for dinner. And for opening my eyes to the wonders of garlic bread.”
They remained for a moment in the narrow corridor, standing by the chalky-blue wooden door, enveloped by the scent of old stone and the damp, musty air. It could have been another time, another place, two servants lingering by the help’s entrance, trying to unravel the whims of the irascible master.
Jean-Paul’s tongue played with the inside of his cheek for a moment as he studied her face. He lifted one hand, very slowly, and grasped a lock of her hair, caressing it between thumb and forefinger.
“Silk,” he said, almost to himself. “I wondered what it felt like.”
“It’s the French shampoo,” Cady said, wincing at the inanity of her words. “Probably.”
Jean-Paul let out a soft chuckle and dropped his hand. “Anyway, good luck with him. You have my number if either of you needs anything. I’ll be in touch.”
He turned up his collar and ducked out the door into a fierce, frigid wind.
Cady shut the door behind him and returned to the kitchen, where Fabrice remained by the hearth, brooding, gazing at the dying flames.
She sat in the chair Jean-Paul had vacated.
Ten minutes of silence passed, interrupted only by Lucy’s muffledsnoring and the hiss of the fire, the wind and rain hitting the windowpanes, every second counted down by the ticking of the clock with no hands.
Finally, Cady said, “I would give anything for a family. Even one that annoyed me.”
Fabrice’s seafoam green eyes, foggy with age, fixed on her. Despite their senescence, they seemed able to see beyond the surface. Once again Cady was reminded of the way Maxine had looked at her: as though sheknew.
“You are alone?” Fabrice asked.
Cady didn’t usually think of her situation in such blunt terms. But yes, she walked through this world alone.
She nodded and stared at the fire, opening her eyes wide to fight the tears that gathered. She felt as vulnerable as the little girl who had ridden round and round on the Tilden Park carousel, yearning for parents, dreaming of belonging.
“Well, Cady, I’ll tell you a secret,” said Fabrice in a voice as sad as the moaning winds rattling the windowpanes. “In the end we are all alone. Each one of us.”
CHAPTER FORTY
1900
CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Maëlle
