Polaroided them kissing in the
Piazza della Signoria and shyly given them the picture. Claudia, though she knew it was not original, touched Sébastien’s
clothes like talismans when she found herself alone in the flat in St-Germain. He did not have many things so Claudia had
once been pleased by the continuity of his clothes, the way they bridged the time before she knew him. She realized now that
the presents she had given him, a black cashmere sweater, a heavy printed silk scarf, would complete Sébastien in time for
a woman whom he had perhaps not yet even met. Hopelessly, Claudia felt tears start at the back of her jaw.
‘Darling! Darling, what’s the matter?’ Claudia loathed herself for the concern in his voice. She scrubbed at her face with
a dusty balled fist, screwing up her eyes.
‘Nothing, I’m just feeling a bit dizzy.’
‘Ought we to go back?’
‘No, no, sorry, we’re practically there. I’ll be fine when I have some water.’
Aucordier’s was as lifeless as the day. Claudia knocked hesitantly at the door, this was the wrong time to come, thetwo women would surely be sleeping. But Ginette appeared promptly, smiling, normal, her hair heartbreakingly twisted in plastic
rollers.
‘How are you?’ asked Claudia. ‘This is my fiancé, Alex.’
‘
Enchanté
, Madame,’ said Alex gravely. He proffered the basket with the ghost of a little bow. He is kind, thought Claudia, so kind
to me.
Ginette insisted they come in, and though Claudia was reluctant to see the room again, it was surprisingly cool, no soup,
only the vinous combination of old beams and stone. The air felt suddenly watery, smooth and greenish as a plunge into a lake
after the glare outside. Mademoiselle Oriane was on the sofa, straight backed but nodding, in a white blouse and broad dark
grey skirt. The hairnet was covering Ginette’s rollers today. On the television, Romy Schneider trilled through the Alps in
a crinoline. ‘Oh, it’s
Sissi l’Impératrice
!’ Claudia realized that she had exclaimed.
‘We love her. Isn’t she beautiful?’ Ginette looked wistful.
‘How is Mademoiselle?’ asked Claudia.
‘Oh, fine, fine.’
The night before, Claudia had left Ginette still immobile on the sofa as the doctor washed his hands, and, not knowing how
much she now recalled, given Aisling’s cleaning-lady’s claim about fits, she did not wish to confuse her with details misplaced
or provocative of embarrassment. Ginette did not seem inclined to say much.
‘And the wrist? All fine?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Well, we don’t want to interrupt your Sunday.’ Claudia tried to direct Alex to the door with her eyes, but he wassmiling expansively and indiscriminately, not attempting to keep up with the French.
‘Please, stay and have some tea.’ There was a long pause, Ginette’s mouth hovered open. ‘Very English?’ she produced in English,
and Alex beamed at the effort.
‘We’d love to,’ said Claudia, thinking with dread of the viscous foam floating on the surface of the hard water in last night’s
coffee bowl. Ginette beamed too, for much too long. She did not make any move towards assembling the tea, but remained where
she was, smiling hugely. Claudia avoided Alex’s eyes.
‘Poke her with that,’ came a voice from the sofa. Mademoiselle Oriane was alert, straining out over her bound arm with a grey
plastic-tipped crutch.
‘Go on. You hit her last night. Give her a good poke.’
‘How are you, Mademoiselle?’ asked Claudia stupidly.
The old woman set the crutch on the floor and hauled herself up with her right arm, bigger and obviously much stronger than
she had appeared slumped against the bed in that white light. Alex stepped back out of her way, she transferred the crutch
to her left armpit and jabbed at Ginette’s pink sprigged blouse with the right. Ginette’s eyes immediately refocused, the
smile melted, she blinked rapidly and said, ‘What are you doing
Clive;Justin Scott Cussler