THE RESTAURANT DE LA CLOCHE was unusually busy for a Thursday evening. Two couples in their early thirties were eating together at the corner table. The women were attractive and fashionably attired. They had placed their orders only a few minutes before half past eight. They did not appear to be from Saint-Louis, at least neither Pasteur nor Marie had seen them before, and they were evidently in no hurry over their meal. They had ordered a second bottle of wine even before their main courses had arrived and a third was duly ordered. They chatted loudly and unselfconsciously and laughed raucously at each other’s jokes. Pasteur glared at them from his station behind the counter, but they were oblivious to his black looks. He muttered to Marie as she passed that they must think they were in a Parisian bistro, his standard put-down for customers who he regarded as too loud, flashy or otherwise not to his liking. Marie smiled indulgently. She was in a good mood and was not going to let her husband’s grouchiness spoil it. In any case, she enjoyed playing hostess to a younger, more fashionable clientele. The better class of customer liked to eat late and linger over their food. It would have been horribly provincial to refuse to serve them on account of an arbitrary rule. The Restaurant de la Cloche might not be a Paris bistro, but neither was it a canteen. Twice Marie had approached the table to enquire if everything was to her guests’ satisfaction, resisting the urge to apologise for the rustic nature of the cuisine, and on both occasions had been heartily reassured. The young man in spectacles had even sent his compliments to the chef on account of the ham hock terrine. Marie had blushed deeply, the terrine being her own creation.
The two other parties still eating had obligingly agreed to have their coffee brought at the same time as their desserts. The tables by the window were occupied in the main by local people. Lemerre, Petit and Cloutier were naturally in their place at the table by the door, the pack of cards in the centre of the table in readiness for the game that would soon begin.
Manfred was not at his place by the bar and a man Pasteur believed to be a travelling salesman had taken his place. He lunched at the restaurant on an irregular basis. Pasteur was not surprised at Manfred’s absence given some of the rumours that had been circulating. It made sense for him to keep his head down for a few days, but Pasteur was sure he would soon be back. The hubbub of conversation emanating from the tables by the window and from the crowd of customers gathered at the counter drowned out even Lemerre’s voluble pontifications on the day’s developments. Pasteur was in no doubt that the sudden popularity of the Restaurant de la Cloche was due entirely to its central role in the recent goings-on. He would be loath to admit it, but he gleaned a certain pleasure in his establishment’s sudden notoriety and place at the centre of local life. Of course, things would quickly return to normal, but the publicity would not do business any harm.
Only the focal point of the day’s drama seemed oblivious to the commotion. Adèle took the main courses to the group in the corner of the dining area at her usual languid pace and with her customary sullenness. She betrayed no sign of being aware that all eyes in the room were following her every move and that her reappearance was the subject of the most lurid speculations. When she had turned up shortly before lunchtime service, Marie had taken her upstairs for a talk. Pasteur was not privy to what had been said and nor would he ask. If Marie chose to divulge what had passed between them, she would do so in her own good time. Later, the cop, Gorski, had turned up and Adèle had again been summoned to the apartment. All Pasteur knew was that it had been agreed that Adèle would return to her former place on the rota. In addition, Marie had decided to keep her niece on to assist at lunchtime service. Pasteur had looked askance at this suggestion, but Marie had brushed off his objections. It would hardly be fair to dismiss the girl when she had so obligingly stepped into the breach caused by Adèle’s absence. In any case, they were often short-handed at lunch and Dominique had only just learned the ropes. Pasteur had shrugged. Sometimes things changed. It couldn’t be helped.
At the appointed hour, and despite the large number of customers still to be served, Pasteur joined Lemerre, Petit and Cloutier at their table. His participation in the weekly game had already assumed the weight of tradition.
FIN