The next morning, Freja and Finnegan leaned out of their bedroom window. Freja was puzzling over Mimosa Astérisque’s innocence and the many, many questions it left unanswered.
‘Bonjour, Freja Peachtree and Finnegan Horse-doggy!’ Pippin waved from his own window, his eyes shining. ‘Just look at us! We are like the three wheels of a tricycle. Like the three French hens in the Christmas song!’
‘Boof!’ said Finnegan.
‘And soon we will be roommates,’ cried Pippin. ‘We will wake up every morning, forever and always, with our heads on our pillows and our faces towards one another so that we can say hello and bonjour in a soft inside-voice instead of having to shout it across the front of our houses!’
Freja laughed. ‘But that’s not quite how it happens here. This morning, I woke with Finnegan on top of me, chewing the buttons off my pyjamas and licking my eyes awake . . . at one o’clock in the morning . . . then two o’clock . . . then four o’clock!’
‘I will not mind!’ cried Pippin. ‘I love the big horse-doggy. And I love you, Freja Peachtree. And I love —’
Gerard Lachance appeared around the corner, in the street below.
‘What’s he doing here?’ hissed Freja.
But Pippin did not say another word. His chubby, little hands grabbed tightly at the edge of his windowsill and he stared out into the distance, way beyond the olive grove.
Gerard Lachance waddled by, beneath Freja’s window, and stopped at Grand-Mère Perrier’s front door. He tugged at the bottom of his shiny crimson waistcoat and adjusted the green silk cravat at his throat. He smoothed his weedy moustache, then knocked loudly, continuously, until the door opened. Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside and the door closed.
Freja scrunched her nose. ‘Why is Gerard Lachance visiting Grand-Mère Perrier?’
Pippin blinked, but did not speak. He seemed suddenly fascinated by the pine-covered ridge at the far side of the valley.
A minute later, Grand-Mère Perrier’s door flew open and Gerard Lachance stepped back out into the street. The door slammed behind him. A gust of wind swept up the hill and Gerard’s greasy hair flew off his head and flapped about in the air.
Finnegan’s ears stood to attention.
Gerard scooped the strands up in his hand and smoothed them across his bald dome once more.
‘Boof!’ said Finnegan.
Freja giggled.
Gerard glared up at the bedroom window, his gaze passing from Freja, to Finnegan, then across to Pippin. His eyes lingered on Pippin, narrowing to two little slits. He tucked his thumbs down into his waistcoat pockets and rocked back and forth on his shiny black shoes.
Finnegan’s ears flattened and he growled, a thunderous rumble that came from deep within his chest.
Gerard Lachance tugged at his waistcoat once more, turned on his heel and strode away up the street.
‘Well, that’s weird,’ said Freja.
‘What is weird?’ asked Pippin, the smile returning to his face.
‘Gerard Lachance!’ cried Freja. ‘Why would he be visiting Grand-Mère Perrier?’
Pippin scratched his head. ‘I do not know what you are talking about, Freja Peachtree.’
‘Gerard Lachance,’ said Freja. ‘Just now. Down in the street. His hair was flapping about and he glared at us . . . especially you, Pippin.’
‘I did not see anyone,’ said the little king, his voice clear and true.
‘Pippin!’ cried Freja. ‘You must have seen him. He was right there beneath us.’
Pippin shrugged. It was as though Gerard Lachance had been invisible.
Freja’s skin crawled.
Nooo! she thought. It can’t be.
Then, Yeees! It must be!
She leaned further out the window and stared right into Pippin’s big brown eyes. ‘King Pippin, tell me the truth. Is Gerard Lachance the invisible man?’
Pippin stared back at her and swallowed hard. ‘How could I possibly say, Freja Peachtree? He is invisible, so I cannot see him.’
‘He?!’ shouted Freja. ‘Now you are calling the invisible man a he, not a she. Before, you said he was a she.’
Pippin pouted. ‘You started it, Freja Peachtree. You asked if he was a she, and I thought perhaps my English was being muddled between girls and boys, so I used a little bit of both. English is not my first language, you know. I am French, after all. Very, very French. I am as French as a chocolate croissant. As French as the Eiffel Tower. As French as a poodle wearing a beret while playing a game of pétanque near the Louvre! So, you see, I cannot be expected to get the he and the she and the his and the her words correct all the time.’
Freja’s shoulders drooped. Pippin was right. She had started the whole he-she-man-woman muddle. It was completely her fault for thinking that Mimosa Astérisque was the invisible man. Freja had put words into Pippin’s mouth and shovelled false ideas into her own head.
‘Pippin,’ Freja asked once more, ‘is Gerard Lachance the invisible man?’
Pippin cupped his chin in his hands and began to hum the tune of ‘Frère Jacques’.
Freja sighed. She waited until he reached the end of the tune, then slowly, cautiously, said, ‘Perhaps you didn’t see Gerard Lachance go in to Grand-Mère Perrier’s house just now.’
‘Of course I didn’t!’ shouted Pippin. ‘Gerard Lachance is invisible, so I cannot see him going anywhere or doing anything. I cannot even see his hair flapping about in the wind like it did just now, which is a great shame because it is a sight most humorous and I would like very much to giggle at it!’
Freja bit her lip to stop herself from squealing with excitement. Gerard Lachance was the invisible man!
‘So,’ she said at last, trying to sound casual, ‘what else have you not seen the invisible man doing?’
Pippin turned, wide-eyed, to Freja. ‘Lots of things!’ he cried, his voice lisping and breathy with excitement.
Freja smiled. ‘I understand!’ she said. ‘There are many things you have not seen, because the invisible man is so . . . invisible!’
‘Oui!’ shouted Pippin. ‘I did not see him spying on you and Tobias Happleby and Vivi the very first night you dined on the balcony.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ whispered Freja, recalling the shadowy figure slipping away in the night. ‘Because he is invisible.’
‘Precisely!’ cried Pippin, clapping his hands. ‘I think he is jealous, but it is hard to tell when I cannot see him.’
‘Jealous,’ whispered Freja. ‘Of Tobias . . . because Vivi loves him.’
‘Oui. It is funny, is it not, Freja Peachtree? You would think that love would be invisible, but it is not. Anyone can see that Tobias and Vivi love each other. Even a short-sighted man with one eye and dirty glasses can see how much Tobias loves Vivi and Vivi loves Tobias. Their love is like a giant strawberry gâteau sitting in the middle of your bed at night. It is not the sort of thing that would go unnoticed.’
‘What else?’ asked Freja, trying ever so hard not to sound too excited.
‘I did not see the invisible man frowning at Tobias Happleby and Vivi on the merry-go-round. And I did not see him spying on your house the morning that Vivi cooked croissants in your oven. And I did not see him rocking angrily back and forth on his shiny black shoes every time.’
Freja gasped. Gerard had been full of anger. Anger inspired by jealousy.
‘Jealousy drives people to all sorts of hideous crimes,’ whispered Freja, remembering Tobias’ words.
Pippin watched a robin flit along the top of the stone wall at the edge of the olive grove, then said, ‘I did not see the invisible man giving money to four men in overalls with sawdust on their boots and chainsaws in their trucks. And I did not see the invisible man drop a piece of paper from his pocket.’
‘Paper?’
Pippin nodded, his eyes wide.
‘But what was so special about the paper?’ asked Freja.
‘I do not know!’ cried Pippin, slapping his forehead. ‘I could not see, of course, because everything to do with the invisible man is invisible.’
Freja was just about to give up. Her head was spinning and she was starting to feel ill. But suddenly, unexpectedly, Pippin shouted, ‘But I do know that I did not see an invisible picture on the paper! A picture that looked like an oven, with the pipes and wires all showing.’
Freja gasped. Had Pippin actually seen Gerard Lachance with a technical diagram of Monsieur Diderot’s oven? The sort of diagram that would enable him to tamper with the oven so that it might explode?
Unexpectedly, Pippin began to giggle. ‘His hair!’ he squealed. ‘His hair is so very funny when it is flapping about in the wind. It is a shame I cannot see it for I think it would be a sight most humorous to behold.’
‘His hair!’ Freja gasped. And she ran from the bedroom and bolted upstairs to the armoire.