Five days, three enormous tarps, and two very brief rainstorms later, I carried a 64-emblazed beach bag into the notary’s office in Bayonne. Sixty-four was the postal code for the region and a brilliant clothing company had snatched the magic number and plastered it on every possible item that could be sold in a store. Of course, the beach bag had not been made to carry business and financial files in it, but then again there were few items in the du Roque villa these days that did not serve one, two, three, or rather thirty-eight different uses.
Magdali, Lily, Claire, and Youssef were so exhausted from the extra work of the Aussie boarders and Jojo’s temporary mairie that I’d finally broken down and asked Magdali to hire a maid for three hours a day.
And thank God for Russ Nation, who’d managed not to fall through the ancient, delicate tile roof while temporarily patching it with huge tarps. A promise to actually go see The Endless Summer had been his only request in return. That was tonight. I was praying for an epic, tubular, raspy hurricane instead.
The banker, M. Landuran, stood as I entered, as well as Jean-Michel and the Basque notaire, M. Zarantxu, and a lawyer, Mme Dulonge, whom I’d hired sight unseen to review all the documents prepared by the notaire.
It was going to be uncomfortable. My uncle did not disappoint.
“Kate, chérie, you have brought le chèque?”
“Of course. M. Landuran, you have it? Certified?”
“But of course.”
“Jean-Michel, have you read the documents essentially removing you from any future rights to the Villa Madeleine Marie after your father dies?”
The notaire spouted a haze of French legal words that made little sense to me. I looked toward my lawyer, whose CV had had more law degrees and meritorious mentions than any other lawyer I knew. She nodded her assent and I followed suit.
Jean-Michel extracted a silver Cartier Panthère fountain pen and carefully uncapped it. “You know, Kate, this is a very sad day. You have effectively broken over three hundred years of tradition with this. You should be ashamed.”
I loathed conflict. It was my Achilles heel. Oh, I could do it, and hide it, and always would, but still. I was clearly not a du Roque. “I would appreciate it if you would sign the document as agreed, Jean-Michel.” I stared him down, waiting for his painstaking signature to be drawn. His scrawl of old French names was costing me a half million euros. The exchange rate had only made it worse. I was down to zilch and had no backup plan. It was the most financially disastrous thing I’d ever done. I’d have to work the rest of my life since my pathetic retirement account was wiped out.
M. Landuran unearthed a check from his beautiful black leather briefcase and passed it to me. I studied it, and then handed it to Jean-Michel. His effort not to smile was impressive. The notary informed all that copies of the document would be legally filed and we would be sent our own copies.
I looked around the long table, and again felt like a foreigner in a foreign land. Would I ever feel like I belonged in this country?
“I hear the villa sustained heavy damage in the storm,” Jean-Michel said. “It’s really too bad my father stopped the insurance.”
The hairs on the underside of my arms prickled. He couldn’t be right. It was just another pathetic attempt to infuriate me. I refused to rise to the bait. “Well, then you should be glad that I was willing to honor our agreement. Then again, one should always be kind to the black sheep and petty criminals on one’s family tree. Oh, sorry. Your branch has been lopped off.”
His mouth opened but I cut him off.
“Good-bye, Jean-Michel. Or should I say adieu? Don’t ever come to Madeleine Marie again or I’ll set the dog on you.” Yeah, and he’d be licked to death. I turned without waiting for his retort. “Merci, everyone.” I walked out the door without another word. Exiting the elevator, I was met by M. Landuran who had hastened down the stairs to meet me.
“Bravo, madame,” he said with a sly smile. “You reminded me of your lovely mother. How is she? Will she be joining you at some point?”
“I think not. She’s in São Paulo or somewhere equally exotic at a guess.”
He opened the door for me in the beautiful formal fashion in which all French gentlemen excelled and we walked toward the underground parking.
“Mme ’amilton—”
“You may call me Kate.”
He pushed forward his lower lip and shrugged his shoulders. “I am so sorry. I cannot. Mme ’amilton, I am sorry to mention again that I am quite worried about your finances. You realize there is only seven hundred sixty-three euros in your account. And what about this business regarding insurance. Your uncle was incorrect, non? You will not default on the loan?”
“You forgot the twenty-three centimes. And I wouldn’t worry about my uncle’s words. Sadly, he cannot be trusted.”
“Madame,” he reproached. “How will you go on?” I stopped at the parking pay station. He extracted a two-euro coin from his pocket and handed it to me. “Allow me, madame.”
I accepted it and paid the parking fee. “Don’t you worry,
M. Landuran. As long as the villa doesn’t fall down the cliff, everything will be fine.”
Liar, liar pants on fire. I couldn’t drive fast enough back to the villa to track down Jean, happily ensconced in front of the television, listening to the loud whispers adopted by gold announcers worldwide.
“Insurance?” he said.
“Yes, it’s up to date, correct? You paid it each year?”
“Of course. Jean-Michel paid it the last few years. He said he would take his own personal check to the agence, using the proceeds from the sale of items each year. He might be an embarrassment to me now, but never forget that he would have been a fool to stop paying the insurance as he expected to inherit and wouldn’t take such a risk.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to call again. Or ask M. le Maire to call for me. They still haven’t returned my call and it’s been three weeks. This is ridiculous. If we were in America, there would have been estimators out within three days.”
My grandfather’s face had become ashen, and the veins in his hands more prominent. He’d been looking so much more vivacious lately. I’d chalked it up to Lily being there.
I touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry so. You’re right. He just said that out of spite. I’ll get it straightened out.”
“Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Tell Mlle Lefebvre. And Jojo. They will help you.”
“I don’t need help. Really. It’s not that complicated.”
“I know you can do it. But sometimes, yes oftentimes, it is more comforting to have someone with you, even if it just feels like they’re supporting you silently.”
“And sometimes, it’s easier to just do it yourself.”
“You only say that because you’ve never had anyone support you in your life. Perhaps you should practice.”
COULD THIS DAY get any worse?
Yes, of course it could.
I’ve found that bad things do not come in threes. They come in thirties. Not that I’m a pessimist, you understand. Introverts are not pessimists necessarily. I’m just rosy picture challenged. At least I wasn’t alone in this state. The oh-so-not-cheery Edward Soames as of late was the prince of moods.
His room was semi-dark, the shades half drawn. The light of a forty-watt bulb burned by his bed after he informed I could enter.
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“The obvious.”
“Fine. I’ll just say the second most obvious thing then. I think it’s time for you to join us for lunch and dinner. Youssef said he could carry you down the stairs.”
His blue-gray eyes were etched with too many hours of interrupted sleep, and his three-day growth of beard was darker than his slightly balding head. His one leg was elevated; the steel ring with pins ominous. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m far better here and I’ll herniate the man’s back. If you haven’t noticed, I weigh a stone more than him.”
“Well then, we’ll move you to a room on the ground floor.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be gone within two weeks at most. And the maire’s voice would send me over the edge.”
“All right. Then I’m going to coordinate a round robin of people eating up here with you.”
“Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Stop. Just stop. And stop telling the children to come in here to comfort me.”
“I haven’t told them that.”
Silence prevailed.
“Okay. I told them once. Only once.” I dragged a faded upholstered chair next to his bed. “So, look, I might have a bit of a problem and you’re an engineer.”
“Don’t start trying to make me feel useful.”
“Shut up,” I said harshly. “Just shut up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I don’t feel sorry for myself, Kate. I feel sorry for anyone trying to help me. I don’t want to be helped. How many fucking miles did we walk and you still don’t get it.”
What was this? Why was fate always tossing my mirror image via a recalcitrant British Army dude? “Got it. Get it. I’m not trying to get you to feel useful. You might not have the answers but I have to start somewhere. So here it is: I don’t know if my idiotic uncle paid the house insurance and I’m still waiting for a call back. I bought him out this morning. So, if I have to buy a new roof, how much will it cost, do you think? I need estimates for materials and labor.”
“Pass me my mobile.”
I did as he asked, left briefly to get a notebook and pen, and then opened the shades to let in the light. He gave me a dark look but said not a word as he was already talking to someone on his phone.
I turned the oblong window lock and pulled open the two long windows, which groaned from disuse. A gush of warm air poured around and behind me into the stale room.
And I could see her.
The lady lying on the peaks of the Pyrenees. Les Trois Couronnes. The Three Crowns. Wisps of clouds draped above her as she slept. She was just so beautiful and peaceful-looking. I wondered if I’d ever truly find long lasting peace. I could talk the game of fulfillment to clients, but it was harder to hold on to than anything else in life.
Below me, Mlle Lefebvre had trespassed the front entrance and was looking under our hydrangea, still calling for her cat.
“Minnou, minnou, minnou!”
“Have you searched behind the villa?”
She looked up at me and shaded her eyes with one hand. “Of course. I ’ave walked all five hectares. Three times. Nothing. But sometimes I ’ear her. And something is eating all the cat food I leave out each night.”
I heard the crunch of footsteps on pea gravel before Russ Nation, wearing a half-peeled Billabong wetsuit and carrying a surfboard under his arm, came ’round the side of the villa. “I thought I heard you. Hey, we finished checking the tarps. They are completely secure, so no need to worry yourself on that score.”
“Thanks, Russ.”
“The guys and I are heading out to surf, but I’ll be back to collect you for tonight, Kate.”
“Great,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
“And, madame, I think I know where your cat is. I sometimes hear a cat mewling and a dog barking when I take the shortcut down the cliff. I’ll take another look-see right now.”
“Hein? Qu’est-ce qu’un ‘look-see’?”
“He’s going to try and find her for you,” I called down.
Russ looked up at me, gave two thumbs up, and winked. “See you later, Katie.”
It was getting harder and harder not to like Russ Nation. If he could just be less jovial, a decade older, and . . . oh, who was I kidding? He was just the nicest, easiest-going guy I’d met in forever and a day. But I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t. I sighed.
“Didn’t you once tell me to fake it until I make it?”
I swung around to see Edward studying me.
“Really? This the voice of experience in faking telling me what to do?”
“Yep.”
“It’s a total waste of time,” I said quietly.
“Maybe not,” he replied. “Or maybe it is. You won’t know until you try.”
“He’s more than a decade younger than me.”
“How old was your husband?”
“A decade older.”
“So age doesn’t seem to matter. Wankers come in all shapes and ages.”
I walked over to him.
“Kate, you’re still young, attractive, plenty of life left in you.”
“Oh my God. Did you just say something nice to me? You’re not dying are you?”
“Are you going to just work like a fiend here all day? Go out there and live a little. If I can’t, you should. Come back and tell me all about it. On second thought, I don’t want to hear. Oh, and . . .”
“Yes?”
“Carry condoms.”
“I would hit you if you weren’t so pathetic lying there.”
“Finally a chastisement. No one dares anymore. I think that’s the worst part of this.”
I sat in the chair and looked toward his notes.
“Okay, then. My buddy James is going to get back to me. He’ll do a little research for us. Until then, sit tight.”
“But, what should I—”
There was a knock on the door.
We both said, “Come in.”
Laden with fresh sheets and towels, Magdali entered with Youssef on her heels.
“Sir, are you ready for us?” Youssef’s blindingly white smile overspread his dark face.
“I am.”
Magdali was already in the bathroom collecting towels and Youssef joined her.
“By the way,” I said quietly.
“Now what?”
“I’ve noticed you’re not drinking. Magdali confirmed it.” “You just haven’t discovered my stash.”
“In case no one else knows, I just wanted to say I’m impressed you’re sticking to your word. If anyone had cause not to, it’s you.”
“Have I ever not kept my word with you, Kate?”
I shook my head and only the sounds of Magdali and Youssef in the bathroom could be heard.
“Your wife still cares about you, Edward. No, don’t ask. I just know. And I think, in the end, she’s willing to work to save your marriage. Have you decided if you’re going to move back into your house in England when you return?”
“I am.”
“Good. I think—”
“Leave it. I said I’d go. I am not sure I’ll stay. We shall see.”
I was about to speak when he stopped me.
“For a therapist, you don’t know how to quit when you’re ahead.” He reached forward and tugged a strand of my hair before breaking into the first genuine smile I’d seen since the disaster.
THE OUTING—NO, I refused to think of it as a date—with Russ was everything I knew it would be. He was funny, and had a master’s degree in business from the London School of Economics, and more importantly, a PhD in emotional intelligence.
And halfway through the quintessential surfer movie, he put his arm around the back of my seat as if he was working on a doctorate of romantic moves. For the rest of the movie I tried to remember the last time someone other than my ex had kissed me. Had it really been almost twenty years ago? Did people even kiss the same way? He had better not try in the movie theater. And he’d better not try to French kiss me at all. I shifted in my seat. This was just insane. I was not going to kiss an Aussie surfer in his thirties.
Oh, but I did.
Here’s how it went:
We were walking down the main avenue in Saint-Jean-de-Luz after the movie, and hundreds of people were all around us, celebrating some sort of weekend festival. Everyone was wearing white with red sashes and red berets and espadrilles. Confetti and the salty tang of the port filled the air. And suddenly, Russ tugged me into the shadowed, protected entrance to St. Jean-Baptiste Church to avoid collision with a rowdy group. His eyes were twinkling just like in some cheesy romantic comedy, and he said, “You’re not going to slap me if I kiss you, are you?”
I guess I must have laughed, which he took as permission. The next thing I knew, his lips were caressing mine with a softness I hadn’t been prepared for.
And then it was over. I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone had seen us. I’d been divorced for a long while but it still felt like I was doing something wrong.
“Come on. Let’s ride back to Biarritz and get a drink at Le Royalty. You look like you could use one.” He laughed.
Thank God he didn’t seem to take anything personally.
“By the way, I found your neighbor’s cat. And also someone’s dog. But it’s going to take a seriously large jack hammer to get them out.”
“Where are they?”
“In some sort of fortified concrete bunker on the cliff face right in front of the villa. It’s got an extremely narrow horizontal opening covered with heavy vines. God knows how they squeezed themselves through that opening. No one would guess it was there.”
“It must be one of the old Nazi bunkers built during World War II. We just need to figure out how they got in to get them out.”
He scratched his head. “Yeah, well I searched as much of the cliff face as I could. Any side entrance is gone. And I searched the villa’s courtyard. Nothing. Except an air hole the size of a large fist. I told the lady and threw in a lot of dog and cat chow for them. I promised her I’d get them out tomorrow.”
I looked at his ridiculously handsome face shadowed by a streetlamp and pulled him down to kiss me again. Nothing. I felt nothing. But at least I was back in the game again. Maybe with practice, something would come back.
The problem was I wasn’t sure I could remember what something felt like. Maybe I never had.