Murder in the Latin Quarter (34 page)

T
he view
from the east wing was breathtaking, there was no doubt about that, Anastasia thought with satisfaction but little pleasure.

She sat at her dressing table, a strand of twinkling diamonds in her lap and her hair pinned up in the old way. The maid, Violet, stood behind her, and sprayed the coif, gently patting it with her hands as if afraid it might explode.

Anastasia had told Madeline to get experienced hairdressing staff but this was clearly the best she could manage.

“You are not supposed to use hair spray,” Anastasia said to the girl, their eyes locking in the mirror. “They didn't have hair spray in the twenties.”

The maid's eyes went from the can of spray in her hand and back to Anastasia's reflection. She looked absolutely terrified. “Mum?” she said in a stutter.

“And you are to call me
Lady Bentley
. Has Mrs. Mears not trained you?”

“Yes, Mum, I mean, Lady Bentley. I'm sorry, miladyship.”

Anastasia waved her away and the girl literally fled the room, leaving the afternoon tea tray behind her.

Unbelievable!

Anastasia stood up and went to the fireplace to yank on the cord that would alert the downstairs staff that she needed someone.

Her dress was a patterned dark silk that flowed to the floor. It was sequined at the seams so that she literally glittered when she walked. Roger hadn't seen the sense of the cost but she'd soon convinced him.

How was it possible to stay at the Abbey without proper dinner clothes?

As she returned to her dressing table, patting her hair in begrudging satisfaction at the result, her cellphone began to vibrate on the bedside table. In the early days she'd insisted nobody bring their mobiles with them when they came to stay at the Abbey but they all ignored her anyway. Truth be told, a little modern convenience sprinkled here and there tended to make the weekend experience even more intense.

She saw the number on the screen and flushed with annoyance and a glint of fear.

Idiot! What is he doing calling me?

She picked up the phone and glanced at the door to the hall. Roger was downstairs having cocktails but someone would come soon to come take her tea tray away.

“I thought you understood not to call me,” she hissed into the phone.

He hesitated on the other line and then spoke. The deep resonance of his voice seemed to vibrate through the phone line and down into her very diaphragm.

“I didn't want to take the chance of missing it,” he said.

“
Tonight
,” she said, walking to the door to hear if someone were coming yet. “You know it's tonight.”

“I wasn't sure you still wanted to go through with it.”

“Stop talking! Nothing's changed! Tonight!”

Anastasia disconnected and dropped the phone on the bed just as Madeline Mears, the manager of the Abbey, knocked on her door and entered. Madeline was plump and rosy cheeked. While she quite fit the part for a downstairs housekeeper it annoyed Anastasia that she had to spend so much time upstairs. There was absolutely no elegance or style at all about the woman.

Anastasia walked to her mirror, her face flushed with agitation.

“Yes, Anastasia?” Madeline said. “You rang?”

“Do you think you could stay in character for five minutes?” Anastasia said coldly, forcing herself not to glance at the phone on the bed.

“There's no one here but the two of us.”

“What does that matter? Take the tray away, Mrs. Mears, and please have a word with the girl…”

“Violet?”

“She has no idea of how to address me. I thought you said you trained the staff.”

Madeline picked up the tray and sighed.

“It's not like the old days,” she said. “They don't live here full time so when they go back to their lives outside the Abbey, they forget.”

“I require you to do what's necessary to remind them such that I don't have to instruct them myself,” Anastasia said. “Our guests do not come here to experience life as one of the privileged elite only to have to explain to the ones serving them how it's done!”

“I quite agree, Milady,” Madeline said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. “Will that be all? Or would you like me to charge up your smartphone before I go?”

Anastasia blushed furiously. “Just go,” she said.

Madeline left the room and Anastasia went to the bed and snatched up the phone. She scrolled through the recent calls and deleted the call she'd just received before sagging onto the bed.

Tonight was taken care of. There was that. But somehow she didn't feel better.

Not at all.

Four

Maggie was relieved to see Madame Ali seemed to have graciously opted not to appear at tonight's guild meeting. She and Danielle had arrived early so that Maggie could go over some of the photographs of various products that would appear in her upcoming blog post.

The wine harvest was weeks past but she'd taken several pictures that were full of color and action. Maggie intended to use most of them in the promotional pieces she was creating for the upcoming wine tour but there were also a few she could use for the village fete due in late autumn. It was basically an outdoor market where everyone brought their butters, their lavender, their hand-made crafts and their home-made brews and oils and soaps.

The meeting was crowded tonight and Maggie wasn't surprised. Everyone was vying for a top position in the blog leading up to the fete and if Maggie's blog comments section could be relied upon there would be literally hundreds more visitors this year—from Paris and the UK.

Madame Dulcie of the
charcuterie
waved to Maggie as she and Danielle walked in the door.

“Madame Dernier! Maggie!” Madame Dulcie called. “Come! Come!”

Maggie left Danielle and walked into Madame's quick embrace.

“
Bonjour
, Madame Dulcie,” Maggie said. “We've got quite a turnout tonight.”

“Monsieur Dernier is not coming?” Madame Dulcie affected a sad expression but Maggie knew she didn't really mind. While the whole village loved Laurent, these meetings had become more about Maggie and how she would represent what they had to sell to the outside world.

“At home taking care of the babies,” Maggie said. “Like a good husband.”

“
Bien sûr
!” Madam said with a grin. “Now I must show you what my nephew has created, yes? I think you will want to put it front and center in your blog, eh? Front and center!”

Maggie allowed herself to be led past the rows of folding chairs that had been set up in the only indoor public space there was in St-Buvard—the back room of the old bakery. Closed now for nearly five years, the bakery sat in the center of the village. All the equipment, except for the ovens, had been put into storage rooms around the village—or confiscated. There wasn't a time that Maggie came into the space that she didn't feel a twinge of pain for the first year she lived in St-Buvard and what the bakery had meant to her.

All gone now.

She shook off her momentary melancholy as Madame Dulcie pulled an oil canvas from a wide satchel. Maggie knew Madame Dulcie's nephew's work and it was always stellar.

Thank goodness. It was impossible to say no to certain people in the village and Madame Dulcie was one of them. If her nephew's art had been crap, Maggie still would have featured it in her blog—no question about it—but she wouldn't have done it with nearly the enthusiasm that she was able to because it was good.

The painting was a landscape that could be anywhere in Provence. The burnt oranges and muted mustard yellows offset the dusky green hills. Maggie could see the faint black sticks of the omnipresent vineyards in the far background. It was just the thing that any France-loving American tourist would be eager to buy for her “great room” back home.

“It's beautiful, Madame Dulcie!” Maggie exclaimed. “But you know you don't need to actually bring the piece to me. Have Eduardo send me a jpeg of it and the price he's asking for it.”

“I wanted you to see it, Maggie,” Madame Dulcie said, looking at the painting herself with pride.

“Maggie! Over here!”

“Well, it's gorgeous and I'm sure Eduardo will sell it quickly and it'll lead people to all his other beautiful pieces. Excuse me, won't you, Madame Dulcie? And tell Eduardo to email me. Deadline in three weeks!”

Maggie turned to see Danielle standing with two men. One was her husband Jean-Luc. Maggie's good mood began to falter as she saw the other man: the husband of Madame Ali.

Crap. It had been too good to be true, Maggie thought, trying to assess the look on Danielle's face.

She joined them and greeted Jean-Luc. He was a rough old farmer with his share of dirty dealings in the past but he was Danielle's cherished husband and a good friend to both Laurent and Maggie—not to mention a surprisingly excellent grandfather fill-in for the kids.

“Monsieur Ali was just telling us that he would like to be considered for your blog,” Danielle said. “And I was telling him I thought you mentioned that you had a full roster for the next one?”

Maggie turned to Monsieur Ali. He was middle-aged with a long draggy mustached and flint-cold grey eyes that were focused on Maggie. She knew she needed to be careful. It was a small village and if at all possible she needed to try to get along with everyone.

If at all possible.

“Yes, Monsieur Ali,” she said shaking hands with him. “I'm glad to know you. Please forgive my French, I know it's not great. But yes, as Madame Alexandre has said, I can only advertise a maximum of ten or twelve products per post and I—”

“I am not asking you to ship my berries,” the man said abruptly, surprising Maggie with the high-pitched voice which did not match his appearance, “simply to include my sales information and a picture of them.”

“Well, as I've said I only have room for—”

“I am told you are promoting your husband's wine tour next month.”

Maggie stared at him and then glanced at Jean-Luc who was frowning.

“That's right,” she said.

“You could include the mention of my berries in that promotion.”

Maggie felt a kernel of anger begin to kindle in her chest and she took a quiet, unobtrusive breath to keep calm.

“I am not mentioning anything in that promotion,” she said, “except my husband's winery.”

“I am sure it will not be a problem to include my berries. I will send you my information.”

“That won't be necessary, Monsieur Ali,” Maggie said firmly. “But again, I'm glad to have met you.” She turned and took Danielle's hand and pulled her away toward their seats.

“You handled that well,
chérie
,” Danielle whispered as they sat down.

“You wouldn't say that if you could see his face right now,” Maggie said. “He's shooting me daggers.”

“Ignore him. He said what he had to say and you answered him. That is the end of it.”

Why is it that somehow Maggie was pretty sure that wasn't the case at all?

L
aurent threw
the tennis ball to Jemmy but Petit-Four got there first. He couldn't help chuckling over Jemmy's howls of outrage as the little dog sped away with the ball.

“Never mind, Jemmy,” Laurent said, waving his son over to him. As the sun dropped in the sky pushing the vineyard in the distance into indistinct shadows, Laurent turned to pick out the au pair with Mila.

He'd been happy to hire Mimi, knew she needed the work, and he'd owed her parents a favor—not something that happened often. He'd been afraid Mimi wouldn't enjoy the work but so far she seemed to—and the children loved her.

“Inside now,” he called to her and she nodded and pulled Mila out of the baby swing Laurent had hung in the front Sycamore tree.

“Not yet!” Jemmy whined as he presented himself in front of his father. “Petit-Four took the ball!”

“We have others,” Laurent said as he picked up his son and perched him on his shoulder, prompting wild squeals of joy from the boy. He waited until Mimi and Mila had stepped into the house before he brought up the rear with Jemmy, stopping briefly to take one quick look at the scene of his home and vineyard.

He was proud of what he'd built here—and that included the three people he called his family. He knew he was looking forward to seeing Roger—it had been too long—at least a year—and he knew a part of his anticipation was the fact that he wanted to show his friend how far he'd come.

How far away he'd come from what he'd been.

And who more than the one who knew you then to really appreciate that?

He set Jemmy down inside the house, made sure the outdoor driveway light was on for Maggie's return later from the village meeting, and then went to the kitchen to start dinner.