Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé (30 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Thursday, 26th August

WE ARRIVED AT
the old chocolaterie to find it outwardly derelict. Sheets of thick plastic covered the door, the windows and a part of the roof. A crudely painted wooden sign across the door said:
DANGER. KEEP OUT
.

Inside, however, was a frenzy of activity. Behind the door, we found Luc Clairmont, Jeannot Drou, Anouk, Rosette, Pilou and, most surprisingly, Alyssa; along with Vlad; a stepladder; some pots of emulsion; sponges, rollers, brushes and the cardboard box with the puppies inside. Between them, they had managed to paint most of the kitchen, the landing and what had once been the front of the shop in a cheery shade of primrose, while on one wall I could see an unfinished mural beginning to take shape; a mostly abstract tangle – with the occasional animal shape hidden inside the pattern – very like the one in the Café des Marauds. Pilou was clearly the creative force behind this, though the others were working equally hard, while also managing to transfer paint liberally on to themselves, their clothes and Vlad, who seemed to be joining in with verve, if not with efficiency.

As we entered, everyone froze, except for Vlad, who, recognizing a friend, set off a volley of barking.

Luc started to explain. ‘I said I’d do some work on the house. Just to repair the damage. Then I found all
this
—’ he indicated Pilou and the box of puppies. ‘I thought that while they were here, they might as well make themselves useful. And so I brought in a few supplies, and—’ He broke off with a sheepish grin. ‘Things kind of took over from there,’ he said.

‘I can see that,’ I told him, trying to curb Vlad’s enthusiasm.

Pilou admitted that Vlad had been more of a hindrance than a help, although he maintained that a guard dog was essential to protect the work-in-progress.

‘So. What do you think?’ said Anouk. She was standing next to Jeannot Drou. Both of them were covered in paint; yellow handprints adorned Jeannot’s T-shirt, while Anouk’s face bore a similar print right across one cheek. ‘Did we do OK, Maman?’

For a moment I could hardly speak. To see the place like this again – brightly if not expertly painted; filled with the sounds of activity; all of its shadows and whisperings driven out by their laughter—

Evil spirits, get thee hence
. I smiled at her. ‘I think you did.’

She looked relieved. ‘I knew you would. Luc came to find us. I thought it would be OK if we all came together.’

I looked at Alyssa curiously. She was wearing a straw hat to protect her hair from the wet paint, and seemed to have cast off her troubles as easily as her
hijab
.

‘It turns out no one notices me unless I wear
hijab
,’ she said. ‘I walked right past Poitou’s bakery, and no one even looked at me.’

‘We got in through the fire escape,’ said Pilou. ‘No one knows we’re here. Except for you two, and Sputnik—’

‘Sputnik?’ I said.

‘My cat,’ said Pilou.

‘Your what?’ said Joséphine.

Pilou gave his summery grin. ‘I caught him in here the other day, trying to steal the puppies’ food. Biter bit him.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘Do you want to help, Vianne? I could use some help with the mural. And Rosette keeps wanting to paint monkeys on everything, and we haven’t even started on the bedrooms—’

I said: ‘Not today. I’m looking for your friend Du’a and her mother.’

I explained to them what had happened. As I’d expected, no one had seen Inès or her daughter since yesterday. But why did she leave so suddenly, and without even telling anyone? And what about Monsieur le Curé? No one seemed to know.

We left them to their painting and went back outside into the square. Rosette had joined Maya, and both of them ran out of the shop and into the sun, where Poitou, sitting outside the church, was moodily eating a cheese baguette. He looked surprised to see us.

‘What are you doing in there?’ he said. ‘Don’t you know that’s the
burqa
woman’s place?’

‘That’s who I was looking for.’

He pulled a face. ‘Good luck with that. Isn’t she staying somewhere in Les Marauds?’

‘I think she might have gone,’ I said.

‘I haven’t seen her here in days.’ A sudden thought occurred to him. ‘Maybe she ran off with Monsieur le Curé. He was working here last week, you know. Cleaning up the mess he made.’ He laughed uproariously at this, though Joséphine and I did not. The thought that Reynaud’s departure might be linked with the disappearance of Inès Bencharki’s boat was not entirely implausible. After all, we’d found his rosary not twenty paces from where it was moored.
Could
Reynaud have taken it?

Joséphine didn’t think so. ‘I think that woman took it,’ she said. ‘Maybe she fixed the engine. Or maybe she steered it downriver, or maybe she sold it to someone else. Honestly, if she has, I don’t care. It would be worth it, to see her gone.’

‘So Karim was right. She
has
disappeared.’

I turned and saw an unwelcome sight: Caro, approaching purposefully across the little square, with her husband, Georges, looking sheepish, in tow. Père Henri was with them. He gave me a flashy, meaningless smile and patted Maya on the head.

Maya shot him a dark look. ‘My Jinni doesn’t like you,’ she said.

Père Henri looked startled.

‘My Jinni lives in a hole,’ she said. ‘He has rats. He’s given me three wishes.’

Père Henri’s smile broadened grotesquely. ‘What an original child,’ he said.

‘A pity she’s allowed to run wild,’ said Caroline, looking meaningfully at Rosette. ‘With everything that’s been going on in Les Marauds recently, I would have thought that the last thing people wanted would be for their children to be running about all over the place without proper supervision.’

Rosette made one of her noises – an impudent little popping sound. At the same time, one of Caro’s stiletto heels stuck in a crack between the cobbles. Caro tried to dislodge it, but the heel was stuck fast.

‘Rosette!’ I said.

Rosette gave me an innocent look and made the popping sound again. Caro’s heel was released so abruptly that the shoe went flying off into the square. Père Henri ran to retrieve it.

Maya and Rosette exchanged looks and giggled.

‘You spoke to Karim?’ I asked Caro. ‘He told you his sister had left Les Marauds?’

She nodded. ‘He’s a good friend of ours. A very nice man; progressive; polite; totally non-political, unlike old Mahjoubi. If only they could all be like him.’

‘I didn’t know you were so close. What about his sister?’

‘Inès. If you ask me, he’s better off without her.’

It was almost what Joséphine had said.

‘Why?’

Caro pulled a face. ‘The woman’s a liability. She’s alienated everyone. Karim’s been trying so hard to help to bring the community into the twenty-first century. Look how supportive he’s been of his sister –
not
the most stable of characters – and of that poor child of hers. He was the first one to understand why old Mahjoubi needed to be replaced; he was the one who made the gym into what it is today. Before he came, the place was just a concrete box with a few running machines in it. Now it’s a social club; a meeting-place; a place for healthy young men to go instead of drinking alcohol.’ She arched her eyebrows at Joséphine. ‘If only
our
boys had something like that.’

‘They used to play here,’ said Joséphine. ‘I remember your Luc playing football with Alyssa and Sonia.’

Caro made a scornful noise. ‘You don’t understand their culture,’ she said. ‘You can’t expect boys and girls to mix. It’s not what they’re used to, and it can lead to all kinds of trouble.’ She gave her icing-sugar smile. ‘
You
should bear that in mind,’ she said.

‘Why?’ said Joséphine softly.

‘Well,
your
boy seems very friendly with Inès Bencharki’s daughter. And having seen what happens when the children of two cultures mix—’ She broke off abruptly, looking annoyed, and I wondered if she was thinking of Luc. ‘What I mean is, we have to be
sensitive
,’ she finished, glancing sharply at Georges, who so far hadn’t spoken a word. ‘Some people just aren’t compatible with
our
kind of community.’

‘People like Inès?’ I said. ‘Or maybe Alyssa Mahjoubi?’

Caro stiffened visibly. ‘Obviously, you know more about it than I do,’ she said. Then, turning to Père Henri: ‘Come on,
mon père
. We have work to do.’

At which she and her entourage proceeded past us into the church, where, in Reynaud’s absence, even now the ancient pews are being removed to make way for practical plastic chairs, and video screens are soon to arrive to herald the entry of Saint-Jérôme into the twenty-first century.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thursday, 26th August

JOSÉPHINE WAS FURIOUS
. ‘How could they do that to Reynaud? They know how much he loves this place. They’d never dare if he was
here
—’

That was certainly true, I thought. Like old Mahjoubi, Francis Reynaud is not a friend of the new ways. Not for the first time, I wondered how two men with so much in common should have become such enemies.

‘Come home with me,’ I said to her. ‘We’ll make some chocolate and talk. There’s nothing we can do here, anyway.’

And so we went back to Armande’s house, and I made hot chocolate with cardamom, and put in a batch of peach pastries, ready in twenty minutes, using the freshly made peach jam and a splash of whipped cream with Armagnac. Rosette and Maya helped, rather messily, in the kitchen, Rosette singing her wordless song, Maya joining in solemnly with improvised lyrics of her own while tapping the table with a wooden spoon.

‘Home-made jam—’

‘
Bam badda-bam
—’

‘Vianne’s peach jam for Ramadan!’

Joséphine couldn’t help laughing. ‘And here I was thinking boys were the most fun.’

‘We should take some of these to my
jiddo
tonight,’ said Maya, when the pastries were done. ‘He can eat some for
iftar
. My Jinni has put magic inside to make him feel all better.’

‘I hope so,’ I said.

Not
magic
, precisely; but we all have our secrets. A whisper; a sign; a pinch of spice. The turn of a friendly card. A song.

Maya smiled. ‘It’ll work,’ she said. ‘It’s one of my three wishes.’

Well, Maya. Perhaps it will. Stranger things have happened. I already know from my visit to him that old Mahjoubi’s affliction has nothing to do with disease. Its cause is
waswaas
: those whispers that creep into the mind and bring troubled dreams, depression, despair. The quarrel with his son. The fact that he is no longer regarded as a suitable leader. Alyssa’s departure, in such mysterious circumstances – all these must have contributed to the old man’s sudden decline.

‘We’ll bring some when I take you home. Alyssa wants to see him too. I’m sure that, between you, you’ll make him well.’

‘Foxy will do it,’ said Maya.

At five o’clock, Anouk came back with Pilou, Luc, Jeannot and Alyssa; all in excellent spirits and splashed with paint from head to foot. I sent them to wash and change their clothes, and put in another batch of peach pastries, while Vlad lay in front of the kitchen stove, smelling strongly of fresh paint, and dreamt, and twitched his busy paws. Then I made some more chocolate, with extra sugar, marshmallows and cream, and we sat around Armande’s scarred old kitchen table, eating and drinking and laughing, as if we’d lived there all our lives instead of not even a fortnight.

‘The shop looks fabulous,’ said Anouk. ‘Nearly as good as it was before. Now all it needs is a new sign—’

I looked at her. She glanced at Jeannot. ‘That is, if anyone wanted to make it a
chocolaterie
again. It wouldn’t be so difficult. All you’d need would be to put in a counter, and some glass display cabinets, and maybe a couple of tables and chairs—’

Rosette signed:
I like it. I drew monkeys on the wall
.

‘It was just a thought,’ said Anouk. ‘But I don’t think it’s a school any more.’

Oh, Anouk. Oh, Rosette. Things are never as simple as that. We were never meant to stay: never meant to settle here. We’ve lived in Paris longer than anywhere else I’ve ever been. To give that up, to admit defeat, is totally unthinkable.

And then, there’s Roux. What would he say? He has tried so hard to build us a life, to find some kind of common ground between his gypsy lifestyle and our own. To leave it now – and for Lansquenet – would be the worst kind of rejection. Would he survive it? Could he adapt? Can a river-rat ever change? Would I even want him to try?

A knock at the door put an end to my thoughts. Joséphine went to answer it. Perhaps she thought it might be Reynaud—

It was Karim Bencharki.

He pushed his way past Joséphine as if she were a curtain, and I was suddenly reminded of Paul-Marie, eight years ago, drunk and enraged, trying to force open the
chocolaterie
door. His colours crazed; his face was flushed; he was still as handsome as ever, but shining now with a new light, a dangerous light, like wildfire.

Alyssa saw him and froze at once. For a moment the strategy almost worked. In that cramped room, her hair cut short, she looked so unlike her usual self that he might even have missed her. The golden eyes moved fitfully over a half-dozen upturned faces. Then they widened a little as they settled on Alyssa.

‘So it’s true. You
are
here.’ Then he turned to me and said, ‘I’m very sorry, Madame Rocher. I didn’t mean to barge in like this. I don’t know what she’s been telling you, but Alyssa’s been missing for several days. Her family has been—’

‘Who told you she was here?’ I said.

‘It doesn’t matter. They were right.’ Once more, he addressed Alyssa: ‘What were you thinking, running away? Don’t you know your mother and father are frantic?’

Alyssa answered in Arabic.

He broke in: ‘Never mind. Come home.’

Alyssa said nothing, but shook her head.

‘Come on, Alyssa. Get properly dressed. Your mother’s going crazy—’

‘I don’t care. I’m not going back. And it’s not up to you to order me to.’

A rattle of furious Arabic, through which his hectic colours flared. He took a step towards her. Alyssa shrank back, protesting, while Karim’s voice rose angrily.

‘Stop that! Leave her alone!’ It was Luc. ‘She’s staying with Vianne. She’s perfectly safe. Whenever she wants to come h-home—’ Again, I could hear the ghost of his childhood stammer begin to resurface in his voice, but his gaze was steady enough, and he sounded surprisingly adult. ‘When she’s ready to go back, she will. But it’s up to her to make her choice.’

For a moment Karim held his gaze. Clearly he didn’t remember Luc, who has spent most of the past two years away at university. Then he took another step. Vlad began to growl softly. Karim gave the dog a wary look.

‘Keep your dog under control.’

Alyssa said something in Arabic.

Karim glared at her and took a step back. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Do you
want
to make an exhibition of yourself?’ He glanced contemptuously at Luc. ‘Is
he
the reason you ran away? What lies have you told these people?’

Luc said: ‘I think you should l-leave.’

Karim took a closer look at Luc. Then he said: ‘I know your mother. Madame Clairmont, isn’t it? She has been very supportive of us. I wonder what she’d think if she knew about your interference.’

For a moment Luc was taken aback. Then he spoke up again, this time without the trace of a stammer: ‘This has nothing to do with her. This is
my
house. Alyssa’s my guest. And Pilou’s dog gets nervous around people who try to threaten my guests.’

I saw surprise in Karim’s eyes. In fact, little Luc had surprised us all. The passive, sullen little boy with the stammer has finally escaped his mother’s dominant influence.

Alyssa was watching attentively, her face alight with the look of someone who has just worked out the answer to a previously unsolvable question. There were still traces of yellow paint in her hair and on her face. She looked incredibly young and almost heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Karim made a gesture of protest. Now he looked more hurt than angry, as if this were the first time that anyone had resisted his charm. He looked at Joséphine in appeal.

‘Madame Muscat—’

She shook her head. ‘I knew a man like you once,’ she said. ‘But Vianne showed me a long time ago that I didn’t have to run away to take control of my own life. Alyssa knows that now, too. She has friends who care for her. She doesn’t need you, or any man, to tell her what to do any more.’

Karim looked around for support, and found none.

‘I’ll give your regards to my mother,’ said Luc.

Karim turned and made for the door, with a final, dangerous glance that took in Anouk, Rosette and myself. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘This is a war. Don’t get caught in the crossfire.’