The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (40 page)

Joséphine felt cheerful and relaxed. She glanced at the menu, and decided to just get whatever Luca was having. After careful study, he ordered the wine.
This is the first time I’ve seen him look so at ease
, she thought.
Maybe he’s happy to be with me after all.

Luca asked about her daughters. Had she always wanted children?

“Actually, I didn’t used to think about my life very much. I just lived day to day.”

“And you had a rude awakening?”

“Yes, pretty rude.”

“Remember that time we went to the movies? You started to say you were writing a book, and then you caught yourself. I always wondered if you misspoke, or what.”

“Did I say that? I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you did. And I think you should be writing. You have a very lively way of talking about history. I remember how much I enjoyed listening to you that afternoon.”

“What about you? Why don’t you write a book?”

“Because to write, you have to have a point of view. Have an opinion. Know who you are. And that, I don’t know yet.”

“But you give just the opposite impression.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, appearances can be deceiving,” he said, playing with his wineglass. “You know, you and
I have something in common: we’re both loners. I watch you at the library; you never speak to anyone. So I’m very flattered that you’ve taken an interest in me.”

Joséphine blushed. “Now you’re making fun of me!”

“No, I’m serious. You settle down to work, never raise your eyes from your materials, and then you leave, as quiet as a mouse. Except when you drop your books all over the place!”

Joséphine laughed.

“Luca, can I ask you a personal question?” Joséphine chalked up her boldness to the wine and the fresh sea air. She felt good. She had the feeling—unusual for her—of being in harmony with her surroundings. Happiness felt within reach, and she didn’t want to let it get away.

“Have you ever been married? Ever wanted to have kids?”

“I’d rather not answer that, Joséphine.”

Once again, she felt she had blundered. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me. I’m the one who started asking personal questions.”

But we’ll never get to know each other if we only talk about generalities and the Middle Ages
, Jo protested silently.

That summer, she’d been flipping through a magazine when she spotted Luca in an advertisement for men’s cologne. He had his arms around a tall brunette, her head thrown back in laughter and her slim, muscular midriff bare. In the photograph, his eyes glowed with an intensity Jo had never seen before, a look of grave desire. She wondered if maybe she should let her hair grow long, like the brunette’s.

“I saw you in an ad this summer,” she ventured, trying to change the subject. “For a cologne, I think.”

“Let’s not talk about that, if you don’t mind.”

Luca’s gaze had become impenetrable. The friendly, engaging man who had been chatting with her moments before had gone, and left a stranger in his place.

“It’s getting chilly,” he said. “Do you feel like going back?”

In the taxi to the hotel, Joséphine studied him, then spoke. “I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you those questions. We were having such a good time, and I let my guard down, and—”

Luca gave her a tender look, pulled her close, and slipped his arm around her waist.

“You’re wonderful, Joséphine. You have no idea how much you mean to me. Don’t change, please, whatever you do.”

She put her head on his shoulder and relaxed, breathing in the smell of his cologne.
What was in it?
she wondered.
Verbena, lemon, sandalwood, maybe orange blossom . . . Was it the cologne from the advertisement?
She stopped thinking when he kissed her. A long, tender kiss that ended only because the taxi had stopped in front of the hotel.

In silence, they took their keys and went up to the third floor. When he made a move to enter her room, she let him. She let him put his hands on her shoulders and start kissing her again.

She let him slip his hands under her sweater, and caress her.

She let him. . . .

But just as she was about to surrender, the image of the brunette in the ad came to her mind. Jo could see the woman’s slender waist, her toned, tanned stomach, her slim arms thrown back. Joséphine tensed, imagining herself standing naked against Luca. A mother of two with thin, flat hair, little pimples on her back, a thick waist, and plain white cotton underpants.

She pushed him away, murmuring, “No, no . . .”

Startled, Luca straightened, then collected himself.

“I’ll stop bothering you,” he said lightly. “Let’s forget all about it. Shall we meet for breakfast tomorrow?”

Jo nodded, her eyes full of tears, and watched as he left the room.

“Pathetic, Shirley! I was pathetic! There he was, holding me and kissing me, and it felt great, and all I could think of was my love handles and my stupid white cotton panties. When he left, I cried my eyes out. This is the man of my dreams, and I pushed him away! I think I’m crazy. That’s it. Nothing’s ever going to happen to me again. My life is over.”

Shirley was rolling pastry dough for an apple tart on the tabletop.

“Your life isn’t over,” she said firmly. “It’s only just beginning. Problem is, you don’t realize that yet. You just wrote a best seller—”

“Yes, but—”

“And you didn’t know you could write. So cheer up! Your sister did you a favor. Plus, you’re going to earn tons of money.”

“Seems that way.”

“So forget about the bloody book. Let it go. Write for yourself now, not for Iris. You want a man, and you push him away. You want to write, and you hesitate. For God’s sake, Jo, you drive me mad with your doubts. And above all, stop thinking that you’re ugly and fat. You’re not.”

“So why do I see myself that way?”

“Audrey Hepburn thought she was ugly. We all think we’re ugly.”

“You don’t.”

“I started out with more love in my life than you did. I had a mother who adored me, even though she had to hide it. And so did my father.”

“What was your mother like?”

Shirley was poking holes into the rolled dough with a fork. She hesitated for a moment before answering.

“She didn’t say much, but all I had to do was walk into the room for her face to light up and her worries to fall away. She didn’t hug or kiss me, but she would look at me with so much love, I could feel it with my eyes closed. She raised me without a kiss or a touch, but she gave me a foundation so solid that I don’t have any of the doubts you do.”

“What about your father?” asked Joséphine. Surprised to have Shirley speaking about her childhood, she was determined to make the most of it.

“Same thing. He was as silent and reserved as my mother. He never kissed or hugged me in public. He couldn’t. But he was always there for me. They both were, and it wasn’t easy for them,
I can tell you. You didn’t have that luck. You grew up on your own, without much support. You’re still stumbling around today, but you’ll get there in the end!”

“Think so? After what happened last night with Luca, I don’t have much hope.”

“These things happen. But it’s not over. And if it doesn’t happen with him, it’ll be with someone else.”

Shirley put the apple tart in the oven and set the timer.

“Let’s open a good bottle of wine to celebrate your new life.”

They were toasting Joséphine’s newfound boldness when Gary entered the kitchen, followed by Hortense. He had a motorcycle helmet under his arm.

“Have you finished your tarts, Mummy?” he asked, giving his mother a kiss. “I can deliver them for you, if you like. I borrowed a friend’s scooter.”

“Gary, I don’t want you riding scooters. They’re too dangerous!” Shirley slapped the tabletop. “I’ve told you a hundred times!”

“I’ll be along, and I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hortense said.

“Right! With you behind him he’ll drive with his head screwed on backward. No thanks! I’ll handle the pies on my own, or Joséphine will go with me. Okay, Jo?”

Joséphine nodded. The teenagers looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

“Is there any tart left over?” Gary asked. “I’m starving!”

“Enunciate when you speak, honey, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. You can have that little piece there; it’s overcooked. Do you want some too, Hortense?”

She wet the tip of her finger and picked up some crumbs.

“Pie makes you fat,” she said.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Joséphine said, smiling.

“Mom, to stay thin you have to watch what you eat all the time. Come on, Gary, let’s go try the scooter. Shirley, I promise we won’t do anything stupid.”

“Where are you going?”

“Iris suggested that we come see her at Studio Pin-up. She’s doing a photo shoot for
Elle
in about half an hour. Gary can take me there, and we’ll hang out for a while.”

“I don’t like this one bit,” Shirley grumbled. “You be careful, okay, Gary? Promise? And wear your helmet! And be back for dinner, the two of you!”

Gary kissed his mother on the forehead, Hortense waved at Joséphine, and the two teens bolted for the door.

“I really don’t like Gary riding scooters. And also I don’t like that Hortense is buzzing around him. This summer in Scotland he forgot all about her. I’d hate to see his obsession for her starting again.”

Wearing a heavy tweed coat and a yellow scarf, Marcel was sitting on a bench in the courtyard. He gloomily gazed at the knotty wisteria vines as water droplets beaded on them. Josiane had been gone for two weeks, and it was tearing him to pierces.

Ginette noticed him from the warehouse window. She parked her forklift, wiped her hands on her overalls, and came outside. She gave Marcel a friendly thump on the back and sat down beside him.

“Not doing so great, huh?”

“No. I’m a total wreck.”

“You shouldn’t have let her go. You pushed her over the edge, Marcel! I understand her. She couldn’t stand waiting anymore, poor kid. And you’re the only one who can set this right. You’ve been talking about it since God knows when, but you don’t do diddly-squat! Just file for divorce, and everything’ll work out.”

“I can’t ask for a divorce right now, Ginette. I’m onto something really big.” He paused. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to promise not to say a word about it, okay? Not even to René.”

“I promise. You know me, talkative as a tomb.”

“I’m just about to buy the biggest home furnishings manufacturer in Asia. It’s a huge deal, huge! To pull it off, I’ve had to mortgage everything I own. I’m so exposed I can’t afford a separation from Henriette. She would immediately claim half my assets! You think I just spent a whole month in China for the fun of it?”

“Why didn’t you tell Josiane this?”

Marcel frowned and hunkered down in his coat.

“Ever since that thing with Chaval, I don’t trust her the way I used to. It’s not that I don’t love her as much, I’m just more careful. So I’d rather she think I’m being a coward.”

“Well, she sees you shitting bricks whenever you’re around Henriette. She figures you’d never dare leave her.”

“Once everything’s signed, sealed, and delivered, I’ll be able to do as I please. I made sure to structure the deal so Henriette won’t have anything to do with the new organization; no share of the profits, no say in the management. But I’ll give her
a nice allowance, and I’ll let her have the apartment. She’ll lack for nothing, believe me. I won’t be an asshole about it.”

“I know, Marcel. You’re a good guy.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t have Josiane, what’s the point?”

He bent down and picked up a dead leaf, twirled it between his fingers, then tossed it to the ground.

Ginette stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coveralls and took a deep breath.

“Okay, Marcel, listen to me. I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“The bad news. The way things are going . . .”

“The bad news is, I have no idea where Josiane is. Not a clue.”

Marcel slumped, his head between his knees. He waited for a moment, then sat up.

“So what’s the good news?” he asked numbly.