He wants my approval, thought Gamache. Not unusual really when showing off a project this important to them. Dominique pointed out the features of the bathroom, with its aqua mosaic-glass tiles, spa bath and separate walk-in shower. She was proud of their work, but she didn’t seem to need him to exclaim over it.
Marc did.
It was easy to give him what he wanted. Gamache was genuinely impressed.
“And we just put this door in last week,” said Marc. Opening a door from the bathroom they stepped onto a balcony. It looked out over the back of the house, across the gardens and a field beyond.
Four chairs were drawn around a table.
“I thought you could use these,” a voice said from behind them and Marc hurried to take the tray from his mother. On it were four glasses of iced tea and some scones.
“Shall we?” Dominique indicated the table and Gamache held a chair for Carole.
“
“To second chances,” said the Chief Inspector. He lifted his iced tea and as they toasted he watched them. The three people who’d been drawn to this sad, violated, derelict house. Who’d given it new life.
And the house had returned the favor.
“Well, there’s more to do,” said Marc. “But we’re getting there.”
“We’re hoping to have our first guests by Thanksgiving,” said Dominique. “If Carole would just get off her
“Perhaps this afternoon,” said Carole Gilbert with a laugh.
“I noticed some antiques. Did you bring them from your home?” Gamache asked her.
Carole nodded. “We combined our belongings, but there was still a lot to buy.”
“From Olivier?”
“Some.” It was the most curt answer he’d received so far. He waited for more.
“We got a lovely rug from him,” said Dominique. “The one in the front hall, I think.”
“No, it’s in the basement,” said Marc, his voice sharp. He tried to soften it with a smile, but it didn’t quite work.
“And a few chairs, I think,” said Carole, quickly.
That would account for about one one-hundredth of the furnishings in the rambling old place. Gamache sipped his tea, looking at the three of them.
“We picked up the rest in Montreal,” said Marc. “On rue Notre Dame. Do you know it?”
Gamache nodded and then listened as Marc described their treks up and down the famed street, which was packed with antique shops. Some were not much more than junk shops but some contained real finds, near priceless antiques.
“Old Mundin’s repairing a few items we picked up in garage sales. Don’t tell the guests,” said Dominique with a laugh.
“Why didn’t you get more from Olivier?”
The women concentrated on their scones and Marc poked at the ice in his drink.
“We found his prices a little high, Chief Inspector,” said Dominique at last. “We’d have preferred to buy from him, but . . .”
It was left hanging, and still Gamache waited. Eventually Marc spoke.
“We were going to buy tables and beds from him. Made all the arrangements, then discovered he’d charged us almost double what he’d originally asked for them.”
“Now, Marc, we don’t know that for sure,” said his mother.
“Near enough. Anyway, we canceled the order. You can imagine how that went down.”
Dominique had been silent for most of this exchange. Now she spoke.
“I still think we should have paid it, or spoken to him quietly about it. He is our neighbor, after all.”
“I don’t like being screwed,” said Marc.
“No one does,” said Dominique, “but there are ways of handling it. Maybe we should have just paid. Now look what’s happened.”
“What’s happened?” asked Gamache.
“Well, Olivier’s one of the forces in Three Pines,” said Dominique. “Piss him off and you pay a price. We don’t really feel comfortable going into the village, and we sure don’t feel welcome in the bistro.”
“I hear you approached some of Olivier’s staff,” said Gamache.
Marc colored. “Who told you that? Did Olivier?” he snapped.
“Is it true?”
“What if it is? He pays them practically slave wages.”
“Did any agree to come?”
