25
It was dark when he finally arrived at Pamela’s place, Gigi in the passenger seat beside him and his suitcase in the back of the car. He let himself in with his key while Gigi began looking around the familiar yard, stopping at every corner to mark his territory and explore whatever interesting new scents had developed since his last visit. Bruno quickly changed out of his uniform and donned jeans, a sweater and a jacket for his long-delayed evening ride with Hector. As he headed for the stables, Fabiola emerged from her gite across the yard and called to him as she stood silhouetted in the lighted doorway. Fleetingly Bruno saw another figure pass through the room behind her and into the kitchen, but Fabiola closed the door and advanced into the courtyard.
“Hector’s already had his evening ride. I assumed you were tied up and took him with me on a bridle,” she said, holding up her face to be kissed.
“That was kind, thanks. I feel bad about not getting here earlier.”
“I know. I assume it’s this security alert for the summit that people are talking about.”
“I didn’t know it had been announced yet,” he said, surprised.
“It hasn’t, but we were told at the clinic to make sure we were fully staffed and had an ambulance on alert for the day after tomorrow. And we expect a military surgeon to join us tomorrow, an expert on gunshot wounds. So naturally the news spread, and the town is filling up with journalists.”
“You can’t keep secrets in St. Denis,” Bruno said, smiling ruefully. “I’ll take Hector for a walk anyway, just up the lane and back, help him get used to me.”
“I’m inviting you to dinner after that, so shall we say in half an hour?”
Bruno raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, but you always say you don’t cook.”
“I make two dishes, one my mother made me learn and another Pamela taught me. You’re having both tonight. And I have some wine so don’t offend me by bringing any. I’ve eaten enough of your meals and never returned the favor.”
“I’ll be delighted,” said Bruno. “Just the two of us?”
“No, a couple of friends. One of them is Florence from the college; she’s just putting her kids to bed in my spare room.”
“Good, I haven’t spent an evening with her for far too long. And the other?”
“A new friend, a surprise. And I heard from Pamela. Her mother’s had another stroke, more serious this time. She said she tried to call your mobile, but you must have been out of range. She left a message on your office phone.”
“I tried calling her, but we keep missing each other,” he said. “I’ll try again now.”
“Any news of Horst?” Fabiola asked. Bruno shook his head and turned away, wondering in what grim and makeshift cell his friend might be tonight.
Bruno’s thoughts were a jumble as he greeted Hector, fondling his horse’s nose and ears before he saddled him and led him into the yard to mount. Gigi appeared from somewhere behind the stable, now quite comfortable with the horse and ready to trot alongside. It was a fine evening, cold but clear, a good night to look at the stars, but there was too much on Bruno’s mind.
He was concerned about Teddy, whom he liked. Bruno believed he learned a lot about someone from watching him play rugby, and Teddy had been impressive, after the match as well as on the field. He was far more worried about Horst, who was in the hands of people who would hardly shrink from killing him if it served their purpose. He supposed he ought to be concerned about his own fate, with Annette and Duroc launching their vendetta against him, but the mayor was on his side. Most of all, he was worried about Pamela. He called her mobile, but heard some automated response in English too fast for him to understand.
And as always, when he was in this somber and fretful kind of mood, Bruno’s thoughts turned to the mess he had made of his relationships with women. The affair with Pamela was faltering. In some ways, it had never really begun, given her insistence that her one failed marriage had been more than enough. He doubted whether they would ever be anything more than good friends who happened to sleep together. And while he admired her spirit and enjoyed her company, Bruno admitted to himself that it was a relationship that made him more perplexed than happy.
If only he could be as clearheaded about Isabelle. Equally independent, equally determined to deal with men on her own terms, she had a grip on him that was as powerful now as it had been in that passionate summer when they had met. To see her, even to receive an e-mail from her, triggered a leap in his heart. They had each said time after time that it was over, that it could never work, but where else in his life would he encounter that jolt of electricity that she sent pulsing through his veins? It had been there that afternoon in the ornate chateau bedroom she used as an office. The wound in her leg didn’t stop her being a woman, she’d said; why didn’t Bruno treat her like one? Because she wasn’t just a woman, she was Isabelle, the woman who kept invading his dreams.
Hector tossed his head as if impatient with this quiet amble up the lane, or perhaps he was disturbed by Bruno’s own distracted musings. Horses, Pamela had taught him, were highly sensitive to a rider’s mood. Bruno leaned down to pat his neck, murmured Hector’s name and turned him back down the lane toward the paddock. Hector wanted to trot, and so did he, Bruno admitted, hoping to chase away his gloom with a little exercise. They made a few gentle circuits of the paddock together, not enough to warm him, with Gigi loping happily alongside. Bruno didn’t want to be late for Fabiola’s dinner, so he walked Hector a little and then took him back into the stable.
He’d noted earlier that the stable had been cleaned and the straw changed. He’d have to get Fabiola some flowers. Taking Hector along on the evening ride was kindness enough, but mucking out the stable was beyond the call of friendship. Bruno rubbed Hector down, checked his water and gave him a wizened apple by way of farewell. He washed his hands and face in the stable sink, savoring the old-fashioned smell of the big square block of Marseilles soap that Pamela kept there. He pulled out his phone and tried her number again. This time she answered.
“I’m standing in your stables, about to have dinner with Fabiola, and all the horses are fine,” he said. “How about you? Fabiola says there’s been a second stroke.”
“That’s right, a big one. She’s in a coma, but her entire left side is completely paralyzed. I’m just outside the hospital, waiting for my aunt to bring the car round. We’ll know more tomorrow, when she’s scheduled for a brain scan.”
“I’m sorry. Would you like me to come?”
“No, really. Things are hectic already and now we have to go to the airport and pick up my ex-husband. I’m not sure I could cope with him and you at the same time. And I know you’re busy-anyway, here’s my aunt with the car. I’ll call tomorrow when there’s news. Love to Fabiola and the horses, and to you.”
She hung up, leaving Bruno staring at the horses and wondering how long he was going to be staying in Pamela’s home. Gigi seemed content with his new surroundings, but Bruno missed his own place. Leaving Gigi settling himself in a corner of Hector’s stall, he walked across to Fabiola’s house and knocked.
Florence opened the door, a smile of welcome, but her eyes seemed wary before she leaned forward to kiss cheeks. Bruno understood her caution when he walked into the room and found Annette setting the table. He was speechless, and he felt his face turning red and his eyes narrowing.
“Bonjour, Bruno,” she said hesitantly and tried a half smile, but then shrugged, as if this evening wasn’t her fault. Bruno stood where he was, uncertain how to react, looking around for Fabiola and some explanation when she bustled in from the kitchen, an apron around her waist and the light of battle in her eye.
“You can do better than that, Bruno,” she said firmly. “This is my house and I have invited friends whom I like. I really don’t care what arguments you have outside these walls, but in here you’ll be courteous with each other.”
“Today she tried to get me fired…,” Bruno began, but Fabiola cut him off.
“I know all about it, and I think you’re both behaving like a pair of idiots and I don’t want to hear any more about it this evening. That’s an order. And you owe Annette a favor, anyway. She helped me ride the horses this evening, then she cleaned the stables so that I could get on with the cooking.”
“And she helped me bathe the children. She’s made the salad and the first course, and she brought a nice bottle of wine,” said Florence. “She and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot when she drove into town, but we’ve put that behind us. She’s even driven me around the motor-cross course she uses to practice her rallying. So now it’s up to you.” Florence moved to stand beside Annette as if to demonstrate a common front. Florence and
