'Not at all,' Jenny said, her eyes lowered to her menu.
Camille sighed. 'Lovers are allowed to quarrel as long as it doesn't last long. Alors, you must now kiss and make it up with each other.'
'I don't think so,' Jenny blurted out, while at the same instant, Bravo said, 'We're not lovers.'
'No, of course not.' Her tone of voice as well as her expression revealed that Camille did not believe him. She took both their hands. 'My dears, life is too short to stay angry. Now listen to me, I won't be satisfied until you've kissed and I know all is well between you.' She squeezed their hands. 'Come on now, there has been too much sadness in your lives lately.'
Jenny's eyes were clouded by anxiety, all the worse because she could tell nothing of how Bravo felt. Nevertheless, both understood that there was no getting around this profoundly awkward moment. With Camille looking on, her lips curved in a mysterious Mona Lisa half smile, they both rose and moved tentatively toward one another. Bravo pushed a chair away but even so they halted with a handsbreadth between them.
All at once, he took her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. Much to her astonishment, she felt her lips opening under his, felt his tongue enter her mouth, felt her own twine for a moment with his. The breath whooshed out of her and her heart seemed to stop. Then they were apart, standing close but no longer touching, and Jenny's heart rate slowly returned to normal.
'There now, isn't that better?' Camille said with an enigmatic smile.
As they sat Camille discreetly signaled the waiter, and they ordered.
Bravo was again engaged in conversation with Camille, telling her where they needed to go, but not why. Jenny saw this withholding of information as a small victory for her side, as she'd come to think of it. Instead, they discussed the best route to take to St. Malo and where Bravo wanted Camille to drop them once they had arrived. Camille wanted to wait for them, but Bravo refused, telling her that he had no way of knowing how long he and Jenny would need to be in St. Malo and where they might be going after that. In the meantime, the food arrived.
'You're being terribly mysterious,' Camille said between dainty bites of raw shellfish.
Jenny, who had an aversion to mussels, clams and oysters in any form, struggled to keep her gorge down while slicing into her steak frites.
'Not that I mind,' Camille continued, 'but I worry that you're in more danger than you're willing to admit. That is why you don't want me to stay in St. Malo with you, isn't it?'
'Frankly, yes.' Bravo put down his fork. 'You've already done more than could be expected. I won't put you in harm's way.'
'But, my love, it's my decision-'
'No, Camille, it's not. In this instance I'm afraid I must insist. You're taking us to St. Malo, which is more than you ought to be doing. But that's the end of it. Understood?'
Camille regarded him neutrally for a moment. Then she sighed and turned to Jenny. 'Dessert, my dear? The tarte Tatin here is not to be missed.'
After lunch, Camille took them to the pharmacy she had spoken of, where she bought them various creams and unguents for their bruises, cuts and abrasions. Then they went clothes shopping, changing into the new outfits as they went and consigning their old torn shirts and pants to the trash bin.
Back in the car, Camille drove at high speed, circumventing Rouen. They turned onto the El, heading west, where the road became the EB1. Paralleling the coastline, they passed just south of Honfleur, where in the early nineteenth century the Impressionists reigned, and the posh seaside resorts of Deauville and Trouville. Twelve miles past Caen, the sky that had grown dark just before lunch now lowered enough to touch the tops of the bristling hawthorn trees. The buildings on either side of the highway grew black and menacing. In the distance, the horizon had disappeared in a muddy haze of rain, and then the downpour hit them, drumming against the roof of the Citroe'n, sluiced off to either side of the windshield by the wipers. The car's headlights cut through the hissing gloom like gas lamps on a coal-dark night.
Within an hour they had made the All. The rain had lessened to a heavy drizzle, but the world outside appeared to consist of colors smeared with an Impressionist's brush. They were approaching Avranches when Jenny began to complain of severe stomach cramps. Glancing over his shoulder, Bravo noticed that her face was pasty, beaded with sweat. Several moments later, he spotted one of those peculiarly European travel restaurants whose setting was a bridge over the highway. In the same rest area were bathrooms and several thousand yards further on, a gas station.
Camille pulled over, Bravo helped Jenny out. Camille grabbed a raincoat and, holding it over Jenny, insisted on going with her. Jenny did not have the strength to argue, and together the two women hurried into the low, squat building. Bravo went around to the driver's side of the Citroe'n, the better to keep an eye on the traffic. The light rain was cool, and he enjoyed the feel of it on his face as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed an overseas number.
It would already be night in New York, the blaze of man-made lights dimming the stars, the great energy of the city flowing unabated through the streets while the tops of high-rises disappeared into the clouds.
Emma answered on the first ring, as if she had been waiting for his call.
'Bravo, where are you?'
'In France,' he said. 'On my way to Brittany.'
'What are you doing there?'
'I'm on an errand for Dad. He spoke to me about it just before the… just before the end.' There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. 'How are you, Emma?'
'I'm fine. I'm singing again, my voice coach was just here.'
'That's wonderful-and your eyes? Any change?'
'Not yet. Never mind, it's you I'm worried about.'
'Me?'
'I can hear it in your voice,' she said.
'Hear what?'
'Trouble. Whatever Dad wanted you to do, it's trouble, isn't it?'
'Why would you say-'
'Because I'm not an idiot, Bravo, and I resent you treating me like one. The president of the engineering firm I hired read the report to me. The gas line wasn't faulty; it was tampered with.'
He looked around to see if the women had returned from the bathroom, but they weren't in view. 'You seem to have taken the news in stride.'
'Dad was in a dangerous business, Bravo. D'you think I hadn't guessed? And once I had, he confided in me.'
'What?'
'In fact, from time to time I helped him. He knew-and so did I-that there was a high degree of risk in his business with the Gnostic Observatines.'
There was a short pause, during which Bravo could hear her take a sip-of tea, perhaps. He was trying hard to adjust to this new reality.
'Now that you're launched on this mission,' Emma continued, 'I want you to know that I can be of use to you.'
'Emma-'
'I suppose you think it's different now that I'm blind, but you're wrong. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself-and I can take care of you. I always have.'
'I don't think I understand.'
'Who d'you think kept tabs on you and reported back to Dad when you and he weren't talking? The estrangement certainly wasn't his idea.'
'You mean you spied on me?'
'Come off it, Bravo. I did what was best for all of us-you included. Do you think even now that Dad had any evil designs on you? He was worried, and frankly I don't blame him. You acted like an adolescent, as if he were the enemy, when all he was trying to do-'
Bravo took the phone from his ear and severed the connection. He sat down heavily on the driver's seat. His mind seemed numb, the traffic on the All a distant buzz. A car pulled in and a couple of tourists with skittish
