‘Are you planning to move anywhere else?’ Gabri huffed.
‘The night is young,
‘I have my coffee, thank you.’
‘We were about to order some liqueurs. It feels a night for one.’ He looked briefly at the mullioned window, reflecting the warm interior of the bistro. The old panes quivered in another blast, and a slight tinkling told them the hail wasn’t finished.
‘God,’ sighed Gabri, ‘how can we live in a country that does this to us?’
‘I’ll have an espresso and a brandy and Benedictine,’ said Beauvoir.
Gamache turned to Jeanne. For some reason she felt in the company of her father, or perhaps her grandfather, even though the Chief Inspector couldn’t be more than ten years her elder. There was something old world about him, as though he was from another age, another era. She wondered if he found it hard in this world. But she thought not.
‘Yes, please. I’d like a…’ She thought for a moment then turned to look at the row of liqueur bottles on a shelf at the back of the bar. Tia Maria, creme de menthe, cognac. She turned back to Gabri, ‘I’ll have a Cointreau,
Gamache ordered his own then the three of them discussed the weather, the Eastern Townships, and the conditions of the roads until their drinks arrived.
‘Have you always been psychic, Madame Chauvet?’ asked Gamache once Gabri had reluctantly left.
‘I think so, but it wasn’t until I was about ten that I realized not everyone saw the world as I did.’ She brought the tiny glass to her nose and sniffed. Orange and sweet and somehow warm. Her eyes started watering just from the smell. She brought the Cointreau to her lips and wetted them with the syrupy liquid. Then she lowered the glass and licked her lips. She wanted this to last. The tastes, smells, sights. The company.
‘How’d you find out?’
She didn’t normally talk about these things, but then people didn’t normally ask. She hesitated and looked at Gamache for a long moment. Then she spoke.
‘At a friend’s birthday party. I looked at all the wrapped presents and knew exactly what was in them.’
‘Well, as long as you didn’t say anything,’ said Gamache, then looked at her more closely. ‘But you did, didn’t you?’
Beauvoir was a little miffed by this psychic turn by the chief. After all, he was the one who was supposed to have been born with a caul. He’d spent the late afternoon, after Nichol had hightailed it back to the B. & B., surfing the web for information on cauls. Took him a while to figure out how to spell it. Cowels. Kowls. Calls. Then he remembered that Batman supposedly wore one. So he Googled Batman, and everything fell into place. Every day held its surprises.
At first he thought she meant he’d been born with a silly mask and pointy black ears. But then something even more macabre appeared on his screen.
‘Yes,’ Jeanne was saying. ‘I was about halfway through the pile, telling everyone what each parcel held, when the birthday girl burst into tears. I remember to this day looking around the room. All the little girls, my friends, were staring at me. Angry and upset. And behind them their mothers. Afraid.
‘It was never the same after that. I think I’d always seen things but I assumed everyone did. Heard voices, saw spirits. Knew what would happen next. Not for everything. It was selective. But enough.’
Her voice was cheery, but Gamache knew it couldn’t have been easy. He looked over her shoulder to the villagers at their tables, having a relaxing and quiet dinner. But not one had approached Jeanne. The weirdo, the psychic. The witch. They were kind people, he knew. But even kind people can be afraid.
‘It must have been hard,’ said the chief.
‘Others have it harder. Believe me, I know. I’m no one’s victim, Chief Inspector. Besides, I never, ever lose my keys. Can you say that?’
She was looking at Gamache as she said it, but the wide smile on her face faded a little as she turned to look directly at Jean Guy Beauvoir. Her face was so full of understanding, of caring, he almost admitted that he too had never, ever lost his keys.
He’d been born with a caul. He’d called his mother and asked and after a hesitation she’d admitted it.
‘
‘I was too embarrassed. It was a shameful thing at the time, Jean Guy. Even the nuns at the hospital were upset.’
‘But why?’
‘A baby born with a caul is either cursed or blessed. It means you see things, know things.’
‘And did I?’ He felt a fool asking. After all, he should be the one to know.
‘I don’t know. Every time you said something odd we ignored you. After a while you stopped. I’m sorry, Jean Guy. Maybe we were wrong, but I didn’t want you to be cursed.’
Me, or you? he almost asked.
‘But maybe I’d be blessed, Maman.’
‘That’s a curse too,
He’d been delivered of his mother with a veil over his entire head. Something between himself and this world. A membrane that should have stayed with his mother but somehow ended up coming with him. It was rare and upsetting and even today, according to his research, people believed those born with cauls were fated to lead
