“Did you like Father Bertrand?” she asked.
“Yes, I did. The whole thing seems like a dream to me now. It was a bit surreal, especially the old lady. Her name was Paulinier, a local historian. Sophie, Michael Campbell’s wife, really likes her. There were five of us at the dinner party; Michael and Sophie, Father Bertrand, Madame Paulinier and me. I was staying at Michael’s home. For whatever reason, I decided to attend the Paris Air Show after years of avoiding it, letting my staff attend. I needed a change, I suppose, and went. I really enjoyed it, probably should have done it earlier. Anyway, the dinner party was a turning point for me, helped me make some big decisions. The dinner party and meeting our friend, Sister Mary Kathleen,” Hanley said. “I’ll tell you about the dinner party. It was interesting.”
***
When he stepped into the dining room, the parquet floor squealed beneath his shoes, as if he stepped on a baby’s toy. Brightly polished, the floor reflected in small, irregular shaped ovals the chandelier over the table. The aromas from the table made his stomach churn, loud enough, Hanley coughed trying to mask the gurgle. It was a lovely simple dinner of leeks with light balsamic vinaigrette, small filet mignons with broccoli, brie with chestnuts and for dessert, chocolate mousse with strawberry sauce.
After some time, Hanley watched, fascinated as a bit of leek rode the corner of Veronique Paulinier’s mouth, clinging stubbornly, refusing to fall. Apparently for Madame Paulinier, chewing was part of her oracular routine. He was seated to Madame Paulinier’s right, at one corner of the table. He watched as she savaged the food Sophie had prepared. Madame Paulinier was a woman in her late seventies, thin as a communion wafer and just as dry. However, she appeared to know the entire history of the Loire Valley and Normandy and was prepared to share it with her fellow dinner guests. Her English was broken, but she persevered as she had a new audience. Some of it was interesting and Hanley was polite. She was very different from the other guest at his host’s table
Short and wiry, Father Paul Bertrand was in his mid-sixties, with a slightly hawkish face. Hanley thought the priest to be quiet, but as they talked, he sensed an intensity below the surface.
Eventually, Mrs. Paulinier stopped her lesson long enough to attack a challenging piece of filet and Father Bertrand asked Hanley why he had come to Europe after all these years. Hanley looked at the cleric and arched his eyebrows, surprised by the question. Before he could respond, the priest apologized to explain he was aware of Michael Campbell’s repeated attempts to have Hanley visit them in England and then France. He simply wanted to know what had changed.
“Many things changed in my life within the past year. My wife and I divorced and my daughter now lives in another state. I’m alone, except for my dog. His name is Weed. He and Michael have an interesting history. You should ask Michael to explain it sometime.”
Some brie failed to make it into Michael Campbell’s mouth as he looked up at Hanley. “Hanley is trying, as most Americans do, to be humorous. Years ago, he found a mutation, a mistake of nature, dropped on his doorstep one bleak winter night. Hanley thought it was a puppy, a cute one no less and took it in. Being somewhat of a freak himself, it was love at first sight. The dog, if that is what it really is, finds legs, apparently male legs, British male legs, irresistible. I had to carry a newspaper to beat the damned thing wherever I went when I stayed with the Martins in Indiana. It was memorable,” he said.
Hanley paused to sip his coffee and said, “After my divorce, it seemed like I needed a change, something to do beyond my normal routine. When I can, I fly my planes for enjoyment, but I needed something more. My staff began discussing this year’s air show in Paris and I made the decision to attend. The trip has been as much as I could hope for so far.” Looking at the priest, Hanley said, “Sophie tells me you were the priest in her parish when she was a young girl. She and Michael have also mentioned the organization you run and your travels for the church. To a number of countries, I understand. It sounds as if you have had a challenging task for many years, especially in Africa. How do you stay with it? I mean, you must see and deal with things that are bound to shake your belief in all things human. It must effect even a man of faith. I assume you find strength in your faith in other things,” Hanley said.
Father Bertrand appeared to consider the question. “My faith is also in other people and the goodness within them. I happen to believe that most men and women are good and actually do care for the plight of others. Women especially are caring and willing to help those less fortunate than themselves. So faith includes my belief in the good to be found in my fellow man, as well as God. If not for that hope, I might be building airplanes also,” he said.
Hanley smiled.
Sipping some wine, the priest said, “The Fathers of Notre Dame have been a mission program since the late 1800s. We press our faith into many remote areas, especially Africa. Currently, we have a number of missions operating in Chad, Benin, Mozambique, Ethiopia and the Sudan. Things are more difficult now than ever before.”
A cough, then another stopped the conversation, as Madame Paulinier worked the roll she was eating down her dry throat. After a moment of struggle, she thought to lubricate her throat with wine, which smoothed the process.
Father Bertrand continued, saying, “Before, we struggled with poverty, disease
