The Body in the Vestibule

disappointed when Christophe left the school. He wanted to go to this one on the Croix Rousse that is so popular these days. But since the Marists are taking girls, all the other children are with them and I pray they stay there for their father's sake. Amelie has been talking of Lycee du Pare; I am not listening.'

“Children will do what they want,' Madame Vincent said emphatically. 'We wished for them so long, but now I think maybe it was a good thing. Pippo is far more obedient and life has been simpler.”

Faith looked at Valentina, wondering whether she, too, would attest to the benefits of the childless state, but she was looking very pensive and perhaps her flippant answer about Georges being enough was not the true key to her feelings.

“Well,' said Solange, 'I speak as an authority. Children are nice, especially when they are babies, but it is a frightening thought to have five teenagers. Perhaps if he had known, Jean-Francois would not have been so eager.' She stood up and picked a crumb from her bright blue Sonia Rykiel outfit, looking very beautiful and very complacent. If anyone's children were going to frighten their mother, it wasn't going to be Solange's. Faith was reminded that she wanted to get the name of Solange's hairdresser.

“I like the way your hair is cut so much, Solange. Where do you have it done?'

“A wonderful man, Italian, of course—they are the best coiffeurs—named Giovanni. He works at the Quick Coupe hi the Place Sathonay, not far from here. Just at the foot of the Croix Rousse.'

“I know where it is, behind Ben's school and near the covered market at Place Rambaud.”

Valentina laughed. 'You know the markets of Lyon better than we do.”

Faith was thinking out loud. 'I'd love to get my hair cut before we go to Carcassonne.'

“Oh, Carcassonne. My husband and I went there often. It is so beautiful,' rhapsodized Madame Vincent.

“When do you go?' Solange asked.

“Tomorrow morning,' Faith answered. 'Just until Monday.'

“If you like, I can call Giovanni and see if he can take you early before you leave, or perhaps you would prefer to wait until you get back?”

Faith was filled with a great longing to have her hair done. She'd go this instant if she could. There was nothing quite like the feeling of all that pampering and the resultant new look.

“Could you call? I can be there when they open.”

Madame Vincent waved Solange to her telephone, which nestled behind a line of leather-covered, gold- embossed classics of French literature on a marble-topped chest. It was quickly done and Faith was signed up for a coupe and brosse at eight o'clock. She was amazed they opened so early.

“At Carcassonne, you must search out what is left of a bust of Lady Carcas,' Valentina instructed Faith. 'It is not so interesting artistically as historically. She was a Spaniard, a Saracen, who outsmarted the great Charlemagne himself. The town had been under siege for five years and the entire garrison dead of hunger. Lady Carcas made some dummies and arranged them on the ramparts, then went from one to another, shooting arrows at the enemy. Finally, she took the last remaining pig,, let it eat all the grain left, and threw it from the top of the tower. Of course when Charlemagne split the belly open and saw it was filled with grain, he gave in and left. Some say the town is called Carcassonne because when she sounded trumpets to call him back to reveal what she had done, satisfied with the glory of it, he didn't hear. But an equerry did and said to him, 'Sire, Carcas te sonne.' Personally, I doubt whether a woman like that would have called her enemy back, unless she could gloat over him in some way.'

“What a wonderful story. I'll tell Tom and we'll be sure to pay homage to Lady Carcas,' Faith said, thinking at the same time that the whole thing was very like something Valentina might do. She pictured her running along the battlements taking aim, much as she sized up prospects at her gallery.

“Now, cheries, this has been such a nice time with all these stories and so forth, but I must go. Next time, you come to me,' Solange announced, and moved toward the door.

Faith stood up also. 'It has been lovely. Thank you so much, Madame Vincent.”

Solange looked surprised. 'But you do not have to leave yet, Faith. Amelie is so happy to play with Benjamin.'

“Do stay,' Madame Vincent said as it became apparent that Valentina was also leaving.

“Only for one more cup,' Faith agreed, realizing how lonely Yvette Vincent must be up among the chimneys.

The others left and as Faith sipped her tea, Yvette reminisced about her husband and all the traveling they had done together. 'But we never got to your country, mal-heureusement,' she said.

“Perhaps you will come yourself,' Faith said, getting up this time in earnest. It was almost six o'clock.

“My travels are finished. A short trip to my sister in Narbonne, occasionally. It is enough. And sometimes a few days in Paris. That is always necessary.”

Faith totally agreed.

At the door, madame kissed her on both cheeks with a heartiness that surprised Faith. As Faith returned the salutation on Yvette's velvety soft, wrinkled skin, she realized madame was whispering something to her.

“Go to Carcassonne with your lovely husband, cherie, then do not stay in Lyon long. It is not a place for everyone.”

As she went down the stairs to her apartment, Faith wasn't sure whether she had imagined the warning or not.

Like the body in the trash, it would disappear if mentioned aloud.

When he got to the bottom of the fire escape, he took off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket together with the black knit hat that had covered his hair. He knotted a red bandanna casually about his neck before strolling out to the street. It was late and there weren't too many people out. He passed a young couple, entwined together, with their hands in the back pockets of each other's jeans. They didn 't even glance his way. Lovesick fools, he thought. What did they know of life? For an instant, he thought of emptying the shopping bag he was carrying with such apparent nonchalance in front of them. He could hardly stop himself from laughing out loud as he pictured their astonished faces when they saw what was wrapped in rags under the old clothes.

He was almost there. He crossed the avenue Marechal de Saxe to Place Quinet and placed the bag in the trash basket closest to the entrance to the playground. Then he slipped into the darkened doorway of the Lycee Edouard Herriot, on the opposite side of the square, and waited. It wasn't long before he saw a lone figure shuffle into sight and take the bag from the trash, adding it to others grasped in his hands. The clochard paused, reached into one of the bags, and took a long pull from a bottle he'd found there, then moved slowly off again.

Benoit's part was over. He ran down rue Bossuet toward the river as fast as he could, his heart pumping and every nerve stretched. It felt glorious. He continued to sprint toward the pedestrian bridge arching and swaying in the night breeze before him. He wanted to get home. He was starving.

Seven

The Cafe des Federations was as crowded as usual and the Fairchilds were obliged to share a table with a happy group of wine merchants from Beaune. The men were teasing Monsieur Fulchiron, the patron, about his Morgon, only a Beaujolais. He was retorting that all that mustard from Dijon had seared their palates. During the course of her meal, Faith learned more about the growing conditions in various parts of Burgundy and the relative merits of the resulting vintages than she'd ever thought possible. The Burgundians' criticisms did not impede their consumption, and Frangoise, the pretty blond waitress who had told Tom and Faith she had been there forever—in which case she must have started at age four—was kept busy replacing empty pots, the old, thick-bottomed wine bottles that were standard in Lyon's bouchons. The meal ended with a large slab of tarte aux pommes, thick slices of juicy apples piled onto a shortbread crust.

“It's heaven,' Faith said to Tom with a sigh. 'Literally. I'm sure this is what it will be—good bread, cheese, lots of happy people, and no frozen foods.'

“At the moment, I agree with you,' he responded, and called for the check. They said good-bye to their amis for life from Beaune as business cards and invitations to stay were pressed upon them, marveling once more at all those silly people who insist the French aren't friendly.

Back at the apartment, Tom had finished packing for the weekend quickly and was in bed reading. 'But you're