“Exandra,” he whispered.
“Don’t, Bay…” she said, but it sounded like a plea. “Please. I can’t—not right now.”
She stepped around him, moving quickly toward the exit. He watched her go, Fred quacking sadly in his arms.
“I know,” Bayard murmured to the duck. “I know.”
Across the library,Minerva and Zephyr didn’t even pretend that they weren’t watching the scene unfold. They knew each other too well to lie about their mutual proclivity for eavesdropping.
“They’re both so miserable.” Minerva sighed.
“Indeed they are.” Zephyr shook his head.
“And they’re both desperately in love,” Minerva whispered, looking to Zephyr for a reaction.
“Indeed on that point, too.” He pushed up his glasses and unfolded his newspaper, shaking it out to remove the wrinkles.
“Neither of them is going to do anything about it withouthelp,” Minerva continued, pushing down the newspaper with one finger. It was both a bid for attention and so she could directly look into Zephyr’s eyes. Although she lacked the gift of compulsion, she wanted to be convincing.
Zephyr looked at his wife, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Uh oh. I know that look. What are you thinking, my dear?”
“I’m thinking,” Minerva said, “that perhaps it’s time we stopped being observers and started being a little more... proactive.”
“Matchmaking, Minnie?”
“Problem-solving, Zippy. There’s a difference.”
He kissed her temple. “All right. Whatever you want to call it, count me in.”
Minerva smiled to herself. Outside, the storm continued to rage. But insideThe Celestine Queen, the weather was about to improve.
TO BRIE OR NOT TO BRIE
The Meaux countryside unfolded beneathThe Celestine Queenin shades of winter green and brown. The tour group gathered in the atrium as they drifted over rolling pastures divided by old stone walls, and bare-branched trees lining country lanes. Finally, in the distance, they spied a cluster of traditional stone buildings that looked like they’d stood there for centuries.
“There,” Bayard said, pointing toward the fromagerie as they passed over it. “La Maison du Lait. One of the oldest continuously operating Brie producers in France. We’ll be dropping our anchor in the River Marne shortly, and proceeding by land from there.”
The buildings were beautiful in their weathered simplicity. They featured typical slate roofs, thick walls, and tiny windows that Bayard explained probably dated back to the 1600s. Smoke curled from a chimney, and even from high above in the air, Minerva could even smell a hint of woodsmoke as they passed over them.
“I can’t wait to try the cheese today!” Even though she was in her human form at present, Minerva could feel her whiskers twitching. That happened sometimes when she was particularly excited, as she was today. Brie cheese was her absolute favorite, and everyone in the know knew that the best Brie was from Meaux, France.
“This visit will be a little different from the others. The fromagerie we are visiting is very small and bespoke. The tour won’t take us very long, but we’ll be spending some more time there doing a wonderful hands-on activity that they are arranging for our group.” Bayard smiled mysteriously and pressed his fingertips together, as if struggling to contain a delicious secret.
“Hands on? Is that really all you’re going to tell us?” Minerva squeaked. “Should I wear anything special?”
“No need to dress any differently than you have for the other tours. Anything else you need will be provided.” This was all he would say about it. He checked his pocket watch. “I’d best be going. We’ll be dropping anchor very soon!”
When the shuttlebus pulled into the parking lot of La Maison du Lait, two women emerged from the main building to greet them.
“Bienvenue!” called the taller of the two, a woman with short silver hair and warm brown eyes. “Welcome to La Maison duLait. I am Margot Rousseau, and this is my wife and business partner, Claire.”
Claire was smaller and rounder, with laugh lines around her eyes and flour dusting her apron. “Margot handles the cheese-making,” she explained. Her English was excellent, softened by her beautiful lilting accent. “I handle everything that happens to the cheese after it’s made. This includes the packaging, presentation, and all the goodness that goes on in our test kitchens. You are all in for a treat today!”
“Come, come. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First we tour, then we create.” Margot winked at her partner.
The tour group followed them into the main production building. Unlike some of the more commercial fromageries they’d visited, this one felt lived in and well loved. Broad beams crossed the ceiling overhead and the walls were decorated with a gallery of wooden rounds that documented over a century of package design. The floor was immaculate, with stones worn smooth by the centuries of feet passing over them. Bookshelves, crammed full of cookbooks and books about cheesemaking, were fitted into every spare corner. In the hallway, assorted antique tools and retired farm equipment hung from hooks on the wall or sat on display in spotlit niches like pieces of art.
“What do you suppose this thingamabob is for, Bay?” Zephyr spun the screws on a wooden framed object.
