Rémy shrugged. “We don’t all have the budgets of North America.” How wasthatfor passive aggressive? “I am here but for a moment—can I help you?”
“Yes, thank you. I have managed to find a buyer for the house, and Guillaume said I might need transfer papers.”
The look on Rémy’s face was one of deep displeasure, like how Marlow’s parents had looked when she’d told them she was going to film school, or that she was going to be a single parent.
“You are, how do you say, committing sabotage on the program. I have never had this happen. You are the first.”
Marlow stiffened. “It’s fairly new, isn’t it? The program?”
“It may be, but nobody has turned over their house in such a short time. What has it been, almost six weeks?Mon Dieu, c’est affreux.”
But it wasn’t awful. How could it be awful? “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Marlow.
“This is not about feelings. This is about protocol.”
“And yet you are making it about feelings,” said Marlow. “I don’t think you like me very much. Whatever I do, you make difficult. I did everything you said—and I found a buyer. So what’s the problem?”
Rémy pursed her lips. “Are you making a profit on this sale?”
“Are you kidding? Is the buyer going to pay more than a single euro? I think so. I hope so. We haven’t discussed price yet. But it would only be to cover the money I’ve already put in.”
Rémy put the mail in her bag, stepped outside, and headed for her car. Marlow followed.
“Guillaume is correct. You require transfer papers. But first, I must confer with my colleagues.”
Marlow’s blood boiled. “And when will you let me know?”
“When I have heard from the others. Some are on holiday. I cannot control when they get back to me.”
“The buyer is due in a week! I need to get legal documents written up for her!”
“This, I also cannot control,” said Rémy.
“You’re making sport of messing with my life!”
“Bah non—c’est ridicule, ça. I am not making sport with your life. I do not have the time for such a thing, nor do I havethe interest. But I will tell you one thing,” she said, staring down at Marlow. “I will not have people like you using my one-euro program to flip houses. That is not the spirit of it. That would make a mockery of this area, and me.”
“I’m not flipping anything. I’m just trying to survive.”
“I will try to let you know tomorrow,” said Rémy, “I cannot promise more.” Then she got into her car and drove away.
Marlow set her jaw with the steely determination of someone who was going to stop this game—or win it—before she got back on a plane home.
Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Oscar asking if she’d be ready for their mid-summer review in a half-hour. Shit.
Yves took Sabine and Aubin up to Montmartre for dinner. They climbed the stairs, Sabine distracted by the thought of the texts she’d received from her mother but had ignored. She literally had no idea what to say, and she felt swept away with Aubin. He held Sabine’s hand as they walked, and she felt all funny and butterflyish with him.
Partway up the stairs, Yves stopped. “Sabine! I am a filmmaker, not an athlete.Un moment, s’il te plaît!”
“Why was I called Sabine?” she asked as he caught his breath. “It’s French. Was it your idea?”
“Sadly, no,” said Yves. “Even though I adore this name, it was your mother’s choice. She loved the bookGriffin and Sabine. But secretly I loved the name because it was French, and so I hoped a little of me rested with you.”
Sabine gazed off at the tall trees, apartment buildings, and gas lamps lining the stairs.
“The Sabines,” said Aubin, squeezing her hand. “Cool band name.”
Yves showed them the sights on the way to dinner. The Place du Tertre was a square not far from SacréCoeur, bordered byclassically French restaurants and filled with artists. Sabine, Aubin, and Yves were approached by several wanting to draw them. Yves waved them off.
