The next evening, Josephine calls out to Maëlle as she enters the house after work.
“Maëlle, it has been so long. Won’t you join me for a chat?”
“I’m sorry, I have been very busy, madame.Bonne continuation,” Maëlle murmurs as she walks swiftly past, avoiding Josephine’s eyes.
“‘Madame’?”Josephine says. “You’re calling memadamenow? Now Iknowthere’s something wrong.”
Maëlle shakes her head, wanting only to be back in the privacy of her bedroom.
“What is it, Maëlle? Please tell me. Are we not friends?”
Maëlle bursts into tears.
“Oh, oh dear,” Josephine says, putting her arm around Maëlle and rushing her into the parlor, then closing the door. She escorts her to the chair she had become accustomed to sitting in during their evening chats, hands her a handkerchief, and perches on the seat across from her.
“My dear, dear Maëlle. I know we’ve known each other only a very short time. But I feel so close to you already. As women, as Bretons. As kindred souls. Please, tell me?”
“Do you... do you love your husband, Josephine?”
“But of course! He is the kindest man I have ever known. Even in the family they say that Yves got all the sweet, and his brother, Thierry, the sour.” She smiles, slightly chagrined. “Then again, Thierry has three children already, and was married the year after Yves and I. So perhaps there is a reason he is blessed, and we are not.”
“I...” Maëlle blew her nose in the handkerchief, then squared her shoulders and blurted out: “Are you having an affair with Léon Morice?”
Josephine rears back as though Maëlle had thrown a punch.
“What? I am most certainlynothaving an affair—I would never, and least of all with that scoundrel.”
“You don’t... You don’t like Léon?”
“Well, he’s a beautiful man, and I do love beautiful things,” Josephine says with a smile and a nod. “But it is clear he has a wandering eye. And here he has left you to run this entire project, a young woman like you! I know you are very capable, remarkably so. But it doesn’t seem fair to put all this on your shoulders.”
Maëlle remains silent in her misery.
“I’m sure this is why you’re crying, sweet Maëlle. You’re overtired. We’re working you too hard. Why don’t you take a day or two off—all of the men could use a rest day, I’m sure.”
“It’s not that. I love the work,” says Maëlle. “It’s just that I’m... I think I’m with child.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
PRESENT DAY
CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Cady
The following afternoon, after doing her daily grocery shopping, Cady stopped in at the Hound Dog Café.
“Bonjour,”she said, raising her voice to be heard over “Heartbreak Hotel,” which was blaring in the background.
“Bonjour,Americaine!”Hubert called out.
Cady noticed yet another silent old man hunched over the bar and decided that Fabrice was looking better all the time. He might be grumpy, but at least he didn’t drink the hours away, glowering at strangers over his beer.
“Un café allongé, s’il vous plait,”Cady said in Hubert’s general direction as she moved toward her usual table in the corner near the window. Her order was for a coffee with a dash of extra water in it. In Francecafémeant espresso, which was sometimes too strong for her. But she had made the mistake of ordering anAmericanoin Paris, and didn’t enjoy the overly watered-down taste. Goldilocks-like, she had found theallongéto be just right.
She opened her e-mail and was happy to find a new message from Olivia. She treasured this connection with an old friend, someone whoknew her as something other than “the American girl staying with Fabrice Clement.” France had offered Cady the chance to explore a different part of herself, but it was grounding to have someone who knew where she was from. She hadn’t realized how cut off she had been feeling, how adrift.
Cady barely noticed when Hubert placed the cup of coffee in front of her.
