“It’s possible there are one or two floating about. But they might just as easily have been sold off decades ago.”
Cady nodded. “It seems a shame to have them scattered. I wouldlove to bring all the pieces back together again, to bring the carousel back to its former glory.”
“Sounds like you’re planning to stay a while longer.”
“I canceled my return ticket. If Fabrice is okay with me staying, it seems like an opportunity I can’t pass up. How often does a person stumble on an antique carousel in need of restoration?”
Jean-Paul held her gaze for a long moment. He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes, like a haze hanging over a summer afternoon.
“So,” Cady asked. “How about you? How long are you planning to stay in Saint-Véran?”
“I seesaw back and forth between staying forever, and hightailing it back to Paris. I suppose I would always split my time between Paris and Saint-Véran, if I possibly could. Each appeals to me, in its own way.”
“I thought you were tired of small-town gossip.”
“I am. But I love the people here, and the slower pace of life. Not to mention the Provençal climate. And the truth is, in a small town a person can make a difference. Maybe if I stayed and became a part of village life, I could help change the tone of things.” He shrugged and looked away, a muscle working in his jaw.
Cady wondered whether this was what Jean-Paul had referred to, when he spoke of being at a crossroads in his life. It occurred to her to wonder how long ago his marriage plans had fallen apart, and she was about to ask when he changed the subject.
“My grandfather Gerald would like to speak with you.”
“Toinon mentioned him; she said he knew a lot about the history of the château.”
“He does, yes. As you might recall, his grandfather Thierry believed that Gerald’s father, Pierre, was the rightful heir to Château Clement, rather than Fabrice’s father, Marc-Antoine. Gerald is what you say in English, a ‘piece of work’? And, like Andres, he is wondering why an American is now living at the château with Fabrice.”
“I’m happy to speak with him, though I don’t know that I can tellhim anything he doesn’t already know. But I’d love to askhima few questions.”
“Do you have time now?”
She checked her watch. “Fabrice might be expecting me; I should call him and let him know I’ll be late.”
“He won’t answer. He usually pretends he doesn’t have a phone.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with that gambit.”
She dialed his number anyway, but as Jean-Paul had predicted, the phone rang and rang. Cady imagined the jangly sound echoing down the halls of the château, while a lonely old man sat by the fire and stroked his dog, ignoring the outside world, pretending he was safe, alone in his imagined cocoon.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
PRESENT DAY
CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Cady
As they walked toward Jean-Paul’s childhood home, right outside of town, a huge dragonfly zoomed by, its iridescent skin flashing blue and green.
“It seems early for dragonflies,” Cady said. “What are they called in French?”
“Libellules,”Jean-Paul replied. “The cicada is the symbol of Provence, but a lot of people in this area are partial to the dragonfly. Did you know it begins life as a water nymph, before developing wings and flying?”
“That sounds like a metaphor,” she said, watching the insect hover and dart this way and that.
“Doesn’t it?” They passed through a little gate and walked down a brick path toward a huge stone farmhouse adjacent to a farmer’s field. “In the summer this field is full of sunflowers.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
