“Chocolate or coffee?”
“Both.”
“Both?”
She smiled. “Just kidding. I hate saying no to chocolate, on principle.”
He looked confused, and she wondered whether her French was adequate to the task. Making a joke in a foreign language could be tricky. Or maybe Fabrice had no sense of humor.
“Coffee would be wonderful, thank you,” she said, chastened.
He grunted again, then started spinning dials and moving levers on an intricate Italian espresso machine, the kind one saw in Parisian cafés. Steam filled the air and the copper hardware gleamed in the morning light.
“Nice machine,” Cady said, for want of anything else to say.
“Bought it when I moved here. Damned idiotic. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“So you didn’t grow up here in the château?”
He shook his head. “I grew up in Paris. First time I saw this place, I was a teenager, right after the war. It was a ruin back then.”
“Is that right?” Cady said, wondering how much worse it could have been.
He shrugged. “Parts of it were okay, but it had been empty for a long while, and then with the war...”
“Was that the Second World War?”
He nodded. “Nazis never stayed here, thank goodness, but the Italians came through and took anything of value. Not sure it made any difference; place had been looted long before, anyway.”
“When did you move here?”
“I stayed here for a little while after the war, but came back for good in 1973, with my father. I thought...” He looked around, as though seeing the surroundings in his mind’s eye as they had once been. “I thought I had enough resources to restore it at that time, and we made some efforts, but no matter how much time and money you think you have, it’s never enough for a place like this.”
“It must be very inspirational for your writing. I’m readingLe Châteauright now.”
He did not reply, seemingly preoccupied with the spitting espresso machine.
“I was wondering, in the book, you mention—”
“Don’t talk to me about that book.”
“But—”
“I’m serious. I do not wish to discuss this. If you persist, I must ask you to leave.Dégage.”
“Okay, no book talk. Got it. I apologize. If I don’t talk about the book, could I stay? I’ll take Lucy out after breakfast.”
He snorted but didn’t answer.
“I noticed some improvements in the house,” Cady continued, hoping architecture might be a safer topic. “The bathrooms, that sort of thing—”
“My grandparents were the last full-time residents, before me. They made some improvements, many of which are still working. Put in electricity, obviously.”
“The woodwork is incredible. The intricate carvings on the door frames... Is that original?”
“Some of it. Here’s your coffee. I don’t have time to wait on you hand and foot, you know. Or to sit around all day talking.”
He limped toward the kitchen door.
