CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Cady
Jean-Paul dropped Cady where she had parked the Citroën, saying he needed to stop by his mother’s house and would meet Cady later, at the château. She went grocery shopping and as she was driving back to Château Clement, she realized that his car was right behind her. When Jean-Paul pulled up alongside Cady in front of the château, Fabrice was outside with Lucy, and frowned at the sight of them together.
“Why did you bringhimwith you?” Fabrice demanded. “And where have you been all day? My invitation for you to stay has been revoked.”
Cady hoped she misunderstood, but this was an easy one:Mon invitation est révoquée.
“Fabrice.” Jean-Paul stepped in. “Be reasonable. Cady—”
“What do you have to say about it? Her being American is a lot more interesting than your being Parisian. At least she brings whiskey.”
“I brought bread,” said Jean-Paul, holding up the bag from theboulangerie.
“Well, that’s something,” Fabrice said grudgingly.
Another car turned into the long gravel drive.
“Who’s that, now?” Fabrice demanded.
“I believe that would be Dr. Miller,” said Jean-Paul.
A fifty-something bespectacled man pulled up and got out of the driver’s seat.“Salut, Fabrice! Ça va?”
“Go away,” Fabrice said. “I didn’t call you.”
The doctor greeted Jean-Paul and Cady politely, then faced Fabrice.
“Annick Boyer, from the grocery store? She tells me you’ve been laid up for a while. And Jean-Paul mentioned it as well, as did his mother. So you see, people worry about you.”
“I’m fine,” groused Fabrice.
As Cady watched the old man, thinking of what Jean-Paul had told her about an unrequited love, she wondered about his cantankerous ways. Was it simply the grumpiness that at times accompanied old age? Or was there something more going on? At the moment, Fabrice seemed truly overwhelmed, standing with three people in front of him. Perhaps he had a social phobia; these sorts of things weren’t often diagnosed in his generation. Maybe that was why the two of them got along so well.
“Well,” said Dr. Miller in an upbeat tone. “Since I came all the way out here, and you are clearly using a crutch, why don’t you let me examine you?”
“Please, Fabrice,” said Jean-Paul. “Let the doctor take a look.”
“Fine,” said Fabrice, limping over to a stone bench. Jean-Paul moved to help him, but he waved him off, saying, “I’m no invalid.”
Dr. Miller did not seem put off by Fabrice’s attitude. He knelt in the gravel and examined his ankle and lower leg. After a few minutes, he stood.
“We would need to take a radiograph to be sure, but it does not appear to be a break, only a bad sprain. That is good news. But for a man your age, it will take some time to heal.”
“I do just fine.”
“I have to tell you, Fabrice, I don’t feel good about you being out here all by yourself. The risk of re-injury or a complicating fall is great. There are rehabilitation centers—”
“Don’t waste your breath,” said Fabrice. “I’m staying here.”
“But—”
“I’m not alone. The little girl’s here. She cooks.”
The doctor looked at Cady.
Cady raised her hand. “C’est moi, I do believe.”
