Page 143 of The Stranger

“What?” Her expression recoils. “God, no. But, I mean, I do have eyes.” And those eyes return to her search for whatever it is she’s missing. As she swipes away a dish towel, a dish of whole garlic cloves scatter across the countertop. “Dammit! And where in the hell did I put the rosemary?”

“Want me to grab some from the herb garden?”

“Would you mind?” She gives a wiggle of her olive-oiled fingers. “I’ll just prep the other one,” she says, pulling another bowl of dough from under the counter.

“No probs. Rosemary,” I repeat like a kid being sent to the corner store with a list. I climb from my stool and, scissors in hand, I make my way out into the shade of the herb garden.

I wander between the raised beds in no particular hurry, naming the herbs in my head. Basil in the shade, thyme next to it, parsley and lemon verbena spilling over the sides of terracotta pots. The sun dapples my arms, its rays defused by a hessian shade cloth as a breeze suddenly shimmers through the space, making the leaves of a potted bay tree shake.

It’s so peaceful, soft sun, lazy buzzing bees, and the crunch of gravel underfoot. I should feel relaxed after an easy morning, at ease. But there’s a restless current running beneath my skin. It’s an awareness of the hours still to pass, and an impatience for waits on the other side.

Tonight. Just the thought makes something flutter inside me. I smile because I can, because there’s no one around to ask why, or to tell me I look like an idiot.

I’ve just cut through some woody rosemary stems when Sylvie comes tearing around the corner. Still in her riding clothes, her boots kicking up the pale earth on the way to the boot room. “Primrose!” Her arms flung around my waist; she smells of sweet sweat and grass. “Horse riding was so fun.”

“That’s good, poppet. I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

“We saw a goat on a cliff! A steep cliff. Papa said they live there and that they have very good balance, but I think it was stuck.”

“He’s probably right.”

“And now I’m so hungry. I’m going to ask Zoe to make me a snack.”

“She’s in the kitchen.”

“Bon. And then I will go swimming. With Papa.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Will you come and watch?”

“We’ll see.” Or in other words, no. Last time was enough.

“Felix thinks he can beat me there.”

“Well, he probably can.” She frowns before I add. “His legs are longer.”

“Hmph.”

“Because that’s okay. You can do things that he can’t.”

“Like draw a horse,” she says, somewhat mollified. Or so I thought. “I’m going to try to beat him anyway.” With a quick squeeze of my waist, she dashes into the kitchen.

Seconds later, Felix follows at a run. “Last one in is a loser,” he bellows.

“Felix,” I don’t quite chastise. “Can’t you let your sister win this one time?”

“Ah, merde. I mean—” His eyes fly wide.

I bend to the rosemary again. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

He gives a laugh and the door slams. Silence settles over the garden again. Well, not quite silence. Footsteps over the gravel. I keep my attention firmly on the rosemary, even as excitement and trepidation swims through my insides with each of his measure steps.

His shadow falls over me, but he says nothing. So neither do I, though I am very careful not to chop off my trembling fingers.

35

LUC