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She patted Yeva’s wrist, indicating that she should put the watch back where it belonged. Yeva, with a quiet sigh, did just that. She rubbed her finger across the face of it, before her attention was caught once more by the video that was playing on the screen of her phone.
Mireille turned to look out the window, but there was nothing at all to see. Everything outside was darkness now, with only fleeting shards of light. She let her hand rest fondly, peacefully, against the side of Rémy’s bag as the train pressed onà grande vitesseinto whatever came next.
The Ritz
Harry limped into the bar just as Edith and Jenny were ordering their second round of cocktails.
‘Harry!’ Jenny stood to kiss his cheek. ‘I’m so glad you said yes.’
It was more the case that Jenny, when she telephoned to invite him for post-prandial drinks, had taken his ‘Eh, I dunno, honey,’ as an indisputable affirmative. Harry, having made it back to L’Hôtel, had eaten dinner in his room with only his book for company.
He was still feeling pretty shaken, but the human interaction at Notre-Dame had reawoken his desire for society. He’d been feeling restless when Jenny’s name lit up the screen on his phone, and he’d felt a surge of relief at the sound of her voice.
While she spoke, he had marked the page of his book and placed it on the bedside table. He was near the end.
‘Eleven, at the Hemingway,’ she’d said, and hung up.
You had to hand it to Ernest, thought Harry as he laced his shoes. The man sure got around.
* * *
‘Harry, I’d like you to meet my mom.’
Harry and Edith recognised each other, of course, from media photographs, but there was an etiquette to be maintained.
‘Edith.’ Harry took her slim hand between his own broad palms. ‘I see where Jenny gets her beauty.’
Edith tilted her head to accept the compliment.
Jenny laughed. ‘Toujours le charmeur,’ she said. ‘We’re having the house martini. Will you join us?’
‘I don’t suppose they do a Blended Kermit.’
Jenny stopped laughing. She held his eye, and he knew she was assessing him. ‘Are you feeling okay, Harry?’
‘Never better.’
Harry turned to the bartender. ‘Something with Calvados?’
‘Bien sûr, monsieur.We have the Serendipity.’ The man launched into an in-depth catalogue of the ingredients: Calvados, apple juice, topped up with champagne and garnished with—
‘Sounds perfect.Merci beaucoup.’
The bar was small and almost full. The multilingual babble of conversation was just raucous enough to be reassuring. The deep leather armchairs, wood panelling and extravaganza of memorabilia gave the place a cosy atmosphere. It was homey, and Harry found himself relaxing into it.
* * *
‘That was very brave of you,’ he said to Edith around midnight. The two women had spent the last hour rehearsing and discussing the story of Edith’srendez-vouswith her birth mother. Jenny had got tearful and was now in the restroom, repairing her make-up.
‘You mean telling Jenny?’
‘I mean writing to a stranger to ask if she’s your mother. Not everyone would have your courage.’
Edith leaned back in her seat. ‘I was devastated when my mom passed away,’ she said. ‘I felt unmoored.’
Harry nodded and waited.
She sipped her drink. ‘Jenny was out in L.A. with you, and my husband, you know .?.?.’
