And Then Came Paulette (7 page)

When Mireille arrived in the farmyard, the kitchen light was still on. She was surprised to be greeted by barking. Velcro, Ferdinand's idiotic dog, had died at least six months earlier and he'd sworn he would never have another. He must have changed his mind and forgotten to tell them. Irritating. But she soon got over it. There was something she wanted to ask. She told herself that after all the poor guy was entitled to his little ways. And besides, it wasn't so stupid to have a dog when you were lonely.

She got out of the car, the dog recognized her and came over wagging its tail. Mireille was puzzled.

Ferdinand came to the door. He was surprised to see her. It was the first time she'd been to the farm since moving out. Almost two and a half months now. And at this time of night, with no warning. He was anxious. Roland had called an hour before, but hadn't said anything. Had something happened to the children? She shook her head. No, everything was all right. She looked worn out and slumped into a chair. Marceline offered her some coffee. Or a tisane perhaps? She
wanted something a bit stronger. If there was any wine left, that would be nice. Marceline went to find some of her celebrated plum wine, while Ferdinand got out three glasses. They drank a toast. Then wishing to give them a bit of space, Marceline excused herself, saying she must go and see to her old cat.

As soon as she had left the room Mireille looked at Ferdinand with a flicker of a smile. He sensed she was going to say something stupid, so he preferred to take the initiative and explain why Marceline was there: the storm, the leaks in the roof, the danger it might collapse . . . He'd decided to invite her to his house, it was large, and had been empty since they'd moved out. He added that at first of course she had refused, but he'd managed to convince her, so she was going to stay until the work on her house had been done. Mireille remained silent for a while. Finally she muttered, as if to herself, that she hadn't seen it coming. It had been such a long time . . . She had thought she knew her man's father: an old guy, a bit cold, rather stiff, not that nice, and yet now . . .

“So is that all you came to tell me, Mireille?”

“No, I wanted to . . . But hang on a sec. First, I want to know why you haven't told anyone all this.”

“So people won't get the wrong end of the stick. You know how sometimes they get crazy ideas.”

“That's true.”

She helped herself to another glass.

So, two sherries, an antidepressant tablet, and a couple of glasses of plum wine later, she started to explain the reason for her visit.

Her Uncle Guy wasn't well. Ferdinand must have noticed he was letting himself go. In just a few days he'd lost so much weight, it was awful. And those dark lines around the eyes, his expression. The children no longer wanted to see him: they were scared. He was like a ghost.

She started to cry, but carried on talking.

So perhaps if he wasn't on his own, he might get his appetite back? He could do stuff; look after the children, and her too. She needed that, particularly at the moment. Maybe it would work better if he no longer lived alone.

Ferdinand patted her hand. She snuggled up to him. It was the first time they had been so close. He wasn't used to it. He searched in his pocket and offered her a tissue. She blew noisily into it and waited for his response.

“He's as stubborn as a mule, your uncle. If he doesn't want to do something, you'll have a job making him change his mind.”

“But it might work if you suggested it.”

She waited for him to agree.

“I'll go and see him tomorrow.”

The combined effects of the alcohol and medication finally kicked in. She was in no fit state to drive. Ferdinand took the keys off her, put Marceline's bike in the trunk (his own tires were flat) and took her home.

Fortunately, it didn't rain on the way back. But it was a long time since he'd been on a bike, so he had to stop several times for a rest.

He knew he'd pay for it the following day.

And sure enough he did. When Ferdinand woke his legs were stiff and painful and his backside had been mangled to a pulp. It was bad so that he couldn't stand up or sit down. At seven-thirty he finally called Marceline to help. She brought him a bottle of homemade ointment. It worked for her; he should try it. He was skeptical, but had little choice. He rubbed some on in the way she indicated and felt a little better. He managed to get down to the kitchen without too much difficulty and he congratulated her on the miracle cure. He was careful not to refer to a “home cure.” The poor thing had just lost her home and he didn't want to upset her.

While drinking their tea and coffee, they talked about the previous day. She found it touching that Mireille had dropped in unannounced to see him. Especially as it was the first time she had done that, if she'd understood correctly. She had looked like a little girl—so distressed and so vulnerable. Ferdinand made a face. He had known Mireille for some time. And even though she gave the impression of being sweet and all that, you couldn't trust her too much, not our Mireille. She
wasn't like that all the time. She could be very strict, for example with her own children. And with him she had done everything possible to stop him from seeing them, on the grounds he used too many swear words. Whereas, in fact he was very careful about that. But yes, granted, it was true she had seemed vulnerable the previous evening. And he was very touched that she had come around for a chat.

They tried to imagine how they would arrange things if the three of them were to live together. They did a tour of the house.

There was really no reason not to.

They said goodbye and each of them left.

Marceline was behind with her vegetable garden. She needed to make the most of the dry weather to plant the garlic and winter shallots; sow some broad beans and peas. Before the ground became too hard with the frost.

Guy didn't come to the door. Ferdinand went around by the garden, but the kitchen door was locked. He had to break a window to get in.

Now they were sitting side by side on the bed. Ferdinand talked of Guy's responsibilities for Mireille and the children. Gaby wouldn't have liked his letting himself go in this way. It would have made her really sad. But above all, for God's sake, she'd have hated the fact that he had gone a fortnight without a shower or shave. She would have certainly demanded a divorce: the man stank! Guy gave a weak smile.

Down below Mireille was doing the dishes. She broke a glass and shouted: oh shit! Ferdinand raised his eyebrows, but secretly he was delighted.

Guy agreed to wash up. He could barely stand, so Ferdinand helped him up. It wasn't surprising, he'd lost thirty pounds in a fortnight and was skinny to begin with. He fetched some clean clothes from the wardrobe and leaned on Ferdinand's arm to go down the corridor.
On reaching the bathroom, Guy pushed him away and told him to go downstairs and wait for him. He could wash himself; he wasn't bedridden.

An hour later, he came downstairs looking neat and clean-shaven. Mireille had prepared something for him to eat: scrambled eggs, with tea and bread and butter. He made an effort, but had trouble getting it down.

At a quarter past ten Mireille had to go out to work. She gave Guy a hug and rubbed his back, as though trying to warm him up. He whispered in her ear not to worry, he would soon be better. She stepped back to take a look at him and he smiled. She wanted to believe him and gave him an affectionate kiss. She had opened the door to go out, but then changed her mind and came back to kiss Ferdinand on both cheeks. Until that point she had always kept her grumpy father-in-law at a distance when she greeted him.

Once they were alone together, the gloves were off, Ferdinand went on the attack. He asked Guy what he would miss most if he ever had to leave his house. And Guy snapped back: nothing. Ferdinand was caught off guard; he hadn't expected such a blunt response. So Guy explained. Neither he nor Gaby had ever really liked the house. On retiring they had been forced to sell the farm to pay off some debts and with the money left over they hadn't been able to find anything better. That's how it was.

Ferdinand put his cards on the table. He told Guy about the idea that he, Mireille and Marceline had come up with. And of course Guy said no. But Ferdinand was undeterred. He had already found the right words and arguments the first time around with Marceline; he wasn't afraid to start all over again. He knew Guy like the back of his hand.
A real stubborn old fool. You couldn't push him; if you wanted him to budge, you had to catch him by surprise.

That's what he tried to do all day, but without success.

Finally, running short of arguments, he put his jacket over his shoulders and said, “You can't stay here, Guy. It's not good for you. Come on, let's go.”

Guy refused to take any of his belongings, even his pajamas. Ferdinand thought that was good. No reason to take offense. It meant there was still life in the old dog. In any case he had some pajamas; he could borrow his. It was weird: since Marceline moved in he hadn't had the dream, the one where he swam with the dolphins in the warm, blue waters of a tropical lagoon. In a way he was sorry, it had been a really nice dream. But on the other hand he was no longer wetting the bed, and that wasn't so bad.

When they entered the farmyard Cornelius was standing in front of the kitchen door, busy examining the handle. A few minutes more and it was clear he would have opened it. Guy had of course heard all about his exploits from Gaby—he could still recall her pleasure, saying how that donkey, he was one of a kind! But he'd never had a chance to see him in action. For Ferdinand it was different. He had been treated to the carrot trampling episode and other unpleasant incidents, so at first he was not impressed. But he soon melted when he saw Guy's expression. For that smile alone he would have gladly invited the
donkey to come in, sit down on the sofa and have a drink with them. One of a kind, that donkey!

They went upstairs and Ferdinand told Guy to make himself at home in Henriette's old room while he reached his decision. The bed was comfortable and the room had been completely redecorated with the children's work. That was where the two little scamps had slept the other night after their bike escapade.

Ferdinand made some soup for supper, with leeks, carrots and pearl barley. At nightfall he heard a scratching at the door and went to open it. The dog fussed over him, then went over to Guy to be patted. As though it had always been that way. Marceline came in, having taken off her boots, worn out by her long day in the garden. All she wanted was to get changed, have some hot soup, and go straight to bed. On seeing Guy her expression lit up and she went over to give him a kiss. Ferdinand had succeeded. As she went by she looked at him with a twinkle in her eye and tilted her head, as a way of discreetly congratulating him. But when she went into her room she changed her mind and came back to kiss him on both cheeks. Something she had never done before. All the more surprising since they still addressed each other as
vous
.

After dinner the three of them went out to say good night to Cornelius.

Before she left, Marceline whispered sweet nothings in the donkey's ear and asked him to go easy on the locks, latches and other bolts. Because, Cornelius dear, Ferdinand doesn't get the joke. She stepped back to see the donkey's reaction and he nodded. She was surprised. Perhaps he really did understand everything.

As she came inside an envelope fell from her pocket. Guy picked it up and handed it to her. She had taken it out of the mailbox during the day and forgotten to open it. There was too much to do; it had slipped her mind. She opened the letter with some trepidation. It was
the quote for the repairs on her roof. She examined the estimate carefully and when she came to the total (materials, labor, inclusive of tax), she collapsed on her chair. Guy and Ferdinand noticed she had gone pale. She apologized, and said she was so tired, her legs felt like lead, she would have to go straight to bed. They wished her good night, she gave the dog a pat and left.

Guy and Ferdinand were not tired. Flicking through the programs on TV, Ferdinand saw there was a documentary about whales due to start in less than five minutes. No way could he miss that. They took two glasses and the bottle of plum wine and rushed into the living room. Like two old rascals, full of mischief.

On his first night, Guy slept rather well. Two spells of ninety minutes. Nothing abnormal about that: he was an insomniac. At about three in the morning he went out for a stroll. He needed to stretch his legs, get some fresh air and a feel for the area. The dog accompanied him to Marceline's house and by the light of his flashlight he examined the state of the roof. It would cost some to repair all that, he thought. No wonder the poor woman was worried.

Going back, he wandered around the barn. As he passed the tractor he couldn't resist climbing up on it. But he didn't start the engine, so as not to wake anyone. After that he went to the workshop and cast an eye over the tools. He was looking for something to do, but found nothing. Feeling a wave of depression looming, he went back to bed before it overwhelmed him.

Eight o'clock.

Marceline was not yet up. Usually by seven she was already making breakfast. The dog trotted anxiously back and forth between the kitchen and her bedroom door. Ferdinand watched dejectedly. He put
on some water to make tea, heard a noise in the corridor and went to investigate. It was Mo-je scratching at the door. He opened it and the old cat raced through his legs. Little Chamalo, who had been waiting for this, ran after him to play but the older cat turned and gave him a clawing to keep him quiet. Best not to annoy him in the morning. There was important work to be done, strolling around the estate; finding good hunting spots; sharpening claws on tree trunks; and marking out new territory. He liked to play, but only when there was nothing else to do. Little Chamalo soon recovered and hurled himself at the dog's tail, as it wagged up and down. Now that was fun.

Nine o'clock.

Marceline still hadn't emerged from her room, and Ferdinand wondered what he should do. He went past the door several times, stopped to listen, but couldn't hear anything moving.

He said nothing to Guy, in case it made him anxious.

At ten o'clock he decided to knock on the door. He thought he heard a groan. He knocked again. Another groan. He opened the door and called out. In the semidarkness he saw her lying stretched out on the bed. He went over and asked if there was anything wrong. She replied in a shaky voice that she didn't feel well. She had a high temperature, and pains in her legs and back. She thought it was flu. He put his hand on her forehead. She was boiling hot.

Ferdinand went to see Guy in his room and told him what was happening. Guy didn't take it well. It had been just the same with Gaby; they had all thought it was flu at the beginning. Even Doctor Lubin had diagnosed that. Ferdinand asked him not to mention the man's name again. He was useless and a complete idiot. They waited, not knowing what to do about Marceline.

They heard Mireille's car arrive. She had been dying to know how things were going at the farm, but didn't dare call. She acted as though she had just dropped in to see them, for no real reason, well, just to
say hello. Oh, by the way, she had stopped off on her way to pick up a few things from her uncle's house. In case he needed them. His laundry bag, clean pants, woolly socks and rubber boots. You never knew. It often rained. And then there were also some photos lying on the dresser. All this, of course, said in a matter-of-fact tone. Photos of Gaby and the children. She looked at them before handing them over and then burst into tears.

Without even discussing the matter, they decided not to say anything to her about Marceline. She was still too fragile. It was not worth upsetting her with more talk about illness.

So when, a little while later, she asked them about the neighbor—how she was and where she was—they replied in unison that she was fine and had gone out early to work in the garden.

As soon as Mireille had left, Guy sat down at Marceline's bedside, made her take an aspirin, and mopped her brow with a damp cloth. Meanwhile Ferdinand was on the phone to Raymond. He was a healer; he would know what was needed. Raymond replied that he knew how to treat eczema, warts, rheumatism and lots of other things, but not flu. He would pass him over to Mine, his wife. She would be sure to know. Mine did indeed have some remedies—thyme tisanes, brews and poultices, and hot toddies to make you sweat—but she thought that if Marceline had a high temperature it would be better to call the doctor. But please, Ferdinand, not Doctor Lubin! That suited him just fine. She recommended Mélie's son-in-law, Gérard. He was nice, and competent too. Also, he generally came quickly.