M. Mouillard nodded, taking notes. “An excellent idea.”
Etien leaned back, looking relieved. “I like that, too.”
“My personal accounts, though.” He looked at Bishou. “Joint. Either signature for any amount.”
Bishou took a deep breath, and dropped her gaze. “As you wish,
mon mari
.”
“And a separate little savings account of your own. To make you feel better. A passbook account.”
M. Mouillard excused himself for a moment, to get the paperwork going on these new accounts and changes. While he was gone, Louis moved his chair so that he was nearer Bishou.
Louis kissed her hair and murmured, “I know you don’t like handling other people’s money, ma Bishou, but you have done it for your parents. You and Bat have paid their bills capably. And, you and your brother have taken care of your parents’ income taxes for countless years. This is no different.”
Bishou could have given several different replies. Instead, she reached up to his face, and kissed him gently. For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he smiled. There was a light in those brown eyes that she could never have imagined.
Monsieur Mouillard breezed back in, with forms for them to sign. There were even forms for Etien, to authorize changes on existing accounts, as well as forms for new accounts, closed accounts, special accounts. The business was concluded at dizzying speed. Bishou found herself tucking a savings passbook in her purse, already containing an opening deposit of a hundred thousand francs, from which she’d had to talk her husband down from five hundred thousand. There had also been authorization forms for the printer to print new checkbooks for all the drawing accounts, since there was no account except the basic checkbook that remained unchanged.
Once outside the bank, Etien said, “Whew.” Privately, Bishou agreed.
“Now the lawyer,” said Louis, looking down the block at another building in the distance.
“You don’t need me for that.” Etien leaned over and kissed Bishou. “Will Denise and I see you both for dinner on Friday?”
“Oui,” said Louis. “Make plans for us,
mon ami
. We will be there.”
“See you at work tomorrow,” said Etien, getting back in the Panhard and driving off.
They walked down the street to a plain-looking stucco building, with a solicitor’s shingle hung out. These people were ready for Monsieur Dessant. In a few minutes, he and Bishou were in the lawyer’s private office, while they consulted about spousal benefits, the disposition of the business, and heirs. The lawyer promised to have the document ready for Louis’s signature in two days, and in the meantime, the old will would remain in effect, he warned. No mention of a wife and the property equally divided between the Campard children. The lawyer himself was the executor of the estate — him or his law office. Bishou was rather glad of that; she was afraid Louis would nominate Bat as executor, which might be sticky, as he was an American.
Louis chuckled as he helped her into the car. “You look numb.”
“I feel numb. Louis, a new professor makes 1200 francs per week, maybe.”
“Really? I judge prices by what a pack of Dessants costs.” He was unperturbed as he got in the driver’s seat and began the drive out of town.
She placed her hand on his arm. “Louis, I’m drowning in money.”
Louis laughed. “You little college student, watching every franc. Forget the money,
ma Bishou
. Just forget about it. That business is over. You know better, don’t you? Life is worth much more than money.”
“‘The love of money is the root of all evil,’” she quoted.
He nodded. “The love of it. Not the money itself. It is there to buy food and shelter. No one likes to be robbed, myself included, but that is because it is a mark of disrespect, not because it is a red column in the ledger.”
“I know. You are making perfect sense,” she admitted.
He glanced at her as he drove. “And,” he added, “if I ever say anything different, just start unbuttoning your blouse. I will forget my entire argument instantly.”
“What’s inside my blouse is not that valuable.”
“To me it is.”
Bettina opened the front door as they approached. They saw a light in the salon, and glanced in. Surprisingly, Bat was sitting in Louis’s usual place on the couch, with his lamp. Even more surprisingly, Adrienne was curled up next to him, barefoot, looking at something in his hands. “Bonjour,” Bat greeted them. “The boys are at Campards’. Want to see how pretty you look?”
“Are those the wedding photographs?” Louis asked. He waved Bat back to his seat when he started to move. “
Non, non, mon frère
, stay where you are.” He turned on another lamp, drew over a chair, and examined the photographs as Adrienne passed them to him. Bishou looked over his shoulder.
Thank goodness
, she thought,
not like those stilted French photographs.
Here were the Dessants, the Campards, and the Howards, smiling at each other. Here was the wedding breakfast, in the yard. Here was one with the Prefect and his wife in casual clothes, sharing a joke with them. And one of Bat pouring champagne for the American ambassador and his wife.
“We don’t look like corpses propped up, do we?” said Bat.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Bishou agreed.
“Pfui.” Adrienne slapped Bat’s arm disapprovingly, and shook her head. “You are all beautiful. Here’s the one that was sent to the
Journal de l’Ile
and the
Paris Gazette
.” Louis and Bishou, smiling slightly at each other. “Are you putting together a wedding album?”
“I am,” said Louis, at the same moment Bishou said, “He is.” Then Bishou added, “Louis is far more organized than me about such things.”
“Pfah,” said Louis. “This from the woman who just finished a doctoral dissertation.” The pair on the couch was laughing at them.
They really mesh well
, Bishou thought suddenly.
How did I miss this?
“How did you spend your afternoon?” Adrienne asked them.
Louis shook his head. “Signing papers. Bank accounts. Wills and letters of intent.”
“Lotta responsibility,” said Bat in laconic English.
Bishou nodded. “Burned out and crashed. Needed to come up for air.”
Adrienne looked blank. Amused, Louis translated into French for her. Adrienne smiled understandingly. “Money is like water, isn’t it? One misses it if it’s not there, either to bathe in or to drink. But otherwise, nice people don’t think twice about it.”
Louis laughed. “That is a better explanation than mine,
ma soeur
!”
“How did you spend
your
afternoon?” Bishou asked them.
“Oh,” said Adrienne, “I went upstairs and took a bath, then changed into these new, pretty clothes. Then I asked Bettina to do some laundry for me, and she said she was happy to. By then, Jean-Baptiste was back. He had stopped at the wedding photographer, and picked up the photographs. So we have looked at them.”
“How much do we owe you?” Bishou asked him.
Bat named a figure. “Since we’ll be going home soon, I won’t say no to some money for them.”
“I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning. I don’t think I have that much cash in the house,” said Louis.
“All right. Cash makes no enemies.”
“Will it bother you to receive it in francs?”
“Not at all. I’ll have a use for it, sooner or later.”
“And I think we’ve already put Caisse de La Réunion to the test enough,” Bishou said to Louis. He smiled agreement.
Bat looked down at Adrienne, leaning against his arm. “Want to go over to the Campards with me? I think these two want to be alone.”
“
Bonne idée
,” Adrienne agreed. “Let me get my purse.”
“What for?” Bat asked. “So you can have your identity card on you if I drive off without you?”
“Don’t be foolish, and let me get my purse,” Adrienne shot back, leaving the room.
“That’s telling him, Adrienne,” Bishou said approvingly, in a low voice.
“Supper at seven,” said Louis. “It will be cooler by then.”
Bat rose from the couch. “All right.” He smiled, that cynical smile, and went out the front door. They heard the rasp of a match as he lit a cigarette on the way. Then they heard Adrienne’s little footsteps, coming down the stairs.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Bishou called.
“
Aussi
,” Adrienne laughed. They heard the door close behind her, then heard her voice and Bat’s.
Louis shook his head. “Mon Dieu, there was my greatest danger, going away happily, with friends.”
“I know.” Bishou stood, and reached out her hand to Louis.
Louis smiled. They climbed the stairs to the third floor together.
Louis closed the bedroom door behind them, turned, and took off his shirt. He laid it on the bedroom chair. His other clothes soon followed.
Bishou washed her makeup off. She came out to a naked man, who embraced her and pulled her clothes down from her shoulders. In a few moments, she was naked too, and they were lying upon the bed together.
“Paradise,” they said at the same time.
Bishou pressed her chest against his, and kissed his face. “I never thought I would be doing this with a man of my own.”
“I had lost all hope of ever doing this again.” Louis stroked her. Resting comfortably against her body, he kissed her breasts and said, “These end arguments, you know.”
“I don’t know. I give you whatever you want,
mon mari
.” She gasped as his lips and teeth touched her breasts, and his fingers stroked and probed. This mad feeling — this was what desire was all about. “Ah,
oui, oui
.”
She felt Louis chuckle. “This is what you want,
ma femme
?”
“Oui, Papa.”
“Why Papa?” He slid up more solidly on her body, and added, “Never mind.”
Bishou let him stroke her breasts. Apparently they fascinated him. Louis lay on one side, tracing a path with one finger. They lay comfortably like this for a very long time, watching the sun set, hearing the evening noises of the birds outside.
“Here,” Louis said at last, in that peaceful, contented voice, “your body is like the Goddess, in the old stories, la Mère de la Réunion.” He tweaked one nipple, then the other. “The mounds of the volcanoes. Piton de la Fournaise, Piton des Neiges.” His finger traced a line to her navel. She took in a breath as he pushed his finger in her navel. “A caldera, une Cirque.” His finger drew a line down far beyond her navel. This time, when he pressed with his finger, she cried out. “Another caldera, une Cirque.”
She fought to control her breath. “Doesn’t that legend say — that Father Sky comes to rest on Mother Earth? Isn’t that what they say when the clouds rest on the island?”
“Oui, it is.” He smiled, and rested himself on top of her body. He kissed her lips again and again. Bishou loved his soft lips. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked him while she returned his kisses. Of course, she really had no standard of comparison; but she found it hard to believe that other lovers made love this strongly, this often. Maybe Mama Jo had guessed what Louis’s experiences had done to him, or guessed how a body like Bishou’s would excite him.
After this round of lovemaking, Louis took her in his arms and murmured, “I think I heard the boys come back. We must get up and dress for dinner.”
They went downstairs to find the boys and Adrienne already at table, having lemonade and waiting for them. Now Bettina and Madeleine served dinner. It was a cheerful, happy family dinner — so unlike what Louis was used to! — that made them laugh and laugh.
Bishou had called him Papa. Surely Louis had to realize that, soon, the laughter would come from their own children around this table.
• • •
A bird chirped outside the bedroom window and Bishou woke. Beside her, Louis slept soundly. The sun was starting to rise. Bishou slid out of bed, slipped on her robe, and crossed barefoot to the bedroom door. She opened it quietly.
She heard a gentle creak on the stairs. There was enough daylight now for her to see the figure creeping quietly up. She stepped into the hallway, slipped the shoes out of his hand, and set them outside the door of the guest bedroom.
Bat’s eyes were as good as hers. She had not surprised him. He let himself be drawn over to the airy, open stairwell, and stepped out onto the landing with his sister.
“Were you laying for me?” he asked in a very low tone.
“Not really. The birds woke me up.”
“Me too. I told her I’d better go back upstairs, or the boys would miss me.” He paused, leaning against the railings. “You shocked?”
“Truthfully? No. You’ve always liked little women, brother.”
Even in this light, she saw his smile. “Yeah, she’s tough, but she’s still a dainty little
Parisienne
.”
“She’s had to fight her way in the world, just as we have.”
“Mmph.” It was a gentle sound of agreement. “She just took my hand and pulled me into her bedroom, and I didn’t exactly say no.”
“I never thought you were celibate, brother.”
“At home, I am.” Bat felt in his pockets, found a cigarette, and lit it. “The day you spent with her made all the difference, you know. She said she feels normal and human again.”
“I’m glad,” said Bishou softly. “She deserves better than what she got.”
“And bed is a nice place to talk,” her brother concurred. “She’s never had a regular man, and she’s devoted to work.” He looked down at Bishou. “She’s older than I am. But man. She knows what she wants from me.”
“And you gave it.”
“Yeah. I did.” Bat gazed into distant fields. “You know, when I first saw this house in daylight, I liked it. It reminded me of Nam. The best lady-houses were houses like this.”
Bishou almost laughed. “You mean this house reminded you of the Southeast Asian bordellos?”
“Oui.”
“I suppose it makes sense. French colonials started estates out there, too, and then went home and left their houses behind.”
“Mm, oui. And the best madams bought the best houses. Of course, they’re now kinda run-down, but at least they try to stay elegant. And they have to like you before they let you in.” Bat blew out cigarette smoke. “They were dainty, tiny ladies, sometimes speaking a little French, not much.”