Out of Sorts (12 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

All Fun and Games ’til Someone Gets Hurt

Ferdinand has been back at home for two days. His convalescence at the hospital was longer than anticipated, and he’s relieved to see his apartment again. As Marion asked him to do, he informed her of his return home, while trying to break the record for shortest phone conversation: eleven seconds. He didn’t want to give her a chance to reopen the discussion about the proposed move. Ferdinand hates moving, and he can’t seriously entertain his daughter’s request.

For two days, he’s lived as a recluse: neither Juliette nor Beatrice knows he’s back. He wants to be forgotten, and to take advantage of his solitude to do some thinking. Furthermore, his relationship with Beatrice is still stuck in his craw. First, she flirts with him by telling him about her life and sharing her feelings. Then she sends him packing. Then she rescues him from an unjust conviction at the eleventh hour, only to force him back into the hospital, where he hates the green walls and incessant beeping that indicates life and death. Not to mention the car ride, when she nearly killed him. What a nut!

OK, sometimes he thinks he’s a little loony, too. But above all he has his pride. How can he spend time with her again? Where would they begin? A tongue-lashing? Excuses? A kiss? He decides to avoid her, along with the evening’s bridge party.

The plastic clock displays 5:52. Ferdinand paces around. The closer it gets to the top of the hour, the more anxious he gets. He reassesses each conversation with Beatrice, looks out the window as if the solution to his predicament is there, then checks the time again.

5:53.
In seven minutes, Beatrice will come to my door to beg me to come play. But I won’t go. I won’t!
It’s not that he blames her. He knew deep down what she would say. Eighty years of experience taught him that.
It’s always the same with women. They ask me to love them, then toss me aside when I finally have feelings! I won’t go play tonight, that’s for sure! In any case, she won’t have to ring the bell—the bridge set is sitting on her doormat. She’ll get the message.
5:54.
This clock isn’t working. It’s slow! And it’s on Beatrice’s side—it’s slowly torturing me.

5:56. Ferdinand sighs. He looks through the peephole and sees the bridge set is still where he left it. Beatrice should discover it soon.
I’d like to see her face when she realizes I’m not coming. That it’s over between us.
Ferdinand, like a caged animal, returns to his station in front of the window, staring into space.
Then again, it would be a shame to leave the complex now. The concierge isn’t here anymore to bother me, the neighbor ladies make eyes at me, Juliette brings me licorice . . .

The doorbell rings.
But it’s only 5:57. Beatrice is getting rude, she’s early! Anyway, I’m not here.
Silence. Ferdinand presses himself against the wall. He ceases moving, holds his breath. Then, he remembers.
Darn, the light. I should have turned it off. Now she’ll see it shining underneath the door.
Stealthily, Ferdinand shuffles in his slippers to the light switch in the entryway. He’s turning blue in the face. He presses it, and the light goes out. Whew!

But the desire to see his neighbor’s pleading face is too strong. He lifts the cover on the peephole, adjusts his lens, and sticks his eye in. Nothing! Suddenly a worried little voice calls, “Yoo-hoo, is anyone there? Where is that damned light? Yoo-hoo . . .”

It’s not Beatrice’s voice . . . the bell rings again . . .

All of a sudden, the light turns back on. A white shape appears. Tall. Blond. Slender. From the back. A woman, in a long white fur coat. She turns around and scrutinizes the door, as if she were trying to see through it. Ferdinand can almost feel the heat of her gaze piercing him. He concentrates and makes out the woman’s features more clearly. Blue-gray eyes, a plump face little ravaged by the years, a delicate mouth redrawn in red. A beautiful woman, sixty-five at the most. Ferdinand has never seen her around here, otherwise he would have noticed her, maybe even tried to talk to her! Suddenly the white shape seems to dart toward him.
Shoot.
Ferdinand closes his eyes and mouth as tightly as possible, as if to disappear.
She saw me
.

The stranger rings again. “Hello. Is anyone there? I’m a bit late. I got lost in the stairwell and there are no numbers on the floors. I’m here for the bridge party.” Ferdinand exhales to empty his lungs entirely.
Whew! She’s not looking for me.
Ferdinand opens the door and sticks his head out.

“It’s the door across the way, little lady. You’ll see, I put the bridge set on the doorstep.”

“Oh, thank you! Yes, the game, how silly of me. Where was my head? I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She takes a deep breath, her hands trembling. “May I ask you to lend me your arm to help me across? My legs don’t carry me well anymore. I was really frightened in the dark . . .”

“Uh, yes, I’ll help you. Uh . . . there’s been a misunderstanding . . .” Ferdinand takes his keys and pulls the door shut behind him.

“Thank you so much, sir, for your help. I’m lucky to have found a knight in shining armor. Isn’t that wonderful. I get the wrong door and stumble upon a charming man who plays bridge, no less. May I know whom I have the honor of speaking to? I’m Madeleine,” she says, catching the old man’s arm.

Ferdinand’s head is spinning. He’s the one who needs to hold on. He’s bowled over. He’d been planning to play dead all evening, but now finds himself on the landing approaching Beatrice’s doorbell, with a seductive woman on his arm. How can he flee before being spotted by his neighbor, while still leaving a good impression on the lovely Madeleine?

But the door opens to reveal Beatrice. “Ah, I thought I’d heard your door. I’m
truly
delighted you’ve come, Ferdinand. I see you’ve already met Madeleine, your new partner. She’s the most seasoned player I know. Come in, come in. You like winning, Ferdinand, so here’s someone your speed. Besides, you’ve surely heard Juliette talk about Madeleine. She’s her grandmother!”

Madeleine lights up. “How nice to find out I’m on the arm of Mr. Ferdinand. I’m thrilled! We’ll see each other regularly then. I’ll be living upstairs from now on. At least, I think so. My memory plays tricks on me sometimes.”

The game has four players as soon as Mr. Palisson arrives, who helps Ferdinand unfold the bridge table. He explains the rules three times. Nevertheless, everyone has a lovely time, and Beatrice enjoys the presence of her neighbor. Madeleine has the most entertaining evening she’s had in months. At least, as far as she can remember. As for Ferdinand, he wins, but doesn’t even think to enjoy his victory, he’s so turned upside down by the superb woman who spends the evening touching his arm . . .

Chapter Thirty-Six

Once and for All

The Christmas season is approaching. Beatrice will spend ten days with her children, then she’ll celebrate New Year’s Eve at the retirement home with her sister-in-law. Juliette is leaving for Normandy with her father, little sister, and grandmother, where Madeleine will take a spa cure. Like every year, Ferdinand has nothing planned. Marion doesn’t get any vacation time, and Alexandre will spend his time off with his father, as he does every year. And that’s it! Ferdinand’s made the rounds of all his options. He’ll be alone. Like last year. Except last year, there was Daisy.

It’s the last day of school before vacation, and Juliette has promised to have lunch with Ferdinand. He’s prepared her favorite dish: chicken and pasta shells au jus and pickles. For dessert, he’s planned a surprise: a homemade chocolate mousse. A first! The only spoonful he’s allowed himself was delicious.

The table is set, when the little girl, punctual as always, tumbles through the door. She takes a report out of her school bag and shows it to him. He never had grades like those. This little girl will go far. Ferdinand is proud of her. Juliette sits at the table, a chatterbox as usual. The chicken isn’t quite cooked yet. She tells him about her morning at school. By way of an appetizer, she gorges on the pickles.

Suddenly all the lights go out. The fridge and the oven, too. A power failure. A quick check through the peephole reveals there’s light in the stairwell. Ferdinand resets the breaker. The power doesn’t come back on. Blast! His Christmas dinner will be ruined if the chicken is raw and the mousse warm. Seized by an impulse, he rushes out and rings Beatrice’s doorbell. Surprised, pencil in hand, she opens the door, all smiles.

“Hello, Ferdinand. How’s it going?”

Juliette sticks her head out onto the landing and waves to the nonagenarian.

“Ah, I see you have a visitor. Hello, Juliette! Can I do something for you, Ferdinand?”

“Beatrice, I have a favor to ask you. There’s been a power outage at my place and the breaker isn’t cooperating. While we wait, there’s an emergency: I need to finish cooking the chicken in your oven, if that won’t be a bother.”

Beatrice smiles. “I love chicken. But living all alone, I end up eating it all week . . .”

Ferdinand gets the message immediately. Beatrice is smart—she’s always known how to communicate her desires tactfully.

“Will you do us the honor of joining us, Beatrice?”

“What a wonderfully kind gesture! With great pleasure. And it was so nicely proposed. Let’s not bother with going back and forth from one kitchen to the other. Let’s eat in my dining room.”

The clock is ticking, and Ferdinand doesn’t have time to refuse. He agrees. Juliette has followed the conversation and already gathered everything up. The chicken, the pasta, and the mousse, like a procession of offerings, leave Ferdinand’s apartment and cross the hall to take their places in Beatrice’s kitchen. In the dining room, the white tablecloth is already spread out with nary a wrinkle. The table is set and the pitcher filled with water. A fat loaf of farmhouse bread is on a cutting board. Ferdinand hadn’t thought of bread, even though, according to Juliette, there’s nothing better for adding zest.

Once the chicken’s in the oven, Ferdinand takes his place at the head of the table. To his left is Beatrice, and to his right, Juliette. The old man returns to the oven to supervise the fowl. From the kitchen, he hears the conversation flowing easily between the old lady and the little girl. They’re discussing literature. Mrs. Claudel seems surprised to learn that this little girl has been doing entirely inappropriate reading.

“No wonder your classmates find you strange,” he hears Beatrice say. “I know just the right book to help you impress the kids at recess!” She fetches a tome from her library.

“You’re too young to read such an enormous book, but when you feel like it, or have the courage, it’s one of the best in existence.
The Fellowship of the Ring
by Tolkien. It’s a classic, and I’m giving it to you.”

Ferdinand returns with the steaming platter. His eyes widen at the thick volume Juliette is looking at. Some present! Then he changes his mind upon reading the title. Even he’s heard of it. Juliette will give him the lowdown.

“Ferdinand,” begins Beatrice, “you’ll be happy to learn that Commissioner Balard has been censured for the poor treatment he inflicted on you. I was right: your health was in pitiful condition. According to the tests, it’s mostly the stress that mauled your heart. Do you have cardiac problems?”

Ferdinand smiles. His heart has indeed been mauled over these past few months. And it’s not about to stop . . . Beatrice continues on about the commissioner, whom she cannot stand
.
Juliette, on the other hand, loads up her plate.

“This sauce is so good, Ferdinand. Bravo!”

“Wait ’til you taste dessert. I think you’ll like that, too.” After their meal, he asks, “Can I take your plates?”

Ferdinand leaves the table with an armload and comes back with a bowl covered in aluminum foil. When he uncovers the chocolate mousse, Juliette’s eyes light up.

“I love chocolate mousse! How did you know?”

“Little Miss Know-It-All isn’t the only one who knows everything! I have my sources.”

“Gramma Maddie, I’ll bet. Is it her recipe?”

Juliette gulps down spoonful after spoonful, to Beatrice’s astonishment.

“This child has an appetite! She would eat you out of house and home. I’m kidding, my dear. But you certainly do know how to wield a fork.”

“I’ve gotta run,” Juliette says. “I’m going to give you a kiss, Ferdinand, because I won’t see you before we leave for Normandy. We’re heading out first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks again for the book, Beatrice. I’ll tell you if I like it. Merry Christmas to you both!”

“It was a pleasure to get to know you better, Juliette. If you like the book, the next one’s waiting for you. Have a wonderful holiday with your family and give Madeleine my regards. I hope we meet another time, for another lunch . . .”

Ferdinand accompanies Juliette out and helps her hoist her school bag onto her shoulders. He notices how much the little girl’s grown in just a few months and already he can’t wait to see her again after the holidays. Then the old man, a bit embarrassed, musters his courage.

“Juliette, can I ask you a favor? Can you give this little something to Madeleine from me, for Christmas? It’s really nothing, but I know she’ll like it. Have a great holiday. We’ll see each other when you get back.”

Juliette disappears, and Ferdinand goes back to Beatrice’s. Their conversation picks back up in the same lighthearted tone. They talk about coffee and television shows to watch together.

On the landing, the light’s gone out again. But no one could guess that the breaker was intentionally thrown by Beatrice.

After lunch, the two neighbors settle in on Beatrice’s sofa to drink their cups of coffee. Ferdinand is ill at ease about this unforeseen tête-à-tête. Will he still be able to be friends with her after his stupid declaration? He doubts it, but he appreciates Beatrice’s company—she never judges him.

Awkwardly, he says, “I know I’m late getting around to it, but I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Coming to get me at the police station, bringing me to the hospital . . . You didn’t have to do it. It really touched me, especially after my . . . declaration, which must have made you uncomfortable.”

“To say the least. At more than ninety years old, I’m out of the habit. But what I did was nothing, Ferdinand. It’s what they call friendship. And you know, you were the simplest case of my career!”

“And the only one?” Ferdinand’s smile is joined by Beatrice’s.

“You should thank Juliette instead. That little girl is marvelous! She’s the one who dug up Mrs. Suarez’s prescription, and I prefer not to know where or how. She has very fixed ideas, a bit like you. According to her, the death of our late concierge is the fault of Mrs. Berger’s cat, who was roaming the trash room, looking for a mouse. Juliette says Mrs. Suarez was frightened by the sight of its eyes shining in the darkness. That’s what brought on the heart attack. A grim tale, in any event. Then again, it’s been a beautiful year for our friendship! To think, without that threat of the retirement home, you might never have said a word to me. And you wouldn’t have met Juliette, either. That little girl loves you a lot, you know.”

“Not too much, I hope. Because if that’s the case, I’m afraid she’ll be sad when she learns about my departure.”

“Your departure? Good God! For where?”

“Singapore.”

“Oh. That’s so far! But it’s your decision and I’m sure you’ve weighed the pros and cons. That’s brave, Mr. Brun. If you leave, we’re going to miss you enormously, Juliette and me.”

“I don’t have the slightest desire to leave my apartment or certain people, but Marion asked me to. She said, ‘It’s family,’ and I think she’s right . . .”