Chapter twenty-five
“Gabriel, I suggest you take Darcy for a coffee and a madeleine while we finish the lunch preparations,” his mother spoke with the polite assurance of someone long accustomed to being obeyed. “You should take advantage of this lovely morning to sit out in the sun. The children can come with us -I’m sure they would enjoy playing more than hanging around at a café.” The children in question were milling about and chattering with Gabriel’s younger relatives, reminding Darcy of young dogs sniffing at one another while checking out potential friends or foes.
Darcy was a little taken aback by Gabriel’s mother’s quite specific reference to coffee and madeleines; she couldn’t help but wonder if his Maman had somehow burrowed inside her head in the past hour and read her rebellious thoughts of what she’d rather have been doing than sitting in church on such a nice morning.
“That’s very kind of you,” she replied hesitantly, “if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble?” She looked questionably at Connor and Rosie to see what they thought of the invitation but neither of her children seemed noticeably perturbed at the idea.
“No trouble at all,” Madame Dubois replied, signalling to one of Gabriel’s brothers, “Robert, please take Gabriel’s keys and drive his car to the house. I’m sure he and Darcy would prefer to walk.”
Madame Dubois –Diane, Darcy corrected herself again - she had stressed that Darcy must call her by her first name when they had been introduced, was one of those women who, despite not being French born and bred, looked as if the French lifestyle had been tailor-made for her. Elegant, perfectly made-up and her neat hair-do without a strand out of place, she had arrived at the church wearing a snappy little suit that Coco Chanel would have been proud of. But within minutes she had completely dispelled Darcy’s notion that she was some sort of touch-me-not, well-groomed dragon-lady by gathering all her grandchildren around and dispensing from her fashionably-large leather handbag, a selection of colouring books and pencils, small toys, sweets and other edible treats designed to keep them occupied through the service. Then, when Rosie had started to get fractious early in the proceedings, she had beckoned her to her, settling the little girl on her lap and pulling another picture book –in English this time,- from the voluminous bag as well as a small container full of pieces of fruit. All this was done with the minimum of fuss and Rosie had quite happily remained on her lap, albeit asleep, until the benediction was given.
Now Diane called her large family together, looking to Darcy like a cross between a mother hen fluffing her feathers to find her chicks and a general summoning the troops. It took several minutes but soon the others were organised and on their way, leaving Darcy and Gabriel alone.
“Is it just me, or is your mother indulging in a bit of maternal match-making?” queried Darcy as she watched the departing hordes.
“Well, if she is, I’m not one to complain,” Gabriel smiled, “she has, after all, just engineered it so we have an hour and a half to ourselves on a sunny morning in Rouen. How bad can that be?” He’d barely seen Darcy all week and was keen to spend time together. Between renovation work on the chateau keeping him busy to all hours and her being glued to her computer working on landscape construction drawings, they’d hardly spoken more than half a dozen words since arriving back after the weekend in Paris.
“You do have a valid point there,” she acknowledged, her tone softening.
“So,” he began, “would you rather sit here in the touristy end of town or walk with me and see the real Rouen? We can venture past the cathedral and see the sights as we go.”
“I’m all for a healthy walk,” she said agreeably, “as long as there’s a coffee at the end of it –and I like the sound of that madeleine too. We wouldn’t want to disappoint your mother, now would we?”
“Perish the thought,” he laughed, “Okay, stick close to your tour guide,” he reached over and took her hand in his, “and we’ll head this way.” They had left the square and were meandering down a cobbled street that looked as if it was predominantly intended for pedestrian shoppers. Darcy was glad she’d worn low heels with her Sunday dress. Much as she admired Diane’s chic suit, her white sleeveless tank-dress with its print of large red roses and fresh green leaves was more her style. She’d teamed the summery dress with a Kelly-green cardigan and low heeled red pumps.
She had noticed that some of Gabriel’s brothers –or were they the brothers-in-law?- she’d lost track of who was who half way through the pre-mass introductions, had worn formal suits to the church service. Gabriel, though smart was dressed more casually; pairing olive-green chinos with a grey blazer, a dark blue button down shirt and tie and comfortable brogues. They hadn’t gone far before he tugged at the tie with his free hand to loosen it before pulling it off and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.
“Bon, I can breathe again. Maman insists that all men should wear ties to church; personally, I think they are instruments of the devil and shouldn’t be permitted anywhere near hallowed ground.” He made a face that put Darcy in mind of Connor when he had to wear formal clothes, then commented, “And here is where your tour begins, Madame -This is Rue du Gros Horloge.” Gabriel raised their linked hands to indicate a large gilded clock with roman numerals above an archway as they approached. “But more importantly,” he tugged her hand to the left once they had walked under the heavily carved relief-work of the arch, “Glup’s sweet shop. It’s a favourite haunt of my nieces and nephews and I’m sure Connor and Rosie would appreciate a visit when you are next in town.”
“You know, I’m fairly sure that tour guides don’t generally hold the ‘tourees’ hands,” Darcy commented tartly, but as she hadn’t removed hers from his he counted it a point won in his favour. She allowed him to pull her over to look at the display of assorted chocolates and lollies in the windows of Glup’s and noted the location and opening hours of the sweet shop for future reference.
“Now I could give you the tourist spiel as we go,” he said as they strolled further along the street, “but personally, I think it’d be better for you to just experience the place this first time and not get bogged down in all the details, so we’re simply going to walk and talk, about anything or nothing much – and you can look around for yourself -okay with you?”
“Oh thank you,” she answered gratefully. Whilst the arch and clock they had gone under were ornate and presumably historically important, for now she was quite satisfied to admire them in passing and window shop as they walked. The large clock did go some way to explaining the name of the street, she thought idly, -but like the rainbow vegetable garden of her earlier garden tour, big-clock-street sounded much better in French than it did when translated to English. “As long as I can look in the shop windows, I’ll be quite happy,” she too was tired from the week and felt a bit of down-time wasn’t a bad idea.
Her week’s focused energies had been rewarded by completed drawings for the walled garden and formal garden area to the south of the chateau.
She was looking forward to handing the plans on to Gabriel’s landscape construction crew, who were due to start on site Tuesday the following week.
Idly, she noted the presence of several British chain stores as they walked by. She peered in the windows of Printemps then admired the cathedral as they passed by with its oddly mismatching towers; curious enough to ask why it was that way.
To her question Gabriel replied minimally, “World War Two –lotsa aerial bombing.” Darcy nodded in understanding but didn’t ask for more details in the way of an explanation.
The conversation was pleasantly desultory, consisting mostly of amusing anecdotes from their week that they batted back and forth. They’d travelled several more blocks and Darcy was starting to wonder just where she was going to get her coffee when they arrived at Place St Marc, where a bustling Sunday market was in full swing. Gabriel’s towed her in the direction of a small shop with an overhead sign that read Boulanger-Patissier. “The café next door doesn�
�t mind if we buy something from here to eat with our coffee so we’ll get the food first and then sit down for drinks, he explained.”
Is wasn’t long before they were sat at a table on the edge of the square waiting for coffees to go with their treats and indulging in doing what the French do best –people watching. The market-goers were a lively and varied bunch and it was amazing for Darcy to see what passers-by were buying. As well as the usual fresh produce, cheeses and flowers the market had everything from secondhand clothes and bric a brac to antiques.
Market-goers walked by clutching anything from live chickens to an antique table –this carted past by two well-muscled young men in stove-pipe jeans and tight tees, one on either end with a pretty girl sitting cross-legged in the centre of the tabletop as if she was some exotic eastern princess being transported on a litter. She looked rather pleased with herself and waved a joyful greeting at Darcy as she paraded by. Darcy waved back, before taking another bite of her honey and lavender madeleine. It was delicious, she noted with pleasure, and well worth the wait.
At one point Gabriel suggested that they might go across the street into the market to explore but they looked at each other, and, in unison said “Nah,” going back to sipping, talking and watching. A second round of coffees and the time passed too speedily.
“Okay, now we have to go,” Gabriel had glanced at his watch and noted that they had less than fifteen minutes before lunch was to be served. “Maman’s house is only a couple of blocks from here.”
As they passed the flower-seller, he stopped briefly to choose bunches of varicoloured garden-grown roses, the first for his mother, he explained as he offered the second to Darcy. Thankful, she stuck her face in the petals and breathed in their delicious fragrance. They might not last as long as the long-stemmed flowers that a florist would sell, she knew, but the perfume more than made up for their shorter life expectancy.
At a second stall, Gabriel quickly purchased two heart-shaped cheeses. He gave these to Darcy to hold onto while he paid for fresh olives, tomatoes and string beans.
“Two hearts,” she quipped, brandishing the cheeses as they moved on, “now I know you really must be Doctor Who.”
“Well, I’ve given them both to you and, I might add, you’ve accepted,” he afforded her an appraising look.
“Yeah –to eat,” she laughed, “perhaps you had better end the comparison there before we move from the good Doctor to Silence of the Lambs.”
“Let’s!” he agreed.
“And here, you can have your cheeses back –they’re a bit whiffy for my taste.” She returned the cheeses to him.
Gabriel checked his watch once more, “Well, as I’ve left my go-faster red shoes at home we’d best put those two smelly hearts into action. My maman does not like people to be late for meals. So it will have to be, Allons-y! Vite!”
“Whatever, -after you Doctor Phoo,” she answered pertly, trailing in his wake.
Collecting Thoughts Page 25
