The Christmas Pudding Lie

by P. B. Phillips

  Mycroft bows to acknowledge her welcome, “Bien, Beatrice, et vous?”

  Beatrice returns to her door and answers, “Bien aussi.”

  Mycroft turns to Anna, “The Marais has some well kept secrets.”

  Anna asks, “Such as?”

  Mycroft winks, “The local are all a bit zany but very talented.” He opens the gilded elevator with its intricate metal work.

  Anna asks, “What floor?”

  Mycroft smiles, “What else but the penthouse in this case the fourth floor.”

  Anna asks with some hesitation, “Is this place equippe?”

  Mycroft answers, “Bien sur, to the hilt. It’s small in size but big on style.”

  Anna follows with, “Oh just like Sherlock.”

  Out of the elevator and it is love at first sight for Anna. The blush faux finished walls create the feel of antiquity. Petite brass chandeliers discreetly illuminate the domed corridor. Sherlock himself opens the roughly hewn double oak door, “Welcome to Chez Holmes.”

  Anna bows to greet her host. He gestures them to proceed. Anna is not in the room five seconds when she starts up her commentary.

  “What an peculiar shaped room, it‘s bowed and creaky oak floors.”

  Sherlock explains, “The floors squeak in French. This is a corner unit, so the curved bank windows. ”

  Anna rushes over to the corner casement windows nine in all, three on three on three. She lets out, “Cool, you sit at the crossroad. You can see in all directions.”

  Her nut-brown eyes appear more golden as the fading light outside reflects off the mustard colored walls. She scans the room. She can’t resist but run her hand over the railing of vintage wainscoting. She catches a glimpse of her giddy self in the oval dappled mirror that adorns the plaster fireplace. For a second she becomes self-conscious. She sees her clothes are in some disarray. Her hair needs attention also. She runs ten fingers through her short bob. She adjusts her blouse.

  Feeling a bit more presentable, she resumes her tour of the flat. Anna glides over to the inviting ‘Ancien Regime’ chaise lounge with its bowlegs finely carved and brushed in gold. She sits gingerly wondering if its delicate legs can hold her portly self. She brushes the nap of the dusty rose-colored velvet.

  Mycroft flabbergasted asks Dodd, “You got through in record time, mate. Does this mean you passed on it?”

  Dodd dangles a set of keys. “We’re in old man… the magic of Sherlock!”

  Sherlock stands with his back to the entrance observing Anna’s reactions. He motions Mycroft to join him. Mycroft asks in a low serious voice, “What’s up?”

  Sherlock smirks at his younger brother’s pop lingo. He just shakes his head indicating that Mycroft is hopeless. Sherlock in a faint voice asks, “Did you speak to Central?”

  Mycroft shakes his head no. “I’ll call them now.” He walks off to the small alcove left of the entrance.

  Anna totally absorbed with the room’s eclectic furnishings continues her review, “I love the gold on gold décor. The mish-mash look works.”

  Sherlock is a little stunned by Anna’s reference to his interior design. He offers his take on the furnishings, “This mish-mash, I call the ‘Eco’ school of design.”

  Anna takes the man at his word. She asks seriously, “Eco?”

  Dodd adds, “It’s the new green look.”

  Anna doesn’t get it. She looks about for green. There is no green.

  Dodd apologizes, “We are being droll, Anna. Many of the pieces come from the flea markets at Vanves and Clignancourt. Thus recycled goods, green.

  But this neighborhood is an interior designer’s bit of heaven on earth. It is chock filled with the best in home décor shops.”

  Anna tries to make amends for any hurt feelings, “Honestly, I really love what you have done with the place, Lock. The side board alone is a treasure.”

  Sherlock bows his head by way of accepting her apology, “It’s an eighteenth century French provincial commode made of fruitwood, done in the Bombay style with Rococo slim fluted legs. I purchased it from a local antique dealer. Its beveled drawers make it somewhat sexy, don‘t you think? Every now and then, a piece such as this catches my fancy and I must have it.”

  Anna asks, “Is this the whole flat, this one room? No bedroom, no kitchen, no bathroom?”

  Sherlock gestures toward a door framed in delicate antique molding, “Viola! Le Bain de toilette. Please feel free.”

  Anna is relieved that the bathroom is not in the hallway. She takes advantage of his offer.

  Mycroft rejoins his brother and Dodd. He wants to relay what Central had to offer. But he hesitates lest Dodd finds offense as they went on in spite of his dismissal. Sherlock sees his brother’s quandary. He directs, “Croft, make yourself useful man. Give me a hand with drinks.”

  Sherlock rattles glasses by way of cover, he anxiously asks,

  “So who is this guy on the bridge in the wild Burberry digs?”

  Mycroft whispers, “Central confirms that riots are engulfing the outer ring. Urgency and vigilance are the matters for the day. As for the young blood Central doesn’t have a formal line on him. But their best guess is that he is an ANANCY.”

  Sherlock adds, “An Indigo agent?”

  Mycroft goes on, “They believe that Indigo has Anna under constant surveillance. I say old man, are we are being lead down the garden…”

  Sherlock raises his hand quickly dismissing any notion that Anna is a player. He screws up his face. In somber hush tones he says, “I think that it’s time to visit Uncle Vanya’s.”

  Mycroft puzzled, exclaims, “Are you sure? That is a dramatic shift, if you ask me!”

  Sherlock covers his mouth indicating to Mycroft to temper his tone.

  Mycroft takes one step back. Lowering his voice he replies, “I think that you better check with Dodd. And assuming that he agrees how do you propose getting Anna to agree? ”

  Sherlock answers, “Lady Banks of course. And I’ve checked it with Dodd.”

  Mycroft quite dubious of this new turn in direction asks, “Do you really think that Anna will follow us to Switzerland?”

  He whispers to his sibling, “Follow me, yes, but first things first.”

  Mycroft checks his timepiece. He turns his attention back to Dodd who surveys the street below. “Well Dodd old man, we best make a motion if we are going to catch the next train. Or have plans changed?”

  Dodd, startled by the sound of Mycroft’s voice, turns away from the street and replies, “Let’s get packing?”

  Sherlock knows that he needs time to set his plan in motion. He interrupts abruptly, “But not before dinner. I did promise a truly French epicurean experience. Let me check in with Chef Thierry downstairs.”

  Dodd who enjoys the best of the best in all of life’s pleasures replies, “Mycroft, we must hold him to his word. I say, mate, we wait on the later crossing.”

  Mycroft chimes in, “I never say no to a free meal. I‘ll pop down and see what‘s cooking.”

  Anna observes that the rooks are at it again, busy making plans. She allows them. She is still interested in Chez Holmes. “Holmes, do you sleep here?”

  A sly foxy smile covers his face. He saunters over to the northern exterior wall. He presses what looks like a light switch and out comes a Murphy bed decorated to the hilt in fine Belgian chocolate brown linens with threads of gold.

  “Viola!” is all he says.

  Anna suppresses her immediate inclination to scream with laughter. She modestly exclaims, “What a sensible use of space. And is the kitchen hidden in a closet?”

  Sherlock takes her over to the alcove by the entrance. He points therein to a table complete with hot plate, a sink and small refrigerator. “I leave the cooking to Thierry.”

  Anna loves this lifestyle too, “I’m taking notes.”

  Sherlock returns to the tall antique white and gold armoire. Within its recess is a modest bar with an assortment of glasses and dishes. Sherlock asks his
guest, “Sherry?”

  Dodd declines as does Anna. Sherlock closes up the Armoire and proceeds to fold up the bed. He suggests, “Shall we, Mycroft, no doubt is taste testing.”

  Given the early hour of the evening, the inside of the Blue Rock Café is deserted. A few young men fuss over linens, glasses and cutlery. All are of a size, not more than five feet tall. They are slender to bleak in appearance with blacker than black hair greased down with duck fat, or so Anna imagines. While the young waiters all appear to be Eastern European, the headwaiter is Mediterranean. He is a stunning six feet tall. His salt and pepper hair is long and wiry. He looks the perfect gentleman dressed to the nines in his tuxedo.

  He approaches. “M. Holmes your brother is in the kitchen. I seat you and your party and tell him you are here. “

  Sherlock nods to indicate the table overlooking the street, and answers, “Merci beaucoup, Michel, ca va?”

  The headwaiter discreetly bows and nods his head to indicate that all is well. The table for four is dressed in a rich blue damask cloth. The dishes are Limoge china fitted with the flag of Israel. Four blue crystal glasses accent each place setting. The attentive waiter holds Anna’s chair for her. When Holmes and Dodd are seated, he lights the candles to a petite menorah.

  Anna speaks, “What a wonderful table setting. The menorah is so unusual.”

  Sherlock’s green blue eyes boogie in the candlelight. He answers, “You are in the heart of the Marais, and here we remember our Jewish heritage.”

  Anna smiles discreetly. She thinks ‘Is Holmes Jewish? How could I miss that?’

  Sherlock leans in to talk to Anna, “Please order anything and everything you desire. I have an ideal arrangement with the café.”

  Anna is intrigued. She leans forward also and murmurs, “What kind of arrangement?”

  Sherlock is beginning to anticipate her inquisitive nature, “I bring my London guests here for dinner and the café in turns provides me meals gratis.”

  Anna sits back and smiles, “Splendid!”

  Mycroft finds them. He brings with him the blackboard menu with the evening’s specials. The four grow solemnly quiet while they contemplate the culinary delights. The waiter returns to take their order. Sherlock asks Anna to go first.

  She declines, “Dodd, you go first.”

  Dodd is glad to oblige, “I’ll have the snails stewed in wild mushrooms to start. And I’ll try the grilled duck thigh with potatoes garnished with cheese and bacon.”

  The waiter nods and turns back to Anna. She declines again.

  Mycroft follows, “Michel, to start, the pork head pate with fatted duck liver with a side of ‘gribiche chutney.’ And for the main course I'll have the hare stewed ‘a la royale’ with foie gras served with mashed sweet potato pancake flavored with cardamom.”

  The waiter smiles at Mycroft and turns back to Anna. She gulps and turns to Sherlock.

  Sherlock obliges, “D’accord. Michel, I‘ll start with the baby cold squids with cumin and anise seeds with warm sliced potatoes. And to follow, the rabbit fillet flavored with juniper in an open pie with mashed mushrooms.”

  The waiter returns to Anna with great anticipation. Anna replies, “It is so very French.”

  The three rooks and the waiter laugh uproariously.

  Dodd exclaims, “Anna, you were expecting Chinese?”

  Anna blushes, “I mean that it’s so tres exotic. But I know what I want.”

  All three rooks say, “Finally!”

  Anna ignores their jousting, “I’ll try the velvety pumpkin soup with salmon cream.”

  The good food is matched with delightful conversation about the wonders of the Marais. Anna asks, “So why the Marais, Sherlock?”

  Sherlock answers, “I love its history. Jewish immigrants came here as early as the fourteenth century. The biggest wave of Jews came in the nineteenth century. There was another wave of immigration in the 1960’s. But I’ll let you in on my secret; I have a passion for Jewish deli.”

  He continues, “Are you a Harry Potter fan?”

  Anna is surprised, “Harry Potter lived in the Marais?”

  Mycroft cuts in, “Not Harry but Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist whose sorcerer stone promises immortality lived at …” Mycroft hesitates.

  Sherlock completes his thought, “He lived at 51 Rue Montmorency. It is said to be the oldest house in Paris built in 1407.” Sherlock looks smugly over at his brother.

  Anna delights in the rooks’ game of one up man ship.

  Sherlock leads on, “The Marais today is a haven for artist.”

  Mycroft folds his hands together and reluctantly and apologetically bows to his big brother. He adds, “Anna, you must insist that Sherlock take you on a tour of his neighborhood.”

  Sherlock is only too happy to sing the praises of his beloved Marais and wonders why he didn’t think of it first. He adds, “Of course, a carriage ride through the streets of the Marais. Beatrice, our concierge, tells me that the holiday lights are a sight to behold.”

  Anna answers, “Really? But don’t we have a train to catch?”

  Dodd jumps in “Trains run throughout the night. Stay on, indeed, cara mia. Mycroft and I will push off. A presto, cara mia.”

  Mycroft stands, “An evening in Paris is a must. We leave you in good hands. But you know that already.”

  Sherlock gets up to walk them out. He points to a sign behind the bar for the ladies room. Anna looks over and is relieved that she doesn’t have to ask. She offers her last “Ciao” and makes her way. Sherlock is anxious to confirm his intentions with Dodd.

  “Dodd, old man, I think the time is ripe for Anna to visit Uncle Vanya’s, what say you?”

  Dodd agrees, “I dare say that it will be a bit more pleasant than Paris at the moment. You’ll get no objection from me, old man. But I’m sure that the lady will have a few qualms that she will voice.”

  Sherlock replies, “I anticipate her reservations. But I will be candid and tell her that the last chapter of Lady Banks’ story rests in Switzerland at Uncle Vanya’s. Don’t dally too long in London. Come as soon as you can. We are close to closure. You will need to step up, old man.”

  Mycroft settles the issue; “Uncle Vanya’s it is! We’ll call with our plans.”

  Dodd takes Sherlock’s hand and draws the fine boned man in, “I can’t thank you enough. Gracie, gracie bene.”

  Sherlock ends, “Right oh! Ciao!”

  Anna studies seriously for the first time the street scene. She begins to suspect that the horse and buggy story is a joke. She says, “I don’t see any carriages about?”

  Sherlock signals, “Michel is the carriage available tonight?”

  Michel Angelo’s face lights up two hundred watts, “Bien sur!”

  Suspicions mounting, Anna blurts, “Get out! I don’t believe it. You have your own horse and carriage?”

  Sherlock points Anna in the direction of the street. Her eyes dance when she hears the sound of horse’s hoofs on the cobblestone. Outside in the dark night appears a white horse dressed in a gold harness pulling a small blue buggy. Anna can’t get out the door fast enough to see the horse first hand. Sherlock settles things with Michel Angelo.

  On the street, a waiter hands the reigns to Anna. In a blink, without a moment of doubt, she grabs the reigns and says, “Merci beaucoup.”

  Anna walks along side the tall horse. From the sway in its back she concludes that it is old. She plays with its golden tassels. The horse stomps its foot, it shakes its head vigorously and lets out a long whiney. For a slight second Anna is intimidated. She wants to let go of the reigns and run. Fortunately Holmes is again at her side. He gentle takes the ropes from her. He whispers to the horse, “D’accord, Good Horse!”

  Anna feeling foolish now laughs, “You speak horse?”

  Sherlock answers, “It’s all a matter of intonation. Words don’t matter to animals. It’s tone and vibrations that they understand.”

  Anna thinks to herself, ‘Damn that’s
right, this man is too knowing.’

  Holmes is quiet. He allows the sights to speak for themselves. Amazingly, even Anna is quiet as the horse turns onto Rue du Figuier. Without any indication from Holmes, the horse continues on its course and makes a slow turn onto Rue de Jouy. They pass Albert Schweitzer square. Anna sees a busy boulevard ahead and grows tense. But indeed the horse knows the way. It takes the next left onto the more gentile Rue de Miron, thus avoiding any encounter with the busy street. The steady 'clippety clop' of the horse’s hooves on the stone and the busy chatter of couples strolling along the narrow sidewalks add to the enchantment of an evening in Paris.

  The horse jogs right to Rue de Lobau and Anna has a déjà vu feeling. She asks Holmes, “What is that ahead? It looks familiar.”

  Holmes replies, “It’s the old City Hall, The Hotel de Ville, the largest city hall in all of Europe. The locals call it ‘the Wedding Cake.’”

  As the horse passes the large portals, Anna exclaims, “I’m sure that I drove through this gate a long time ago.”

  Sherlock answers, “You very well may have. It was open to cars until 1982.”

  Anna is speechless except for a number of ‘wows.’ She stares out into the night. She spies closely every shop window. And then to her surprise they are back on Celestine Way. The river landscape glistens under the light of the nineteenth century lampposts. Then all too soon the horse finds its way back to the café.

  The young waiter comes out to reclaim the horse. Sherlock helps Anna out of the buggy. He tips the young man. Anna is visibly moved by this whole trip to Paris. With sincerity and in humble tone, she offers, “Thank you, thank you so much. Your kindness has no limits. I can see why Dodd calls you a good friend.”

  Holmes is glad that it is the dark of night as his face has turned several shades redder. “It gives me great joy too. So I thank you. Let’s go up. I think a cup of tea is in order.”

  Anna realizes that she has forgotten completely about the need to catch a train. That old worry of being alone with Holmes returns. With some anxiousness, she asks, “But the train…”