by Nell Goddin
The Bilsons answered at the same time, with Ira wanting Molly’s company and Darcy wanting to be without her. Darcy won, which did not come as a complete surprise to Molly. She pointed to the section of the market where the cheesemonger usually set up, and fled for the Café de la Place.
“Pascal!” she said, slipping into a seat on the glassed-in terrace where a small heater was set up. The model-handsome server grinned and asked her how she was doing.
“Fine, thanks. But I’ll be even better if you’ll bring me the Special.” Pascal winked and disappeared into the kitchen. Molly was known in the village for her passion for French pastry, and croissants in particular. The café got theirs each morning from the best pâtisserie in the entire département—Molly’s holy of holies, Pâtisserie Bujold. In less than a minute, Pascal was back with the Special on a tray: a large cup of steaming café crème, a tall and narrow glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a croissant on its own small plate. Molly sipped the coffee and thought about the Bilsons. One crabby spouse whom the other constantly tried to appease—was that a workable arrangement? Were they happy like that, or was Darcy on the verge of leaving because Ira never quite managed to mollify her? Or was Ira on the brink of storming off, having had enough of his impossible wife?
Molly’s own marriage had ended years ago, but she reflected that she and Donnie had always seemed to get along, on the surface at least. They hadn’t revealed anything like the public tension of the Bilsons. Yet what had that mattered? They had split up anyway, and Molly no longer regretted it, not now that the whole painful thing was far in the past.
The orange juice provided the perfect mixture of tart and sweet, and after drinking most of it, she turned her attention to the croissant. Leaving all ruminations on marriage behind, she bit into the slightly hard tip, the crunch so buttery and satisfying, and then another quick bite to reach the soft, stretchy inside that tasted vaguely of cheese (even though she knew there was no actual cheese involved). She couldn’t help eating the whole thing more quickly than it deserved.
As she lingered over her coffee, reminding herself to pick up two other guests that afternoon at the train station, the Bilsons entered the café and sat down behind her. Molly started to speak but they did not appear to notice her, so she turned back around and edged her chair a bit closer, never one to pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop.
3
Not long after returning to La Baraque, two more Americans showed up: Ashley and Patty, two women from South Carolina who were celebrating Ashley’s recent thirtieth birthday, and were staying in the renovated pigeonnier.
“I’ve been wishing to get to France practically my whole life,” Ashley gushed, after giving Molly a warm hug. “My ancestors were French, you know. And the instant I set foot here, right in the Paris airport, I just felt…at home, in a way?”
“I completely understand,” said Molly with a smile. Ashley was medium-height and curvy, with an impressive bosom and small waist that Scarlett O’Hara would have envied. She wore a pile of bangles on each arm, trendy ankle boots, and an eye-poppingly pink dress. Her blonde hair came from a cheap dye job, Molly noticed, not judging her for it.
Ashley’s friend, Patty McMahon, did not hug. She smiled uncertainly when Molly welcomed her, looking embarrassed. She was very short, her pale skin scattered with freckles, brown hair in a long pixie cut. She dressed so plainly in jeans and a flannel shirt that Molly wondered what the two women had in common.
“So, how did you meet?” she asked.
“Back at Auburn? We were sorority sisters,” said Ashley, putting her arm around Patty and squeezing her close. “Were you in a sorority, Molly?”
“Afraid not,” Molly shook her head.
“Well, it’s not all candles and lace, you know. When you’re rushing, they put you through the most awful tests! I had to go to classes for an entire week wearing the ugliest pair of shoes known to mankind! Damn, I tear up just thinkin’ about it.”
Patty chuckled.
“Now Patty here?” Ashley continued. “She was a gift from God, I will tell you what. You’ve got to understand, if the girls catch you cheating on one of the tests, you’re out, out out! And I…well, I was cheating. I just couldn’t wear those hideous shoes everywhere I went. What would people think? And so one day I was walking to the sorority house wearing this pair of platforms that made my legs look like Elle McPherson’s. I was planning to switch shoes when I got close, you see? But Lord Almighty, here comes a sorority sister (and not one of the nice ones either) and I thought, Damn it all to hell, my goose is cooked!
“But Miss Patty appears out of the blue, sees what’s about to happen, and runs over to that sister with some story about a toaster being on fire, and I had time to slip into the ladies’ room and put those ugly shoes back on. Had to leave the platforms behind though—you can’t run around holding the evidence and not expect to get caught!”
“True enough!” said Molly, leading them to the pigeonnier and getting them settled just in time to go greet the next guest, Nathaniel Beech, dropped off in the driveway by Christophe, the taxi driver. Nathaniel looked lost, his gangly arms dangling at his sides, carrying his belongings in a high-tech backpack.
“Bonjour!” said Molly. “Are you Nathaniel or Ryan?”
“Nathaniel,” he answered, looking a bit alarmed.
“Sorry, we’re full up for this week and I’m expecting another single man to arrive any time. Welcome to La Baraque and let me show you to your room. Do you mind if I ask how you found out about the place?”
“Just web surfing. I’ve been wanting to visit France for a long time, and finally had enough vacation time saved up.”
“Glad to hear you stumbled onto my website. My marketing efforts could be a little sharper.”
“Oh, not at all. Your SEO wasn’t bad at all, and hey, you’re all booked up, so it’s working pretty well, eh?”
“SEO?”
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to get technical. Search Engine Optimization. It just means how findable you are online. Anyway, I’m happy to be here. If you need any help with all these guests, just give me a shout.”
“That’s very kind of you, Nathaniel, I may well be shouting!”
Nathaniel and the other single man, Ryan Tuck, were staying in the newly fixed-up wing off the main house. The rooms had en suite bathrooms, but no kitchens, and thanks to Molly’s suddenly fat bank account, the beds, linens, and everything else were of very good quality.
Tuck arrived soon after. “Molly,” he said warmly, giving her a quick hug. “I’m so glad to be here. Your place is incredible! Look at the color of that stone. How old is the house?”
“Depends on which part you’re talking about,” Molly laughed, pleased that he was taking an interest, and also pleased, if she were honest, to gaze on Ryan’s chiseled features and buff body. He was wearing a rather tight T-shirt that showed off his muscles, and had dark brown hair cut short enough to stick straight up. Definitely an attractive guy, and with several single women at La Baraque, and Valentine’s Day coming up, Molly thought there might be some interesting developments ahead.
After getting Ryan settled, Molly sneaked off to her bedroom for a breather. As much as she loved meeting new people, being responsible for the happiness of six guests all by herself felt a bit much at the moment. It was a dreary day with no sign of the sun, and her bedroom, far from the woodstove, was chilly. She pulled her new down comforter up to her chin, reached for her tablet, and dove into a new book.
After an hour of escaping to thirteenth-century England, she heard Bobo barking and got up to see what the dog was excited about. Glancing out a window in the hallway, Molly saw Ryan Tuck playing fetch. Bobo was dancing on her hind legs, waiting, and when Ryan threw the stick, she took off like a shot. Molly smiled. Of course, it was not at all the same as having a family, but still, it was very nice to have new acquaintances coming and going, and to see, in the short time they were there, they formed a sort of commun
ity. And she was, of course, always disposed to like anyone who made friends with Bobo.
It was 5:30 and time for a kir. She wandered into the living room, shoved another log in the stove to take the chill off, and reached for the bottle of crème de cassis.
A knock on the French doors.
“Hey Molly?” said Nathaniel through the glass.
“Oh hi, Nathaniel.” She opened the door and let him in. “Is your room comfortable? You’re the first to stay in that room since it’s been renovated, so please let me know if there’s anything amiss.”
“It’s very nice,” answered Nathaniel, seating himself on a stool and watching Molly make her drink. “Hope I’m not bothering you? I’m a little at loose ends from arriving so late. Maybe you could tell me a good place to have dinner?”
“Oh, no bother at all! Would you like a drink? I’m making myself a kir, a very popular French drink that in my opinion is the most delicious cocktail in the world. But I have…let’s see…I’ve got vodka, an open bottle of Bordeaux, Calvados that a guest left behind….”
Nathaniel tapped his chin. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he said. “I wish my girlfriend could have joined me on this trip—she loves champagne more than anything. It’s so much cheaper here, we could have had a bottle every night.”
“Indeed,” said Molly. “I’m sorry she couldn’t make it. It’s no good spending Valentine’s Day away from your beloved.”
Nathaniel nodded sadly. “I know. We haven’t been together very long, and I’d booked the plane ticket ages ago. So she told me it would be crazy to waste it.”
“Very understanding.”
“Yes. Miranda’s…well, she’s a wonderful girl.”
Nathaniel’s cheeks got very red and Molly almost teased him but figured she didn’t know him well enough. She put a kir in front of him and lifted her glass for a toast. “To Miranda!” she cried.
Banging on the front door. “Hold on, maybe someone else is thirsty,” she said.
The Bilsons barged in as soon as Molly opened the door. “Bonsoir!” boomed Ira, laughing at his terrible accent.
“How was Lela Vidal?”
“Very friendly, very generous,” said Ira. “We sort of invited ourselves over to her place tomorrow morning, right after the milking, so she can show us around. And in a stroke of luck, she’s doing a workshop later on that we might want to stay over for.”
“I’ve found people here to be really wonderful,” said Molly, unsure how she felt about an extended Bilson stay.
“As long as you aren’t killed,” sniffed Darcy.
Molly paused, trying to master herself before she insulted one of her guests. “Are you talking about the very few murders that have occurred in the last few years?”
“Last few months, more like,” said Darcy, with curled lip. “But no worries, Ira and I can take care of ourselves. I was wondering, can you recommend a place for dinner?” asked Darcy.
“Oh sure, Chez Papa is always open, if you’re okay with bistro food. It’s very good, just not fancy.”
“Where is it?” asked Ira, rubbing his expansive belly. “I am starving.”
“If you go down rue des Chênes—the road we’re on—and take the first fork to the left, it’s a few blocks past that. A string of lights in the tree outside, the door is blue…I’d say tell ’em I sent you, but my bartender friend is on vacation and I don’t know all the people filling in for him.”
Ira was staring at Molly’s refrigerator as though it were his only hope of survival.
“Or, I guess I could see what I’ve got here? I don’t have enough food to cook for everyone, but I might be able to throw together a few hors d’oeuvres, if you’re interested?”
Ira grinned broadly.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Nathaniel, just as Ryan and Bobo came inside. “Now we don’t have to go out into the cold, at least not yet.”
Molly rummaged around in her cupboards and refrigerator; within ten minutes she’d put a tray of gougères in the oven, and placed a bowl of olives and one of marinated artichokes on the counter.
“I could live on hors d’oeuvres,” she said, spooning more cheese puff dough onto a second tray. “Oh, I think I may have some prosciutto too—”
Ira made small talk with Nathaniel while Darcy stood with her arms crossed and a disagreeable expression on her face. Molly put all the alcohol she had on the counter along with some bottles of mineral water, and asked the guests to make themselves whatever they liked. “You know, I think this has officially turned into a party. I’m going to go let the other guests know they’re welcome to join us. Ryan, will you take the gougères out in five minutes if I’m not back?”
Ryan grinned and saluted, and said he’d be glad to if she was willing to take the risk that he wouldn’t run off with the entire tray for himself.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” said Ira seriously, appearing to take Ryan’s joke literally.
Grabbing her kir, Molly stepped out through the French doors and started down the path toward the pigeonnier. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the briskness of the cold air in her lungs, feeling a little happier now that her house was filled with people. Impulsively, she pulled out her cell and called Ben.
“Hello, Molly,” he said, his voice soft.
“What are you up to? My gîtes are overflowing this weekend, and an impromptu party is starting up in my kitchen. Want to come over?”
Ben paused, just for a millisecond.
“I can’t promise that the guests all get along,” Molly continued. “But still, it’s—” she was about to say “more fun than sitting home reading Napoleonic sea tales,” but thought the better of it.
“On my way,” said Ben, and Molly hung up, grinning like a schoolgirl.
Molly went around to the pigeonnier to invite Ashley and Patty. Every time she looked at the building, she remembered Pierre Gault and admired the exquisite work he had done. There’ll never be his equal when it comes to stonework, she thought.
She knocked lightly on the door. No answer, so she knocked again and called, “Ashley?”
“And you know I can’t stand the smell of that soap. Really Patty, do you want me to have a migraine this whole entire time? Because that is what you have just set in motion. I can feel the pounding starting up already, it’s like ocean waves gathering force, getting ready to crash on my poor little ol’ head.”
Ashley was talking so loudly that Molly did not have to rely on her eavesdropping superpowers to hear what she said. Was this going to be the Week of the Grouchy People? And I’m right there with them, she admitted to herself.
She rapped on their door. “Ashley? Patty?”
The door opened and Ashley greeted Molly with a wide grin, showing no sign of suffering from a headache. “Well, bienvenue darlin’, come right on in! Patty and I were just thinkin’ about having a little drink here in the room, and we’d be so honored if the chatelaine would join us! I took French in college, you know. Spent my junior year in Nice, and you know, going back in my family? We’ve got French people common as hen’s teeth. Just love any and everything French, as I’m sure you understand!”
“Indeed I do,” said Molly, thinking they had already had this conversation before. “Do you speak French too, Patty?”
Patty shrank back as though she wanted to be invisible, and Molly instinctively gave her more room.
“No,” Patty whispered.
“I do all the talkin’ around here!” laughed Ashley, fluffing up her hair.
“Well, I dropped by to tell you that the other guests are all downstairs in my living room. I’m making a few things for us to eat, and the party’s just getting started! Please come down and join us if you’d like to. Completely casual of course, and whatever you want to do is fine.”
“We were planning to have dinner in the village,” said Patty.
“But Mouse, there’s a party to go to! We don’t want to miss that!”
Molly smiled. “All right! I�
�ve got things in the oven so I need to get back. À tout à l’heure!”
When she came back to the main house, she heard Darcy laughing uproariously, and Ira looking on as though he didn’t get the joke.
“Ryan, you are just too funny!” Darcy said, her face now relaxed and open, her eyes even twinkling. Molly noted how a funny person would change the mood of a room in a blink of an eye, and she was grateful for Ryan’s good humor. She bent down to peek in the oven, which was temperamental, sometimes disobeying the temperature controls and burning things to a crisp if she didn’t keep an eye out.
“What are those delicious-looking morsels, anyway?” asked Ryan, standing at her elbow when she stood back up.
“Oh, gougères, one of my many French food obsessions. They’re like cream puffs, only savory. Lots of grated gruyère to give them plenty of cheesy goodness.”
Ryan laughed. “They sound amazing. And we’re going to eat them hot out of the oven? Already, this vacation is turning out to be the best decision I ever made.”
Molly eyed the young man. “Really? I hope you don’t think this is unforgivably nosy, but I was wondering about you and Nathaniel, young men traveling by yourselves. What brings you to this backwater village where nothing much happens, in the dead of winter?”
“Ah,” said Ryan with a quick smile. “Promise you won’t make fun?”
“I can never promise that.”
Ryan hooted. “Fair enough. Okay. My big secret is: I’m planning to start writing a novel. It’s always been an ambition of mine, ever since I was a kid. I saved up so I could take a long time off work, and figured a change of scene—in a calm, peaceful sort of place—would be the way to help me get started. I’m hoping Castillac will boost my momentum so that when I head home, I can keep it going.”
“Castillac looks a lot calmer than it is,” murmured Molly, before brightening. “A novel! I love the idea of your starting a book here. I wish you the very best of luck.”
