Bronx had never been a friendly cat, and one could wonder why Amanda kept and fed such a pest. Well, to be fair, he had been a delightful creature for a short period of time in his life. Amanda had found the cat one freezing evening during the winter, under the front stairs outdoors. He was just a tiny, skinny kitten, crying for help with a weak little voice. Amanda had heard him and was heartbroken when she saw him. She couldn't possibly leave the poor animal out there. For a while, Amanda's home was heaven to Bronx, who thought that life would be forever sweet and perfect. Then... then, one day, she came home holding something in her arms. And when she put this something on the floor to show it to him, the cat nearly had a heart attack. Amanda had brought a dog home. A dog! An ugly, blue greyish dog, with big paws and a big head. And such a dumb look!
"Oh, look d'Art, that's one of our favorite scenes."
D'Artagnan opened one lazy eye. We have favorite scenes?
Two men were fighting a duel, crossing their swords, shouting, jumping on roofs, all the while smiling facetiously at their opponents. As the combat rose in tension and volume, Bronx slid his paw under the cushion and quickly dug his claws deep into d'Artagnan's butt, then ran away as fast as he could. The dog stood up abruptly, barking, and hit Amanda's hand as she brought her glass of red wine to her mouth. The glass flew up, dumping its contents all over Amanda's sweater, then fell on the floor, breaking into pieces.
"D'Artagnan!" protested Amanda.
The dog ran after the devil cat, barking and searching everywhere frantically. But Bronx had already taken refuge in a secret hideout in the house.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Amanda, rubbing her sweater with a cloth.
The buzzer went off. D'Artagnan, who was sniffing the bottom of a door, raised his head and froze. He knew what this sound meant.
Amanda went to the kitchen, followed closely by the Great Dane. She took a pair of mitts and opened the oven. D'Artagnan carefully stayed a few feet away behind Amanda. She removed the casserole slowly and put it on the top of the stove, and closed the oven door. Then she lifted the casserole lid. A cloud of steam rose up. Amanda sniffed the pot, eyes closed. She smiled.
"Oh d'Art, you're going to love this."
D'Artagnan wagged his tail in agreement. Amanda took a large bowl from a cupboard and put some of the delicious stew in it. She put it aside in a corner of the kitchen counter. "Just a few more minutes d'Art, it's too hot right now."
The dog lost his enthusiasm. Are you kidding me? This is torture!
Amanda prepared a plate for herself. "You know, you lucky dog, you're going to eat a classic meal of French cuisine. I don't know many dogs who get treated so well."
After a few minutes—that felt like hours to d’Artagnan—Amanda put the bowl on the floor.
The dog rushed toward it and gobbled the food greedily. By all the dogs' saints, this thing is delicious!
The dog sensed something approaching slowly on his right side. A black shadow on the floor was growing bigger. In a flash, d'Artagnan extended his back-right leg and gave Bronx a solid kick with his big paw. The cat yowled and flew all the way to the other end of the kitchen.
Sometimes, revenge has the sweet taste of a good beef bourguignon melting in your mouth…
Chapter 4
A fter a good night’s sleep with dreams of long passionate kisses with a handsome French knight, an escape on a horse, and cooking pastries, Amanda woke up at 6 a.m., as she usually did.
She slid her feet into her fluffy slippers, put on her long wool sweater, and went to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. While it was brewing, Amanda trudged to the bathroom to have a quick shower.
D'Artagnan followed her each step of the way from the second Amanda put her feet on the floor. He stopped when she entered the shower though. Bathing wasn’t his thing.
While sipping her coffee and enjoying a generous piece of chocolate cake she had baked a few days before, Amanda checked the first emails of the day on her laptop—mostly sales promotions from various stores that she preferred to ignore for the sake of her bank account.
"Look at that! Angie is going for a whole month to Guadeloupe. Lucky her... Did you know that they speak French there too, d'Art?”
D'Artagnan was unsure what that was all about. He just hoped that Amanda wouldn't forget to fill his bowl before she left for work. She put her empty cup of coffee in the sink, grabbed a plastic box from the fridge and put it in her lunch bag.
Me, me, me! The straightforward look that d'Artagnan gave Amanda should’ve sent an unambiguous message, right? The woman took another box from the fridge, removed its lid and poured its content in d'Artagnan's bowl.
Victory! The dog devoured the food as though he had been starving for months.
"Calm down, d'Art. If you eat everything now, you won't have anything left for the rest of the day."
D'Artagnan couldn't care less about Amanda's instructions, the dog was too absorbed by his favorite activity. Amanda walked to the corridor and put her raincoat on.
"Bye guys!"
Silence. Amanda sighed and opened the front door. She frowned. It was raining again.
"And no fighting today!" she yelled, before closing the door.
Under d'Artagnan's sofa, a pair of small eyes shone in the dark, waiting patiently for the next opportunity to create chaos.
Chapter 5
“I
'll never understand how you can eat so much and never gain weight," said Kate, looking with envy at Amanda's lunch box filled with beef bourguignon. "Where does all this food go in your tiny body? That's so unfair. I'll have to run for an hour just to burn off my salad."
Kate sighed as she planted her fork in a lettuce leaf. Amanda always had trouble gaining weight, a problem that many women didn't share. They would often remind her of this with unpleasant jokes. As a fine cook and a lover of French cuisine, Amanda felt lucky about this advantage nature had given her. But sometimes, she hated her petite frame. People tended to think that she was much younger than she really was, and they wouldn't treat her with the respect she felt she deserved. Wearing her light brown hair in a high ponytail probably didn’t help, but Amanda didn’t care about looks. A pair of jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes were her daily outfit. So, she looked like a teenager rather than a woman in her late thirties. Kate had often offered to go shopping with her and do a full ‘makeover,’ but Amanda hated malls. She had always refused to be the object of a fashion experiment, like they do in these reality shows. She feared that she wouldn’t recognize herself and would feel uncomfortable, or worse, ridiculous.
"Yesterday evening,” said Kate, “David and I nearly had a heart attack. We were sitting on the couch and were checking the lottery results. After the fourth number in a row matched exactly ours, I thought, 'Oh my God, are we in? Are we in?' And... nope! Twenty-five dollars, that's all it got us. At least, it paid us back for the ticket." Kate sighed. "If you were to win the lottery, what would you do?" asked Kate.
"Damn, that is such a difficult question," said Amanda.
Kate looked surprised. "You never thought about this?"
"Not really... well, maybe I'd open this restaurant you keep nagging me about? I don't know. What would you do?" asked Amanda.
Kate grinned and put her cutlery on the table. Obviously, she had thought of this possibility many times and already had a plan in mind.
"I'd buy myself a trip to travel all over the world. And I'd stay in five-star hotels only. Alone." Kate put an emphasis on the last word.
"You wouldn't go with David and the kids?" asked Amanda, surprised.
"Are you crazy? Nope! If I win the lottery, it's time to celebrate and take care of me. No hubby and no kids. That's what I call real holidays."
Amanda wished she had this kind of issue. She’d be happy to travel with her husband and children, if she had any, but life had turned out differently for her. She thought of her upcoming trip to France with d'Artagnan and Bronx. Although she was happy to take her pets with her, she also
felt anxious about it. Amanda had never traveled with her pets, and never even had taken a plane on her own. Kate had offered to take in d’Artagnan and Bronx, but Amanda had quickly realized that she didn’t want to be separated from them. A year would’ve been too long. D’Artagnan would be heartbroken and would never forgive her, and Bronx… Bronx would escape or make Kate’s life hell. With a husband, three young children, and a demanding job at the Registrar’s Office, Kate had enough to deal with.
The friends closed their lunch boxes and put them in their bags. They walked back to the office with a total lack of enthusiasm, knowing too well what was awaiting them. And they were right. The waiting room at the Registrar’s Office was so full that several students had to stand up to wait for their turn. The lucky ones who had found chairs were sleeping on them or focused on their phones. The numbers on the electronic board kept growing by the second.
"Well, this afternoon isn't going to be any better than yesterday's," said Kate, rolling her eyes.
While taking her place in the booth and pushing the button to call the next number in line, Amanda’s mind slipped into a reverie. She imagined herself walking along a charming French street, guided by the smell of fresh croissants coming from a bakery nearby. She put her hand on the door handle and was about to enter the shop when she heard “I’m number 158!”
A young woman was standing in front of her, on the other side of the booth, smiling and holding a ticket, relieved that her turn had finally come.
Amanda took the ticket the student was holding as if it were gold, and forced a smile.
"Let me guess...” she said, “Brittany Harrison, first choice social work, second choice sociology, you forgot your transcripts and couldn't provide a proof of address because you just moved here. Do you have all the documents now?"
"How can you remember all that?" asked the young woman, startled.
"That's the exact question I ask myself every day, Brittany," answered Amanda while playing with her ponytail with one hand, and typing the student's identification number on her keyboard with the other, "how can I remember all that..."
Chapter 6
H is head stuck in the pet door, this is how Amanda found d'Artagnan when she arrived home.
"Are you kidding me?!"
The dog was barking, moving forward and backward nervously, trying to free his head. But he was so agitated that he couldn't release himself from his misfortune.
"Stop moving, d'Artagnan! How did this happen again? This is the third door you've broken. If you keep doing this, I'll have to leave you in a crate during the day. Is this really what you want?"
Finally, d'Artagnan's head came free.
"What were you up to?"
The Great Dane barked and looked at Amanda with desperate eyes. It's that damn cat! He made me do it, can't you understand?
Amanda saw Bronx through the broken pet door, standing outside by the shed, holding an envelope in his mouth.
"Oh no, he didn't, the little rascal!"
Amanda ran in the yard. The cat let her run after him in circles for a while—just for the pleasure of being chased—and then escaped with his stolen possession through a hole he had dug under the gate.
"Bronx! Come back here! Now!"
Hands on her hips with an expression of bitter annoyance, Amanda panted, thinking that she should visit the gym more often—no, correction: that she should go to the gym.
D'Artagnan ran outside and went directly behind the shed. A brown envelope was stuck between two flower pots, covered with dirt.
"Oh Bronx, you're a bad cat!" said Amanda.
D’Artagnan waved his tail. That's what I keep telling you! Do you finally get the message? Will you get rid of this horrible cat?
Amanda removed the dirt from the envelope and read the address in the top left corner. It was from France.
"A letter from France? What an odd coincidence, d’Art, we’ll be going there soon. But I don’t know anybody there. Who could this be?" Amanda walked back to the kitchen, followed by the Great Dane.
It was probably a mistake, she thought, but still, her name was on the envelope. Standing in the kitchen, she opened it and pulled out the letter. Although it came from France, it was written in English. Amanda's eyes opened wider as she read it.
She pulled a chair and sat down. Then she read the letter again. She stood up, grabbed a bottle of red wine, poured some in a glass, and swallowed it in one shot. Her hands were shaking.
D'Artagnan was intrigued. He wasn't used to seeing Amanda acting this way and could feel her anxiety. What was wrong with her?
Amanda read the letter several times. Then, she took her phone and searched nervously for the contact 'Kate Batten.'
"Kate. I... I..." Amanda was so nervous that she couldn't say a word.
"You what? Are you okay, Amanda?" asked Kate.
"I..."
"Speak! Damn it! What's going on? You're scaring me. Is there an intruder in your house?"
"No," answered Amanda in a thin voice.
"Did someone steal something?"
"No, I..."
"You 'what?' Amanda!"
"I inherited a house in France. It says in the letter."
On the other side of the phone, a total silence went on for a few seconds.
"Amanda, are you on drugs or what?"
"Hmmm... Delicious! What do you call this, again?"
"Gratin dauphinois," answered Amanda.
"I can't say it, but I can eat it," said Kate, "good enough for me."
Kate had gladly escaped home, leaving her husband David with a crying toddler, a princess bossing around her older brother, and a young boy shouting that he was going to kill his sister. Instead, Kate was enjoying a peaceful evening with her friend, eating her amazing French cuisine, drinking red wine, and talking about the incredible news. That was her definition of a relaxing Friday evening.
The women read again and again the letter that informed Amanda that she had inherited a house in France, and that the notary's office it came from had been looking for her for nearly a year. They would soon reach their deadline for finding an heir to the property, and if Amanda didn't contact the notary's office within two weeks, the old house would become state property and she would lose her right to inherit it.
"This is crazy," said Kate, "you never told me you had relatives in France."
"Because I don't! I mean, as far as I know," said Amanda, still in shock.
"Obviously, you did. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. All this is crazy. It sounds like a scam. Don’t you think?"
Kate talked with her mouth full of gratin. "Don’t know. But it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you have French relatives: you speak perfect French, you read French books, you watch old French movies, you drink French wine, you cook French cuisine to perfection, and I'm pretty sure that your dreams are filled with sexy French men."
"No—"
"Oh, come on! France is your dream. You must call this notary's office. You just have to check if they're legit, they probably have a website. If I were you, I'd be on the first plane leaving for Paris tomorrow morning to sign the papers."
Amanda pinched her lips.
"Listen, I know that you're in shock,” said Kate, “but you have to go there and see this house yourself. Maybe it could be a nice vacation home, you know, where you could go during summers? Finally, your dream is coming true. This is crazy but this is awesome!"
"I have no clue what this house looks like. They should've sent a picture with the letter. Maybe it's an old ruin that's worth nothing, and it will only be trouble."
"If you don't call them, you won't know," said Kate, "and you'll always regret it.”
Amanda pondered the idea for a while. She felt anxious because of the unexpected news, but it pushed her to do a quick check of her life: she was thirty-nine, soon to be forty, both her parents had died, she had no siblings, no husband, no kids, no cousin, no old uncle or old auntie, nothing. What di
d she have?
She had two pets, a few great friends, including her best friend who was sitting in front of her—eating her gratin dauphinois—a love for French cuisine, a few other hobbies, and a job to pay the bills that was 'okay.' Plus, she was supposed to go to France for a year anyway, so it was rather a good timing.
Amanda took a deep breath. "Fine. I’ll call them," she said, with a twinge of doubt in her voice.
"Perfect!" said Kate, "now I know that I'll be able to enjoy French holidays for free."
Kate took a large spoon of gratin from the dish and put it on her plate. "May I?" she asked.
D'Artagnan heard the sound of the spoon on Kate’s plate. He stopped licking the last bits of gratin dauphinois from his bowl and rushed to the table to force his head under Kate's arm. He nosed towards her plate.
"Hey, you!" protested Kate, "learn some manners, please."
D'Artagnan looked at her with innocent eyes. OK, fine. But will you give me your food, then?
Chapter 7
A manda eyed her phone for half an hour although she knew that there was no point in postponing this call. Time was crucial, as the letter said. She had to do it. What was wrong with her? It was just a phone call.
So, she took a deep breath, dialed the notary’s office phone number written on the top left corner of the letter, below the address. Because she was nervous, she got mixed up with the international phone codes and got the wrong people at firstshe even spoke to a child whose language she couldn’t identifyheard weird sounds when making other tries, and after the fifth attempt she finally got to talk to the right person.
"Oh, so you speak French, Ms. McBride? That's wonderful!" said the notary, Mr. Perrier. "It will make things easier. When can you come?”
"I’m planning on visiting France in two months from now. Could it wait until then?”
“Oh, no, Ms. McBride, I’m afraid it can’t wait that long. It’s quite an urgent matter, as the letter stated. You have to be here in person for the reading of the will, by next week the latest."
French Cuisine Can Kill You Page 2
