Chapter
5. Michelle's Shocking Request
[Chapter 6 will be available on December 1]
Charlie,
hearing the boom, began barking. He ran out of the bathroom where
his food and water bowls were, and scampered to the door, his ears
flapping. He braced his pudgy little legs and stood ready to defend
Vanessa from whatever danger approached as sounds of the single boom
died away.
Vanessa
finished zipping her skirt and bent to pat Charlie's head. He licked
her hand and smiled up at her. Or at least he looked like he was
smiling. “I think we're OK, Charlie. It must have been a one off,
whatever it was. No one's screaming, so I guess I'll go on down to
dinner. Why don't you finish yours?” She pointed back to his
bowls. His eyes lit up and he went back to his meal.
Entering
the “large doors on the left” at the foot of the grand staircase,
Vanessa's stomach clenched. Meeting new people was almost as much
fun as going to the dentist. She walked into a formal, ivory paneled
room hung with huge paintings of abstract art. Instead of the
spindly, little French tables and gilded, silk upholstered chairs she
expected, the room looked comfortable. Two large, cushy, chintz
covered sofas faced each other in front of a pale rose marble
fireplace. Several deep easy chairs were also in the room. But no
one was sitting down. Four people turned to watch her entrance.
Michelle
glided over and took her hand, drawing her to the small group. “Cheri
Vanessa, mon mari, Wilhelm Sevigny.” A portly older man with
grey-blond hair man and mischievous blue eyes, wearing a dark suit,
bobbed his head briefly over her hand, almost but not quite kissing
it. He murmured, “Enchante.”
Vanessa's
knees felt weak. “Thank you. Merci.”
Michelle
turned to a stone faced woman with a hooked nose, her white hair
pulled back into a tight bun. “La mere de Wilhelm, Madame Heidi
Werner.” The tall, thin woman in an artfully draped, black silk
dress, nodded.
Vanessa
stammered, “Je suis, je suis... heureux de vous rencontrer.”
Words she'd memorized on the flight to tell someone she was happy to
meet them, along with other important phrases such as 'Où se
trouvent les toilettes?' to ask for a necessary facility.
She
had hoped Jack would be at dinner. None of these people seemed to
speak English.
“And
I'm the black sheep of the family.” The last person, a younger
version of Michelle, reached over to enthusiastically shake her hand.
“I hope the dinner gong didn't scare the bejesus out of you. But
Edmund, our butler, thinks it's how things should be done. But then
he's from Asia where he worked for a billionaire who had delusions of
grandeur.”
Michelle
interrupted the tidal flow of information. “Son nom est Lucy
Sevigny. Ma plus jeune soeur.”
Lucy
laughed. “And she never lets me forget that I'm her younger
sister.”
Vanessa
smiled and her tense shoulders dropped. “Enchante.” Finally,
someone who spoke English. However, she was a little confused about
their surnames. Oh well, different country, different customs.
As
they all held empty glasses in their hands, when Michelle asked if
Vanessa would like an aperitif, she declined, “Non, merci.”
Michelle
nodded. “Bon. Passons à table.” She led Vanessa through the
open, column framed door into the dining room. Wilhelm offered his
arm to his mother and followed them, with Lucy bringing up the rear.
Wilhelm
sat at the far end of the white damask covered table with Vanessa on
his right and his mother on his left. Michelle sat at the opposite
end of the table with Lucy on her left and an empty place to her
right. The table, set for six, did not fill the room, Vanessa
thought that it probably had many leaves for when there were more
guests, but they'd been removed for this more intimate occasion.
Lucy
murmured, “I'll try to translate during dinner, but if I don't it's
because they're just discussing twiddle twaddle.”
Vanessa
smiled in relief.
Wilhelm
said a brief grace, which Lucy did not translate, and Michelle
started to spoon up the creamy soup already in place. The signal to
eat and talk.
Michelle
paused to say, “Vanessa, demain est entreprise. ce soir est pour
l'amitié. Oui?”
Lucy
repeated, “Tomorrow is for business, tonight is for friendship,
yes?”
“Oui.”
Vanessa agreed but wondered how she would get through the evening let
alone the business of tomorrow.
The
family must have been used to entertaining jet lagged travelers who
didn't speak French. Not much conversation was directed to her. And
after presentation of several cordials, she was invited to have a
good night's sleep.
Someone,
Edmund?, had already walked Charlie and he was sprawled on her bed
when she came in. He opened one sleepy eye as if to ask, where have
you been, but then slept on. She changed into a long T shirt
nightgown with a touristy print of the Eiffel Tower and hung her
black silk outfit in the beautiful armoire. Curled up under the
cuddly duvet, the warmth from the crystal thimble of Cointreau,
tasting of one thousand oranges condensed into liquid, lulled her to
sleep. Exhaustion won out over anxiety and excitement.
Before
she slipped into unconsciousness, she had what seemed like a
fantastic idea. She would keep a journal, especially of the meals.
Maybe even a blog. Everybody likes to read about French food.
The
next morning Vanessa enjoyed croissants and strong, hot coffee in a
round room, possibly the lower floor of the tower she noticed when
she arrived. The leaded windows were curtained in cotton chintz and
overlooked dormant lavender bushes. Savoring the flaky sweetness of
the pastry, she thought again about a French food blog. Perhaps her
first would be why French croissants are sooo good.
After
the petit déjeuner, Michelle and Lucy took her to a bright room
facing the eastern sun. Michelle sat behind a fragile walnut desk
with thin, curvy legs. Lucy and Vanessa sat opposite watching her
fiddle with a file of papers. Michelle still looked like a fairy
godmother, this morning dressed in a pale blue linen dress with
sparkly star buttons down its front. Even casual Lucy wore a dress,
although it was a swirl of reds and yellows. Vanessa felt like a
church mouse in her plain black pants and cotton T shirt. She was grateful no one, other than Jack, had mentioned the strange crimson color of her hair.
Michelle
spoke, Lucy translated, Vanessa listened.
“I
am so glad you were able to come at such short notice. I had planned
to request your mother's help in this project, but, as you said, she
is unavailable. On another adventure, this time in Thailand.”
Michelle shook her head. “Oh, how I admire her adventurous spirit.
But I am sure you will be most valuable in our present desperation.”
Lucy
paused in her translation. “Has anyone mentioned Michelle tends to
be over dramatic.”
Vanessa
grinned. “Yes, Jack, said something about it.” She sighed
remembering hunky Jack. She wondered if he was the chauffeur and
lived above the garage never to be seen except in a car.
Michelle
coughed gently. Lucy turned to translate their conversation--into
something more appropriate, Vanessa hoped.
Michelle
continued, “Every year the local Lavender Council sponsors an
important contest. Our family usually wins the Grand Prize which of
course causes some jealousy. So this year, the Council decided that
only non-family members could enter the Council. Mon dieu! Where
could we find a non-family member we trusted enough to do this for
us. Your mother, of course, came to mind immediately. Or in this
case, her daughter.
Startled,
Vanessa jerked to attention. “I can't win a contest. I can't even
speak French.” Were these people crazy, she wondered.
Lucy
laid a calming hand on her arm. “Non, non, hear us out. You don't
need to speak a word at the contest.”
Michelle
held out her hands. “S'il vous plaît.”
Vanessa
tried to relax and waited to learn more.
“As
you noticed this is the slow season for lavender growers. There are
no tourists to bring in money. Many years ago the Council decided a
good way to bring in off season money was to have a lavender cooking
contest.” Michelle smiled as Lucy explained.
“You
can't cook and eat lavender,” Vanessa objected.
“Oh
yes, it's a very tasty and healthy seasoning.” Lucy smacked her
lips in the universal, yum, yum, sound.
Vanessa
laughed. “OK, if you say so. But I can't cook. You didn't ask me
if I could cook. And I can't.”
“Not
to worry, Jack will show you the simple steps for our new prize
winning entry.”
“Jack?
Jack is a chef?” Vanessa squeaked. He didn't look like a chef
and hadn't made chef-like remarks about the pastry or the sandwich
she ate on their trip.
“Yes,”
Lucy confirmed. “He's our younger brother but prefers the kitchen
to the lavender fields. He cooked dinner last night. He also likes
to eat in the kitchen to avoid family squabbles at the table.”
Vanessa's
mind wouldn't stay focused. Maybe she was still suffering jet lag.
But that did explain the empty seat at dinner. Although tired, last
night she'd enjoyed the freshness and subtle flavors of the
vichyssoise. She had thought the dried leaves on top were basil but
perhaps they were lavender. And the roast lamb, which she didn't
always like, had melted in her mouth.
Michelle
began again in French for Lucy to translate.
“The
contest is next week. This afternoon, after lunch, Jack will welcome
you to his kitchen and explain what your performance involves.”
Although
anxious about what she'd signed on to do, Vanessa couldn't help
feeling a trill of happy anticipation at seeing the taciturn, leather
jacketed man again. Maybe he could figure a way she could get out of
the cooking gig. However, the thought of her free airplane tickets
made her squirm.
Lucy
stood up. “And now let's take a tour of the grounds. I need some
exercise. Get Charlie. I'm sure he'd like a good run.”
Edmund
stepped into the room, gave a slight cough and inquired, in English. “Is
Miss Tippett at home to telephone conversations?”
Lucy
turned to Vanessa. “You have a phone call. Do you wish to take
it?”
Edmund
looked at the grey stone floor. “I think it concerns your dog.”
Lucy
translated for Michelle, whose eyes widened.
Worried,
Vanessa said, “Charlie has his papers and his shots. There
shouldn't be any problems. But I need to find out if there are.”
She
followed the butler's stiff black back to the dark hall alcove where
a chair, shaped like a prie du, with a padded kneeler, was
next to a shelf holding a phone with many buttons. She picked up the
receiver, pressed the lit button and said, “This is Vanessa
Tippett.”
“Hi Vanessa, this is Jackie at Lakeview Animal Clinic. You said it'd be
OK to call you at this number.”
“It's
OK, but is there a problem? Charlie's very happy here.”
“I'm
sure he is. We don't think there's a problem. But doc said I should
let you know about the strange letter we got from one of Mr. Carr's
heirs.”
“How
strange?” Vanessa felt a clammy foreboding. Did they want her
to return Charlie?
[To
be continued on December 1.]
