In the Shadows (The Outsiders Book 1) (3 page)

“I just had an interesting conversation with my grandmother. She lied to me to get me here. It even seems like there was some idea of g
etting you and me together, and—” He searched her face, then added. “You already knew about that.”

“No
, not really. I did wonder—you know, my grandmother’s heavy hints. ‘Oh, Simone, you aren’t getting any younger, and how will you meet anyone?’ But . . . .” She shrugged. “You know our grandmothers. Once they get an idea, there’s no talking them out of it, and they would have denied it had I asked. When Fabienne said you were coming over, I got all the meaningful looks and the suggestions that it would only be friendly for me to help you settle in. I went along with it—but grudgingly. Until I met you, of course.” She smiled, and raised her eyebrows.

He squinted at her and she broke their eye contact. A moment later she held out a hand to him, which he ignored. “You mustn’t be angry with her. She only wanted to help you.”

“I don’t need any help.” He strode over to the window, then turned around and faced Simone. “Why would she think that?”

Simone said, “You went through a divorce.
I did too. I suppose our grandmothers thought we could help each other.”

“I don’t need their meddling. You shouldn’t either.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been divorced almost five years. This is the first time she’s done something like this. Why now?” He studied Simone. “Tell me something. What gave them the idea for their little plot?”

She shrugged again.

“It’s rotten no matter who came up with it,” he said.

“Please don’t hold it against them.”

“How would you react if you were told your grandmother was dying? How would you like to be tricked?”

“I understand your anger
. But try to think of it this way—Fabienne’s healthy and you’ll have her around at least for a few more years.” She patted the cushion, trying to get him to sit beside her. “My grandmother is probably the sneakier of the two. She’s the instigator.”

He snorted at that, and stuck his hands in his pockets as he paced.

“I’m sorry they tricked you, but I’m glad you’re here. They were right. We do make a good couple.”

He turned around and faced her. “Of course I’m happy she’s healthy, but I can’t just forgive and forget. How can you justify what they did—and what you went along with?”
Dave frowned. Something more was going on here. What were they up to? And who exactly was involved – Fabienne and Jeannette certainly, but Simone?

He suddenly rea
lized she was speaking again. “— You’ll be going back to the U.S. soon. You might not get another opportunity to come back to France for some time. She might not be dying now, but she’s getting up there in age. Try to make the best of the situation. Why not get away for a week or two? Give yourself a chance to cool down? We could go sightseeing. We could leave in a few days, after the dinner party. How much of this country have you visited?”

“We’ll see,” Dave said. He turned and walked out.

Outside the café
, Dave took in a breath of the fresh air and tried to calm himself. Over the past year he’d considered moving away from Chicago plenty of times. Too many sad memories, too many lost relationships. He’d felt un-rooted for some time, as though he didn't really belong anywhere anymore. Certainly not in Chicago. Reynier, because of his ties with the village and because it was about as different from Chicago as you could get, had long been at the top of his list. Too bad it was now tainted for him. Yet, he could do worse than stay there. After all, in the end, what harm had been done? Still the annoyance—yes, and hurt—at being deceived rankled. Had Simone been laughing at him this whole time? He started walking to the far end of the town.

Ten minutes later, he sat in the living room at the home of his childhood friend, Jonas Lefevre, whom he hoped was a man who wouldn’t go blabbing to the rest of the town. He really needed a
man’s perspective. Whether or not he could actually trust him, he hadn’t decided.

“Nice home you have,” Dave said.

“Haven’t you been here before?”

“Don’t think so. You and Lillian were out of town the last time I was in Reynier. The time before that—must have been twelve years ago
—you weren’t married yet. As I recall, you and Lillian were dating. How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her around.”

“She works all the time
over at the butcher shop.”

An awkward silence ensued. Dave looked around the living room at photographs on the mantel—wedding photos, vacation photos, Lillian and Jonas with their dog, Jonas working on a clock
, Jonas surrounded by clocks in various stages of production—a whole life that Dave knew little about.

Jonas poured them both some cognac. “Don’t tell Lillian. I’m supposed to be cutting back both the amount I consume and the amount I buy.”

Dave nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me. But what if she comes home while we’re drinking?”

Jonas took a swig of his drink. “She won’t. Her boss never lets her go home early. He leaves early sometimes to do stuff with his boys. They’re a handful. Speaking of boys who are handfuls, do you remember when we used to ride our bicycles down the hills and through neighbors’ properties?”

Dave smiled. “How could I forget? The last time we raced down the hill, we almost caused a car accident. Mayor Rochierre phoned my grandfather and griped about our recklessness and I got grounded for a week.”

“My father acted angry for a few minutes, but he was a softy. He didn’t follow through with his threats of punishment.”

“Yeah, as I recall you never got punished for anything—ever. Maybe that’s why you don’t have any morals. You could probably get away with murder.”

“Hey, I resent that.” Jonas squinted an eye at him, and then burst out laughing. “But it’s so true.”

Dave laughed for the first time today.

Jonas grew quiet. “What happened between you and Connie? Fabienne says you’re divorced.”

He shrugged, and then studied this older Jonas. Slicked-back brown hair and hazel eyes, and leaning back in his chair, his legs casually flung out, one arm bent and lying over the top edge of the chair back. The guy had always been laid-back, and lucky with women, but he seemed even more self-assured now.

“What about you? I’ve heard stories.”

“Yeah, well, I tried to be faithful. And I did all right for the first few years. But Lillian and I, well, we don’t have any sizzle left.”

“Does that mean
you have a mistress?”

“A mistress? Ha. That’s an understatement. Women find me irresistible. What can I say? I try to keep my affairs a secret from Lillian. I don’t know if she knows, or not. She doesn’t say anything about it.”

“What about your business?”

“Ah, come on, I don’t want to talk about work. Tell me about you and Connie. I never even got to meet her. What happened?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Jonas raised his eyebrows a fraction, then nodded. “I heard you’ve been seeing Simone. How’s that going?”

Dave shrugged again.

“She’s certainly taken with you.”

“Have you and she ever been involved?”

Jonas smiled, but
instead of answering, he swirled the liquid in his glass. Finally, he said, “I’ll tell you about Simone after you tell me what happened with you and Connie.”

Dave moved to stand up.

“All right, I get it,” Jonas said. “You always were closed-mouthed”

“Simone tells me you travel often. Paris, Orleans, Marseille,
Lyon,” Dave said.

“Yes, that’s one of the benefits. I’d go crazy if I w
as stuck here all the time. But what happened with your job? I thought you were still on the police force, and then I hear you quit. What happened?”

“I started writing.”

“It takes time to build a writing career. How did you survive until the money started coming in?”

“I did all right.”

Jonas studied him, then shrugged and gave a smile. “Ah. If you’re staying in Reynier, I might be able to send a little something your way.”

“Have you struck a gold mine with your business, then?”

“You might say so.”

After a few more minutes of idle talk, Dave excused himself and walked toward his grandmother’s house. His mood hadn’t improved much, and he still couldn’t believe he’d allowed the women to trick him. He’d sworn he would stay on guard, that he wouldn’t let anyone use him or manipulate him ever again. Had he been deluding himself?

Why would his grandmother lie to him
about dying? When he was a child, she’d occasionally been caught in a fib, usually by Grand-père. Nothing big. Nothing like this. Although he’d visited every summer throughout his childhood, he’d spent most of the time outside or playing in the caves—not conversing with his grandmother.

He sighed. Did he really know her? For that matter, did he know any of these people? Maybe it wasn’t as
lonely as Chicago, where you could live years in the same neighborhood without ever knowing your neighbors’ names. But it made him wonder, all the same, if he belonged in Reynier any more than he did in Chicago.

He had almost called his parents in Missouri before he’d left
for France, to tell them about the cancer. He’d hesitated because his mother hadn’t spoken to Grand-mère since she’d moved to the U.S. when Dave was a baby. His father was the one who’d arranged the summer visits. No one would tell Dave what had caused their falling out. When he would return and try to tell his mother about his trip, she would stop him. “I don’t want to know anything about my mother’s activities,” she would say. What had Grand-mère done to spark that kind of response?

It had always bothered him that his family was split—as a kid, he’d compared his situation to that of his friend, Billy, whose divorced parents had shuffled him back and forth between them. If something terrible had passed between his mother and grandmother, shouldn’t he know what it was? What would his mother say about Grand-mère’s lying and subterfuge?

He found Fabienne sitting on the sofa, her hair in disarray and her eyes slightly puffy. He sat down beside her and took a deep breath, then said softly, “How could you think that would work? It was only a matter of time before I would figure it out.”

She turned away from him and didn’t answer.

“Talk to me, please
. You owe me a better explanation. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll help you if I can.”

Finally, she looked at him with sorrowful eyes that reminded him of himself as a boy, getting reprimanded by his dad. “Will you forgive me?”

He put his arm around her and sighed. “You can’t lie to me again. Promise me that.”

Three days later
Dave found himself staring out the window again, only now he was not really looking at the scenery. Though he still loved the view, he was tired of it, tired of this place. On the surface, his relationship with his grandmother appeared undamaged. He had tried to forgive her manipulation, and told himself he was overreacting, but he hadn’t really convinced himself and could not forget. He knew he didn’t trust her as he had previously. He felt that her lie had been a smokescreen to hide something more—it was surely inconceivable that she had claimed to be dying simply to get him to stay. He wondered what had caused the fallout between his mother and grandmother. Jeannette would know what happened, and if she knew, there was a chance Simone knew. He decided he would go on the sightseeing trip with her and encourage her to talk. He sighed and shook his head. He realized he was growing impatient and edgy waiting around. That was one thing he’d always disliked about the village. At this time of year, most shops in France stayed open all day, foregoing the traditional two-hour lunch breaks, to accommodate the seasonal throng of tourists. Not so, however, in Reynier.

The shopkeepers claimed it was
merely tradition, but Dave’s grandfather always used to say it was because Reynier rarely drew in more than an occasional tourist. And it wasn’t on the tourist route for one basic reason. The six hundred or so residents didn’t want tourists invading their town. Dave understood and appreciated the peacefulness it provided. Reynier’s layout, although lacking a town square, was fairly typical of French hillside villages, with homes and businesses spread out over multiple levels, connected by stairways, cobbled roads, and walking paths. Reynier’s labyrinthine cave system in the hill, along with troglodyte cave dwellings sprinkled throughout, made it a bit more unique, although it wasn’t the only such town in France. He’d seen several others, and had heard of more that he hadn’t seen yet. It could have been a popular tourist destination and could have brought in some revenue for the locals. Apparently, the villagers had decided that the price of tourism was more than they were willing to pay.

The chiming clock in the corner drew Dave out of his thoughts. He glanced up. Two o’clock. The clock was fifteen minutes fast, but his grandmother was typically fifteen minutes slow
, momentarily amusing him at the two being a matched set. 

When he entered the kitche
n, she was by the sink, talking on the telephone. She saw him, quickly said her goodbyes, and hung up. “Sorry to interrupt, Grand-mère, but if we go now, the shops should be re-opening.” 

“Thank you, dear boy. Let me gather a few things.” She ambled out of the kitchen.

Dave followed her into the living room, where she searched the table beside the front door, sighed, and waved her hand. “What are you looking for?”

She ignored him as she flittered around the living room and foyer. She stopped and stared at the closet, raising her arms. A soft sound of exasperation escaped her and she stomped over to
the coat rack, picking up her suitcase-sized purse that was hanging from a hook. “Never mind. I found them.” She pulled out her bifocals along with her new pink and green flowered silk scarf, put on her glasses, and wrapped the scarf around her white hair, tying it underneath her chin. Reaching into the closet, she withdrew her new brown suede shoes, the ones she’d spent hours shopping for in the nearby town of Vendome yesterday. Dave shook his head in amusement as he watched her squeeze her thick feet into the dressy shoes to go walking along the sloping paved lanes.

Thinking that his grandmother was ready to go out, he strode over to the front door. But in the foyer, she again stopped and studied herself in the mirror
. She made a clucking sound as she tucked wayward strands of hair under the scarf. She finally walked out the door.

Dav
e followed her and closed the door, not bothering to lock it since no one here locked their doors unless going away on a trip. Turning his attention back to the street, he breathed in the fresh summer air. The weather had changed in the few hours he’d been indoors. A wind had arisen and was swirling around the fine limestone tufa that covered the buildings. Though the air was still hot and dry as it usually was all summer long, the blowing wind carried with it the scent of flowers and the chatter of birdsong.

He entwined his arm with his grandmother’s
, and they strolled along rue de Rennes, the sloping lane on which she lived. They headed toward the intersection where the road would switch-back onto rue Corneille and down to the bottom, where most of the village’s businesses were situated. They could have gone directly down the hillside, by way of a steep stone staircase, but Fabienne had tripped on them the last time they’d gone that way and ended up with a bruised leg.

Dave nodded politely when Jeannette strode up beside them,
but only half-listened as the two women chatted quietly, their heels clicking like horse hooves on the cobbled road, the thought momentarily providing a quiet chuckle. As they arrived at the end of the road, Jeannette waved and said her goodbyes, then disappeared into the town hall on the corner, across the street from Simone’s café. Dave and his grandmother made the partial U-turn onto rue Corneille. At the bottom of the hill, they walked past the local drugstore and Dave started to cross the street, halting when he noticed the heel clicking had stopped. He turned around, backtracked to where his grandmother was standing, and waited as she reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper.

“If we split up,” she said, handing the paper to him, “we can finish faster and
return home in plenty of time to prepare the meal. I want everything to be perfect for our party.”

He glanced at the flapping piece of paper before tucking it in the pocket o
f his blue polo-shirt and out of the wind’s reach.

“Good,” Fabienne said, not waiting for a response. “You’ll find all of those things in the general store
.”
She reached into her cloth shopping bag and pulled out another, smaller bag, which she handed to him.
“
I’ll get the cheeses, meats, and wine. We can meet by the town hall?”

“Okay,” Dave said. “
Half an hour, then?”

Fabienne flashed him a smile, waved, and then scurried down the street.

The main street was long and narrow with shops on both sides of the street. He watched her stop outside the cheese shop next to the post office across the street. The river was behind the businesses on that side, while the hill was behind the businesses on the side where he was walking. He reached the general store
with its yellow awning flapping in the wind, the metal hangers creaking. It was still closed for lunch. On one side of the front door two elderly men sat on an old wooden bench, canes neatly propped nearby. They often sat there all day long. On the other side of the door, crates of fruit were displayed on a low platform. A small group had gathered outside the store, waiting for it to re-open. Dave nodded to Paul Lepage who was standing next to the store clerk, Robert Roussel, both smoking cigarettes.

Paul flicked ashes onto the sidewalk. “Bonjour
.
I’m looking forward to tonight’s dinner party.

“Me
too. She’s planned quite a feast.”

Paul laughed, blowing a plume of smoke towards the sky. “That sounds like Fabienne. I’m not complaining, mind you. She’s the best cook I know. But don’t tell anyone I said so.”

Dave chuckled. Paul was Jeannette’s grandson, and Simone’s cousin; unlike Simone, he’d lived his whole life in Reynier, except for the time he spent at art school in Paris. He now worked as a handyman in order to make ends meet, though he’d told Dave a couple of days ago that he was talking with people who might help him get his art career going. His black hair was tousled and his face was dark and stubbled from not shaving. Dave knew he’d clean up for the party and out-dress him.

Someone rode past on a sputtering
motor scooter as the store clerk opened the door. After he reversed the ‘Closed’ sign, the shoppers pushed their way in.

Dave pulled out the scribbled shopping list as he entered the store, reading the groceries listed for him to get: artichokes, aubergines, mushrooms, onions, bread, cream
. . . .

He looked up from the list briefly and nodded as Robert passed by, then headed for the produce aisle in the back of the small store. As
he proceeded across the old plank oak floor aisles, scrubbed spotless and shiny, but worn in the center from ages of use, the floors depressed and squeaked. It was clear that these aisles had remained unchanged from the time the store was created.

Starting i
n the produce area, Dave carefully picked through the fruits and vegetables, knowing from experience that his grandmother was finicky and would complain if he didn’t select perfect specimens. She had complained last week when he came back from a shopping trip with unripe fruit and undersized vegetables. Too bad she hadn’t included a size-chart with her list.

He had been in the store for twenty
-five minutes and had acquired most of the items on the list when he encountered the Cardin twins and their younger brother running around in the store. One bumped into him, then ran off. A few minutes later a crashing sound and a startled scream a couple of aisles over made him rush toward the source of the commotion, but he had to stop abruptly to avoid running over a young woman who was sitting on the floor, half covered in fallen cereal boxes. Dave looked from the apparent train wreck to the boys standing behind her, mouths gaping open. He turned his attention back to the dazed woman. She looked up at him, her diminutive face emerging from a dark cloak of long hair, revealing two of the most beautiful, most extraordinary, most mesmerizing eyes Dave had ever seen.

She was definitely not local, of that he was sure. He would certainly have remembered those clear blue eyes with little flecks of gold and green. Regaining his wits, h
e extended his hand. “Are you all right?”

She reached up and took his hand shakily, allowing him to help her to her feet.

“Yes, Monsieur. I must admit, though, this is quite embarrassing. I . . . I’m not sure what happened, really.” She spoke the words breathlessly, as if pulling them out of the windy sky. Though she spoke in French, her accent sounded odd to him.

Dave,
aware that he was staring, smiled and shrugged. “I don’t think it was your fault. Those kids were clowning around. One of them ran into me a few minutes ago. I’m sorry you became a casualty as well.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks growing pink. When she reached her hand up and tucked her hair behind one ear, the store’s overhead light caught on an exposed earring, making its tiny diamond glitter.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she said, lowering her eyes, her face suddenly closed.

Just then, Robert appeared, waving his hands excitedly and yelling at the boys who had created the mess. They took the hint and scurried out of the shop without looking back.

Dave shook his head as he watched the trio exit. He turned his attention back to the woman, only to find her gone. He searched through all the aisles in the store, and then went outside, looking in all directions. There was no sign of her. Giving up, he went back inside and helped Robert re-stack the cereal boxes. As they finished and Robert returned to his post at the checkout counter, Dave spotted something shiny on the floor at the edge of the aisle, half-hidden under the bottom shelf. He bent down, picked it up, and examined it. It was a silver necklace with a tiny-diamond covered heart locket—not terribly expensive, but nice looking. Its clasp was broken. He carefully deposited it into his shirt pocket.

When he left the store and strode back up the hill to the town hall, instinctively looking round for the young woman
,
his grandmother wasn’t there. He checked his watch and realized that with all the commotion, he was fifteen minutes late. Maybe she’d walked home without him. He waited for another five minutes, debating whether to wait longer or go back to the house. Then he caught a glimpse of her trudging uphill toward their designated meeting place. She had seen him and was waving her hand. He started walking toward her.

“Oh, dear boy,” she said, breathlessly as they neared each other, “I tried to get back sooner, but you know Brigitte over at
the wine shop. She talks and talks to each customer. I couldn’t get away.” She paused to juggle her cloth shopping bags around.

He grinned. “I don’t suppose you talked with Brigitte, huh?”

She faked being indignant and smacked him on the arm with her purse, then struggled to keep from laughing. “At least I was quick in the cheese shop.”

“Are you ready to go home?”

She nodded, and they headed back to her house, their arms full of food and trappings for the party. When they were nearly home, Dave caught a glimpse of the mystery woman up ahead. He watched her inch her way down the stone stairs, the steps that passed Chateau de Reynier on the way down to
rue Corneille
.
Though she could be heading to the road
,
he considered the other possibility that she might be a guest at the
inn.

The rest of Dave’s afternoon was taken up with dinner party preparations, leaving him no time to
go looking for the woman. That didn’t stop his mind from drifting though. As he helped his grandmother with food preparation and housecleaning, he tried to focus on the party and his upcoming trip, but images of the woman’s face, and especially those eyes, kept appearing in his mind.