Read The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel Online
Authors: Mj Roë
Anna was ecstatic. She had so many questions.
“Did you catch the name of the town, Mark?”
“Yeah, can’t pronounce it, but it’s spelled O—B—E—R—N—A—I.”
“It’s pronounced O-bear-nye. I think it’s along the famous Wine Route. I’ll get a map and some other information from the hotel and arrange for the car rental. It will be interesting to see the country-side…but there’s one thing.” She hesitated. “I do the driving, okay? Driving in France is nothing like driving in L.A., even if you are a wild BMW driver.”
“Okay, suit yourself, gorgeous. I’ll navigate.”
O
n Saturday morning, the sky was gunmetal gray, and the cold promise of snow was in the air. Mark had given up trying to jog in the uneven streets of Strasbourg, but he arose early anyway, put on his warm running garb, and went out for a walk. When he returned, he brought with him hot coffee and croissants. Anna was in bed, listening to her favorite CD: the Vienna Philharmonic playing classic Strauss.
“You are always so thoughtful, Mark.” She stretched. “I feel so much better than I have in weeks.”
He joined her in bed and cuddled up close to her. She was beautiful, her dark hair lying over her shoulders. Her skin was soft and warm, and she smelled of the perfume he had given her. He nuzzled her cheek.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m in love with you. You realize that, don’t you, gorgeous?” He put his arms around her and kissed her. He smelled of fresh air from being outdoors.
“Give me some time, Mark.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “I have to admit that I’m getting used to your being around. Besides, you’re a pretty good kisser.” She lifted her chin for him to kiss her again. “Mmm…say, do you know how to dance? I’ve never asked. I mean ballroom stuff, like waltzing. Strauss, for example.” She turned up the volume of the CD.
“Ahhh…the romantic ‘Blue Danube’ waltz.” He gently put his right hand at the small of her back and took her right hand in his left, kissed it, and pulled it in close to his chest. “Yeah, I like to dance,” he whispered as he drew her in to him, slightly swaying her back and forth to the music, “in bed…”
Two hours later, they picked up their rental car, a Le Car.
“Maybe I can ride on top,” Mark remarked after moving the seat as far back as it would go. His long legs barely fit into the front seat. “My knees are next to my freakin’ chin.”
“It’s the standard rental size. Sorry, Mark,” Anna said, laughing. “I didn’t think about that. I should have arranged for a Mercedes.”
With Anna at the wheel and Mark still complaining about the size of the car, they headed out into the drab Alsatian countryside. Rain mixed with sleet hit the windshield. Anna turned on the wipers and was pleased to see that they worked.
“Hmmm…I’m not used to driving in bad weather. I hope we don’t run into a snow storm.” She looked in the rearview mirror. There wasn’t much traffic behind them, so she slowed.
The brown landscape was enshrouded in fog. They passed open fields and barren vineyards. In the distance, the foothills of the evergreen-covered Vosges were barely visible in the mist.
Mark studied the map. “According to this, Obernai is only about thirty kilometers from Strasbourg. At this speed, we’ll be lucky if we make it in time for dinner,” he kidded her.
“At least we’ll make it,” Anna shot back. “Speaking of dinner, we’ll have to look for a good restaurant.”
“One of the people in the office gave me the name and address of an inn that supposedly has a great restaurant not far from Obernai. He said to try the regional dish…how did he pronounce it?
Chou-croute
. It’s supposed to be an Alsatian specialty. He said it’s sauerkraut with sausages and ham.”
Anna made a face. “I don’t much like
chou-croute
. By the way, your French is improving. You said that almost perfectly.”
“You’re good for me, Anna.” He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m even starting to like France.”
Obernai was picturesque, even in winter. The town was filled with old stone and half-timbered houses, corbelled constructions, most with balconies and bow windows. Ancient wrought-iron signs hung from the buildings.
Anna drove into a central square that was dominated by an ochre-colored building with a carved stone balcony and blue mansard roof.
“That must be the town hall.” She pointed to the building. “The Michelin Guide I bought said it goes back to the fourteenth century.” The marketplace in front of the building was filled with Saturday shoppers, despite the cold weather. A sign in both French and German advertised the Christmas market in the town center starting on December first and running until the twenty-fourth.
“Let’s find a place to park and take a stretch,” Mark suggested. “I really need to get out of this car. Besides, we’re within walking distance of the address we’re looking for.”
Anna steered the car down a side street and pulled alongside the curb. There were snow flurries in the air as they got out and walked down the narrow, cobbled street. Anna was silent, thinking about whether Guy de Noailles would be home, and if so, how she would introduce herself. It hadn’t occurred to her up to then that he might not understand why she was there or who she was. She almost turned and walked back to the car.
“I really like this town,” Mark interrupted her thoughts. “It looks like it’s half French and half German, which I guess it is, huh?” He pointed to the leafless skeletons of deciduous trees along the promenade. “They’re pretty, those trees, even without the leaves.” He looked at her, sensing that she was having second thoughts. “How are you going to know this guy?”
“I don’t know.” A blast of wind blew snowflakes into her face. She shivered and pulled the faux-fur collar of her coat around her neck and chin. “What if he thinks I’m some kind of nut? I…I…”
Mark put his arm around her. “He won’t think you’re wacky. Besides, if it turns out to be a dead end, we will have had this trip to the country and our
chou-croute
.” He kissed her. “Plus all this kissing I’m so good at.”
She smiled. He was right. Maybe she had set her expectations too high.
They rounded the corner. The smoky scent of wood-burning fires filled the air of the quiet street. In front of them was a two-story white stone house with the characteristic half timbers of Alsace. Newly fallen snow layered the pitched roof.
“That’s our address,” said Mark.
Anna studied the house’s details. The brown-shuttered window frames were painted white. Empty wooden window boxes awaited flowers in the spring. Red-checked curtains were visible inside. From the corner of the house at the second-story level hung an object from an intricate, filigree-decorated, wrought-iron bar.
“What do you think that is hanging on that rod? Looks like a bread board with a hole in the middle and a fork and knife crossed inside the hole.”
“Probably an old sign for a shopkeeper who lived here at one point. Maybe he owned a bakery or a restaurant. That’s how they identified addresses long ago.”
They walked up to the heavy, wooden front door. Anna took the knocker in her hand. She looked at Mark. His hazel eyes stared into hers. He nodded his support.
“Okay, here goes.” She looked at the Christmas card from long ago, which she held tightly in her hand. “This will be my introduction.”
The sound of the knocker resonated on the wooden door. They waited a few minutes. No response. A car passed in the street.
“Doesn’t seem to be anyone home.” Anna sighed.
Mark encouraged her. “Try knocking again. He’s old. Maybe he’s a bit deaf.”
She knocked twice this time. They waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then they saw one of the curtains move in the window on the floor above. An old man’s face peered down at them. Anna held up the card. He didn’t move. She smiled. He didn’t react. Then he backed away from the window. The curtain closed.
“Oh, what’s the use? Let’s go, Mark. He doesn’t trust us. He’s not coming to the door.”
“Maybe you could leave your card and that Christmas card with a note by his door. You know, so he could contact you, if he wanted to.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
She pulled off her black leather gloves and took one of her business cards and a notepad and pen from her bag. As she started to scribble a note, there was a click. The door opened slowly, with a slight groan, as if reluctant to be budged in the cold.
A small, white-haired man with a handlebar mustache peered at them.
“
Bonjour
,” he greeted them hesitantly. “
Qu’est-ce que vous voulez
,
Mademoiselle? Monsieur
?” He looked from one to the other.
Anna gathered her confidence. “
Bonjour, Monsieur
.
Monsieur
de Noailles?” The octogenarian nodded. Anna smiled and apologized in French for the disruption. Then she introduced herself and Mark to him. The old man’s handshake was polite and quick. There was an awkward silence until Anna held out the Christmas card for him to see up close. He put on a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses and took it from her. He paused a moment to study the front, then he opened it. His eyes lit up. He looked up at her and then down at the card again, fingering it carefully.
“But where did you get this,
Mademoiselle
?” he asked her.
“My grandfather was Stu Ellis. An American, from California,” she explained. “Did you possibly know him? Maybe from the war? He was a flier. I found the card in his things after he passed away recently.”
He looked at her and at Mark. “I think this is going to be a long conversation.” He stood aside and opened the creaky door wider. “You must come in,
Mademoiselle. Monsieur
, too. It is cold outside. We will all freeze.”
Mark looked confused, not having understood a word.
“He wants us to come in. I think he recognized my grandfather’s name, Mark.”
G
uy de Noailles was a small, thin man dressed neatly in brown wool trousers, a navy blue flannel shirt, and a well-worn, camel-colored sweater with dark brown, suede-patched elbows. He walked with a slight limp, but, for an octogenarian, he was very limber.
He took their coats and led Anna and Mark to a large study just off the foyer. Anna stood for a minute, warming her hands in front of the glowing fire in the fireplace. The room was cozy and inviting. A giant Persian rug covered most of the wooden floor. A painting above the fireplace depicted the great cathedral of Strasbourg with its single spire. On the mantel were silver frames with photos. One wall was lined with bookcases filled with books. A round table in the corner held more framed photos.
Guy de Noailles was soft-spoken, and he had an endearingly polite way about him. He motioned for them to sit on the sofa, then settled himself in a chair by the fireplace. He propped his silver-topped walking stick against the arm and looked at Anna.
“You say Stu Ellis was your grandfather?”
Anna was relieved that his accent in French was easy to understand, and she liked him immediately.
“
Oui, Monsieur
. He and my grandmother were in a horrible automobile accident very recently.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Neither of them survived.”
“I am very sorry to hear that. He was a good man. During the war, we saved many American fliers who were shot down over our country. I keep the photos as a reminder.” The old man waved his hand in the direction of the round table in the corner. Fingering the Christmas card, he said, “This was sent from Strasbourg a long time ago. How did you know where to find me?”
“My friend here.” She nodded in Mark’s direction. “There is someone he has been working with in Strasbourg who knows you.” She leaned over to Mark. “What was the name of the man in Strasbourg who knows
Monsieur
de Noailles?”
“Forestier. Claude Forestier. I think that’s how you pronounce it.” Mark winked and shot her a grin.
“Ah, I know him. I was a banker in Strasbourg for a long time. Claude and I had many clients in common.” Noailles nodded his head and twirled the ends of his white mustache between his thumb and index finger. “How is the fellow?”
Mark was staring at him blankly. Anna realized that he hadn’t understood that the question in French had been directed at him.
“He said they had many clients in common. He wants to know how this Forestier is.”
Mark cocked his head to one side and grinned.
“You will have to tone this down in translation. Forestier is feisty. He was the most opinionated, obstinate, dictatorial SOB that I have worked with in a long time. But,” he added, “I have to admit that he is getting results with our case.”
When she had translated Mark’s comments, almost verbatim, there was a chortle from deep in the old man’s throat, and he said with a twinkle in his eye, “
Pas beaucoup changé, alors, mon vieux collègue
.”
“He said he’s not much changed, then.” She and Mark laughed.
“Would you like some tea? My housekeeper is out for the afternoon, but I think I can manage.” Guy de Noailles got up slowly and disappeared into the back of the house. They could hear water running from the tap and then china rattling.