password on your computer.”
He rubbed his stubbly chin, as though thinking about whether to tell her something. “She was a dog I loved very much that died. Now I must work.”
“What kind of dog? Do you have a photo?”
“No! And never mention her again!”
She knew the French loved their dogs, but that seemed an extreme reaction.
“I will do the cooking tomorrow night as my birthday gift to you.”
Nothing like changing the subject. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Another thought hit her as she turned to leave. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re afraid I’ll screw up something in your kitchen?”
He didn’t answer.
“And you need an excuse not to write?”
“That, too.”
As she made her way back to her cottage, she gazed again at the pool and wished she could swim in it. Perhaps Pauline would see to it that it was fixed.
13
La Vie en
Rogues
Alyce was surprised when Liliane poked her head in her classroom door and motioned for her to come out.
Once in the hallway, she said, “There is something you need to see.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better. We were about to do a conversation exercise.”
She thought they were going to her office but instead kept walking. When they reached the
pétanque
court, Liliane pointed in the air. Alyce leaned back. Written in white smoke against the pure blue sky:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLY
SEE YOU SOON
XO NM
“Omigod! I can’t believe he did that!”
Liliane smiled. “Ah, to be adored by a man whom you adore in return.”
Alyce took out her phone and snapped photos. During the next break she couldn’t resist sending one to her sister, Chantilly. Her husband had never done anything that over-the-top.
Liliane gave Alyce a handcrafted birthday card from her two sons that put her on the verge of tears. She easily translated:
To Alyce who is getting better with her French. We love you, Stéphane and Benoit
.
Back home, Jean-Luc said to her, when they passed in the kitchen, “
Bon anniversaire
, Al-
ees.
You have a palpable glow today.”
She showed him photos of the skywriting.
He sniffed. “No imagination.”
She sniffed even harder. “Well, I loved it.”
Before she exited toward her cottage in a huff, he said, “I could use some help preparing dinner. You may consider absorbing my great culinary wisdom a birthday present, too.”
She was in too good of a mood to let his self-importance get to her. “But of course. Thirty minutes, okay?”
“
D’accord.
”
She returned to his kitchen showered, hair still damp, skin perfumed, but not, Jean-Luc noticed, sporting a seductive outfit. She had on jeans and a loose blouse.
“That is what you are wearing?”
“I told you, Julien and I are just friends.” She reached for a bowl of black olives on the counter and popped one in her mouth. “What’s for dinner?”
“An essential dish that even you could manage. A roasted chicken.” He produced it, uncooked, from the refrigerator. “It is from a neighbor’s farm. What is wrong?”
“It looks sick. A chicken is supposed to be yellow. This one is practically white.”
Mon Dieu!
She was the most culturally deprived woman he’d ever known. “This is what a real chicken looks like! Not some hormone-fed creature.”
He could not wait to tell this story to Liliane.
It got better when he showed Alyce what to do to before trussing it. “First rub sea salt inside the cavity and over the skin. Then cut a piece of ginger root and do the same. Again with half of a lemon. Now slice a lemon and slide the pieces under the skin, covering the breast. It will be infused with a lovely lemon flavor.”
He then showed her how to truss it with metal skewers and kitchen string.
“What’s the point of trussing, anyway?”
“To make the legs stay close to the body so it will cook evenly. Also to make it more attractive when you serve it.”
“Looks fine to me without all that bother. And what’s with the rubbing stuff on the inside of the
He rubbed his stubbly chin, as though thinking about whether to tell her something. “She was a dog I loved very much that died. Now I must work.”
“What kind of dog? Do you have a photo?”
“No! And never mention her again!”
She knew the French loved their dogs, but that seemed an extreme reaction.
“I will do the cooking tomorrow night as my birthday gift to you.”
Nothing like changing the subject. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Another thought hit her as she turned to leave. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re afraid I’ll screw up something in your kitchen?”
He didn’t answer.
“And you need an excuse not to write?”
“That, too.”
As she made her way back to her cottage, she gazed again at the pool and wished she could swim in it. Perhaps Pauline would see to it that it was fixed.
13
La Vie en
Rogues
Alyce was surprised when Liliane poked her head in her classroom door and motioned for her to come out.
Once in the hallway, she said, “There is something you need to see.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better. We were about to do a conversation exercise.”
She thought they were going to her office but instead kept walking. When they reached the
pétanque
court, Liliane pointed in the air. Alyce leaned back. Written in white smoke against the pure blue sky:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLY
SEE YOU SOON
XO NM
“Omigod! I can’t believe he did that!”
Liliane smiled. “Ah, to be adored by a man whom you adore in return.”
Alyce took out her phone and snapped photos. During the next break she couldn’t resist sending one to her sister, Chantilly. Her husband had never done anything that over-the-top.
Liliane gave Alyce a handcrafted birthday card from her two sons that put her on the verge of tears. She easily translated:
To Alyce who is getting better with her French. We love you, Stéphane and Benoit
.
Back home, Jean-Luc said to her, when they passed in the kitchen, “
Bon anniversaire
, Al-
ees.
You have a palpable glow today.”
She showed him photos of the skywriting.
He sniffed. “No imagination.”
She sniffed even harder. “Well, I loved it.”
Before she exited toward her cottage in a huff, he said, “I could use some help preparing dinner. You may consider absorbing my great culinary wisdom a birthday present, too.”
She was in too good of a mood to let his self-importance get to her. “But of course. Thirty minutes, okay?”
“
D’accord.
”
She returned to his kitchen showered, hair still damp, skin perfumed, but not, Jean-Luc noticed, sporting a seductive outfit. She had on jeans and a loose blouse.
“That is what you are wearing?”
“I told you, Julien and I are just friends.” She reached for a bowl of black olives on the counter and popped one in her mouth. “What’s for dinner?”
“An essential dish that even you could manage. A roasted chicken.” He produced it, uncooked, from the refrigerator. “It is from a neighbor’s farm. What is wrong?”
“It looks sick. A chicken is supposed to be yellow. This one is practically white.”
Mon Dieu!
She was the most culturally deprived woman he’d ever known. “This is what a real chicken looks like! Not some hormone-fed creature.”
He could not wait to tell this story to Liliane.
It got better when he showed Alyce what to do to before trussing it. “First rub sea salt inside the cavity and over the skin. Then cut a piece of ginger root and do the same. Again with half of a lemon. Now slice a lemon and slide the pieces under the skin, covering the breast. It will be infused with a lovely lemon flavor.”
He then showed her how to truss it with metal skewers and kitchen string.
“What’s the point of trussing, anyway?”
“To make the legs stay close to the body so it will cook evenly. Also to make it more attractive when you serve it.”
“Looks fine to me without all that bother. And what’s with the rubbing stuff on the inside of the
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