The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper by Phaedra Patrick Page A

charm bracelet from his pocket.
    â€œHa. So he said. He was a stealer of ideas. A pompous Frenchman who broke Graystock’s heart.”
    Arthur had felt uncomfortable yesterday, as he thought of how Miriam had acquired the tiger charm from Graystock. Since then he tried to convince himself the charm was just one of many that Graystock gave away willy-nilly. But now it was leading to his discovery of another chapter of Miriam’s life, to what might be a love affair with this De Chauffant fellow.
    Arthur thought back to the photos of himself at this time. He hadn’t slicked back his hair, or worn tight trousers. He never wore black. It was too rebellious or dark. Just from this photo, François De Chauffant symbolized danger and antiestablishment. He looked exciting and tempestuous. How had Miriam gone from this man to Arthur? Had De Chauffant and his wife been lovers? It was a question that he didn’t want to ask.
    When he’d met Miriam she seemed so pure. They hadn’t made love until their wedding night and he never imagined that there had been anyone else. But now he had to reassess. He tried to remember their dates but nothing had given him the impression that Miriam was experienced, that she’d had a passionate love affair with a French writer. He felt as if someone had tied his intestines in a knot.
    He tried to fathom out where such emotion had come from. He’d never had need to be jealous. His wife didn’t flirt with other men. If he ever did see a man eyeing her with interest, as men did, then he felt rather proud.
    Kate laid her hand on his shoulder.
    â€œThis is Miriam. I’m sure of it,” Arthur said.
    â€œShe is very pretty. I do not remember her, though.”
    They looked at the bracelet together. Kate touched the book charm. “A book. De Chauffant was a writer. It could be...”
    Arthur was thinking the same thing. He pinched the charm between his thumb and forefinger.
    â€œHave you opened the book?” Kate asked.
    Arthur frowned. “Opened it?”
    â€œThere is a tiny clasp on the side.”
    The more closely Arthur looked at the book, the more blurred it appeared. He wished he had brought his eyeglass. He hadn’t spotted the tiny clasp. Kate bent and rummaged in a kitchen cupboard and produced a large magnifying glass. “This should do the trick.”
    They peered through it together and Kate unfastened the book. It fell open to reveal a single page, in gold not paper. On it was inscribed Ma Chérie .
    â€œIt means my darling ,” Kate said.
    Arthur suspected as much. He stared again at the photo of his wife gazing adoringly at this other man.
    â€œTake the photograph,” Kate insisted. “Graystock wouldn’t be happy that we had a photo of this intolerable man in the house.”
    Arthur nodded. “Do you have an envelope?” He didn’t want the photo to press against his body. He needed some distance from it.
    â€œAre you going to try and find him?”
    Arthur swallowed. He could just go home. He could sit and watch TV with his leg raised on a pouf, resting his ankle, taking it easy, applying ointment to his arm. Bernadette would be around with pies and savories each day, keeping an eye on him. Terry across the road would mow his lawn and the red-haired kids would pelt past his front door. Life could return to normal. He might even go back to Men in Caves and make something for the house, perhaps a wooden coaster for his mug of tea.
    Except that everything wouldn’t be normal again, because this search had stirred something inside him. This was no longer just about Miriam. It was about himself, too.
    He was experiencing emotions he didn’t know existed. He had begun to discover people and animals that excited him. He wasn’t ready to rot away in his armchair, mourning his wife and waiting for his children to call, and filling his days with plant-watering and TV.
    And so even if the