the distance, a low rumbling. It built then broke, and rumbled some more.
‘Long way off still,’ he said. ‘Might even miss us. Storms get caught in valleys sometimes.’
But he didn’t think this storm would miss them. Soon all that was calm and peaceful would be disrupted.
‘Paradise lost,’ he murmured.
‘The mind is its own place, monsieur,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. This is heaven. Always will be.’
‘This place? Manoir Bellechasse?’
‘No.’ She put her arms around him. ‘This place.’
‘Please take this in to the Great Room.’ Pierre handed a silver tray with coffee, a Drambuie and chocolates to a waiter. ‘It’s for Madame Martin.’
‘Here, I’ll trade you. I’ll take that.’ At the door Elliot reached for the tray. ‘I saw her go in the garden for a smoke. You can take mine. It’s for Mrs Morrow.’
‘The wild-haired one?’ the waiter asked hopefully.
‘No, the deflated one,’ admitted Elliot. ‘Sandra Morrow.’ Seeing the other waiter’s expression he lowered his voice. ‘Listen, I know where Mrs Martin goes for a smoke. You’ll be wandering all over trying to find her.’
‘How d’you know where she goes?’ the other waiter whispered.
‘I just know.’
‘Come on, man. I’m not going to take that to Mrs Morrow. She’ll make me come back for more chocolates, or different chocolates, or a bigger coffee. Screw off.’
The waiter held on to his tray and Elliot reached for it.
‘What’s going on? Why’re you both still here?’
They looked up and the maitre d’ was beside them. His eyes dropped to their hands, all four of them clasping the single silver tray for Julia Martin. In the background Chef Veronique stopped arranging a tray with miniature patisserie and watched.
‘Elliot, isn’t that your tray?’ The maitre d’ nodded to the tray sitting on the old pine sideboard.
‘What’s the big deal? We’re just trading.’
‘No we’re not,’ said the other waiter, yanking the tray away and spilling some coffee.
‘That’s it, that’s enough. Get a fresh tray and coffee,’ Pierre ordered the waiter, ‘and you come with me.’
He took Elliot into a far corner of the kitchen. They couldn’t escape the darting stares, but they could escape the ears.
‘What’s this about? Is there something going on between you and Madame Martin?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then why cause this commotion?’
‘I just can’t stand Mrs Morrow, that’s all.’
Pierre hesitated. He could understand that. He didn’t much like her either. ‘She’s still our guest. We can’t just serve the ones we like.’ He smiled at the young man.
‘Yes, sir.’ But Elliot didn’t smile back.
‘Bon,’ said Pierre. ‘I’ll take that.’
He took the refreshed tray for Julia Martin from the surprised waiter and left the kitchen.
‘What’d the old man want?’ a waitress asked Elliot as he picked up his tray and prepared to take it to Sandra Morrow, who’d no doubt complain it was late and cold.
‘He doesn’t want me to serve Julia Martin,’ said Elliot. ‘He wants her to himself. Have you seen the way he looks at her? I think he has a crush on her,’ he sang in a childish falsetto.
The two took their trays through the swinging doors. Elliot’s words had a larger audience than he realized. Chef Veronique wiped her hands on a tea towel and watched as the door clacked back and forth until it was finally still.
‘Home tomorrow,’ said Clara to the Gamaches as they walked into the library from the terrasse. She could go to bed soon, sleep eight hours, have breakfast with her in-laws then head back to Three Pines. Really, only a couple more waking hours with these people. She looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. Only ten? How could that be? My God, could the Morrows stop time too? ‘When do you leave?’
‘Couple of days yet,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘We’re celebrating our wedding anniversary.’
‘That’s
‘Long way off still,’ he said. ‘Might even miss us. Storms get caught in valleys sometimes.’
But he didn’t think this storm would miss them. Soon all that was calm and peaceful would be disrupted.
‘Paradise lost,’ he murmured.
‘The mind is its own place, monsieur,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. This is heaven. Always will be.’
‘This place? Manoir Bellechasse?’
‘No.’ She put her arms around him. ‘This place.’
‘Please take this in to the Great Room.’ Pierre handed a silver tray with coffee, a Drambuie and chocolates to a waiter. ‘It’s for Madame Martin.’
‘Here, I’ll trade you. I’ll take that.’ At the door Elliot reached for the tray. ‘I saw her go in the garden for a smoke. You can take mine. It’s for Mrs Morrow.’
‘The wild-haired one?’ the waiter asked hopefully.
‘No, the deflated one,’ admitted Elliot. ‘Sandra Morrow.’ Seeing the other waiter’s expression he lowered his voice. ‘Listen, I know where Mrs Martin goes for a smoke. You’ll be wandering all over trying to find her.’
‘How d’you know where she goes?’ the other waiter whispered.
‘I just know.’
‘Come on, man. I’m not going to take that to Mrs Morrow. She’ll make me come back for more chocolates, or different chocolates, or a bigger coffee. Screw off.’
The waiter held on to his tray and Elliot reached for it.
‘What’s going on? Why’re you both still here?’
They looked up and the maitre d’ was beside them. His eyes dropped to their hands, all four of them clasping the single silver tray for Julia Martin. In the background Chef Veronique stopped arranging a tray with miniature patisserie and watched.
‘Elliot, isn’t that your tray?’ The maitre d’ nodded to the tray sitting on the old pine sideboard.
‘What’s the big deal? We’re just trading.’
‘No we’re not,’ said the other waiter, yanking the tray away and spilling some coffee.
‘That’s it, that’s enough. Get a fresh tray and coffee,’ Pierre ordered the waiter, ‘and you come with me.’
He took Elliot into a far corner of the kitchen. They couldn’t escape the darting stares, but they could escape the ears.
‘What’s this about? Is there something going on between you and Madame Martin?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then why cause this commotion?’
‘I just can’t stand Mrs Morrow, that’s all.’
Pierre hesitated. He could understand that. He didn’t much like her either. ‘She’s still our guest. We can’t just serve the ones we like.’ He smiled at the young man.
‘Yes, sir.’ But Elliot didn’t smile back.
‘Bon,’ said Pierre. ‘I’ll take that.’
He took the refreshed tray for Julia Martin from the surprised waiter and left the kitchen.
‘What’d the old man want?’ a waitress asked Elliot as he picked up his tray and prepared to take it to Sandra Morrow, who’d no doubt complain it was late and cold.
‘He doesn’t want me to serve Julia Martin,’ said Elliot. ‘He wants her to himself. Have you seen the way he looks at her? I think he has a crush on her,’ he sang in a childish falsetto.
The two took their trays through the swinging doors. Elliot’s words had a larger audience than he realized. Chef Veronique wiped her hands on a tea towel and watched as the door clacked back and forth until it was finally still.
‘Home tomorrow,’ said Clara to the Gamaches as they walked into the library from the terrasse. She could go to bed soon, sleep eight hours, have breakfast with her in-laws then head back to Three Pines. Really, only a couple more waking hours with these people. She looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. Only ten? How could that be? My God, could the Morrows stop time too? ‘When do you leave?’
‘Couple of days yet,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘We’re celebrating our wedding anniversary.’
‘That’s
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