DAGGER #2
She shrugged once and picked up the menu. “May I order for both of us?” she asked.
“Please do.”
“The wine I requested isn’t one of ours,” she said after Madame Nolette took our order herself. “My father would be wounded to hear me say so, but I’ve never tasted anything that comes close to its quality.”
“I can’t wait to try it.”
A young man who resembled the owner approached the table, uncorked the bottle, then poured a taste in Maelle’s glass. She swirled, sniffed, then took a taste, rolling the wine around on her tongue. “C’est bon.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as he poured my glass, then hers.
“It’s made by Aubert Ravel. He owns a small vineyard in the hills above the village. The vines are very old, his production is small, and it’s the finest wine I’ve ever tasted.”
I took a sip. Then another. When I finished what was in my glass, Maelle laughed out loud.
“You cannot finish the whole bottle before our food is served.”
“Of course I can. Then we’ll order another.”
She shook her head. “You are silly.”
“Not at all. What I am is in love…with this wine.”
Madame Nolette returned with a basket of warm bread.
When I suggested we visit Monsieur Ravel and Maelle agreed, Madame Nolette put her hand on Maelle’s shoulder. I couldn’t hear what she said, not that I would’ve understood her, but when Maelle covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes filled with tears, I knew.
“He passed away last summer,” she explained once we were alone. “He was ninety years old,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think…” She paused. “I stayed away too long, and now, he’s gone.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to me. “I’m so sorry, mon feu.”
“That is what happens when you leave. You never know which visit will be the last.” She set the glass down. “Listen to me, going on. It’s only a bottle of wine.”
“It’s not only a bottle of wine, and you don’t have to pretend it’s nothing for my sake.” I turned her hand over in mine and held onto it.
Her eyes bored into mine.
“I wish I could take all of it from you,” I said. “Every last thing that’s ever hurt you. If I could, you’d never cry again. You’d only smile.”
“I know. That’s the maddening thing about you, Dagger. I believe you would.”
Madame Nolette chose that moment to arrive with our dinner—boeuf bourguignon for both of us. The beef was so tender I didn’t need a knife.
Between the food, the wine, and the warm room, Maelle’s color brightened and her smile returned.
She told me about the summer when she was twelve and she was caught sneaking tart cherries from Marthe’s kitchen after having a dessert made with them here.
By the end of the story, we were both laughing.
I finished everything and mopped up the sauce with the last of the bread. When Madame came to our table, she nodded her approval at my empty plate.
Our final course was two ?les flottantes—poached meringue floating on vanilla custard. They were delivered to the table without either of us ordering them. Maelle picked up her spoon, then set it down without taking a bite. Somewhere between the wine and dessert, her smile had disappeared.
“What’s on your mind, Maelle?”
“Pardon?”
“I understand you’re upset about Ravel, but I sense there’s more.”
She took a sip of wine, followed by a deep breath. “This afternoon, my mother asked Marthe to bring a box into the solarium. Her wedding dress was inside.” Her voice caught. “She told me she wasn’t the first woman in her family to wear it and asked me to be the next.”
Her mother had offered a family heirloom for a wedding that would never happen. Maelle would’ve had no choice but to smile and thank her for it. I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but she wasn’t finished.
“That isn’t the worst of it.”
“Go on.”
“My mother is ill.” She stared at the tablecloth rather than at me. “She has lymphoma. It’s treatable. She found out in September but hasn’t pursued further medical care.”
Earlier today, I’d sat beside Chantal in the solarium. Her hand resting on mine had felt as light as paper, and I’d told myself it was age. Some spy I was. “Why the bloody hell hasn’t she?”
“Because my father told her it would pass.” Maelle had shouted at me plenty of times.
The tone she used now was level and measured, which was so much worse.
“She’s been sitting in that house, losing weight for three months, waiting for it to pass, because the man she’s spent her life with can’t bear to hear the word cancer. ”
I’d humored Bertrand Valais because the mission required it, and I’d told myself I could continue doing so, regardless of how long it took us to figure out his connection to Géraud.
I no longer knew if I could. Vasiliev, I knew how to hate.
The man had tried to blow us all up. I had no idea how to feel about a man unwilling to accept that his wife’s illness might be terminal, and who did nothing about it.
“I made her an appointment for the Monday after Christmas. It was the first they had. She agreed to go, but she has conditions.” Her mouth twisted.
“There’s to be no hovering. I’m to treat her as my mother, not a patient.
She negotiated with me, Dagger. Over her own life.
Do you know the worst part? I understood her.
She kept it from me for the same reason I’ve lied to her for eight years—to protect the person we love from the truth. ”