Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Thierry raised a questioning eyebrow as Baxter installed Red at the kitchen table.
“This is a friend of mine.” Baxter’s tone invited no further questioning. “She’s stopping for a bite to eat. Is there any of the venison casserole left?”
“A little.” Thierry hesitated, then nodded at their unexpected guest. “?a va?”
Red shrugged. “?a va.” She leaned back in her chair and yawned expansively.
She was seemingly unfazed by this unexpected turn to her day, but Baxter saw that beneath the table, her fingers were working anxiously, picking at the skin around her nails.
She was too young to be sleeping rough. Too young to have built such armor around herself.
He placed a plate in the oven to warm. “Miriam, would you be so kind as to pour Red some iced water?”
Miriam didn’t move. She made a sound, somewhere between a snort and a cough.
Baxter looked at her. “Is there a problem?”
“Mais oui! It is sitting at the table!” She sucked air through her teeth. “This girl is well-known in Cannes. She is a cheap thief.”
“Cheap?” Red’s eyes traveled deliberately over Miriam. She gave an impish grin. “Takes one to know one.”
Miriam’s expression darkened. “Espèce de—”
“Ladies!” Baxter stepped between them. “Miriam, Red is my guest. Please treat her as such.” She held his gaze defiantly, but Baxter remained steadfast. Eventually, Miriam gave a curt nod.
They had lunch together, Baxter trying to make conversation like a parent coaxing reluctant children. Red ate hungrily, swiping crusty bread around the side of her dish to mop up the delicious sauce, and occasionally locking eyes with a petulant Miriam.
Baxter turned to Thierry. “Do you want to go over the menu for tonight?”
“Everything’s sorted. I just have to pick up the carpaccio for the starter.”
“Remember,” Miriam said, “a pregnant woman cannot eat carpaccio.”
Red helped herself to another piece of bread. “Who’s pregnant?”
“A young woman by the name of Kaitlyn,” Baxter said.
Red chewed her bread thoughtfully. “Does she go out with an old guy? Like … thirty years older than her? They ate at La M?me the other night?”
“Yes.” Baxter nodded. “I was able to get a last-minute reservation for them.”
“I doubt she’ll worry about eating carpaccio, then.
” She looked around at the others’ confused faces.
“My friend was waiting tables that night. He said the bloke put away a bottle of red and a double brandy, and she was almost as bad; she spoke to my mate on the quiet and told him to top up her glass with vodka, not water.” Red shrugged and popped more bread in her mouth.
“So if she’s not fussed about drinking alcohol when she’s pregnant, I doubt she’ll worry about a bit of charcuterie. ”
“If she really is pregnant,” Miriam said slowly. “When I moved her toiletries into the spare room, I saw …” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think what it meant, but now …”
Thierry leaned forward. “What?”
Baxter recalled the half-empty vodka bottle in the bar, and he suddenly knew what Miriam was going to say.
“La pilule.” She dropped her voice, her eyes darting toward the door.
The contraceptive pill. Kaitlyn wasn’t pregnant at all.