Chocolat

26

Wednesday March 12

WE HAVE NOT SPOKEN TO MUSCAT FOR DAYS. JOSEPHINE, who for some time would not leave La Praline, can now be persuaded to walk down the street to the bakery, or across the square to the florist's, without me to accompany her. As she refuses to return to the Cafe de la Republique I have lent her some of my own clothes. Today she is wearing a blue jumper and a flowered sarong, and she looks fresh and pretty. In only a few days she has changed the look of vapid hostility has gone, as have the defensive mannerisms. She seems taller, sleeker, abandoning her permanently hunched posture and the multiple layers of clothing which gave her such a dumpy look. She keeps the shop for me while I work in the kitchen, and I have already taught her how to temper and blend chocolate types as well as how to make some of the simpler types of praline. She has good, quick hands. Laughingly I remind her of her gunslinger's deftness on that first day and she flushes.

`I'd never take anything from you!' Her indignation is touching, sincere. 'Vianne, you don't think I'd-?‘

'Of course not.’

`You knowI-.’

'Of course.’

She and Armande, who barely knew each other in the old days, have become good friends. The old lady calls every day now, sometimes to talk, sometimes for a cornet of her favourite apricot truffles. Often she comes in with Guillaume, who has become a regular visitor. Today Luc was here too, and the three of them sat together in the comer with a pot of chocolate and some eclairs. I could hear occasional laughter and exclamations from the small group.

Just before, closing-time Roux walked in, looking cautious and diffident. It was the first time I had seen him close to since the fire, and I was struck by the changes in him. He looks thinner, his hair pasted back from a blank, sullen face. There is a dirty bandage on one hand. One side of his face still shows a hectic splash of marks which resembles bad sunburn.

He looked taken-aback when he saw Josephine `I'm sorry. I thought Vianne was-' He turned abruptly as if to go.

`No. Please. She's in the back.’

Her manner has become more relaxed since she begun working in the shop, but she sounded awkward, intimidated, perhaps, by his appearance.

Roux hesitated. `You're from the cafe,' he said at last. `You're-'

`Josephine Bonnet,' she interrupted. `I'm living here now.’

`Oh.’

I came out of the kitchen and saw him watching her with a speculative look in his light eyes. But he did not pursue the matter any further, and Josephine withdrew gratefully into the kitchen.

`It's good to see you again, Roux,' I told him directly. `I wanted to ask you a favour.’

`Oh?’

He can make a single syllable sound very meaningful. This was polite incredulity, suspicion. He looked like a nervous cat about to strike.

`I need some work doing on the house, and I wonder if you might-' It is difficult to phrase this correctly. I know he will not accept what he considers to be charity.

`This wouldn't be anything to do with our friend Armande, would it?’

His tone was light but hard. He turned to where Armande and the others were sitting. `Doing good by stealth again, were we?’ he called caustically.

Turning back to me again, his face was c areful and expressionless. `I didn't come here to ask for a job. I wanted to ask you if you saw anyone hanging round my boat that night.’

I shook my head. `I'm sorry, Roux. I didn't see anyone.’

`OK.’

He turned again as if to leave. `Thanks.’

`Look, wait.’

I called out after him. `Can't you at least stay for a drink?’

`Some other time.’

His tone was brusque to the point of rudeness. I could feel his anger reaching out for something to strike at.

`We're still your friends,' I said as he reached the door. 'Armande and Luc and I. Don't be so defensive. We're trying to help you.’

Roux turned abruptly. His face was bleak. His eyes were crescents. `Get this, all of you.’ He spoke in a low, hateful voice, the accent so thick that his words were barely distinguishable. `I don't need any help. I should never have got involved with you in the first place. I only hung around this long because I thought I might find out who fired my boat.’

Then he was gone, stumbling bearishly through the doorway in a bright angry carillon of chimes.

When he had gone we all looked at each other.

`Redhaired men,' said Armande with feeling. `Stubborn as mules.’

Josephine looked shaken. `What a horrible man,' she said at last. `You didn't set fire to his boat. What right has he to take it out on you?’

I shrugged. 'He feels helpless and angry, and he doesn't know who to blame,' I told her gently. `It's a natural reaction. And he thinks we're offering help because we feel sorry for him.’

`I just hate scenes,' said Josephine, and I knew she was thinking of her husband. `I'm glad he's gone. Do you think he'll leave Lansquenet now?’

I shook my head. `I don't think so,' I said. `After all, where would he go?’