French Fried Page 12

  I was halfway through the meal when my door opened to reveal, not the lovely nurse, not my husband, whom I vaguely remembered visiting last night, not even the inspector, but the person I least wanted to see—Albertine Guillot, bearing flowers. She clicked over to my bed in her high heels and informed me that I looked much better. Then she offered me the bouquet, and I sneezed, my mouth full of half-chewed omelet, which sprayed out onto the flowers and Albertine’s hand. I was so embarrassed that I forgot she was a primary suspect and handed her my napkin.

  “I see that you are allergic to my flowers. There is no need to apologize.” Splattered as the flowers were with omelet bits, she plopped them hastily into my water pitcher, then went into my bathroom, carrying my napkin, to wash her hands. Now I had no water and no napkin, for she did not return the latter when she pulled up a chair and sat beside my bed. “Please do go on with your petit déjeuner, dreadful as it must be. You no doubt need your strength.”

  I resented her saying that my breakfast was dreadful, but before I could protest, she said, “I must apologize for my harsh words last night. I had no idea how deranged you were from the fall.”

  Deranged? What was she talking about? I may have been a bit fuzzy on what had happened the night before, but I certainly was not deranged.

  “I have had many calls this morning from people you have met, saying that you told a policeman they were trying to kill you. Also Jason explained that there have been unfortunate and frightening events, of which Adrien and I knew nothing. I cannot explain them, but I can assure you that no one in the department is trying to kill you. They have all said they thought you were enjoying your visit and their company. Have you not been received hospitably? Of course you have.

  “And if you are resentful that Adrien and I were not here to welcome you, surely you can see that we had to visit my mother, who seemed to be seriously ill, and may, I am told, experience more pain in the future. Therefore, I cannot understand why you would say my mother has syphilis. She is an old and respectable woman.”

  “Look, Albertine,” I broke into her lecture, “first thing, the inspector asked who knew I would be in Catherine’s stairway, and I provided the names of those I could remember. I didn’t say I thought they were trying to kill us, although who knows . . . Well, he’ll investigate. And secondly, I am not deranged. I was certainly in pain, but—well, they’ve finally given me painkillers, and I feel much better.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” said Albertine, “which still does not explain why you would say—”

  “Thirdly, Gabrielle told me about your mother. I’m sorry. It must be terrible for her to have suffered so many years from such an—ah—embarrassing affliction. I thought penicillin cured it.”

  “My mother does not suffer from an embarrassing affliction, and at the risk of offending you, I do not believe that Gabrielle said my mother had syphilis.”

  “Well, to be perfectly accurate, she said your mother had the foul pox. I know it has many names—the French pox, the English pox, the—”

  “My mother does not have a foul pox,” said Albertine indignantly. “She does not have a pox of any kind. She had a childhood disease when she was a girl, which evidently leaves a virus in the nerves that can reappear years later as a rash attended by burning and agonizing pain, but it is not syphilis.”

  A childhood disease? A foul pox? My mind was functioning better than it had last night, not surprising considering my pain and how irritating everyone had been. Could Gabrielle have meant a fowl pox? In other words, chicken pox? “Your mother has shingles!” I exclaimed.

  “Are you insulting my mother again?” Albertine gave me the same mean look she had given me in Sorrento when her dog and I clashed. “Shingles are something on a roof, are they not? Is the word slang for—”

  “No, no,” I said hastily. “Shingles—it’s the same virus as chicken pox. It was a misunderstanding. A language problem. No wonder Gabrielle and Sylvie seemed so casual about your mother’s illness.” I started to giggle. Then I apologized between giggles while she stared at me as if she thought I was—well, deranged. I did feel somewhat light-headed and lay back on my pillow. “I do apologize, Albertine.”

  “I would find your apology more convincing if you weren’t laughing,” she replied.

  “I know. Maybe I am, as you said, a bit deranged. I’m certainly sleepy. Every time I managed to doze off, they came in and woke me up in some painful way.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “They did the same thing to my mother. Hospitals are terrible places the world over, and unfortunately, your doctor says you must stay another day, which means that you will not be able to accompany us to Avignon, but you’ll find the train very comfortable when you are ready to make the trip, and Adrien has promised to change the schedule in whatever way is necessary to accommodate Jason if he wishes to stay here with you.”

  Where was Jason? I wondered. Had I said something to offend him? Surely he wouldn’t leave me here in Lyon by myself, at the mercy of malicious medical people. “At least the food is good,” I said, trying to be brave.

  “Well, I hope you are still able to tolerate it when you are in good enough health to judge it reasonably,” said Albertine.

  27

  Late to Bed, Late to Rise Tends to Strain the Marital Ties

  Jason

  I never set an alarm clock, even in different time zones, because I awaken automatically. Of all days to break my pattern, that was not the one. I’d planned to be at the hospital by seven, but I could tell by the light that I’d overslept. I could only assume that yesterday’s stress, the late-night phone calls to angry faculty members, and the credit card problem had exhausted me more than I knew.

  Frustrated and still worn out, I dressed and bolted a quick breakfast, proving that kiwi fruit, eaten too rapidly, is not a good idea, especially accompanied by three cups of strong coffee. I even took a cab to the hospital, where a floor nurse connected me with Carolyn’s doctor. He said she was feeling better, had eaten a hearty breakfast, and was responding well to pain medication. However, I shouldn’t think of taking her from the hospital today. They wanted one more X-ray of her head and antibiotic treatment for her scrapes. “We can only guess what was growing in that lightless passage,” he said seriously. “Perhaps even toxic mold.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, thinking that I might well be absent from the presentation of my own paper. I could instruct Mercedes to give it for me, although I doubted that she’d be able to answer questions that might arise. And she had her own poster to present, although on a different day. Wondering if Carolyn was in a more welcoming mood, and what the private room was going to cost me, I knocked hesitantly at my wife’s door. The doctor had mentioned how fortunate she was not to be in a ward, as any other unidentified patient would have been, except that the hospital had fewer patients just now, the flu season having not yet hit.

  Since there was no answer, I opened to door and peered in. Carolyn’s bed was empty. Rushing back to the nurse, I demanded to know the whereabouts of my wife. Have our enemies kidnapped her? I wondered in a burst of paranoia.

  “Ah, the X-ray of the head,” the nurse replied cheerfully. “You are the husband? Yes?”

  “And where is the guard at her door?” I asked.

  “With the patient gone, he goes for café. Yes?”

  “What if she were attacked during the X-ray?”

  “How would the attacker know where to find her? I have told no one of her departure.”

  I returned to the room, where there was still no guard, but I did find my wife. “Where have you been?” she asked reproachfully. “I was here all night being battered by mean people and now all morning, and you didn’t even visit. I was beginning to wonder if you’d gone off to Avignon with the Guillots. Or maybe you’re just here to say good-bye before you leave.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Jason,” she added bitterly. “It’s obvious what comes first with you. Chemistry. So fine. If you ever have to go
to the hospital, I’ll take a trip to write about food.”

  I sighed. “I was here last night. Don’t you remember? You told me to leave,” I reminded her.

  “I did?” She looked puzzled.

  “And I’ll admit to oversleeping for the first time in my life. I was on the telephone half the night.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, there was your credit card to cancel,” I began, fearing how she’d take the calls from the Lyon faculty.

  “What am I supposed to do without a credit card?”

  “It was stolen, Carolyn. You don’t want someone charging on your card, do you?”

  “Actually, I remember thinking of that yesterday, but I’d forgotten. And the key. They must have taken our room key.”

  “I used the chain last night. Simone is calling a lock-smith today. Thank God Yvette wasn’t the one I had to tell about that.”

  “And Catherine’s key. I hope no one burglarized her apartment. I didn’t even get to see it.”

  “Perhaps the inspector knows about Catherine’s apartment. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better,” she replied. “They finally gave me painkillers after torturing me all night. You can’t imagine how horrible it feels to have a bruise squeezed by a blood pressure cuff, or a light shined in your eyes when your head is aching. Or to be dragged off for another X-ray when you’re finally feeling better after a nice breakfast.”

  “I think they can’t give painkillers or let you sleep much when you have a concussion,” I remarked, as mildly as possible. I didn’t want to get in another fight with her. “The doctor says you may be here another day or so.”

  “He did? Why didn’t he tell me? Now they’re giving me shots, but the shot people don’t speak English so I don’t know why.”

  “You’re sure the doctor hasn’t spoken to you?” I asked, suddenly anxious. Could she be having memory lapses? Dear God, was her condition worse than he’d admitted?

  “I talked to him last night. Before you came, I think.”

  “Do you remember talking to the inspector?” I asked.

  “Yes, and according to Albertine I accused a lot of people of trying to kill us. Probably one of them did, but he asked who knew I’d be climbing Catherine’s stairway, so I told him.”

  “Yes, I had a great many angry calls on voice mail at the hotel.”

  “Well, I don’t know why they’d be upset. Don’t they know that it’s every citizen’s duty to cooperate in police investigations? Anyway, they’ll get over it. Albertine’s all right with the syphilis misunderstanding.”

  I remembered that with a wince. I couldn’t believe my wife had accused Albertine’s mother of having syphilis.

  “How was I to know that Gabrielle was talking about shingles? Wouldn’t you think syphilis if someone said foul pox? I think Albertine understands, although she did say we couldn’t ride with them because they’re leaving this afternoon for Avignon, which I don’t mind at all, and you shouldn’t. Take my word for it, you wouldn’t want to ride in a car with her dog.”

  “She’s bringing the dog?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember everything she said this morning. After all, I was sleepy because I’d had no sleep last night.”

  She was having memory lapses. “Well, don’t worry about any of it, sweetheart. I’ll be here in Lyon until you’re released, even if I miss my paper.”

  “I do remember her saying Adrien would shift the schedule to accommodate you, but Jason, I don’t want to stay here too long, even if the food is good. There are so many things I want to see—the papal palace and the half bridge and everything in Avignon. In Villenueve Avignon, a pope’s nephew built a castle because Avignon was so nasty during the stay of the popes. There’s a monastery and a fort and . . . Well, we’ll leave tomorrow at the latest. Goodness, I’m so sleepy. Maybe I should have a little nap. Is the guard outside?”

  “You go to sleep. I’ll be right here,” I assured her.

  “If the guard’s not here, someone might get you, too. Can’t you look?”

  I agreed to look and found him asleep in the chair. Some guard. He hadn’t even noticed that I was in her room when he returned. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he woke up and addressed me in French with his hand on his gun.

  “Esposo,” I said in Spanish, not knowing the French word for husband. He nodded and went back to sleep. I returned to my chair to find my wife asleep as well, so I retrieved a printout of a paper on mercury poisoning that I’d been wanting to read and settled down, but before doing so I saw the bruises on one of Carolyn’s arms. They looked terrible, although not as bad as the angry scrapes. Was her whole body covered with those? Had she really been pushed? Or had she fallen? It was hard to imagine that someone was trying to murder us, but still, dangerous things had been happening.

  28

  Au Revoir, Lyon

  Carolyn

  After Albertine, no academics came to visit. I suppose they were on their way to Avignon or mad at me, or both. I, meanwhile, was preparing to be released, although I hadn’t yet discussed it with the doctor. He hadn’t stopped by. Perhaps he felt it was enough to speak to Jason, an attitude that my mother-in-law would have deplored. Every time the nurse was out of the room, I insisted that Jason take me for a walk—to the bathroom or the window. He protested and with some reason. Getting up made me dizzy, but I clutched his arm and managed to stay upright.

  While he was having lunch downstairs, the inspector arrived with the news that none of the people he interviewed seemed likely suspects. Many had alibis. I asked if he’d checked their alibis and received evasive replies.

  “Could you not have fallen, madam?” he asked. “On a dark, rough stair, falling would be easy.”

  “Backward?” I retorted.

  “You landed facedown.”

  “Well, I was trying to break my fall. I may have twisted several times. Goodness knows, I have bruises and scrapes everywhere. Why do you question that I was pushed?”

  He straightened his handsome silk tie and stared at the ceiling, perhaps preparing some lie to pacify me. “Professor de Firenze’s door was unlocked, and according to an aunt we contacted, cherished items are missing.”

  That was terrible news. “Valuable items?” I asked, dreading Jason’s reaction to this news. “Perhaps someone burglarized the apartment before I was pushed down the stairs. That’s it. They were escaping with the loot and, finding me on the stairs, pushed me down to keep their identity secret.”

  “Possibly, but there are oniy three keys to the apartment, one with the neighbor, which you were given; one taken to Avignon by the professor; and one in the hands of the aunt, who has had it for years. There was no sign of forced entry, which would have been difficult given the sturdy construction of the door. I think we must assume that the thief got the key from your handbag along with everything else you carried. Surely you do not think members of the faculty or their wives pushed you in order to rob you of money and credit cards and a colleague of family heirlooms.”

  “Family heirlooms?” I echoed weakly. He handed me a list of the missing items as described by the aunt—a Renaissance cross, gold inset with lapis; a necklace and earring set with pearls and rubies; an illuminated, medieval prayer book; a set of six engraved gold forks from the period of Catherine de Médicis, and ornate silver candlesticks from the seventeenth century, things that could never be replaced, even if we had the money to do so. “You must find out who stole them,” I said frantically. “What will I say to her when I arrive in Avignon?”

  “You are leaving Lyon?” asked the inspector. “The professor already knows of the theft, but are you able to travel? Surely, your physician—”

  “I don’t care what he says,” I snapped. “I’m not going to miss Avignon.”

  “It is a delightful town,” he agreed. “And the food—well, the food of Provence! Not as good as the food of Lyon, perhaps, but—”

  “But you will keep investigating, won’t you? Althou
gh I suppose the attacker will follow us.” I blinked back tears.

  “Do not be afraid, madam. I will call a colleague in Avignon and advise him of the situation so that they can be at your service.” As he was writing down the name of this colleague, I was thinking that Jason and I would be more at risk in Avignon than here, where at least I knew the inspector.

  Advising that I’d be better off to stay in Lyon, although he could not keep a guard at my door for longer than today, he left, and I managed to fit in another nap before the doctor finally arrived to peer into my eyes and tell me that I was doing well, and that perhaps my scrapes were not infected since they looked better. I didn’t think they looked better. They didn’t feel better, but I kept that to myself.

  “I’m so pleased to hear that you think I’ve recovered because I have to leave tomorrow for Avignon.”

  “Madam,” cried the doctor, “I did not mean to imply that you are ready to leave the hospital. We must continue the antibiotics and observe the progress of your head injury. How can you leave when you cannot yet stand?”

  I assured him that I had been to the bathroom and the window several times.

  “But that is dangerous. Are you not dizzy? What if you fall and hurt your head again? One head injury on top of another is very bad, and Avignon is an old town. The streets are not always easy walking, as are most streets here in our more modern Lyon. I must insist—”

  “I’ll be with friends. I’ll have arms to support me.” Although I had no assurance of that. Perhaps no one would want to sightsee with me. Catherine certainly wouldn’t, not that she seemed the sightseeing type. “I can even get a cane if you insist. Just give me antibiotic pills, painkillers, and the name of an English-speaking doctor in Avignon, and I’ll be on my way tomorrow.”

  “You will leave at your own risk. I cannot be responsible—”

  “That’s fine. If I have to sign papers, I can do that.” The doctor threw up his hands and left my room.