Fleur De Lies(13)
Osmond regarded her blandly. “Does she know you got one?”
“Margi posted a video of Bernice’s restroom disaster on YouTube,” Tilly announced as she strode into the parlor from the entry hall. “Have you seen it yet, Emily?”
Bernice clutched Osmond’s phone, refusing to give it back. “Does anyone know how to delete other people’s videos from YouTube?”
Tilly headed for an armchair across from us. “Try to appreciate the cultural implications, Bernice. Imagine what future generations might think when they view it. Why, among the Akuntsu, if a woman makes a fuss like you did in the communal toilet, it means she’s just discovered she’s entering the Change.” She bobbed her head thoughtfully. “In rarer instances, it indicates she’s being eaten alive by fire ants.”
“Bonjour, mes amis.”
Madeleine Saint-Sauveur was a dark-haired beauty in her mid-thirties who seemed to shun makeup in favor of plain old soap and water. She was simply dressed in tight jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, but the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck in a half-dozen interconnecting loops bespoke a sense of style that was both effortless and elegant. “I think this is not all of you,” she said in charmingly accented English as she placed an oversized serving tray on the coffee table in front of us. “Perhaps the smell of brownies will prompt them to join us. Yes?”
As if on cue, the missing guests made their way into the parlor and took their seats, save for one straggler—a cadaverously thin man wearing dark glasses—who shuffled halfway into the room before discovering that all available seats had been taken. Feet braced apart and cane anchored in front of him to steady his balance, he swayed dangerously left and right before asking, “Where’m I s’posed to sit?”
“Why don’t you sit here?” I said as I popped out of my chair. He was either drunk, infirm, or both, but I didn’t want to see him face- plant on the floor.
“Mush obliged,” he slurred as I escorted him to my seat. “You’re okay, honey.”
“Don’t get tricked into thinking she did that out of the goodness of her heart,” cracked Bernice. “She gets paid big bucks to be nice to old geezers like you.”
“I don’t understand.” Madeleine did a quick head count. “There are nine of you. I was told to expect eight. My mistake, yes? Let me fetch another chair from the kitchen. And please, pour yourselves some cider. Made from the apples grown in our own orchard. Or if you prefer something stronger, I invite you to sample the Calvados.” She gestured to the liter bottle next to the pitcher of cider. “Apple brandy. One of the specialties of our region.”
“Shounds good,” boomed our inebriated guest. “Make mine a double.”
“Hey, bud, looks like you’ve had your fill already,” said the man in the chair next to Tilly.
“Were you assigned to group one?” demanded a woman whose silver hair was styled in an upsweep that looked stiff as starch.
“Don’t know. When the bus shtopped, I got off. Wasn’t I s’posed to get off ?” He angled his head in a slow arc from left to right, taking in the entire room behind his sunglasses. “How come the rhest of you got off ?”
“Because we’re in group one,” snapped the silver-haired woman.
“Braaa-vo.” He raised his hand in a mock toast and bowed his head. “I’m pleazhed to make the acquaintance of all you good people. I’m Irvin, but you can call me Irv. So … ish anyone gonna sherve that brandy, or do I have to pour it myshelf ?”
Madeleine bustled back into the room with an extra chair. “Your tour company would frown on my seating their guests on the floor,” she teased as she placed the chair next to me. “Please, madame, sit,” then to the room at large, “If I dig out my map of the United States, would you tell me your names and show me where you live?”