Page 172 of The Stranger

I settle deeper into my chair. “I see.”

“Where’s Primrose?” Sylvie demands.

No hello, Papa. No I miss you, Papa. Just where is my llama-loving friend?

“She is—” I glance up as though I expect her to come walking through the door. But she doesn’t. She won’t. Even if she were awake, she wouldn’t interrupt this call. “Busy,” I decide on.

From somewhere off-screen I hear Amélie make a noise of deep understanding. But she doesn’t understand a thing.

“Busy doing what?”

Taking a siesta after a vigorous afternoon of… none of their business. “I’m not sure.”

“But you’re in the same house—all alone.”

“Who says we’re alone?”

“Tante Amélie.” My daughter blinks. And her aunt laughs. “She must be so bored without us.”

“Perhaps when you call tomorrow, I can ask her yourself.”

“Excellent!” Sylvie claps her hands together before I’ve even finished. “Then I can talk to her about Lola and Bouton and if she has visited Andiamo and also if Alejandro is her boyfriend yet.”

“Yes. You can ask all those questions, I’m sure.” Unfortunately, she won’t be able to tell you that Alejandro has been seconded to a winery far away because she doesn’t know.

“Who is Alejandro?” Amélie demands from beyond.

“A man who works for papa.” Sylvie turns her head over her shoulder as my son rolls his eyes. Girl stuff, the look seems to say. “He has lashes like a llama,” she adds.

Felix leans closer. “Is she still cross with you?”

“The llama?”

“Primrose,” he says as though I’m dense.

“Why would she be cross with me?”

My children exchange a look I haven’t seen in quite some time. Silent and conspiratorial.

“Don’t tell me. Because Tante Amélie said.”

“No, because we saw her,” Felix replies unhappily. “We were at Maria’s house⁠—”

“Waiting for the stars to come out,” my daughter adds. “We can still do that, Papa, yes? When we come back from our vacation.”

“Yes, when you come back from your vacation from your vacation, we can ask Maria and Jose.” I turn to my son again. “You saw Primrose?”

“She was at Zoe’s house⁠—”

“She was wearing a pretty blue dress!”

“She looked like she was going out, but her eyes were red. You were the only one at home,” he adds with an air of accusation.

“She should’ve come with us,” Sylvie adds. “Then you would not have upset her.”

“I haven’t upset anyone,” I protest. “Primrose is perfectly fine.” More than fine, last time I saw her.

My daughter looks down her nose at me while my son looks unconvinced.