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“Répéter, not ru-pi-te. How many times do I need to explain this to you? It has an accent. You must pronounce it.”
“Yes, Madame. Il a rupite la manœvre—”
“Répété!”
Deep breaths. In for three. Hold.
“Natalie, if you cannot even read me a simple magazine article, then your future in this country is at great risk.”
Lord, help me in these trying moments…
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
Help me to remain calm and even-tempered, even in the face of—
“I do not have all day, Natalie. Read the article.”
—great provocation.
My prayer is a failure.
“You do have all day, Madame. That’s the thing. You do have all day.” I bring my voice back to a calm, even tone. “I feel that continuing to read this magazine article is not going to be helpful for our working relationship. I therefore propose that we end reading the article and move on to other more practical matters, such as me serving you your meal. I shall therefore go and get you your dinner.”
“It’s only six-thirty.”
“I will go down and wait for your dinner to be ready and then bring it back to you.”
“Even if you do that, you’ll be gone for half an hour. Seven o’clock is still too early. I eat at seven-thirty.”
Lord, where are you?
She rubs her eyes, suddenly looking tired. “You can find me a velour blanket in the third bedroom on the first floor, and there is a bound volume in the chevalet of the first bedroom on the second floor that I want right away.”
“Yes, Madame,” I say, relieved to have any excuse to leave this room.
The velour blanket was easy to find, folded on the edge of a chaise longue in the sitting room. But the book she asked for… Was it the first bedroom on the second floor or the second bedroom on the first floor? I don’t want to get this wrong because otherwise I just might find myself in a very uncomfortable situation with other members of this household. And as it is, Andrée watches me like a hawk and Olivier’s brother chuckles and shakes his head when he sees me.
I go back to Madame’s room and quietly open the door, afraid of the lioness waiting on the other side.
“Madame—” I begin to speak but then close my mouth.
Her sobs are quiet, but unmistakably sobs. I lean my head around the door. She has her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with emotion.
“Henry, Henry,” she says and then speaks French to herself.
I can’t make it out between her shallow breaths. But then she speaks in English, her words unmistakable.
“I told you not to go, Henry. I told you to stay with me. Imagine how it all would have been different, my poor little American boy. You were too young, and I was too much in love.” She quietens, and this seems like the right moment.
I tap the door and hear her pull a tissue from the box.
“One moment,” she says. “Now you may enter.”
“Here is your blanket, Madame. And the book… I’ll get it right now. Can you remind which room it was in please?” I brace myself, but she has no more fight left in her.
“It’s just as well. I don’t think I could bear to read that with the state I’m in. Thank you, Natalie. I will not be taking dinner. Please close the door behind you.”
This is the first time she has said please and thank you to me since I arrived. Who’s Henry? I thought Olivier said his grandfather’s name was Jacques.
