Day 4 – Anticipation and Explanation

Susan had barely been able to sleep that night. Not only for her excitement over the prospect of being able to play that song, but because now she was hearing it over and over.

The man had been replaying it almost from the moment he left her in the parlor, and had been stopping it in random places for lengthy intervals, and then replaying phrases repeatedly.

She had heard it in her dreams, and every time she closed her eyes she saw the piano in front of her, and imagined her hands flying over the keyboard.

It was many hours later when she answered her mother's call to lunch, as she had slept through breakfast, albeit restlessly. She imagined her eyes had the same dark circles her mother's did after so many sleepless nights with the baby crying.

She had risen and dressed, and now hurried out of her room to meet her parents downstairs. But then rushing out of the suite, she promptly bumped into someone's backside.

The person's response was a loud "oomph!" And stepping back, she looked up into the surprised face of one of the hotel staff.

The man looked at her in surprise for a moment, and then began to laugh.

"Do not look so chagrinned, petit fille," he said with an amused smile, "I have done the same thing many times."

Susan had a hard time believing that, judging by the man's height. He could probably see above everyone's head in all of France. She was almost afraid of him, but his charming smile coupled with the ridiculous white and green hotel uniform gave him an almost comic appearance.

"I—I'm very sorry," she said meekly, "I should have been watching."

"No harm done," he said in his heavy French accent, turning back to the door across from Susan's suite. The door that the music was still coming from, in its broken pattern as the man stopped and replayed it over and over.

Her inquisitive nature overcoming her slight embarrassment, Susan walked around the robust man and looked to see what had his interest.

He had two carts in front of him, both laden with trays and plates and teapots and silverware. He appeared to be trying to turn one around in the narrow hall, but wasn't having much luck because of the position of the other one.

Susan watched him struggle a moment before he turned and looked at her again.

"You would think the owners would have purchased smaller carts for such narrow hallways," he smiled resignedly at her, and leaned against one of the carts. "What is your name, petit fille?"

"Susan," she answered after a moment.

"Ah, comme le beau lys! Well, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mademoiselle Susan. My name is Michel," he said, offering her his hand.

She blinked a couple of times before shaking his hand. Michel? Isn't that a girl's name? She decided not to comment on the subject as she placed her tiny hand into his large one, wincing at his firm grip.

"And how are you enjoying your stay in Maguelone, petit lys?"

"Um, very well thank you."

"Ha-ha, do not feel bad. This is not the most entertaining of places. But surely, you find the beach diverting?" Susan took her hand back and laced her fingers behind her. She wasn't entirely sure about this man. Everything about his appearance reminded her of her father. But for all his bulk and stern features, his jovial manner was beginning to put her at ease.

"I haven't been to the beach," she replied after a few moments' hesitation.

"Oh, no? Well, not everyone likes the beach. Take this fellow," he said, gesturing with his head toward the door that was now blocked by the food carts, "he has barely set a foot out of this room for two months already. And it's a kind Providence that gets him to eat at all. See here," he said turning to the cart he had been trying to get out of the hallway, "he did not even touch his breakfast this morning."

Susan took a step closer to view the cart and the plate the man had lifted the cover from. It held two cold slices of ham, and a fried egg that smelled as if it had been there longer than the few hours since breakfast. There were also two tartines on a plate, but they appeared a bit stale.

This man named Michel must have seen her eyeing them though, because his next statement took her slightly by surprise.

"You may eat them if you want. They will be given to the birds if you do not." Susan eyed the rather dry-looking breakfast pastry with some interest, but her attention was not focused because of the pungent meat and eggs.

She shook her head no, remembering the other day when her mother had appeared behind her as she was about to take a pastry.

"Well, then would you care to help me take all this to the beach? The seagulls will be quite pleased." Again, she shook her head. She wanted to go to the beach, but not with this big intimidating man.

"As you like," was his response, and he returned to his task of trying to maneuver the carts in the narrow hallway.

Susan turned and walked down the hall, nervous from the encounter. She had not met a person so friendly throughout the entire holiday. Certainly, there had been nice people, but none had ever paid her any attention. Perhaps helping him would not have been a bad idea…

She stopped short in her thoughts, and her movements as she reached the stairs because she saw the young French boy Adrien coming up. When he saw her he smirked at her, and halted himself, bracing his hands on the railings. His intention was clear enough. He was challenging her to pass.

Susan was a bit scared of this…boy. He was obviously much older than her, despite his behavior. If she had to guess, from his appearance he seemed about fourteen or fifteen years of age. She wondered that at his age, he did not behave with more propriety.

She stood, staring at him blankly, hoping if she appeared indifferent he would just step aside, but instead he took to taunting her.

"Où pensez-vous que vous allez, petit fille?" he asked with a rather devilish grin. Susan tried to process his rapid French, and could not get enough of it to answer. So she simply stood her ground and set her jaw, not about to let this churl get the better of her.

The boy advanced a few steps and spoke in English this time, "What's wrong little girl? Not educated enough to speak French?" Susan remained stoic, and he took another step toward her. "I asked you where you are going. To the parlor? I ate all the croissants, so don't bother about that. And I know you don't like the tea. Why not come with me?" his eyes gleamed with mischief, "We could have some fun trying to get that old hermit to come out of his room?" he suggested, and Susan, finally overcome with unease, backed up several steps.

"No thank you," she replied with all the seriousness and stiff manners her parents displayed at social gatherings. And to her consternation, the boy laughed.

"Aw come on, don't you want to see him? He hasn't budged from that room in the three weeks I've been here. I want to know what he's up to," he took a few more steps forward, and Susan hesitated. She wouldn't dream of doing anything so dreadful, but she was extremely curious about the man. "So what do you say?" he said with finality, eyes flashing as he approached her.

An alarm suddenly went off in her head as he quickened his pace toward her, but her unfamiliarity with the hotel delayed her reaction, and before she knew what was happening, Adrien had lunged forward and shoved her hard.

It was an unfortunate piece of luck that had the waiter Michel rounding the corner at that moment with the old breakfast cart, and she fell backwards into that causing it to overturn and both Michel and her to lose their footing.

Michel stumbled against the wall with a grunt, and Susan slipped toward the stairs, catching herself on the corner of the wall. She let out a yelp of pain, which couldn't be heard for Adrien's cackling.

Michel recovered first, righting himself and then Susan, favoring her with a worried glance.

"Are you hurt, petit lys?" he asked with genuine concern. Susan bit her lip and shook her head, though her knee was a bit sore, and her side where she had hit the corner. Michel rubbed his shoulder and started down the stairs after Adrien, who was making his less than discreet exit, just as the hotel manager appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Michel yelled something in French, to which the manager responded with a snarl and chased after the disappearing boy. The robust waiter then turned back to Susan, continuing to rub his shoulder. He was about to speak but then looked up to something behind Susan.

"Oh sir, I am so sorry if you were disturbed," he said with an apprehensive tone. Susan turned and looked up to see the imposing figure of the man in the blue dressing gown. He was busy glaring at the waiter, and then his eyes quickly darted over the scene, finally resting on her for a moment before looking back the Michel. His gaze seemed to soften slightly as he looked at her, but then hardened again as they rose to the apologetic waiter.

Susan finally had her chance to get a good look at the man. He was taller than her father and exceptionally thin, and his face seemed rather emaciated. It was true then, that he did not eat much of what the hotel offered. He still had that unkempt look of the previous day, but now his eyes flashed with fire rather than that haunting languor.

He crossed his arms in front of him, rapidly tapping the thin fingers of his right hand against his left arm. He said something in French and Susan looked back to see Michel shrink at what was obviously a scolding. It was shocking to see that large confident man so suddenly change in the presence of this mysterious fellow.

They continued conversing in French, the waiter seeming more and more like a child with every word the thin man spoke, and Susan watched the scene, stunned at what was unfolding. Michel moved past her and righted the cart and begin picking up the scattered silverware and plates, and turning his nose and the wasted food upon the floor.

Susan sniffed herself, and then realized the smell was a bit closer than it should be. She looked down to find that the man's uneaten egg had ended up on her dress. What would her mother say?

"Susan!" Speak of the devil. She bit her lip again and turned around slowly to see both her parents ascending the stairs, "what on earth?! What have you been doing?" Michel began to answer her in French but stopped at her confused look upon both her parents' faces, and the other man took up the explanation.

"I gather that it was the fault of that rather repugnant grandson of Lady Poitiers," he said with some coldness, "Do not blame the girl." Susan looked back at the man in some surprise, for she had never had anyone defend her before. His expression had not changed, and he held that same apathetic expression as when she had first seen him.

Susan's mother did not respond to this but to blink, so her father stepped past his wife and answered for her.

"All the same, we are sorry if she has caused you any disturbance," he said with an air of disinterest as he took a tight hold of Susan's hand, the implications of which she understood clearly. Her father was not pleased.

"Oh!" her mother suddenly exclaimed, and Susan followed her gaze to a few red spots staining her stocking at the knee where she had fallen, "Oh Susan," she sighed, "come along." And taking her other hand, she pulled her past the men in the tiny corridor and before Susan knew it, she was being undressed and put into the bathtub.

Her mother continued scolding her as she ran the water, and Susan tried to ignore her as she watched the water running from the brass pipe. Her home did not have indoor plumbing as of yet, and in the few places she had seen it on their holiday, it had continued to fascinate her.

"Susan, are you listening to me?" she looked back to her mother, "You must learn to behave. Honestly, your brother was never this much trouble…" she shook her head as she began scrubbing her all over. Susan blinked as the slimy white soap got in her eyes.

There was a knock at the door, followed by her father's voice, "Pearl?" Her mother sighed.

"Wash your hair Susan," she said as she turned to leave. Her parents' voices carried down the hall and she heard the closing of the door to their suite. She absently looked around the dark room.

Only one wall was white in this one, and the rest were old wood paneling. The floor was wood like the rest of the hotel. There was a small window like those at the top and bottom of the stairwell, and a thin shaft of light was fighting through the shutters and illuminating the dark floor.

Susan lightly splashed water over her arms and she listened as parents' arguing voices pierced the silence. She rubbed water in her eyes, though the soap was no longer the cause of their stinging.

The volume of the opera music increased again.


Author's notes: First, let me apologize for the sinfully slow update. Writer's block hit me extremely hard and the only way to get over it was to forget the story altogether for a while. I can't promise quick updates, but they will definitely not be months apart.

Also, I can't recall if I gave the old French woman a surname in a previous chapter, so if I did let me know and I'll edit the name in this one. Thanks for reading!