CH 43
There were three people seated inside the restaurant booth when Bernard and I finally reached Pietro's some thirty minutes after we left the gymnasium.
Hugo and Celeste sat on one side while Marco occupied the booth on the other bench.
I blinked at the three of them, scarcely able to believe that their paths had crossed as the Fabienne residence was nowhere near the restaurant and I doubted Hugo would have invited Marco to breakfast without telling me.
Hugo briefly glanced at me, but made no acknowledgement of my arrival, which kept Marco from following his gaze and spotting me.
I couldn't hear their full conversation, but I heard Hugo and Marco both laugh while Celeste gave a demure giggle, slender hand covering her mouth.
"Who the hell is that in our seat?" Bernard snarled.
"One of Hugo's private students," I answered. "Marco Fabienne."
"Fabienne?" Bernard question. "Related to the woman who bought the tanager painting?"
"Flame-colored," I corrected simply to annoy him.
"Related or not?" Bernard asked, clearly unamused.
"Florine is his mother," I replied, surprised he remembered who had purchased my painting.
Bernard narrowed his eyes. "The kid is lookin' at that boy awful funny," he groused. He shifted his weight and labored toward the booth before I could comment on his observation.
Celeste did indeed bat her eyelashes at Marco and blushed as he spoke. Given that she was thirteen, I wasn't surprised that she reacted in the same fashion my niece Elizabeth had started to respond to boys in recent years.
"Eh!" Bernard snapped as he limped his way across the crowded restaurant, scarf swaying back and forth with each step. I wasn't certain if he intended to speak harshly or if it was merely his usual tone, but Marco jumped at the sound of the boxer's voice and I took several steps forward in case intervention was necessary.
"Monsieur Montlaur," I heard Marco say when he looked up. "Monsieur Duarte said you would be joining him for breakfast today. What an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"I can't say the same yet," Bernard grumbled. His gaze slid to Celeste, demeanor softening momentarily. "He being nice to you, kid?"
Celeste readily nodded. "He is exceptionally nice," she replied, her face bright red, lips held in an utterly ridiculous grin that indicated she was quite smitten with their guest.
"Oh yeah? That sounds too nice to me," Bernard replied. He turned toward Marco, scowl in full force. "I don't know where you came from, but I think it's time for you to return there."
Marco appeared taken aback by the boxer's words, but didn't argue. He slid out of the booth and offered his hand.
"If I may say so, Monsieur, it was quite remarkable to attend your match last night. Monsieur Duarte–"
"It's Hugo, my boy, not Monsieur Duarte to you," Hugo corrected.
"My dear friend and tutor, Hugo Duarte," Marco said politely, "has an extensive collection of paper clippings dating back several years. The other day we were reading some of the articles about your previous matches and I must be honest with you, Monsieur Montlaur." Marco clasped his hands together. "You were exceptional in the ring and I cannot properly put into words what an honor it is to make your acquaintance. You are an athlete in a class of your own."
Bernard's scowl unexpectedly softened. He glanced at Celeste, who readily nodded for him to accept the compliment.
"It ain't that big of a deal," Bernard grumbled.
"Bern is being modest," Celeste said to Marco.
"Perhaps the next time you are in Paris you would care to stop by my family estate for supper and drinks?" Marco offered.
"I don't know when I'll return, but…"
Celeste pursed her lips and bowed her head, which was immediately noticed by the boxer. Their fondness for one another was quite evident, and it was clear that the girl would miss Bernard terribly once he returned home to Wissant.
"Actually, I think I'll be back sooner than expected," Bernard said.
"For another match?" Marco asked.
"No, I ain't coming back for a fight. I'll return for something a hell of a lot more important. And maybe when I do return, I will consider your invitation," Bernard replied.
Marco reached into his overcoat pocket and held out his card for Bernard, who stared at him briefly without accepting it.
"He's a good one, Bernard," Hugo said on Marco's behalf. "And I have no doubt he will be hospitable should you accept his invitation."
Bernard's wide shoulders relaxed and he plucked the card from Marco. He turned it over in his bear paw of a hand and flicked the edge with his thumb. "I know where this is. Yellow curtains with the ugly lion statues out front, right?"
Marco chuckled to himself. "Those 'ugly' lions were commissioned directly from Sicily."
"I don't care where they came from. They're hideous and they don't look like real lions, either. The manes are all wrong."
"I agree with you, Monsieur. They are a bit garish, if I am honest, but Mum is fond of them."
"Your father must like to see his wife happy."
Marco forced a smile. "Mum does all the decorating herself and no one would dare intervene."
Bernard huffed and looked Marco over with a more passive expression. "Well, despite the ugly lions, I suppose if the retired professor vouches for you, then you can't be that bad."
Marco smiled brightly. "I appreciate the kind words. Good day to you, Monsieur," he said before he turned to Hugo. "I will see you tomorrow, Hugo?"
"At our usual time," Hugo agreed.
Marco hesitated before he acknowledged Celeste, who was still staring at him with her eyes bright as if lit by the sun, clearly mesmerized by his mere presence.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Frane," he said. "If you should be in need of my assistance in the future–"
Bernard cleared his throat.
"I apologize, Monsieur, but have I offended you by my offer? Are you Mademoiselle Frane's uncle or cousin? Surely you realize I am not attempting to overstep any boundary."
Bernard briefly looked at Celeste and winked before he turned his attention back to Marco. "I'm her guardian," he said, chest puffed out. "She ain't my kid, but I sure as hell ain't letting nothing bad happen to her. If you got a problem with that–"
"Of course not, Monsieur. There are many nefarious individuals prowling the streets. Any young lady would be fortunate to have an attentive guardian such as yourself."
"I'm fortunate to have someone as good as the kid to mind after," Bernard replied.
With his attention fully on Marco, Bernard failed to see Celeste's lips part in surprise, then slowly curl into a smile.
"You are quite clearly a fine gentleman yourself and I would be honored to host you in my home for supper the next time you're in Paris," Marco said. "Your ward is invited as well. In your stead, if my path should cross hers, you have my word that I will keep watch over her."
"I didn't say she was staying behind alone, now did I?" Bernard snapped.
Celeste inhaled sharply, her eyes wide and questioning.
"Understood," Marco said, turning his attention to Hugo as he took a step back. "Hugo, have you seen–" Marco started to say before he glanced toward the door and saw me lingering in the distance.
Our eyes met, his expression filled with astonishment as he stared at me. Briefly he smiled and I did the same before he thought better of his expression and turned away. His posture turned rigid and he began to fidget, patting his overcoat pocket and then his trouser pocket.
"You are more than welcome to eat with us," Hugo offered.
"I should be on my way," Marco said under his breath.
Wait. Grab another chair and sit with us. Please. Don't leave yet, Marco. I would very much like you to stay for a moment longer.
The words were still on the tip of my tongue when he brushed past me and walked out the door without a salutation or glance in my direction.
When I looked back at the table, Hugo and Bernard were staring at me while Celeste watched Marco walk past the window.
I made my way across the restaurant and took a seat on the bench where Marco had sat. Bernard scooted in beside me, pinning me to the window. He looked me over for a long moment, studying my features, and I knew precisely what was on his mind.
"That young man looks familiar," Bernard commented. "What do you think?"
I reached for the menu on the center of the table, refusing to meet his eye or participate in the conversation.
"He's very handsome," Celeste said. "And he's well-spoken. Polite as well."
Bernard's head snapped toward Celeste. "And he's a boy, which makes him rotten to the core."
Hugo rubbed his temples. "You are exhausting, Montlaur. Truly. Marco is a perfect gentleman and was nothing but respectful toward Celeste."
Bernard crossed his arms. "You ain't got nothing to say?" he asked me. "About the boy?"
"Your opinion seems formed without my interjection," I mumbled.
Bernard frowned at me before he nodded at Celeste. "Maybe he ain't bad, but regardless, no boys, you hear me?"
"But I wasn't–"
"No. Boys. Say it."
Celeste looked away. "No boys," she said under her breath.
"How was your walk?" Hugo asked, saving Celeste from further embarrassment.
"Silent," Bernard answered. "Just the way I like it."
"You didn't speak the whole time?" Hugo questioned.
"Not a word," Bernard replied.
"Professor Duarte and I talked about everything," Celeste said brightly. "And then Monsieur Fabienne arrived and he talked the whole time."
"Oh yeah? And what did he have to say?" Bernard asked.
"He's an artist like the Professor," she said. "Well, both professors I should say."
"Uh huh," Bernard said, sounding less than impressed. "Everyone is an artist. Don't mean nothin'."
"He's seen lions and giraffes in person as well as penguins. I should like to see a penguin one day."
"Of course he has been to exotic lands." Bernard yawned rather loudly, as if bored to death with the conversation.
"You told me you were in Switzerland swimming in frozen lakes," I pointed out.
"So what?" Bernard grumbled. "I ain't allowed to swim in a lake?"
"I am merely pointing out that you have traveled as well."
"It ain't the same. I ain't traveling to look at no lions and penguins. He's probably got gold coins spilling out of his ears an a silver spoon stuck up his–"
"And he can bend his thumb all the way back and touch his wrist!" Celeste excitedly told us before Bernard finished his thoughts.
Bernard's mouth twisted with disgust. "No one can do that, kid. He's just pulling your leg."
"He showed us, didn't he, Monsieur Duarte?" Celeste said.
"The demonstration was quite impressive and a little unsettling."
With my hands beneath the table, I attempted to bend my thumb and touch my wrist, which was not only impossible, but incredibly uncomfortable the more I bent my thumb.
Bernard elbowed me in the side. "What do you think, Professor? Complete poppycock if you ask me."
"He could be double-jointed, I suppose," I replied.
"Are you double-jointed?" he asked me.
"I am not."
Bernard huffed. "He belongs in a circus with the rest of the oddities if you ask me. That's disgusting. Hell, maybe he's off traveling with the freak show and that's how he's seen penguins and lions."
"Bern," Celeste admonished.
Bernard scowled back at her. "You sure are a stickler for being nice, kid."
A young waiter approached our table and took our orders with a scribble of his pencil to his notepad before he scurried off.
"Celeste tells me she has quite enjoyed her stay at The Gold Medallion," Hugo said after a pot of tea and a carafe of coffee was brought to the table.
"It's pretty damn nice," Bernard agreed. "Fancy as hell."
Celeste cocked her head to the side and gave Bernard a significant look.
"You describe it then," the boxer defensively replied. "That place ain't my style. It's for ladies with little hats pinned to the sides of their heads, not men like me."
"The bed is enormous," she said, her eyes wide and expression quite animated. Her mannerisms reminded me of Elizabeth when describing something she fancied, which was always quite extravagant like teacups with gold rims and jeweled handles or horse shoes made out of pure silver, which she wanted me to purchase for her despite not owning a horse. "So big I cannot touch the sides if I am directly in the middle. And the sheets feel like I'm sleeping on cool butter."
Bernard made a face. "Butter? Who in the hell wants to sleep on butter?"
"The Professor loves butter," Celeste pointed out.
"To eat, not necessarily as a place to sleep," I said.
"And the buttery sheets are perfumed," Celeste continued. She inhaled deeply. "I had three pillows all to myself. And when I woke, a man in a gray uniform with a matching hat brought me biscuits and tea, compliments of the hotel."
I was aware of the luxuries The Gold Medallion offered and amused by much Celeste seemed to enjoy her stay. The biscuits were second to none, particularly when enjoyed in bed.
"I could have slept until noon if not for the biscuits."
"You can hang a sign on the door and they'll leave you alone," Bernard said. "Do not disturb. Three best words in every language."
"It was heavenly, and I would stay forever if I could, eating biscuits while lounging."
"You could eat biscuits anywhere," Bernard pointed out. "And they're good, but they ain't like Tilllie's on Gambetta."
"I'm not familiar with Tillie's on Gambetta," Hugo said. "What part of the city is that? I would be quite interested in sending Dorothea out to fetch me a dozen if you recommend them."
"It ain't in Paris," Bernard grumbled. "It's in Wissant. Cozy little place attached to a hotel. You got to walk through the restaurant sideways 'cause it's a narrow space, but they sure as hell got a bunch of tables and half of them are wobbly 'cause the legs are all uneven. But the food?" Bernard groaned as if he were dining at the establishment he spoke of, patting his belly to accentuate the exceptional food served there. "Nothing like it in the whole world. It's perfection."
"Is the hotel nice?" Celeste asked.
"It's Wissant," Bernard answered. "They got a big blue sign out front that boasts ocean views despite being a few streets from the water. The couple that owns the hotel, though, nicest people you ever met, and the owner's mother is the one who makes all the biscuits. The Gold Medallion is fancy and all, but Hotel Wissant and Tillie's don't got to be a gilded palace. Tillie's is like heaven on earth."
Celeste nodded in agreement. "I think I would like a biscuit from TIllie's."
"You'd for sure like it, kid."
"Perhaps one day I will visit."
Bernard nodded once. "You'd never want to return to this hog hole," he said, gesturing around the restaurant.
"Hog hole indeed," Hugo said under his breath.
"Matter of fact, that's the first thing I'm going to do when I get back Tuesday morning. Get me a biscuit, walk home, and eat it in my own bed. And then I'll feed all the birds. They're probably half-starved since I've been away for the last three weeks."
"Do you have a bird like Elvira?" Celeste asked.
"I ain't got any exotic birds. These are all Wissant birds. Every single one in the whole commune lives in my trees and they're loud as hell when the feeders are empty."
"Instead of boxing, you could be a bird feeder," Celeste suggested.
"I don't think I'd make no living feeding wild birds, kid."
"You could sell bird houses."
"You ain't seen the houses I've made. No one is going to purchase my bird houses."
"Why not?" Celeste asked.
""Cause they're like me."
Celeste furrowed her brow. "Sturdy?" she guessed.
Bernard's split lips parted. I knew what he intended to say, the self-deprecation that was second-nature to him, but he thought better of it when Celeste offered her innocent reply.
Absently I stirred my coffee despite no cream or sugar in the cup, my thoughts drawn to Erik and how he would have referred to himself as an adult.
I had never thought of his appearance as something to wield against him and had not once called him ugly or deformed, not even when he was being intolerable. The scars were part of him, and I had loved every bit of my brother, from his feral disposition during the day when we ran like beasts to the more quiet moments when we sat at the table and ate together. I never looked at his face with disgust just as he had never looked at my arm and wrinkled his nose, repulsed by the sight.
But Erik had to have come across someone–most likely many someones–who told him he was ugly or grotesque, that he had the face of a monster or a rotting corpse.
I had shielded my brother from such rhetoric for as long as we were together, but it wasn't nearly long enough, and as the years passed, I wondered if I'd done more harm than good by allowing him to believe he was no different than anyone else. It made me shiver when I thought of how devastated he would have been the first time someone called him an unkind name. He had been so sensitive and affectionate, a child whose emotions were always on full display. I couldn't imagine how his heart would ache when someone treated him poorly.
"You know why I always liked Tillie's?" Bernard asked.
Celeste quietly folded her hands and waited for the boxer to tell her.
"'Cause I've been this size since I was twelve," Bernard said. He scratched at the wooden table with his fingernail, tracing along the ruts in the surface. "And there were a lot of boys–a lot of boys–who was older than me, but I was their size. And they thought I should fight them. They was seventeen and I was still twelve and they hit hard."
I watched him dig his fingernail harder into the surface, his nostrils flared and jaw clenched.
"I got chased every day," he said without looking at anyone. "For probably a year or two, they would come after me, chase me down an alley or corner me somewhere in town and I'd have to fight 'em off or let them beat the hell outta me. Every goddamn day, they was waiting for me to leave the school house."
I refused to think of Bjorn, of the moments that blended together into one violent blur of being unable to defend myself from an adult, but having no other choice but to bite and kick and scream for him to stop. I knew what it was like, the sinking, dreadful feeling of being backed into a corner, of having no other choice, of knowing what awaited regardless of whether I was prepared to fend him off. I couldn't imagine what he had done to Erik over the years–or what others who saw my brother's face as far too different from their own and had tormented him for his appearance.
"One day, they had me up against the wall behind TIllie's and she heard me getting roughed up awful bad. I had blood all over my face, drippin' down my shirt. I could taste it every time I swallowed, but they wasn't about to let me leave alone."
My breath stilled. Whatever Bernard Montlaur had endured, in that moment he relived the terror he'd experienced, the torment of someone still very much a boy treated like a young adult due to his brutish size.
"Tillie hollered for them to leave, but they didn't pay no mind, and then she walked out with a rifle and said, 'If you ever come after Bernard again, I'll shoot every last one of you.' Hand to God, that's what she said to them and they was scared as hell of her."
He picked at the table with his thumb and shook his head.
"She was the only person that whole time who didn't stand back and watch me get chased and have to fight off four or five boys that was stronger than me. Tillie was the only one who did somethin'. And I should add, Tillie is as tall as you, kid, 'cause she didn't grow none after she was probably thirteen or fourteen." He smiled to himself. "But she is scary as hell when she wants to be, even now that she's an old lady."
"Your father didn't speak to those boys?" Celeste asked.
Bernard shrugged. "Nah, my pa said I was big enough to handle it myself. He was right; I was big enough to handle it, but just 'cause I was big didn't mean I wanted to fight no one."
"How did you become a boxer then?" I asked.
"What else was I gonna do? I was built to be in the ring and had to learn how to fight. I got nothing else going for me, no brains or nothing, and a face like a–"
"You should still try to sell the birdhouses," Celeste said. "If you don't want to be a boxer any more."
"I gotta fight, kid. It's what I do."
Celeste's bottom lip quivered.
"You gotta do what you're good at. Besides, I already got three more matches scheduled this year and that's how I make my living. Fighting, not bird houses."
Celeste's eyes welled with tears. "There has to be something else. Something better for you. Something safer."
"You got a big heart, but who in their right mind would purchase one of my birdhouses? The birds only use 'em 'cause they're free."
"Monsieur Duarte?" Celeste looked expectantly at Hugo, who was not prepared in the least to come up with an excuse based on how he sputtered for words.
"Well, for heaven's sake, I suppose I would like to purchase a Bernard Montluar original. You are quite convincing, Mademoiselle Frane," Hugo said at last.
"You don't got to twist his arm, kid. They ain't worth buying."
"But, Bern–"
"I'll purchase five," I blurted out as the waiter approached and placed our meals on the table.
Everyone–waiter included–paused to stare at me.
"And why in the hell would you do that?" Bernard snapped.
"Because The Professor likes birds," Celeste answered on my behalf.
"Decoration for his apartment," Hugo answered. "Unless Elvira is in need of a new home."
"He's offering outta pity," Bernard grumbled. "Plain and simple."
"Not for my apartment or Elvira. I would like birdhouses for the home I own in Conforeit," I replied, annoyed by Bernard's assumption that I pitied him. "It's surrounded by trees. I've considered adding bird baths, but haven't gotten around to it. Birdhouses, however, would be a good start to attract them to the property."
"You want me to sell you five birdhouses?"
"Newly commissioned and with specific features," I said. "I intend to use the house as a retreat for artists in the next year or two."
Truthfully I had nothing in mind as far as design, but my request had to seem genuine with Bernard's head filled with doubts of my intentions.
Bernard's blackened eyes narrowed. "Fine, tell me what kind of bird houses you want and I'll see what I can do."
"I'm no architect, but I'll do my best to draw up some designs," I said.
Bernard continued to stare at me, his scowl slowly turning into a smirk. "You're serious, ain't you?"
I nodded. "Very much so, Montlaur. Name your price and do not sell yourself short on your work. If the asking price is fair, I shall compensate you without question."
The boxer allowed himself to smile as he sat back. "Compensation? Now that's something I got to consider."
"I could help you build them," Celeste offered. "If I should visit Wissant," she swiftly added.
Bernard appeared amused by her words. "A song bird and a carpenter?" he teased.
"And a cleaning assistant." Celeste glanced at me and grinned.
"You got a lot of different titles, kid."
"I want to be of assistance," she said. "I could sand them, paint the outside, possibly saw the wood…"
"I ain't had no one help me build 'em in a long time," he said wistfully.
"I could sit quietly and sweep up after you're done," Celeste replied.
Bernard took a breath and rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek without looking at her. "What are you doing tomorrow at five?"
Celeste blinked at him and shrugged. "Meditating?" she guessed.
"How about instead of meditating, you sit next to me on the train?"
Celeste gasped, her lips instantly forming a grin. "To Wissant?"
Bernard gave a single nod. "Unless you want off at a different stop?"
Celeste thought for a moment, her smile slowly fading. "How far is Wissant from Brussels?"
Bernard's expression immediately faltered at her question. I noted the disappointment in his gaze, the plans he'd mentally made rearranged in his thoughts.
"Half a day?" Bernard guessed.
Celeste pursed her lips. "Perhaps I could help you build the bird houses and then afford to travel back to my home in Brussels. If my parents' home has not been sold, I could have my room and my bed back. And I could see all of my friends that I've missed dearly." She bowed her head, voice tight with emotion. "I miss it there. I didn't realize how…how homesick I've become until just now."
Bernard turned his head and stared out the window, his jaw tense. "The house has probably been sold," he said. "I ain't saying that to be rude or nothing, but if you was hoping to have your room back…"
"I know," Celeste whispered sullenly. "But I wish I could still go back and see the city and my friends again."
Bernard visibly swallowed. "You got family left there?" he asked without looking at her. "Aunts, Uncles, Cousins?"
Celeste took a sip of her tea and clasped the cup in both hands. "My father has a sister," she said. "Aunt Drucinda. She inherited my grandparents' estate when they passed."
I couldn't tell by her tone if it was an aunt she recalled with fondness.
"You got any idea where she's at?" Bernard asked without looking in her direction.
Celeste hesitated. "Sint Genesius Rode," she said. "The manor up on the hillside with the little pond and a field with sheep. The house has a double chimney and it's covered in ivy in the summer, and my father said you could see the chapel past the woods from the attic windows."
Bernard inhaled. "Sheep and ivy, eh? Sounds like a nice home. What's Aunt Drucinda like?"
Celeste stared at the table, her gaze distant. "I've only met her once or twice. I'm not sure she would recognize me."
Bernard grunted. "How do you feel about meeting her again?"
His words caught me off-guard and it appeared that Celeste had the same reaction.
The girl considered Montlaur's words. "I suppose I would like to see her again, but I don't know if I would remember how to get to the estate."
"Big fancy estate like that can't be that difficult to find," Bernard said, his gaze still averted. "If you want to go back home to Brussels, I'll get you there to your aunt and stay until you're acquainted with her."
Slowly Celeste nodded. "You would take me there?"
Bernard gave a listless nod. "Yeah, sure. If that's where you want to go," he said, his voice void of emotion.
"What would I owe you?" she asked, sitting back from the table.
At last Bernard turned his attention back to Celeste and looked her over. Her eyes wide and questioning, her trust put on hold as she considered what would be expected of her.
"Hey," Bernard said, leaning toward her. "Remember what I said earlier? As your guardian, I ain't gonna let nothin' bad happen to you, and that means you don't owe me no favors. This one's on me, yeah?"
Celeste nodded in return, relieved by his reply. "Bern?" she said softly.
The boxer nodded.
"May we stop in Wissant for biscuits first?"
Bernard forced a smile. "You've lost your mind if you think I'm passing through Wissant without a biscuit first."