Fleur De Lies (5 page)

“I guess maybe we should go,” he rasped, looking utterly bereft.

Once outside, we hurried down the front path in a footrace to the waiting coach.

“What was wrong with her?” Osmond puzzled. “What was she yelling at him? Does anyone know what
say twah
means?”

“It means, ‘it’s you,’” I said, dredging up a few remnants of my high school French. Solange had screamed
It’s you
as if in that moment she had somehow recognized him.

five

“My suggestion about the
makeup demonstration was such a hit.” Jackie sat at the mirrored vanity in my cabin, applying gloss with a Mona Michelle lipstick wand. “If we could figure out a way to have more home visits, I’d make a killing. And you know what that would mean.
Hel-looo
, pink Porsche.”

I slid into the strappy heels that elevated my little black dress to dinnerwear status. “Goes to show what I know. I take back what I said about your idea being tacky.”

“You’re forgiven. I don’t expect someone who specializes in old people to know anything about product testing on upwardly mobile target groups.”

Our boat was moored in a tidal estuary of the Seine, tied up
alongside a granite quay in the river port of Honfleur, a picturesque town whose architectural design illustrated the passage of time from the Middle Ages—with its half-timber houses, cobbled lanes, and cramped alleyways—to the Renaissance, with its tall, slate-fronted tenements shouldered rooftop to rooftop around an inner harbor that had been “newly” excavated a brief four hundred years ago. My balcony faced Honfleur’s main boulevard—a long stretch of road flanked by upscale wood and brick apartments on one side, a grassy esplanade on the other, and a noisy stream of horn-tooting traffic in between.

“So what products did you showcase in your demonstration?” I asked, surprised that the toothsome trio had given their blessing to anything Jackie had suggested.

“Everything! We did makeovers. Complete makeovers! When our hostess found out what the four of us did for a living, she begged us to share our expertise with her family, so we gave all the Roussel women miracle makeovers. Really, Emily, properly applied face powder can make
all
the difference in a woman’s life.”

It took me a moment to peel back the layers of what she’d just said to understand the gist of what had actually happened. “So the
four of you didn’t charge through the door with Mona Michelle con
cealer sticks in hand, all prepped to turn eager faces from ordinary to extraordinary? Your hostess had to sweet-talk you into it?”

She stared at my reflected image in the mirror, eyes thoughtful. “
Ewww
. Very nice. Turning a face from ordinary to extraordinary. Can I borrow that?”

“You can
have
it if you’ll answer my question.”

She swiveled around on her stool, looking a bit twitchy and awkward. “Okay. The girls threw major hissy fits that I was inviting them to actually
work
during our home visit, and they
hated
my
idea about an international arm of Mona Michelle. They think do
mestic sales is where the action is. To quote Krystal, ‘If it ain’t broke, it’s not broken.’”

Actually, considering the source, that was pretty profound.

“So they nixed my suggestion about makeup demonstrations for the
host family, but after Mrs. Roussel came up with the very same idea, they were totally on board! I was so touched, Emily. Believe me, it takes a lot of character to execute a complete one-eighty in the space of an hour. Not everyone can do it with such style, but the girls are so anxious to please, they made it look easy.”

She cast puppy dog eyes on me. “You’re one of my best friends, Emily, so don’t take this the wrong way, but Bobbi, Krystal, and Dawna? They’re like … the sisters I never had.”

A chorus of digital
dings
chimed overhead before a man’s voice floated out from the cabin intercom. “Ladies and gentleman, the restaurant doors are now open.”

As if on cue, we heard a host of doors slam in the corridor. A low rumble of voices. High-pitched laughter.

Jackie capped her lipstick wand and sprang to her feet. “Hey, the boat’s moving.”

As she hurried onto my balcony to watch the boat ease away from the quay, I crossed the floor to check my hair and makeup in the vanity mirror. “So how many makeovers did you end up doing?”

“Three. Bobbi and Krystal grabbed the two Roussel daughters and Dawna took charge of Mrs. Roussel.”

“So … who did you work on?”

“I didn’t have anyone to work on. I supervised.”

“But … if it was your idea to begin with, shouldn’t you have gotten first dibs on which family member you wanted to remake?”

She stepped back into the cabin and closed the sliding glass door. “This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t mind taking a back seat so others can assume their rightful spots in the limelight.”

“Since when?”

She fisted her hand on her hip and drilled me with a fierce look. “You know, Emily, you don’t really appreciate how selfless I am. But the girls have seen it firsthand. Laugh if you must, but I fully expect they’ll be singing my praises to Victor so loudly, I’m going to be shame-faced with embarrassment.”

I regarded her, deadpan. “Right.” Grabbing my clutch, I turned off the overhead lights and motioned Jackie out the door in front of me.

At the far end of the corridor, guests were clogged together at the entrance of the restaurant like gumballs waiting to funnel through the mouth of a narrow-necked bottle. The
Renoir
carried only sixty passengers, housed in outside cabins on a single deck, but from the looks of things, every last one of them was in line ahead of us, pushing their way through the congestion to the dining room.

“Do we have assigned seating?” asked Jackie as we took our place at the back of the scrum.

“Nope. We get to sit wherever we want.”

She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “The girls will naturally want me to sit with them, so if there’s only one seat at their table, you don’t mind if I take it, do you?”

“Knock yourself out. I’m sure I’ll find an open seat somewhere. There’s lots of new people to meet.”

“
Thank you
!” She flung her arms around me, crushing me against
her as if I were a nut in need of cracking. “I’m
so
relieved. That’s what I love about you Emily. You’d happily forgo an opportunity to
shmooze with the big wigs at the Mona Michelle table in order to
share a lackluster meal with a bunch of dotty strangers. You are
so
evolved.”

Retrieving a mirrored compact from her pocketbook, she rechecked the gloss on her lips. “So, now that we have that out of the way … did anything happen on your home visit that’s worth mentioning?”

“
Uhh
—A guy in our group was hammered out of his head, we barely escaped having to buy advanced funeral plans, and Osmund was reunited with a woman who helped save his life during World War II.”

She snapped her compact shut. “So, nothing out of the ordinary.”

The bottleneck at the entrance to the dining room suddenly broke
up, allowing guests to stampede through the doors like shoppers at a
blowout sale. We exchanged “
Bon soirs
” with the official greeter at the
door, sanitized our hands with a squirt of gel from the stationary dispenser, then angled off to our right, circling around the food station that occupied the center of the room.

Guests were loitering behind chairs, waving their arms to friends, flashing the number of seats still available, sitting down, standing up, bumping into the guests standing at the chairs behind them. Tables were set up to accommodate four, six, or eight guests, and each table abutted a sparkling clean, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the river and its traffic. What could be more thrilling than the prospect of oohing and ahhing over the spectacular views of the Seine while we dined?

Well, one thing might be more thrilling.

Finding an empty seat. Why were all the tables full?

“There they are … with some bald guy I’ve never seen before.
Ew
! They’ve saved two seats. C’mon.” Jackie seized my hand and sprinted toward a round table that occupied the far corner, arriving two steps behind an elderly couple who’d just claimed the chairs by pulling them out. “Excuse me,” Jackie said in a voice breathy with apology, “but I believe those seats are taken.”

“I know they are.” The gentleman grinned. “By me and my wife.” He tapped his name tag. “I’m Leo. This is Izetta.”

“What I meant was, they’re being saved for me and my friend.”

“No they’re not.” Bobbi Benedict regarded Jackie from beneath the brim of her pale blue Western hat. “It’s first come, first serve. No seat saving allowed.” She glanced at her two blonde companions for confirmation. “Idn’t that right?”

Alligator Boots, whose name tag identified her as Dawna Chestnut from Nacogdoches, Texas, inched her rosy lips into a smug smile. “Sure is,” she drawled as she hiked her strapless bustier toward her chin.

Snakeskin Jeans dusted her cheek with the tail end of her long
platinum hair, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Ditto what
Dawna said.” I glanced at her name tag. Krystal Cake. Abilene, Texas.

I tugged on Jackie’s dress. “There’s an empty seat over there. I’m going to—”

“Mom? Dad?” A middle-aged woman in a clingy cocktail dress intercepted Leo and Izetta before they could sit. “We’re saving seats for you on the other side of the room. You want to join us? I have your pill caddies.” She flashed a smile at the Mona Michelle elite. “Sorry.” Grasping her parents by their elbows, she gently navigated them away from the table.

Jackie shot a puzzled look across the table at Bobbi. “I thought you said there was no seat saving.”

“There isn’t. And if that gal had read through the booklet they left in her cabin, she’d know it, too.”

“I’ve failed to read any policy that prohibits guests from saving seats,” rasped Victor as he motioned for Jackie and me to sit down. He was without his oxygen pack tonight, so his breathing sounded a little more forced.

“You have no credibility,” scoffed Virginia. “You forgot to pack your reading glasses. You can’t read anything.” She turned in her chair
to scan the room. “Where’s the sommelier?”

“The
what
?” asked Woody, who had somehow ended up at our table rather than at his son Cal’s.

“The s
um-el-yay
,” she repeated in three drawn-out syllables. “The wine steward.”

“Well, would you listen to those French words fallin’ out of your mouth?” gushed Dawna. “You sound just like a native. Victor never mentioned you could speak
two
whole languages. I am
so
impressed.”

“Don’t be.” Virginia fixed her with an imperious stare. “Sommelier isn’t a French word; it’s English. Perhaps instead of a new-and-
improved retractable lip liner, you should think about buying
yourself a thesaurus.”

Confusion clouded Dawna’s eyes, chased away by a sudden peal of laughter. “You are
such
a tease,” she scolded. “Go buy myself a thesaurus. You know very well those creatures have been extinct for at least two thousand years.”

Gee, Victor’s wife might not be the easiest person to warm up to, but I was
really
beginning to like her.

Virginia angled a meaningful look at her husband. “However do you manage to keep the company afloat? Creative bookkeeping?”

“Leave her alone, my pet. The day Mona Michelle expands into the dictionary business will be the day I listen to your complaint.”

Woody cast admiring looks around the table as he shook out his napkin. “I’ve lived a lot of years, ladies. More than I’ll ever admit to. But I have to confess, I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve had the pleasure of being surrounded by so many beautiful women all at the same time. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Aw, aren’t you just the sweetest man?” bubbled Krystal, reward
ing him with a thousand-watt smile enhanced by flirtatious eye movements.

“And while I’m on the subject of dying, have any of you lovely ladies ever stopped to realize that your next meal might be your last?”

I dropped my head to my chest.
Not again
.

Dawna gasped. “The ship’s run out of food?”

“No, no. I’m sure the ship’s not going to run out of anything. But the question you should be asking yourselves is … have
you
run out of time on our lovely planet? You need to be prepared for the end, ladies, and it’s never too soon to start, which is why it’s so important for you to think about advanced funeral planning.”

Bobbi gaped at Woody, her mouth sagging open. “You’re jokin’, aren’t you, sugah?”

“Advanced planning is no joke,” cautioned Woody. “In fact, with the cost of living on the rise, it makes good financial sense to pre-pay your funeral in today’s dollars rather than the inflated currency of tomorrow. We have payment plans to fit every budget, including a rather generous layaway plan where a client can—”

“Mr. Jolly,” Victor interrupted, “I applaud your efforts to advertise your product. Being a businessman myself, I understand it behooves us to look at every situation as a marketing opportunity, but if you persist in hijacking the conversation to push your business model, I’ll have you removed from this table. Do I make myself clear?”

Woody leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

Unh-oh
. I hoped this didn’t escalate into a Mexican standoff. But at least there was no way it would turn into a pissing contest. Guys this old could barely provide urine samples.

Krystal gave Woody a playful swat on his arm. “Us girls don’t wanna hear about no layaway plan at no funeral parlor, darlin’. Y’all need to target another age group.” She scanned the other tables for possibilities. “Like … anyone else in the room.”

“You must have missed a recent nightly news segment,” I piped up, directing my comment at Krystal. “They posted the results of a decades’ long medical study that showed that today’s eighty- and ninety-year-olds are, by comparison, much healthier than the majority of today’s thirty-year-olds. So there’s a good possibility that most of the people in this room will end up living a lot longer than
you
will.”