French Fried (17 page)

Our hotel, down a side street, was a white building with red awnings and a very pleasant lady at the registration desk. I put my wife in a chair, took her passport, and signed us in.

“Professor, finally you are here!” I turned to find my graduate student, Mercedes Lizarreta, rushing toward me with arms outstretched. “Bonjour,
mon professeur
,” she cried and kissed me on both cheeks. “Isn’t France wonderful? I was so sorry to hear you were delayed in Lyon by an injury to your wife. Is she still in the hospital?”

I managed to extract myself from Mercedes’s embrace—what was the girl thinking?—but not before Carolyn arrived and said, “Actually, I’m here, too. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah, señora, I am Mercedes, your husband’s graduate student.”

“Really? And I am Carolyn, your professor’s wife. I didn’t realize you were attending the conference.” She shot me
the look.

“Nor I you,” said Mercedes. “What a pleasure to meet.”

Carolyn did not look pleased. I should have mentioned that the girl was coming—at her own expense, of course. “Well, I’d better register for the conference.” Under the circumstances, suggesting that my wife stay here would be a bad idea. “Carolyn, do you want to come with me? There’s a reception tonight in an interesting venue, and then we’ll find a good restaurant for dinner. Of course, if you want to rest this afternoon—”

Carolyn looked mutinous, but then sensibly decided that she’d unpack, rest, and choose a restaurant.

As my wife was waving a bellhop over, Mercedes said, “I’ll walk over with you, Professor. Registration’s in the Salle des Gardes.”

“I can, no doubt, find it without help.”

“Not easily. Finding rooms at the conference requires a map, even though it’s within easy walking distance of our hotel. I don’t mind going with you.”

Because the bellhop was disappearing with the luggage, Carolyn had to follow, but she took the time to send me another
look.

He never even mentioned that
she’d
be here. And at our hotel, lying in wait. Now she was going off somewhere with him, and I didn’t even feel up to unpacking. I just wanted to fall into bed and wait for the pills to take effect, which I did as soon as I’d tipped the bellman with some amount of euros that I didn’t even count. He looked pleased, which meant Jason wouldn’t be, had he known. Too bad!

And she was gorgeous. Short—Jason would like that, being short himself. Large breasted—all men liked
that
! Slim otherwise, and here I was, worried about my weight, with all the temptations of Provençal cuisine ahead. And she had a pretty face and shiny black hair that she had evidently curled into ringlets. It bounced everywhere, and looked quite silly. How much time did she have to spend on that hairstyle? Too much for a graduate student, who should have been devoting every moment to study and research.

I glanced at the room, which was rather austere—two beds were pushed together and covered in white with an iron bedstead behind and a peculiar brown wicker love seat and chair to one side. Doors led to a cement-wall-enclosed area open to the sky. It contained two canvas lawn chairs, a small table, and no view. I closed my eyes, without further scrutiny, and went to sleep.

The papal palace was indeed difficult to navigate, a warren of stone, rib-vaulted rooms, the reception area, or Salle des Gardes, cathedral-like but with modern furniture and five entrances into a wing for “Grand Dignitaries.” Carolyn would have loved it, as well as deploring the removal of whatever had been in there before the furniture. We chemists were doubtless not the guests envisioned by whatever French pope built the place.

I registered Carolyn and myself with only a short wait while Mercedes pointed out chemists to whom she had evidently introduced herself. No shrinking violet, my student. I rather wished she’d go away, but she chattered about Avignon, thanking me repeatedly for the opportunity to take her first trip to France, telling me that she had studied French language tapes on the flight from El Paso, even greeting French professors on the organizing committee in French.

“Bonsoir, Professor de Firenze,” she cried. “My research director is here at last.”

Catherine looked surprised to see me. “You have found your wife?” she asked. “I have been told of the robbery, but not—”

“Yes, yes,” I agreed, dreading this conversation. “Your neighbor found her at the bottom of the stairs and called an ambulance. Carolyn was released from the hospital this morning.”

“I hope she did not suffer serious injury. I did advise her to take care in my neighborhood, which has a mixed population due to city financing.”

“Carolyn is terribly upset to hear that family heirlooms were taken when the thief stole your key from her purse.”

“Well, my things were unique. The thief will find them hard to dispose of,” she replied grimly. “At least, your wife survived the incident.”

“Yes, she was lucky.”

“Perhaps I, too, will be lucky. Ah, I see Adrien. I must have a word with him.”

Catherine left me feeling responsible for her belongings. Surely, she wouldn’t expect us to—

“Goodness,” cried Mercedes, “I didn’t realize that your wife was at fault for the stealing from Professor de Firenze’s family treasures, which are so
precioso.
Perhaps American ladies do not realize—”

“My wife was a victim, too.”

“Yes, of course. Would you like to see the Grand Audience Hall? It’s immense. I think the first session will be there.”

“It’s very good of you, Mercedes, but I need to speak to Professor Laurent. You should make an effort to meet fellow graduate students. They will be your colleagues when you are finished with your education.”

“Ah, but I like the professors. They know so much more.”

“Even so,” I replied and headed rapidly across the room toward Laurent. This was going to be a touchy situation. A headachy, possibly jealous wife, a student who might be harboring improper ideas about me, through no fault of mine, and a group of French men and women who were angry with Carolyn. I sighed and approached Laurent.

“We have been contacted by the police,” he said. “They seem to think that someone in our department is intent on causing you harm. Perhaps you should remember that we are the ones who lost a colleague. Poor Robert. He is dead, and his lecture spot must be filled.”

Now there was a questionable expression of grief, I thought, and changed the subject to my own assignment.

I woke up
without the headache. Maybe I was improving—physically. The surprise appearance of Mercedes had been a blow. Why hadn’t Jason told me she’d be coming? It was bad enough having someone trying to kill you; having someone else trying to steal your husband was really too much. Well, Jason and I would enjoy a romantic dinner for two after the reception. Without Mercedes. I called the desk for advice on a restaurant, and Bridget said one of her favorites was L’Epicerie, on the square of the Saint Pierre church. “Is it very expensive?” I asked, keeping in mind that Jason would not be happy with a huge bill, no matter how romantic the evening.

“It’s quite reasonable,” Bridget replied, “and be sure to order the hors d’oeuvres platter. It’s more than enough for two and wonderful.”

I thanked her and picked up my book on Avignon, which was full of fascinating historical facts and marvelous pictures, even a picture of Saint Pierre—the church, not the saint. Then my telephone rang, Bridget announcing that Albertine was downstairs and wanted to come up. I agreed, since she might be the only female I knew who wasn’t angry with me, now that her mother’s illness had been identified as chicken pox, not syphilis.

Since I hadn’t taken off the clothes I’d traveled in, I only had to comb my hair and refresh my lipstick. Of course, she’d probably be wearing something black and chic.
Ah, well
, I consoled myself,
we can’t all be French women, and a good thing, too.

Prepared to be hospitable, I drew back in dismay. She’d brought Charles de Gaulle. “You need not be afraid, Carolyn. Charles has received canine etiquette lessons and is a much more gentlemanly dog. Charles, say hello to Carolyn.” The dog cocked his head to one side and held up his paw. “He wants to shake your hand,” she explained.

Actually, he looked sort of cute, so I gave his paw a brief shake. When he neither launched himself at me, leaving bruises, nor licked my hand, I invited them in.

Albertine looked the room over and said, “An interesting décor.”

“Rather monastic, don’t you think?” I agreed.

“Except for the love seat. One would not find a wicker love seat in a monastery, although the upholstery on the cushions has a Franciscan look.”

“We call that burlap,” I replied. “Won’t you sit down?” Wicker was the option, unless we went outside to the canvas sling chairs. Charles de Gaulle sniffed around the room, as if looking for a bomb, and then came over to sit in front of us. Perhaps he was waiting for another handshake, but I felt that one was enough.

“I have been thinking over the dangerous happenings since you arrived in France, and although I am quite sure that no one on our faculty is responsible, I do agree that you are being stacked.”

“Stalked?” It was the first mistake I’d heard her make in English, and what a relief to find someone who really believed we were in danger. I wasn’t sure that Inspector Roux and my own husband were convinced.

“Therefore, I take it upon myself, with the help of Charles, and because of the feminine bond we formed as we delivered Bianca’s baby in Sorrento, to insure your safety. I shall stay with you except when you are in your room with your husband.

“No one will hurt you when you are accompanied by a friend and a large dog. Charles de Gaulle can be quite protective of those he loves, and he is fond of you. This will be a good strategy; you were alone when attacked in Lyon, but you will not be here.”

“We can’t keep Jason with us all the time,” I pointed out. I was quite touched by Albertine’s willingness to endanger herself to keep me company, although I felt that I had played the more difficult role in the delivery of a baby, something I hoped never to do again.

“Well, your husband will be either here with you or with hundreds of chemists at the Palais des Papes. No one would kill him there.”

“The Palais des Papes?” I asked, confused.

“Yes, where the convention is being held.”

“Jason didn’t mention that. Does that mean I won’t be able to see it?” I probably wouldn’t have come if that were the case.

“Of course, you will see it. The congresses are held only in two wings, and we are sponsoring a tour for participants and their wives, to be led by an excellent historian from the university here in Avignon. It will be both delightful and informative.

“Now, Carolyn, we must push our heads together for reasoning and think who could have followed you and Jason to France with violent intent.”

I didn’t correct
push our heads together
or even giggle. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt us. For the most part, we lead very sedate lives.”

“You are not thinking, Carolyn. There is a man in Italy who would wish to do you harm if he were not in prison.”

“But he is in prison.”

“I was just providing an example. Have you not done anything that would make some other violent person angry enough to attack you?”

I started to say no, but then hesitated. The cruise. The hijackers. At least one had been a terrorist, and terrorists have terrorist friends who are always eager to avenge them. Could Jason and I be under a death sentence by vengeful terrorists just because I had thwarted a plot to—

“You have a thought!” cried Albertine triumphantly. Charles de Gaulle, who seemed to understand what she was saying, opened his eyes and bared his teeth, as if ready to attack any terrorist who showed up.

I explained about my Mother’s Day cruise, and Albertine nodded gloomily. “In France we have an Arab population. Not only do they commit terrorist acts but also they riot in the outskirts of Paris, which upsets my mother. So we must be on the lookout for Arabs. Have you seen any since you arrived?”

I remembered the crime-scene technician. Inspector Roux had said he was a French citizen, but of North African origin. Had he been sent to see if the poisoned pâté had killed us? How disappointing for him to discover that the victim had been an innocent Canadian of no interest. I’d call Inspector Roux, and I mentioned Bahari to Albertine.

“Ha!” she said. “Perhaps we are solving the mystery already. How terrible to think that our police force has been infiltrated. We must be vigilant, Carolyn.”

If Albertine hadn’t forced me to think about who, other than academics we knew in France, might be after us, I’d never have realized that Jason and I might be the target of terrorists.

Albertine and Carolyn
were to meet us at the Avignon City Hall for the wine-canapé-and-welcoming-speech-from-the-mayor reception. I hoped, for Carolyn’s sake, that she was feeling better, didn’t drink the wine, and found the building of historic interest. While walking into the Place de l’Horlage, past the brightly lit carousel, I heard my wife calling and spotted her riding sidesaddle on a fantastical creature and waving. Albertine, looking much less happy, rode but did not wave. Mercedes, who had tagged along with us, cried, “Oh, there are your wives, professors. Aren’t they having fun? Seeing them makes me less worrisome about growing old.”

By then the carousel had come to a halt, the music had stopped, and my wife tumbled off into my arms, laughing and saying, “So you think Jason and I are old, Mercedes? But then you are so young. Whew! That was fun, but a mistake. I’m dizzy.”