French Fried (25 page)

The phone rang again, and this time it was my husband. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” He hadn’t. “How are you feeling?” I said I’d managed to walk to and from the bathroom without causing further damage.

When I asked him if he’d been to see Mercedes, he replied, “I have not, but the wretched girl called me out of a lecture to ask when I’d be there. I told her never, that her conduct had been so improper I wanted her to find another research director. In fact, I suggested one at another university. Then, of course, we had a nasty argument. Nasty on her part. I was moderately calm and polite, but the upshot is that she’s threatening to sue me because she’s in the hospital with a bullet wound. Carolyn, I’m at my wit’s end. What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell her that you’re going to countersue for sexual harassment,” I replied flippantly.

There was a silence. Then Jason started to laugh, after which he said, “Embarrassing as that sounds, I’m putting a call through to Human Resources at home as soon as I can.”

“You aren’t?” I retorted, starting to laugh myself.

“Damn right I am. You’re a very smart woman, my love. I’ll call you around noon.”

I hung up, all smiles. Probably I should have stayed angry longer, but the idea that Mercedes was about to be charged with sexually harassing my husband was just too delightful to ignore. Of course, I’d be peeved if he didn’t do it. In a much better mood, I limped over to admit the bellman with my breakfast, which I enjoyed immensely.

Only after the last bite did I realize that I’d be stuck here all day, and maybe for as long as the meeting lasted. How much walking was I allowed to do? Another knock on my door produced Albertine, arriving with candy and flowers, and shocked when I opened the door myself.

“My dear Carolyn, you are walking! Do sit down.” She scolded me for leaving the banquet and not standing up to Mercedes, although I felt that there was some justice in Mercedes taking the bullet for Jason. Albertine complained because he had gone to the hospital with the “awful girl.” I passed on the good news that he had told his troublesome student to find a new professor, and that he planned to file a sexual harassment complaint against her.

“You Americans!” Albertine exclaimed. “Always going to court. These things can be settled less publicly.” Then she commiserated with me for being stuck inside on such a nice day, when the conference had announced a tour of the cathedral, the gardens, and a portion of the walls. The organizers wanted to make up for yesterday’s truncated outing. The very thought that I would miss the new tour sent me into despondency. It wasn’t fair. “I’m walking pretty well,” I said hopefully.

“Don’t even think of it,” Albertine replied. “I’d rather stay here with you than have you take any more chances with—” I interrupted to ask what time the tour began. “Two, but you can’t go. You have a broken ankle. You probably shouldn’t be walking on it now.”

“The doctor said I should. And I’m going to. Of course, it would be nice if you drove me over there. You do drive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I can’t drive you through the cathedral or the gardens.”

“If I can get up to the gardens, I can walk along the walls, can’t I? How much climbing is there?” I thought about climbing. “What I need is a pair of shoes with a heel that brings my other foot to the level of the boot. Could I find such a thing?”

“One can find anything if one knows where to look, and the shoe is a very sensible idea. Hobbling at two heights could damage your hip. Very well, I’ll pick you up at one, but I won’t promise to take you to the cathedral. First, we must see how the new shoe works. That saleslady where we bought the first pair will be able to suggest something. How are your pretty sandals, by the way?”

“The heel broke when I broke my ankle. If I’d been in flats—”

“I take no responsibility for your fall, Carolyn. If you hadn’t left the banquet hall, you’d be fine. Did your beautiful dress survive? I see that your hair has held up well in front, although the back is not good. Shall I comb it for you?”

“The dress is dusty and torn, and I’d appreciate your help with my hair. In fact, I’ve been worrying about how I’m going to get dressed. I’ll have to wear a skirt.”

“Ah! I shall chose clothing for you and help you dress. Then we will do your hair.”

“Thank you so much, Albertine. You’re such a good friend.” I had no intention of being talked out of the cathedral, and possibly I’d insist on the rest. I did have pills.

“Of course I’m a good friend. I told you that in Sorrento, but obviously you did not believe me. Even Charles de Gaulle is your good friend. Poor dear, I left him in the room, lest his presence make you anxious, but I think we must bring him this afternoon for safety. The shooter might try again.” She stopped rustling through my closet and looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you should not—”

“At least don’t leave me wearing nothing but a robe, panties, and messy hair,” I pleaded. Once I was dressed and groomed, I’d address the visit to the shop and the tour. She’d never be able to resist shopping.

She did think Jason might be upset if I purchased more shoes, but I answered, “I don’t intend to worry about his concerns until I’m sure that he’s filed that complaint against Mercedes.”

“Hmmm,” said Albertine, and brought over a gathered skirt and blouse made from one of those travel fabrics that you can wad up in your suitcase and put right on once you’ve unpacked. It wasn’t exactly what I’d have chosen for a casual occasion, but what else was there? I wondered if I could pull on slacks without the boot and then Velcro the boot over the trouser leg. I’d probably better consult the doctor about that.

Once Albertine left,
I called the hospital to ask about putting the leg of my slacks inside the orthopedic boot. The doctor thought the bunched material around my broken ankle would make the boot less efficient. He was, however, pleased that I had been walking and intended to shop for a shoe with a heel the same height as the boot.

“But perhaps you do not know that in France is not possible to buy only one shoe. You must buy a pair. Also I must warn you not to fall, which can happen while shopping in such a city as Avignon with pavements of ancient unevenness. You could wear tights instead of slacks, but you must keep the foot in the proper position while putting them on, the position in which your foot is held by the boot.”

While he talked on and on, I decided I could wear those shin-length pants, if they were sold in France. And did he really think that I could buy one shoe in the United States? What strange perceptions people had of our country. If I couldn’t find capris, I’d try for tights. That shopping decision made, I sat back on the bed, my ankle resting on a pillow to prevent swelling, and clicked on the TV, which showed one picture after another of cars and buildings burning in Paris, as well as youths running around at night and policemen chasing them. Watching the policemen reminded me of Inspector Roux and the horrid Inspector Villon. I was glad that I hadn’t heard from Villon. No doubt the gunshot residue had cleared me and embarrassed him, which meant he owed me an apology.

I also felt that my police friend in Lyon would want to hear about the new attempt on our lives, this time with a gun, not to mention the theory that the attacker might be a terrorist. That hadn’t even occurred to me when we were in Lyon.

Jason called first and admitted that Mercedes had apologized for threatening him. When he said that he had accepted her apology, I was ready to hang up, but he added that he still insisted on her finding a new research director, after which she threatened him again. Dreadful girl! I wondered if there was any way to have her calls to him switched over here to me. I’d
love
to talk to her.

Before I could explore that possibility, Jason detailed the rest of their conversation: the imminent arrival of her parents, who would punish him for the way he had treated her; Jason’s retort that she must be an embarrassment to her family; Mercedes hanging up on him; and his request that no more of her calls be put through. He was sure the whole conference would have heard and be laughing at his expense.

“You poor dear,” I replied. “I’m so proud of you. If her father tries anything, I’ll be happy to tell him off. In fact, I’ll be happy to tell her off. In fact, I could stop by the hospital on my way to shop with Albertine.” Poor Jason. He was horrified at my plans to visit Mercedes and go shopping.

“But, Jason, I intend to get a refund on the heels that broke and the dress that got torn because the heels broke.”

“Good luck with that,” said my husband dryly.

“Then, when I have my money back, I hope to find a shoe of the proper height, some capri pants to wear with my boot, and if not those, tights. The doctor wasn’t very happy with the idea of strapping the boot on over slacks.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Carolyn, do what he tells you, and you shouldn’t be out shopping.”

“He told me to walk, and I’m walking. It’s not too bad, but I need a shoe so I don’t limp and dislocate my hip.”

“Good lord. Is that a possibility?”

“I hope not, but Albertine mentioned it. And then if the shoe works, I’m going to the impromptu cathedral tour.”

“Carolyn!”

“Albertine’s driving.” I didn’t tell him about the papal gardens and the city walls. “And Bridget’s sending up food, so I’m not starving.”

“Sweetheart, will you please be careful, and don’t try to do too much?” I promised and hung up. If my ankle hurt much, obviously I’d stop walking.

I then called Lyon and asked for Inspector Roux. He was interested to hear about the bullet that had, happily, missed us, but saddened to hear about my broken ankle. “So you are back in the hospital? You are having many unlucky events, but you must not think that France is a—”

“Goodness, Inspector. Don’t tell me how safe France is. Look what’s happening in Paris. They’re torching cars and nursery schools. I’d say that France is exceptionally dangerous. I hope you aren’t having problems in Lyon.”

“No, no. Our minority youths are well treated and happier than those in Paris, and we keep our eyes open, as we do for whoever stalks you, although that person must now be in Avignon, so perhaps there is no need—”

“That reminds me, Inspector. Another suspect has come to mind.” And I told him the story of the
Bountiful Feast
, the hijacking, and the hijacker who might be a terrorist and have sent his friends after us. The inspector was astonished at my ill luck and promised to consult with colleagues who tracked terrorists.

Satisfied with his response, but not with the fact that the Avignon police had never contacted him, I watched a few more burning cars and buildings on TV and answered my door to receive a lunch of soup and a tuna-salad-filled croissant. Then I lay down and was awakened at one by the telephone. Bridget’s replacement informed me that a huge man named Monsieur Le Blanc was in the lobby asking to talk to me. What should she do with him?

Martin was sweet to come by, but I couldn’t invite him to my room. I offered to come downstairs. After all, the French were given to thinking that everyone had affairs. No doubt, they thought that about my husband and Mercedes. I certainly didn’t want to give cause for gossip about Martin and me.

When I stepped off the elevator, he was standing in the lobby holding a small bouquet of flowers and a large manila envelope. “I did not mean for you to meet me, madam. I would have been happy to talk on the telephone and leave these for you.” He was shifting from foot to foot and holding out the two gifts. “I just wanted to know that you were better and to give you my wishes for a speedy recovery. I should have gone with you to the hospital, and then to find—you will have heard—that a student of your husband had been shot and that I could not tell your husband of your accident so that he could be with you. Did he find you there, I hope?”

“Please sit down, Martin. Aren’t you missing lunch at the palais?” He pulled a package out to show that he was not. “My husband did find me, but here at the hotel, and thank you for the flowers. They’re very pretty.”

“I took them from a yard,” he confessed, and then blushed. A blush on a redheaded man his size was a sight to see, but I
didn’t
giggle. “The envelope, that is the important thing,” Martin added.

“Oh?” I opened it and found a photocopy of a scientific paper not yet prepared for publication. The drawings of compounds had obviously been done by hand. “How lovely,” I said, wondering what he expected me to do with it. “Your research? I wish I could say that I’ll understand it, but at least I’ll cherish it for your thoughtfulness.”

“
Non.
Your husband must read it. It is
her
research. He will understand when he sees it.”

“I’m sure he will,” I replied, all the more puzzled. A bouquet for me and a photocopy for Jason? “Your professor’s research? How kind of her to send it.”

Poor Martin now looked miserable. “She did not send it, but your husband will be—interested.”

“I understand.” Of course, I didn’t. “I’ll give it to him tonight.”

“That is good,” said Martin. “Do not forget.”

I assured him that I wouldn’t.

“You are walking. That is surely a miracle. Is it safe?”

“The doctor advised it,” I replied. “I’m going shopping this afternoon and to the tour of the cathedral.” Martin looked so stunned at my plans that I couldn’t resist adding, “And then I hope to visit the gardens and the walls, which I so much want to see. I hear that the views of the river and the countryside are spectacular.”

“You really must see these things?” he asked disapprovingly. “Then I must walk with you.”

Obviously I’d gone too far. “You needn’t worry, Martin. I’m going with Albertine Guillot.”

“I must go with you,” he insisted. “How would you climb the stairs? There are stairs. I will carry you, and you will not miss this important sightseeing.”