Bordeaux Housewives. Daisy Waugh

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       EATING MOULES

      Superman says he can’t eat moules today because it will remind him of all the lonely and dead jellyfish he has learned to love on the beach at St Palais. He and Tiffany insist on a full portion of frites each to make up for the disappointment, and after that, once their orders are placed and they’re all feeling a little more settled, and they’re at their favourite table overlooking the beach and the sea breeze is drifting through the restaurant’s large, open windows, and the children have their Orangina and the adults their carafe of deliciously cool, pink wine, Tiffany mentions, quite casually, that when she and Superman dropped off Jean Baptiste’s papers this morning, he was accompanied by a strange man. With a clipboard.

      ‘He was?’ says Maude airily, still very much in Paradise zone. ‘Seriously, because poor Jean Baptiste. He’s so often alone. I’m just happy he’s got people calling…Ooh. Hot gossip everyone,’ she adds, suddenly perking up. There is a hint of pride in her voice, ‘hot gossip’ being one of the things the Haunt adults tend to miss out on in their new French life. The nature of their work – and their natural preference for a quiet and private life – means the Haunt parents don’t socialise much, not with the local English nor even the French. What little gossip that does reach them usually comes, somewhat garbled, via the children, whose merry, independent social lives (pedal-powered, mostly) are unrelenting, and a marked contrast to that of their parents. ‘Madame Martinet in the boulangerie told me an English woman put in a bid for the Hotel Marronnier. At last! And she’s quite glamorous, apparently. Maybe Jean Baptiste could tear himself away from Mr Clipboard and fall in love with her…Be nice, though, wouldn’t it? Little bit of interracial love-making, to help the European Project along…’

      The rundown Hotel Marronnier in Montmaur is the only hotel or bar in the Haunts’ local village. It is picturesque – absurdly so – with a little stone terrace shaded by lime trees at the front, and a view looking out over the square and the tiny Norman church opposite. The place has been up for sale since long before the Haunts arrived in the area. Because, though numerous buyers have sniffed around it (most, if not all of them, English), the initial elation at its storybook prettiness fades immediately, after even the most feeble of rosy-coloured investigations into its books. It needs money spending on it, and it’s been running at a loss for years.

      ‘…Don’t you think, Heck?’ Maude asks him. ‘Or perhaps it’s still too soon for Jean Baptiste to find someone new…’

      But Horatio isn’t listening. He’s more concerned about the man with the clipboard. ‘Tiffany,’ he says slightly irritably, ‘why didn’t you mention it before?’

      ‘Don’t worry, Dad. It was only the stupid old pétard,’ Superman says carelessly. ‘I told Tiffie not to worry but she can be quite silly sometimes. Also, Tiffie, I’m pretty sure he did another stinker while we were talking to him. Did you notice?’

      ‘No, he didn’t,’ Tiffie says.

      ‘Did he know who you both were?’ asks Horatio, keen to stick to the point.

      ‘Superman told him, but I think he knew already. In fact Superman was brilliant.’

      ‘I WAS NOT!’

      She ignores him. ‘Superman distracted him while I handed over the papers. So he probably didn’t even notice.’

      Maude wrenches her mind from enjoyable images of Jean Baptiste helping along the European Project. She too, finally, has sniffed danger. She and Horatio glance at each other nervously. ‘…What did he look like, Tiffie?’ Maude asks.

      ‘Very, very handsome,’ replies Superman, randomly.

      ‘Well – he wasn’t exactly handsome,’ Tiffany disagrees. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Superman. He was sort of fat. He had a sort of wobbly fat face and a lot of sweat in the crinkles under his chin. And he had greasy hair sort of stuck over his head and he also had these weird teeny-tiny feet.’ She chortles. ‘I thought he probably spent all the time falling over.’

      ‘Age?’ asks Horatio.

      ‘Old. Kind of like Granny.’

      Maude and Horatio consider these new details carefully. ‘Hm,’ Horatio says. ‘And you say he looked like he was there on business? But you think he didn’t notice you handing over the papers?’

      ‘Of course not,’ Superman and Tiffany say at once.

      The family fall silent while the waiter delivers their moules frites, putting the third bowl – since Superman had insisted he wanted frites and frites alone – directly in front of Tiffany.

      ‘That’s really unfair,’ Superman moans, eyeing her bowl. ‘Actually, can I have a pizza?’

      ‘Et un pizza, s’il vous plaît,’ Maude says briskly, before Horatio has time to make a fuss.

      ‘Honestly Maude,’ Horatio frowns. ‘Would you give him a line of cocaine if he happened to ask for it?’

      Maude doesn’t bother to reply. She watches while the waiter leaves, takes the usual care not to speak until he’s out of earshot. ‘What do you mean, Superman, the pétard?‘

      ‘The farter.’

      ‘I know what it means. I mean why do you call him “the pétard”? Have you seen him before?’

      ‘Of course we have! You remember! In the shop.’

      ‘Ah!’ says Horatio, light dawning, wiping cream sauce from his chin. ‘I know who he’s talking about. The farter! In the shop! Monsieur – Monsieur – What’s his name? Superman’s quite right. We bumped into him in the Co-op. And the children couldn’t stop laughing…You must remember, Maude!…Monsieur Bertinard!’ he says triumphantly. ‘Voilà! Olivier Bertinard.’

      ‘Ohhhh!’ Light dawns for Maude, too. ‘Him!’ She grimaces. ‘Gosh, he’s an awful man. But he’s not répression. Thank God. He lives in that wonderful house opposite Hotel Marronnier. We wanted to buy it, do you remember? Except it wasn’t for sale.’

      ‘That’s СКАЧАТЬ