Page 78 of Vianne
One more day to go until Saturday, our grand opening.
Tonight, Francoise and Karine Li will come round and help with the display window.
The panels on the street are bright with murals, painted by Stéphane and the Li family, with cacao pods and Christmas scenes and lucky Chinese dragons.
The front of the shop is spotless; display cabinets filled with jars that gleam like sunken treasure. Everything is perfect, except—
Guy did not come back last night. No one has seen him since yesterday.
A brief note on the back of an envelope, then stuck to the side of the fridge, says: Called away in a hurry.
Back soon. G. There is no explanation, no further sign of disturbance.
The van is still at the back of the shop.
On inquiry, Grandmother Li says she thinks she saw him get in a car with a man.
‘Expensive car. Maybe Mercedes.’ No one else saw anything.
Mahmed alone seemed unsurprised, drinking his coffee at breakfast as if nothing unusual had happened.
‘I don’t understand. Aren’t you worried?’
He shrugged. ‘No, why? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone running off to Toulouse when he’s suffered a crisis of confidence.’
It’s not always easy to read Mahmed. His colours are often troubled. This morning, they were muted; grey as morning mist on the harbour. But I saw no anxiety there; he knows exactly where Guy has gone, and why.
‘You think he’s gone to Toulouse? Why?’
Mahmed took a croissant and dipped it into his coffee. ‘Maybe he needs to explain things – this place – to his father.’
‘Why now? Did he say something?’
That shrug again. ‘Why would he?’
I thought of Guy, and the Liars’ Chair, and the secret he has been hiding. Two different lives in two cities; both divided by a single lie. How long did he hope to keep it up? Just till the chocolaterie breaks even. So why would he tell his father now, when everything hangs on this crucial week?
Mahmed continued to eat his croissant, dipping it slowly, piece by piece. I thought about the day we first met, and the warmth I’d seen in both of them. Guy’s passion tempered with Mahmed’s common sense; the closeness of their relationship.
‘ You told him, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘You sent him the newspaper article.’
Mahmed gave a humourless smile. ‘That would explain it, wouldn’t it? It’s almost as if I expected him to take responsibility. To make a choice. Well, I guess he has.’ He finished his croissant and stood up. ‘Things to do, Vianne. Things to do. It’s the big day tomorrow.’
I watched him go, feeling helpless. How could things be going so wrong? I did it right, didn’t I? I cast the circle. I called the wind. I spoke the words of power. So why isn’t it working, Maman? Why are things falling apart like this?
You need to be gone. Her voice is stark. This is what happens when you try to interfere with people’s lives. Things get broken. People, too. And yet, I called Edmond. He came. Surely that means something?
But what does it mean to Louis, ’Viane? Is Louis in a better place? Or have you simply given him another cause for grief?
I shook aside the troubling thought. I will not run away from this. I cannot – will not – abandon my friends. I have to finish what I began. And besides, I’d promised Lo?c I’d make his mother’s pissaladière.