take his wife’s hand. She stepped out of the automobile and shook out her black damask coat with the matching fur trim. Of all the women in the village, she was the only one who might shrug off the rural life at a moment’s notice and slip into a fashionable city salon. As if expecting an audience, she strode up to the house, an obsidian-and-silver walking stick held in her grip like a scepter. Jean-Paul wiped his palms against his trousers and opened the door to greet the couple.
“Welcome. To what do I owe this unexpected surprise?” he said, meeting the pair in the courtyard.
Du Monde removed his hat. “You must excuse the intrusion, Monsieur Martel. I’m not sure what happened. One minute the damn thing was running smooth as a kitten, the next it’s fuming like an alley cat trapped in a rubbish bin.”
Jean-Paul shook his hand when offered. Though not strangers—they had twice been introduced at a meeting of the village wine council—it would not be accurate to say they were friendly or even on a first-name basis. But one thing they shared was an appetite for the roaring age of new technology. Automobiles, to be precise. Not the wind-up steam confound-its of his father’s day. No, these new engines could rev up to sixty-five miles per hour. This very model had won the Grand Prix three years earlier doing precisely that. Bastien, who had been there to witness the race, had relayed the excitement of the final lap over cigars and glasses of port at their last council meeting. Jean-Paul was rightfully envious. In his old life he, too, would have been there to see it.
With a sigh he greeted Madame du Monde more formally and then took an appreciative walk around the vehicle to get a glimpse of the engine. “They’d just added the electric headlamps when I left the city. Must be a dream to drive.”
“It never met a rut in the road it couldn’t stay away from,” Gerda du Monde said, peeling her gloves off in anticipation of being invited inside. “Honestly, they’re little improvement over the pleasant Sunday pace of a double-team and carriage, if you ask me.”
He resisted the urge to argue. “I’m sure it’s just overheated. Please come in and sit while she cools down.”
“My wife or the car?” Du Monde guffawed at his own joke and then ducked a chastising slap from his wife’s gloves.
Jean-Paul extended a hand toward the front door and escorted the couple inside to where Madame waited. The old woman stood as if poised for battle, though he hoped there wouldn’t be a confrontation. He rather liked Du Monde, or at least admired all that he’d accomplished.
“Welcome—do come in,” she said, though her smile appeared forced against the sagging lines in her face.
Gerda du Monde offered her hand. “The esteemed Madame Gardin. A pleasure to meet again.”
The women shook hands. As far as he knew this was the first time Gerda du Monde had come to the house, yet something familiar traveled between the women. He saw it in their eyes, their body language. Daring. Defiance. Respect. When their hands parted, Madame rubbed her thumb and fingers together at her side before excusing herself to prepare some refreshments for their guests.
Jean-Paul led the couple into his sitting room, where the whiff of kerosene smoke lingered in the air. Gerda inspected the space with keen eyes that searched from the coved ceiling to the fringe on the oriental rugs. Her hand trailed over the chair where Elena had been sitting moments before. She drummed her fingers three times before returning to her husband’s side.
“You keep a lovely home,” she said. “There’s evidence of a woman’s touch. Not a bad thing for a single man.”
He motioned to the padded leather chairs near the fire. “Most of the furnishings are Madame’s. I didn’t bring much with me when I left the city,” he said, taking a seat on the flowery upholstered sofa.
“It’s just the two of you in the house?”
He pinched the seam in his trousers, straightening the fabric as he crossed his legs. “Yes,” he said, avoiding her eye.
Her stare trapped him in his seat so that he could not move. He feared any twitch might reveal the lie. He didn’t know why he owed Elena such loyalty, but he’d given his word and he meant to keep it. Especially after he’d seen the fear creep over her face when she understood who was coming to the front