Page 38 of The Strawberry Thief
I go to the stove; I retrieve the pan containing the ruined chocolate. The pan is scorched, but not badly; a good soak should see it through. After that—
Beware, Morgane. You thought I wasn’t dangerous? That chocolate was too sweet, too soft to rival your ink and your needles? Chocolate is anancientart. It comes from very far away. And under the softness, the sweetness – it waits. And it is bitter.
4
Thursday, March 23
I have a new ally,mon père. I was right: Michèle Montourdidsteal the green folder from my house, and she was lying through her teeth the night I went to challenge her.
But the tale does not end there. It seems that Michèle left her son in charge of Narcisse’s confession that night, but that somehow it vanished from his room, where he had left it. Michèle suspects me – as if by some miracle I might have been capable of speaking to her at the door,andsomehow climbing up to her son’s bedroom window to steal back the folder at the same time – and she has sent Yannick to discover its current location.
But Yannick has a weakness, and one that I am happy to exploit. He was mine for a mouthful of chocolate – to be fair, rather more than a mouthful, but worth everycentimeI spent on him. By the end of our conversation he had eaten fourmendiants, two slices ofBavaroiseand a packet of small chocolate eggs in crisp sugar shells, painted to look like hedge-sparrows’ eggs, and had promised to report back – to me, rather than to his mother – if he uncovered the green folder’s whereabouts.
He knows something. Of that I am sure. But I also believe he is telling me as much of the truth as he can. My years as a priest have taught me how to distinguish between an overt lie and a partial truth. Yannick does not trust me enough to tell me what he suspects – not yet. But his friendship with Rosette means that he is eager to help, and – God forgive me – I am devious enough to try to exploit that weakness.
‘Your mother thinks that she can use Narcisse’s folder to contest the will. If she can prove he was not of sound mind, then maybe she could try to reverse his decision to leave the wood to Rosette Rocher.’
Yannick gave me a furtive look from over his slice ofBavaroise. ‘This is really good,’ he said. ‘Maman doesn’t let me eat cake.’
‘Well, one slice can’t do any harm,’ I said.
‘But I’m always hungry. Maman says I was born that way. I eat and eat, and I never feel full. I wish I could fast like you do.’
I smiled. ‘It’s overrated. Vianne could tell you a story or two.’
But Vianne Rocher did not seem to show much of an interest in talking today. To be honest, she looked preoccupied; and Rosette was out, presumably investigating her new domain. Yannick seemed disappointed in his new friend’s absence, but stayed for the cake and the chocolates, eating with careful little bites, his face half hidden beneath his fringe.
He does not meet my eyes at all. In fact, he scarcely looks up from his plate, although my first impression of him as being slow has been replaced by a feeling that he is simply awkward and unused to speaking with adults. I myself have little aptitude when it comes to bonding with children, but today I received unexpected aid in the person of Maya Mahjoubi, who arrived with a little group of her peers from over the river in Les Marauds.
I saw them from across the square, looking into the tattooist’s window. Then they came over to thechocolaterie, Maya, the youngest, leading the way. There were two boys of twelve or thirteen; a girl of about the same age, inhijab, and Maya, nohijab, and very bright and vivid in a green and orange dress.
‘Monsieur le Curé!’ she bugled, seeing me sitting with Yannick by the door. ‘I thought priests didn’t eat chocolate!’
I smiled, and explained that priestssometimesdo, though I myself prefer not to indulge, especially not during Lent.
She laughed, then looked curiously at Yannick, who was looking very uncomfortable, as if afraid that his mother might come in at any moment.
‘I’m Maya,’ she said.
Yannick looked alarmed.
‘Maya’s a friend of Rosette’s,’ I explained.
‘Me, too,’ said Yannick.
Maya said: ‘You’re Yannick Montour. I heard about you from my Omi.’
Yannick’s alarm seemed not to abate, but rather, to intensify. In a low voice, he said: ‘Who’s that?’
‘Omi knows everything,’ said Maya, laughing. ‘She’s basically Yoda.’ Once more I found myself struck by Maya’s natural confidence. Yannick, rather an awkward boy, with his small eyes and a furtive look, seems less adult than she is, although she must be five years younger.
‘My Omi says your parents want to take Rosette’s wood from her. They want to sell it for timber. Is that true?’
Yannick gave a weary shrug, implying:Who knows what my mother will do?
‘You won’t let them, will you?’ she said. ‘My Omi says they’re just greedy. Narcisse left the wood to Rosette, and they have no right to take it from her.’
Yannick gave me a sideways look, which I answered with a narrow smile. I said: ‘The will was legally drawn up and I am in charge of its execution. Rest easy, Maya. There is absolutely no chance of anyone taking Rosette’s wood away.’
