Gerard’s cheeks rise to new heights. He releases an exaggerated sigh. “Alors, fine, fine,” he says. “Do not trouble your sister. She has enough to worry about with your mother.” He takes a deep breath and smoothes down his white jacket. “I’ll get some cash from the till.” Gerard wags a finger. “Two hundred.”
“Two?” says Lukas. “Aw c’mon, man . . .”
Gerard’s floppy cheeks tighten.
Lukas must see his brother-in-law’s face, because he backs down. “Fine, fine,” he says, quickly. “Two hundred is great. You’re the best, man.” He rubs his hands. “You got any leftovers around here? Like, you know, some of that good bread? The stuff with the herbs and nuts?”
Gerard’s next sigh is even louder. “I will get you some bread,” he says stiffly.
Lukas nods. “Thanks, thanks. I owe you, man. Say, maybe I could paint something for this place to pay you back? Some original art instead of all these lame prints.” He squints at the closest frame. “Something bright and modern.”
Gerard gives a tiny shudder. “Ah, merci but no need. The prints fit the theme. You know, Paris . . .” His voice lifts with nostalgia.
Lukas shrugs a skinny shoulder. “Sure. Whatever. Suit yourself, man.” He claps Gerard’s back. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay you back. The minute Mom gets home.” He pauses. “Any idea where she went?” he asks Gerard.
Gerard’s frown deepens. “No,” he says. “And Isobel is terribly worried. “Those police, they are useless. They fail to understand she could be in trouble, being off with that . . .” His round nose scrunches as if from an unpleasant smell. “That charlatan.”
“Charles-what?” says Lukas. His already thin voice stretches further. “I thought his name was Stephen!”
Gerard looks confused, then shrugs. “Yes, Stephen. I forgot, you haven’t met him.” He rings his hands. “He is a charmer. A smooth-talker. Your maman is vulnerable to a man like that. He says all the right things . . . Why, just three nights back, at her house for dinner . . .” His jowls shake ominously. “Your sister fears they’ve eloped,” he says, glumly.
Lukas snorts out a laugh. “Oh c’mon. Mom’s not an idiot. She’s only known him for what, a few weeks?” He smirks. “Iz thinks she’ll marry him?” He tugs off his beanie.
Gerard throws up his hands. “Ah mais l’amour! It can turn us all into fools. Isobel fears he’s a con artist. You weren’t there to see them, behaving like teenagers . . .” His mouth forms a moue of distaste before his prominent eyes widen, like something’s just occurred to him. “The Sooke cabin,” he says. “Perhaps they went there. Someone should check it.”
Lukas’s head jerks up. “The old summer cabin?” His reedy voice cracks. “She wouldn’t go there. It’s falling apart. Nobody ever goes out there.”
“But the coins,” says Gerard. “Maybe for once Daphne actually listened to Isobel. Perhaps she went to fetch them and met some accident. Some fall or . . .” He fiddles with the hem of his white coat. “Perhaps a stroke. Dementia . . . She is aged, your mother . . .”
Lukas passes his beanie from hand to hand. “Wait. What coins?” he asks.
“Your father’s gold coins. His collection. He left them in the safe in that old cabin. A ridiculous place, of course. Totally insecure. Isobel found some old papers of Walt’s and questioned Daphne, who’d forgotten all about them. Imagine! Just forgetting! It caused quite a scene at Tuesday’s dinner.”
Lukas twists around. From where I stand, peering around the corner, I can now see his face, eyebrows high in amazement. “I remember those coins!” he says. “Dad used to show them to me when I was a kid. He loved those things. They were like pirates’ treasure.” He stops twisting his beanie. “I just figured they were in the bank. You mean all this time . . .” He laughs. “God, that’s ridiculous! They were just sitting in that crappy summer cabin?”
“Exactement!” says Gerard. “Some of those coins are worth thousands, even tens of thousands of dollars! In that unprotected cottage! And now Daphne has gone off and nobody else knows the code to the safe. Unless she went out there? The cabine . . .” He rubs his hands on his pants and swallows nervously. “Isobel cannot remember how to get there. Do you know the way? It is quite isolated, no?”
Lukas is still shaking his head in amazement. “I’ll go,” he says. “It’s in the middle of nowhere, but I’m pretty sure I can still find it.” He tugs on his beanie. “But I highly doubt Mom went there.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “She hasn’t been in years. It’s a dump. She’s probably gone someplace nice with her new man. Someplace sunny . . .” He tilts his beanie. “Look, I gotta go, Gerard. Can I get the bread?” He laughs again. “And the dough? Haha!”
Gerard obviously misses the joke. He instructs a passing waiter to fetch some herb bread.
As Gerard and Lukas come closer, I retreat. I grab a menu off a counter and bury my face in it. There’s no need. They walk past without glancing my way.
Peeking over my menu, I see Gerard pull two bills from the till. He looks sour, Lukas elated. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying. Lukas pats his brother-in-law’s shoulder, pockets the money, and heads for the door. There’s a spring in his step. Outside, he turns right, toward the harbor.
When I get back to our table, our mains have come—and are mostly gone. “Sorry,” says Quinn, her cheeks full of my Flamiche. She leans closer and lowers her voice. “These portions are tiny! No wonder French women are so skinny.”
“Um, no problem,” I say. I cut into the surviving sliver. The leek tart, like the mussels, is amazing.
As I chew, I feel Quinn studying me. “What just happened?” she says. “You look excited.”
Even more than usual, I’m amazed by how observant Quinn can be—and gratified she’s taking an interest. I decide to fill her in on what I just overheard, adding some backstory about Daphne Dane’s new romance.
“Hmmm, so Daphne’s daughter thinks her new man’s just after her cash?” says Quinn. “That’s sad.”
“Yes.” I had the same thought. But who knows? Is Stephen a grifter or do Isobel and Gerard merely begrudge Daphne her happiness, scared some of their inheritance might end up with her younger lover?
Quinn pats at her lips with a napkin. She looks thoughtful. “I guess that’s one good thing about not being loaded. You don’t have to worry about guys chasing you for your fortune.”
This makes me think of Josh, whose wealth is actually an obstacle, creating a power imbalance that makes me uneasy. Wealth is the ultimate pink elephant. Everyone notices but nobody says anything, acting like it doesn’t matter. Am I just deluding myself in thinking Josh’s lavish lifestyle isn’t part of his charm? Would I still want him if he lost everything and lived in a tin-roofed shack? Money bestows power, which brings confidence. Confidence is attractive. Without his fortune, would Josh be someone else? Someone more ordinary? Would that much money change me? The vast difference in our net worth raises all kinds of unsettling questions. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the lady of his manor.