Paris was far from immune to violence. And had a tragic recent history of terrorist attacks.
While comfortable in the city, he was still keenly aware of his surroundings. But then, he did the same thing while walking the dogs through the forest at home.
They strolled down rue de Richelieu and in less than a minute had arrived at the bar à vins, with its window display of bottles.
They were greeted with kisses and embraces by the owner’s daughter, Margaux.
Now a grown woman and married, Margaux had been there thirty-five years earlier when the Gamaches had run into Juveniles, soaked through in a sudden downpour, and decided to stay for dinner.
Margaux had been just five years old and was working the bar.
Her father had bent down and whispered in her ear, pointing to them. She’d walked over to the newcomers, a white linen towel over her raised forearm, and gravely suggested a nice red wine from Andalusia.
She’d pronounced it carefully. Then looked back at her father, who nodded approval and smiled at the young couple.
Margaux had now taken over the restaurant and her husband, Ro-main, was the head chef. But Tim remained the owner and was still known as the Big Boss.
This evening the familiar carafe was already on the table waiting for them. They were the first of their party to arrive and were seated at their regular long table by the wooden bar.
Armand and Reine-Marie chatted with the Big Boss, while jazz played softly in the background. Within minutes Daniel and Roslyn arrived, with Annie and Jean-Guy.
There were shouts of delight as Margaux put her hand on Annie’s belly and the two women discussed the upcoming birth, while the others exchanged greetings.
Once the hubbub died down, they sat. Daniel poured the wine, and Margaux brought over fresh-squeezed juice for Annie and a Coke for Jean-Guy. Warm baguettes were placed on cutting boards on the table, along with a terrine de campagne, whipped butter, and small bowls of olives.
“I thought Stephen was coming,” said Annie, looking at the empty chair.
“He is,” said her father. “We saw each other this afternoon.”
“Let me guess,” said Daniel. “At the Musée Rodin?” He turned to Roslyn. “Did you ever hear about when Dad decided to propose to Mom?”
“Never,” said Roslyn, with exaggerated interest. Like the rest of them, she’d heard it a hundred times. “What happened?”
Armand narrowed his eyes at his daughter-in-law, in mock disapproval, and she laughed.
“The girls love their pajamas,” Roslyn said to Reine-Marie. “I’m afraid they’re going to want to wear them everywhere.”
“I say let them,” said Daniel. “And by the way, Mamma, thank you for not letting Dad pick out the gift.”
“He had the paint rollers all wrapped before I stopped him.”
Armand shook his head sadly. “I guess they’ll have to wait until Christmas.”
While the others laughed, Armand watched Daniel.
He was enjoying himself.
Daniel seemed to have made peace with Jean-Guy. Long jealous of the close relationship his father had developed with his second-in-command, now Daniel could establish his own relationship with Jean-Guy.
Still, Armand noticed that Daniel made sure to put Jean-Guy as far from him as possible. Though that might have just been a coincidence.
He himself hoped to find time in the next day or so for a quiet walk or meal with Daniel. Just the two of them. To make sure everything really was okay, after what Stephen had said.
Armand’s eyes returned to the empty chair. It was twenty past eight, and Stephen, normally a fiend for punctuality, hadn’t arrived.
“Excusez-moi,” he said, and made to get up, just as the door to the bistro opened and the elderly man appeared.
“Stephen,” exclaimed Annie, and struggled to get up before Jean-Guy hauled her to her feet.
Armand and Reine-Marie stood at their places while the younger ones greeted Stephen, then were corralled back to their seats by Margaux in an effort to unblock the aisle in the tiny restaurant.
Daniel gestured for more wine, while Stephen placed his phone on the table in front of him and nodded to the barman. His usual.
The martini arrived along with a fresh liter of red.
“A toast,” said Armand, when they’d all ordered. “To family. New”—he nodded to Annie’s belly—“and very, very—”
“Very,” they all joined in and turned to Stephen, “old.”
Stephen raised his glass and said, “Fuck off.”
“My father’s a man of few words,” said Daniel when the laughter stopped.
“Yeah, you don’t know him so well,” said Jean-Guy. “Just wait ’til he starts reciting ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus.’”
“Just for that,” said Armand. He cleared his throat and looked very serious. “It was the schooner Hesperus—”
Everyone laughed. With one exception. Out of the corner of his eye Armand caught the scowl on Daniel’s face. He clearly did not like being told, even in jest, that Beauvoir knew his father better than he did.
Stephen had also noticed the look on Daniel’s face and gave Armand the slightest of nods before glancing at his phone.
Then, turning to Annie and Jean-Guy, he asked, “How’re you feeling?”
They talked candidly for a few minutes.
“If you need anything,” said Stephen, and left it at that.
“Maybe some ice cream at the Lutetia?” said Annie.
“That I can do,” said Stephen. “After Monday. We can all celebrate.”
“What’s happening on Monday?” asked Jean-Guy.
“Just some meetings. Speaking of which, how’s your new job?” Down the table, Armand was saying to Daniel, “Wonderful news about your promotion. A whole new department, too.”
“It is,” said Daniel. “Venture capital. Already made one investment.”
“What’s that?”
“Can’t say.”
Can’t, Armand wondered, or won’t?
“So, you do a lot of risk assessment?” he asked.
“Exactly.”
His father listened closely, asking questions. Gently pulling information out of Daniel until his son relaxed and began speaking freely, even enthusiastically.
Reine-Marie watched as Daniel, after a few minutes, leaned closer to his father.
They were so much alike, in so many ways. They even looked alike.
At six foot two, Daniel was slightly taller than his father. And heftier. Not fat, but there was meat on the bone.
As there was with Armand. But slightly less so.
Daniel had grown a beard, which had come in reddish, with a few strands of gray, which surprised Reine-Marie. Time was marching on.
He had thick brown hair, which he wore closely cropped.
His father’s hair was now quite gray, and slightly wavy. And slightly thinning. Clean-shaven, Armand’s face had more lines, of course. And that deep scar at the temple.
Like his father, Daniel was kind and almost courtly.
Unlike his father, young Daniel had not been a scholar, but what the boy had was self-discipline. He worked hard, and often excelled past his more naturally talented friends.
He’d been a happy boy.
Until …
At the age of eight something changed. A wall went up between him and his father. At first it had been a very subtle step back. Always a polite little boy, there was now a formality. A frigidity. A caution that grew into a coolness.