Beaumont-les-Bains - Wednesday morning
Jun. 18th, 2008 05:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to yesterday - Amanda arrives in a small French town, led there by a key.
It was very late when she arrived in Beaumont-les-Bains. Or very early, depending on how you looked at it - dawn was tinging the horizon with pinks and golds. Pausing in the village square, Amanda reached for the envelope with the house deed again, peering at the address and wondering how on earth she was going to find it.
"Mademoiselle Sefton?" A small, gnomish looking man appeared at the edge of the train platform. He was dressed in a casual outfit, with black pants, a green shirt and a black vest. If he'd had a beret and a tweed jacket, he could have been the English stereotype of the French hotelier. "Ah, Mademoiselle Sefton. I hope your trip was satisfactory. M. LeBeau asked me to meet you at the station. My wife is airing out your house as we speak."
"M. Leb..." Amanda caught herself in mid-word. Of course Remy would have some way of keeping an eye on her, although she was too tired and fuzzy to think how right now. "Um, thanks, Monsieur..." She tucked the envelope under her arm and readjusted her duffle bag before holding her hand out for him to shake.
"Jean-Louis. Please. Ameile will be so pleased to meet you." He escorted her to an elderly Citron parked outside of the station, and with surprising ease, tossed her bag into the back. They pulled out into the old streets, and it wasn't more than ten minutes before he pulled up in front of an old home, whitewashed and red tile roofed. Jean-Louis killed the engine and got out.
"Please, go straight in. I will bring in your things."
Amanda climbed out, standing in front of the house, looking up at it with her mouth hanging slightly open. "'Just go straight in', he says," she murmured to herself, still wondering if she'd finally completely broken with reality and was living in some kind of dream. While her actual body was doped up in some mental hospital somewhere. Still, she'd come here to find out answers and she wasn't about to run away now. Dipping into the envelope, she pulled out the set of keys that had accompanied the deed and walked up the small path to the front door, its green paint slightly weathered but well-maintained. Her hand shook slightly as she inserted the key into the lock. She was only slightly surprised when it actually turned and the door swung open to reveal a short, stone-flagged hallway. The scent of fresh bread and wood smoke hit her nose as she walked in.
"Jean-Louis! If you track mud in here, I will be refacing the front of the hotel with your--" The angry, female, and very French voice cut off as a forty-ish looking woman came into view, holding a pan in one hand. "Mademoiselle Sefton? Pardon, petite, I took you for my shiftless husband. How was your trip?"
"Fine, thanks. Um, Madame Ameile, yes?" Amanda glanced around the house, taking in the simple furnishings, the warm colours and comfortable atmosphere. This was more than a house, it was a home. Her home, if she wanted it to be. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit jet-lagged. Your husband said Remy let you know I was coming?"
"He called yesterday. You would think he might have given us more than twenty-four hours, but no? Typically Remy. I swear, that man is in need of a lesson in manners. One day to air out this entire house after two years of being locked up? I shudder to think of the linens." Ameile looked her up and down. "I've put dinner on. I hope that Remy did not send us a vegetarian."
Despite herself, Amanda laughed. "Fu... um, definitely not. And I think I could probably eat a horse." She paused. "Not a real horse. Just a figure of speech." She'd heard things about French food.
"We only serve horse later in the evening. Your dinner is waiting in the oven. It will take another, oh, six hours to finish. However, I have brought some artesanal cheeses and a bushel of fresh oysters for lunch if you are hungry. The oysters are from my brother, who catches them locally. He will invite you out on his boat. Unless you wish to sleep with a fifty-two year old oysterman, refuse."
Oysters for breakfast? Why the hell not? "Thanks for the tip. I don't think my boyfriend would like it if I succumbed to your brother's charms." She felt a pang as she thought of Angelo, off with Nathan on another Elpis jaunt. Hopefully one that didn't include dodging bullets this time. Her fingers twitched slightly, looking for chalk, and she shoved her hand into her pocket. "And I'd love whatever you've got going. I'm pretty easy to cater for."
"Catering is what large hotel chains do for the English and Americans who enjoy a ham and pineapple ring. I cook, young woman." Ameile drew herself up to her full five foot one and looked down her nose at Amanda. There was an obvious glint of humour in her eyes, arresting any worry of real offence. "You work for LeBeau? I can't imagine that one having employees who would stomach him."
"Considering he's saved my life a few times, I'm willing to put up with the shouting," Amanda replied, following as Ameile headed back towards what she assumed was the kitchen. "How long have you known him?" And how? was the unspoken question.
"Since the early nineties. Remy came into the town and took a room in our hotel." Ameile smiled to herself. "He looked like a child then. We thought he was one of those backpackers, just with no backpack. He understood us, but speak the most atrocious French. Jean-Louis brought out a bottle of cognac, and twenty-four hours later, I'm in Basque country bailing them out of prison."
Amanda giggled, a happy, normal sound. Something that she'd been short on since Norway. "Do I want to know what they did to get themselves locked up?" she asked, feeling at ease with this woman. Perhaps because she knew Remy. Perhaps because in this place, she knew she was safe. This was Remy's haven, after all.
"I seem to recall it involved trying to dress a local statue in women's clothing. They are both strange men." Ameilie's voice sharpened. "Jean-Louis! The boudin noir! You promised to pick it up from the market."
"It is in the basket." Jean-Louis emerged from the doorway. "Your luggage is in your room, Mademoiselle Sefton. The Baron has requested you for a late dinner, but my wife and I would be honoured if you would stop by our hotel afterwards for a late drink. M. LeBeau has told us so much about you."
"The Baron?" Amanda's voice squeaked slightly, and she blushed. "Um, yeah, okay, tho' I didn't really bring anything to wear for dinner with a Baron." That was Marie-Ange speaking. "And Remy talked to you? 'Bout me?" The blush deepened. "I'm not sure if I should be worried or flattered."
"Oh, nonsense. Baron d'Rochefort is hardly one to stand on ceremony." Jean-Louis said, and was shooed away by his wife.
"You have to get back to the hotel. Now." She flushed him from the kitchen and turned to Amanda. "You will be fine in whatever clothes you might have. This is an, how do you say, informal meeting. As for Remy.."
Ameile stopped and walked over to the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of the local red and uncorking it. She poured two glasses and held one out to Amanda. "He tells us of those he is close to. Your... Charlie, was it? He spoke of him."
Amanda's breath caught in her chest and for a moment she was back in that London art store, Charlie's profile emerging under slashes of charcoal. You're not my Charlie any more... came the thought, and she swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat, reaching for the glass with a hand that visibly shook. "Charlie, yes. He... died. About three years ago now."
"So he said. We spoke of it at points." Ameile sat down at the table. "Sit down, Amanda. Remy has been in search of, I am not sure, someone to be honest to? If that is the case, then he has been honest to us."
Amanda joined the older French woman, sitting with a sigh of relief. It had been a very long night. "This place... Remy talks about it a little bit. Not much, but enough to know it's important to him," she said softly, turning her wine glass around between her fingers. "And he shared it with me. This house... 's like a dream."
"Non, Mademoiselle Sefton, this is what reality is."
It was very late when she arrived in Beaumont-les-Bains. Or very early, depending on how you looked at it - dawn was tinging the horizon with pinks and golds. Pausing in the village square, Amanda reached for the envelope with the house deed again, peering at the address and wondering how on earth she was going to find it.
"Mademoiselle Sefton?" A small, gnomish looking man appeared at the edge of the train platform. He was dressed in a casual outfit, with black pants, a green shirt and a black vest. If he'd had a beret and a tweed jacket, he could have been the English stereotype of the French hotelier. "Ah, Mademoiselle Sefton. I hope your trip was satisfactory. M. LeBeau asked me to meet you at the station. My wife is airing out your house as we speak."
"M. Leb..." Amanda caught herself in mid-word. Of course Remy would have some way of keeping an eye on her, although she was too tired and fuzzy to think how right now. "Um, thanks, Monsieur..." She tucked the envelope under her arm and readjusted her duffle bag before holding her hand out for him to shake.
"Jean-Louis. Please. Ameile will be so pleased to meet you." He escorted her to an elderly Citron parked outside of the station, and with surprising ease, tossed her bag into the back. They pulled out into the old streets, and it wasn't more than ten minutes before he pulled up in front of an old home, whitewashed and red tile roofed. Jean-Louis killed the engine and got out.
"Please, go straight in. I will bring in your things."
Amanda climbed out, standing in front of the house, looking up at it with her mouth hanging slightly open. "'Just go straight in', he says," she murmured to herself, still wondering if she'd finally completely broken with reality and was living in some kind of dream. While her actual body was doped up in some mental hospital somewhere. Still, she'd come here to find out answers and she wasn't about to run away now. Dipping into the envelope, she pulled out the set of keys that had accompanied the deed and walked up the small path to the front door, its green paint slightly weathered but well-maintained. Her hand shook slightly as she inserted the key into the lock. She was only slightly surprised when it actually turned and the door swung open to reveal a short, stone-flagged hallway. The scent of fresh bread and wood smoke hit her nose as she walked in.
"Jean-Louis! If you track mud in here, I will be refacing the front of the hotel with your--" The angry, female, and very French voice cut off as a forty-ish looking woman came into view, holding a pan in one hand. "Mademoiselle Sefton? Pardon, petite, I took you for my shiftless husband. How was your trip?"
"Fine, thanks. Um, Madame Ameile, yes?" Amanda glanced around the house, taking in the simple furnishings, the warm colours and comfortable atmosphere. This was more than a house, it was a home. Her home, if she wanted it to be. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit jet-lagged. Your husband said Remy let you know I was coming?"
"He called yesterday. You would think he might have given us more than twenty-four hours, but no? Typically Remy. I swear, that man is in need of a lesson in manners. One day to air out this entire house after two years of being locked up? I shudder to think of the linens." Ameile looked her up and down. "I've put dinner on. I hope that Remy did not send us a vegetarian."
Despite herself, Amanda laughed. "Fu... um, definitely not. And I think I could probably eat a horse." She paused. "Not a real horse. Just a figure of speech." She'd heard things about French food.
"We only serve horse later in the evening. Your dinner is waiting in the oven. It will take another, oh, six hours to finish. However, I have brought some artesanal cheeses and a bushel of fresh oysters for lunch if you are hungry. The oysters are from my brother, who catches them locally. He will invite you out on his boat. Unless you wish to sleep with a fifty-two year old oysterman, refuse."
Oysters for breakfast? Why the hell not? "Thanks for the tip. I don't think my boyfriend would like it if I succumbed to your brother's charms." She felt a pang as she thought of Angelo, off with Nathan on another Elpis jaunt. Hopefully one that didn't include dodging bullets this time. Her fingers twitched slightly, looking for chalk, and she shoved her hand into her pocket. "And I'd love whatever you've got going. I'm pretty easy to cater for."
"Catering is what large hotel chains do for the English and Americans who enjoy a ham and pineapple ring. I cook, young woman." Ameile drew herself up to her full five foot one and looked down her nose at Amanda. There was an obvious glint of humour in her eyes, arresting any worry of real offence. "You work for LeBeau? I can't imagine that one having employees who would stomach him."
"Considering he's saved my life a few times, I'm willing to put up with the shouting," Amanda replied, following as Ameile headed back towards what she assumed was the kitchen. "How long have you known him?" And how? was the unspoken question.
"Since the early nineties. Remy came into the town and took a room in our hotel." Ameile smiled to herself. "He looked like a child then. We thought he was one of those backpackers, just with no backpack. He understood us, but speak the most atrocious French. Jean-Louis brought out a bottle of cognac, and twenty-four hours later, I'm in Basque country bailing them out of prison."
Amanda giggled, a happy, normal sound. Something that she'd been short on since Norway. "Do I want to know what they did to get themselves locked up?" she asked, feeling at ease with this woman. Perhaps because she knew Remy. Perhaps because in this place, she knew she was safe. This was Remy's haven, after all.
"I seem to recall it involved trying to dress a local statue in women's clothing. They are both strange men." Ameilie's voice sharpened. "Jean-Louis! The boudin noir! You promised to pick it up from the market."
"It is in the basket." Jean-Louis emerged from the doorway. "Your luggage is in your room, Mademoiselle Sefton. The Baron has requested you for a late dinner, but my wife and I would be honoured if you would stop by our hotel afterwards for a late drink. M. LeBeau has told us so much about you."
"The Baron?" Amanda's voice squeaked slightly, and she blushed. "Um, yeah, okay, tho' I didn't really bring anything to wear for dinner with a Baron." That was Marie-Ange speaking. "And Remy talked to you? 'Bout me?" The blush deepened. "I'm not sure if I should be worried or flattered."
"Oh, nonsense. Baron d'Rochefort is hardly one to stand on ceremony." Jean-Louis said, and was shooed away by his wife.
"You have to get back to the hotel. Now." She flushed him from the kitchen and turned to Amanda. "You will be fine in whatever clothes you might have. This is an, how do you say, informal meeting. As for Remy.."
Ameile stopped and walked over to the cupboard, pulling out a bottle of the local red and uncorking it. She poured two glasses and held one out to Amanda. "He tells us of those he is close to. Your... Charlie, was it? He spoke of him."
Amanda's breath caught in her chest and for a moment she was back in that London art store, Charlie's profile emerging under slashes of charcoal. You're not my Charlie any more... came the thought, and she swallowed the lump that had appeared in her throat, reaching for the glass with a hand that visibly shook. "Charlie, yes. He... died. About three years ago now."
"So he said. We spoke of it at points." Ameile sat down at the table. "Sit down, Amanda. Remy has been in search of, I am not sure, someone to be honest to? If that is the case, then he has been honest to us."
Amanda joined the older French woman, sitting with a sigh of relief. It had been a very long night. "This place... Remy talks about it a little bit. Not much, but enough to know it's important to him," she said softly, turning her wine glass around between her fingers. "And he shared it with me. This house... 's like a dream."
"Non, Mademoiselle Sefton, this is what reality is."
