“More maximalists, it’s true.”
“So after much discussion we decided on this spot. It’s discreet.”
“Hidden, you mean?”
“That too. And with luck the forest will grow around Charles Morrow and in twenty years he’ll be swallowed up.”
“I can’t see you allowing that, madame.”
She smiled at him a little sadly. “No, you’re right. Poor Charles had too much of that in his life. No, he’d have made a good home here. If he hadn’t killed his daughter.”
Off in the middle distance they saw Pierre talking with one of the young workers. It looked like Elliot, though his back was turned to them. Pierre, though, saw them and waved.
“You spoke of friends,” said Gamache. “It must be hard sometimes to be this far from a community.”
“You’re thinking of Monsieur Patenaude?”
“And you. And Chef Véronique. The others come and go, I understand, the young workers like Elliot there.”
He’d turned and it was now clearly the young man. He seemed to be arguing with the maître d’.
“Some stay for a few seasons, but you’re right. Most don’t stay for more than a year. And our relationship with them isn’t one of friendship. More like teacher and pupil or mentor and prisoner.”
She smiled. It was clear she saw this place as anything but a prison, but he could understand that some of the kids, perhaps Colleen, saw it as that. And couldn’t wait to escape.
“Does it get lonely?”
“For me? Never. But I have my husband. He’s in all the walls, and carpets, and flowers. He’s in this maple.” She placed a tiny pink hand on the elephantine trunk. “We planted it sixty years ago. I talk to him all the time and curl up next to him every night. No, I’m never lonely.”
“Is he?” Gamache indicated Patenaude.
“I must admit when he first came I didn’t think he’d last long. Not used to hard work. But it suited him. He must have some coureur de bois blood in him. He took to the wilderness. And he had such wonderful manners our old maître d’ quickly picked Pierre as his successor. Then Véronique showed up and our little family was complete.”
“Pierre seems to be having difficulty with Elliot,” said Gamache.
“Poor Pierre. I’m afraid that young man got up his nose the moment he arrived. He drifted in here in April and has caused nothing but problems ever since.”
“Why do you keep him?”
“Because he needs us. He’s a good worker, has picked up French quickly. But he needs to learn self-discipline and self-respect. He demands attention, either by fighting or flirting.”
“I think he might have flirted with me.”
“Well, you probably started it,” she said and he laughed. “He’ll learn that he needn’t do that, that he’s good enough as he is. And he’ll learn it from Pierre. Though perhaps not today.”
They watched as Elliot, clearly agitated, stomped up the dirt road. The maître d’ watched him go, then slowly turned and made his way back, deep in thought. As the boss of occasionally difficult subordinates, Gamache felt for the man. And the boy.
“Agent Lacoste is very observant and intuitive.” He turned back to his companion. “She believes Chef Véronique is in love with Pierre.”
“I’m afraid great powers of observation and intuition aren’t necessary to divine that, Chief Inspector, though I’m sure she has both. Véronique’s been in love with Pierre for years. And he, poor one, is oblivious.”
“Aren’t you worried it’ll cause difficulties?”
“I was at first,” she admitted. “But after the first decade I relaxed. Frankly, it kept Véronique here, and she’s a wonderful chef. But she’ll never act on her feelings. I know that. She’s the sort of extraordinary woman who gets enough fulfillment from loving. She doesn’t need it in return.”
“Or maybe she’s just afraid,” suggested Gamache.
Clementine Dubois gave him a Gallic shrug. “C’est possible.”
“But what if Pierre leaves?”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“He has nowhere to go. Do you know why we’re all so happy here, monsieur? Because it’s the last house on the road. We’ve tried everywhere else, and don’t fit in. Here we fit. Here we belong. Even the kids who come to work are special. Seekers. And they stay as long as they choose. One day a few will decide to stay forever. Like me. Like Pierre and Véronique. And then I can go.”
