Susan Anderson: Murder On The Rue Cassette

Loffredo toasted his guests and Valois toasted the successful end to the Gaston case. Neither Serafina nor Busacca joined in. “Not quite yet, I’m afraid, Alphonse.” The conversation paused. Francoise elbowed Valois and Busacca arched a brow.

Serafina introduced Charlus to Toto.

“We’re already friends,” Toto said.

“Charlus goes to Louis Le Grand. Show him the conservatory and the ballroom, and only take one canape at a time, please, and no champagne for you. Ah, here are two flutes with mineral water. Perhaps he can point out his school for you while there’s still light. And take Teo and Maria with you.” She saw Teo’s face flush and Maria toss her curls.

“The sun doesn’t set until 9:58 tonight.” Charlus uncovered his wrist, showing a gold watch with a large face. In the middle was a sun turning into the moon and stars. Serafina looked from Charlus to Toto, who looked from the wrist of his friend to his mother.

“Such a nice watch, Charlus,” Serafina said.

“A gift for my birthday last week.”

“And we didn’t know.”

“See?” he asked, showing the watch to Toto, “we have almost two hours.”

“But how much time, precisely?” Alphonse asked. He and Loffredo had finished their corner conversation and were now looking at Charlu’s wrist.

“One hour and fifty-seven minutes,” Toto said, taking a deviled egg, popping it into his mouth and helping himself to another. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“My mother says you play the piano,” Charlus said to Maria as they walked toward the door.

She nodded.

Teo followed.

Arcangelo stood at the window talking to Giulia, Carmela, and Busacca.

Taking advantage of Busacca’s absence, Valois walked up to Serafina, Francoise, and Loffredo. “One thing puzzles me,” Valois said. “Why was Dr. Tarnier treating Elena and not someone more familiar with her disease?”

“As a courtesy, and because she was with child,” Loffredo said. “He was asked by a friend of Elena, but he told me he recommended that she see Dr. Alfred Fournier, a renowned specialist in the treatment of syphilis. He is professor at the Paris Faculty of Medicine and practices at the l’Hopital de Lourcine on the Rue Pascal, but… Elena had her own mind.” He shrugged.

“Yes, I know his work.” Francoise set her champagne glass down on the tray offered to her by the maid.

They were interrupted by the butler who opened the doors. “Dinner is served, mesdames et messieurs.”

Serafina must admit it, the dining room looked lovely with the shimmering gas lights of the chandelier, the flames of the candelabra, and the lilies and lavender from Rosa’s garden as a centerpiece.

They began with bouillabaisse served in hand-painted Limoges bowls Renata found in the china hutch. The butler poured the wine, a rich-tasting Chablis from Burgundy that Loffredo thought was the perfect temperature, and a maid brought out fresh baguettes and sticks of salted bread.

“The rouille is delicious, and the bouillabaisse divine. I must have your recipe.”

“Like ‘ La Divine Sarah ’?” Carmela asked.

Serafina much preferred the single conversation produced at a round table, but after a few glasses of champagne and Chablis, she decided words and phrases had their place, too. She strained to listen to Carmela talking to Busacca about Sarah Bernhardt.

“And I suppose you saw Phedre and didn’t tell me,” Serafina said.

“Not as exciting as this bouillabaisse, my compliments,” said Busacca, lifting his glass.

“Reminds me of a bouillabaisse we had in Marseille once. Remember, Alphonse?”

“Only this is better,” the inspector said.

A maid came in offering extra napkins to those who wanted them. Toto, his face a mass of sauce, raised his hand for one.”

“I met a chef in Marseille when we were waiting for our train,” Renata began.

“You never told me,” Serafina said.

Renata ignored her. “I tripped on the stairs going up to the station and he helped me. He was on his way to Paris to cook for the chief of state and we started talking about food. I told him I’d read about bouillabaisse and wanted to try it some day. The following week we met at Les Halles and he showed me which vendors he knew and gave me his recipe.”

“How did I miss this?” Serafina asked.

Renata blushed. “I’m not sure.”

“I am,” Rosa said. “So is this a romance de cuisine?”

“Don’t be silly. For all she knows, the man is married,” Serafina said.

“We agreed to write and exchange recipes, that’s all.”

Toto was busy slurping up sauce from his bowl with a piece of baguette and stuffing it into his mouth, leaning a little too far into his bowl as far as Serafina was concerned.

“I have a lobster in a net at the bottom of my soup,” Toto said, holding his empty bowl up for Charlus to see.

Serafina shot him a look. She could see she’d made a mistake not seating Valois closer to Loffredo and asked him if he’d had the chance to visit with Ricci and retrieve the photographs and plates.

“Yes, a rather complicated and mean twist to this unfortunate affair. A story for another time,” he said, nodding toward Busacca.

“Later perhaps.” She told him of Busacca’s plans to leave after the meal. “He’s an old man now who tires easily.”

“Yes, we saw her last month, or was it two months ago,” Carmela said.

“Who, dear?”

“Sarah Bernhardt, of course. Quite bizarre, her acting, but mesmerizing,” Carmela said.

“If you’re not used to the French stage, you can find it quite an experience the first time, outre, perhaps,” Francoise said. “The actors declaim. They tell me it is an acquired taste, but I’ve seen it all my life.”

“We must go,” Rosa said. “Have you seen Bernhardt?” she asked Francoise.

“No. We meant to go, but Alphonse has been so busy, especially with the Elena case and of course crime does not wait until one case has been resolved.”

Valois nodded, but his heart wasn’t in the conversation.

While two maids cleared the soup bowls, Renata herself brought out the chicken, three Poulets de Bresse fried in olive oil and butter, glazed with creme fraiche and placed on a bed of vegetables. A maid followed with potatoes in a cream sauce and shallots.

Francoise turned to Serafina. “I think Alphonse means to ask you if you’d be interested in doing some work for him.”

“And I meant to tell you, a woman on the third floor needs you to find her daughter,” Rosa said, watching them serve the meal. “Where is Jacques with the wine?” she asked, but just then he appeared, poured some liquid into Loffredo’s glass and when he nodded, served everyone else.

“A Chateauneuf du Pape,” I believe, Valois said.

“Bravo, you know your wines.”

He smiled. “I saw the label.”

As the meal continued, the conversation became more animated, especially at the other end of the table with Carmela and Giulia arguing the acting ability of Sarah Bernhardt.

“Are we still on her?” Serafina asked.

“She is quite something, you should see her,” Francoise said. “Her morals, well, we all know about them, but what can you expect from an actress? You must visit the studio of Nadar, a photographer who is taken with her. He exhibits some of his portraits of her that are truly beautiful. We saw them at the Palais de L’Industrie-when was it, Alphonse?”

He shrugged.

“She has a certain charm. She’s taken our hearts, you know.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Serafina said, watching them clear the plates.

“You remind me of her,” Francoise said.

Giulia and Carmela began to clap. “You do, Mama! Same nose, same hair, same gestures, especially when you’re in a mood.”