‘Bonjour, dear.’ Tiny Émilie Longpré kissed Clara on both cheeks. In winter, when most Québecois looked like cartoon characters, wrapped in wool and parkas, Em managed to look both elegant and gracious. Her hair was dyed a tasteful light brown and was beautifully coiffed. Her clothes and make-up were subtle and appropriate. At eighty-two she was one of the matriarchs of the village.

‘Have you seen this?’ Olivier handed Clara a book. CC stared back, cruel and cold.

Be Calm.

Clara looked over at Mother. Now she understood why Mother Bea was in such a state.

‘Listen to this.’ Gabri started reading the back. ‘Ms de Poitiers has officially declared feng shui a thing of the past.’

‘Of course it is, it’s ancient Chinese teaching,’ said Kaye.

‘In its stead,’ Gabri persevered, ‘this new doyenne of design has brought us a much richer, much more meaningful philosophy which will inform and indeed color not just our homes but our very souls, our every moment, our every decision, our every breath. Make way for Li Bien, the way of light.’

‘What is Li Bien?’ Olivier asked no one in particular. Clara thought she saw Mother open her mouth, then shut it again.

‘Mother?’ she asked.

‘Me? No, dear, I don’t know. Why do you ask?’

‘I thought since you have a yoga and meditation center you might be familiar with Li Bien.’ Clara tried to put it gently.

‘I’m familiar with all spiritual paths,’ she said, exaggerating slightly, Clara thought. ‘But not this one.’ The implication was clear.

‘But still,’ said Gabri, ‘it’s a strange coincidence, don’t you think?’

‘What is?’ Mother asked, her voice and face serene, but her shoulders up round her ears.

‘Well, that CC should call her book Be Calm. That’s the name of your meditation center.’

There was silence.

‘What?’ said Gabri, knowing he’d somehow put his foot into it.

‘It must be a coincidence,’ said Émilie, evenly. ‘And it’s probably a tribute to you, ma belle.’ She turned to Mother, laying a thin hand on her friend’s plump arm. ‘She’s been in the old Hadley place for about a year now; she’s no doubt been inspired by the work you do. It’s a homage to your spirit.’

‘And her pile of crap is probably higher than yours,’ Kaye reassured her. ‘That must be a comfort. I didn’t think it was possible,’ she said to Ruth, who looked at her hero with delight.

‘Nice hair.’ Olivier turned to Clara, hoping to break the tension.

‘Thank you.’ Clara ran her hands through it, making it stand on end as though she’d just had a scare.

‘You’re right.’ Olivier turned to Myrna. ‘She looks like a frightened doughboy from the trenches of Vimy. Not many people could carry off that look. Very bold, very new millennium. I salute you.’