Until midnight. By the light of Betelgeuse.

Kisses,

P.

~

For the rest of the day, Clotilde forced herself to be cheerful.

Franck hadn’t said anything about her silence over lunch, about her sudden desire to visit her parents’ grave, about her mood swings, her mobile phone and the messages he could have read there. The afternoon passed like a day’s leave in wartime, slowly, without any real enjoyment. Staying at the beach until she grew bored, coming back on foot, hanging up the wet towels, sweeping the sand from the terrace, peeling fruit to make a fruit salad and finding this time almost pleasant, losing herself in the everyday tasks that usually riled her.

Clotilde even went and rested a hand on Franck’s shoulder. She found the sight of him almost touching, as he knelt down to fight the colonies of ants that were opening up new routes to the breakfast shelves; Franck putting everything in order, blocking up holes, the sugar, coffee, the biscuits, checking the impenetrability of all the packets and retying the knots on all the bags. A little boy almost helpless in the face of the cunning and perseverance of insects.

Clotilde left her hand on his bare shoulder. In her gesture there was some guilt, some fear and a great deal of strategy. Not with regard to Natale, not at that moment; but with regard to her midnight assignation.

All of this was in her voice as well.

‘You just need to give me some time, Franck. I’ll explain it all to you, soon. I’ve received some information. Some new information.’

She hesitated a little, too long perhaps; Franck turned his back to her, still crouching down, talking to the ants.

‘No ghost stories this time, Franck, I can assure you. Nothing but the truth. Some old photographs, evidence, and the cruel truth.’

She paused, then bent down and kissed him on the back of the neck. At that moment, strangely, the gesture felt sincere. More so than before; than before she had a lover. Franck turned around and stared at her for a long time, as if he were trying to decipher her thoughts, to observe the colonies of ants running through the brain of this mad woman he had married; as if he were thinking to himself that she might be protected from her delirious ideas, too, if they could be stored in hermetically sealed sachets.

‘As you wish, Clo. As you wish.’

~

Was it a trap?

Clotilde was lost in her thoughts.

‘Will you pass me the mayonnaise, Maman?’

Around midnight, go and stand at the bottom of the path that leads to the Casa di Stella.

Wait there. He will come and guide you.

‘Girls, are you still up for sailing tomorrow?’

I would so like to talk to you.

This evening. It’s possible this evening, if you can do it.