The Canal du Loing had merged into the Canal de Briare on one of the most spectacular sections of the Route Bourbonnais, through a trough-shaped aqueduct that carried the canal over a turbulent and unnavigable stretch of the Loire. They had dropped anchor in the marina at Briare, which was so resplendent with flowers that dozens of painters were sitting on the banks, attempting to capture the scene.
The marina looked like a miniature Saint-Tropez. They saw a host of expensive yachts and people strolling along the promenades. The Literary Apothecary was the largest boat there, and a number of hobby yachtsmen sauntered up to stare at her, inspect the conversion work and cast an eye over the crew. Perdu knew how odd they looked. Not merely like rookies, but something far worse: amateurs.
An undaunted Cuneo asked every visitor whether he or she had spotted a cargo vessel called Moonlight on their travels. A Swiss couple, who had been cruising around Europe on a Luxe motor barge for thirty years, thought they remembered it. Maybe ten years back. Or was it twelve?
When Cuneo’s thoughts turned to dinner, he found the larder full of air, and only cat food and the aforementioned white beans in the fridge.
‘We have no money, Signor Cuneo, and no supplies,’ Perdu started to explain. He told him about their impetuous departure from Paris and their various mishaps.
‘Most river-goers are glad to lend a hand, and I’ve got some savings,’ was the Neapolitan’s comment. ‘I could give you something towards the fare.’
‘That’s very noble of you,’ said Perdu, ‘but it’s out of the question. We have to earn some money somehow.’
‘Isn’t that woman waiting for you?’ said Max Jordan in all innocence. ‘We shouldn’t waste too much time.’
‘She’s not expecting me. We’ve got all the time in the world,’ said Perdu hastily, dismissing the question.
Oh yes, we have all the time in the world. Oh, Manon, do you remember that basement bar, Louis Armstrong and us?
‘A surprise visit? That’s so romantic … but fairly risky.’
‘If you don’t take any risks, life will pass you by,’ Cuneo chipped in. ‘But let’s get back to the subject of money.’ Perdu gave him a grateful smile.
Cuneo and Perdu studied the waterways map, and the Italian marked a few villages. ‘I know some people here in Apremont-sur-Allier, the other side of Nevers. Javier is often looking for help repairing gravestones. And I worked as a private chef in Fleury once … for a painter in Digoin … And here in Saint-Satur, if she’s got over the fact that she and I didn’t, um …’ He blushed. ‘Some of them are bound to help us out with food or fuel. Or they’ll know where there are jobs to be had.’
‘Do you know anyone in Cuisery?’
‘The book town on the Seille River? Never been there. But maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for there.’
‘The woman.’
‘Yes, the woman.’ Cuneo took a deep breath. ‘Women like her don’t come along that often, you know. Maybe only once every two hundred years. She’s everything a man could dream of. Beautiful, clever, wise, considerate, passionate – absolutely everything.’
Amazing, thought Perdu. I could never talk about Manon that way. Talking about her would mean sharing her. It would mean owning up, and he couldn’t yet bring himself to do that.
‘So the big question,’ Max mused, ‘is how to earn a quick buck. I’m telling you right now that I’d make a terrible gigolo.’
Cuneo glanced around. ‘What about the books?’ he asked tentatively. ‘Do you plan to keep them all?’
Why hadn’t he thought of it himself?
Cuneo went off into Briare to buy fruit, vegetables and meat with his own money and talked a wily angler into giving him his day’s catch. Jean opened the book barge, and Max went off to drum up some business. He strolled around the marina and the village calling out: ‘Books for sale! All the latest releases. Entertaining, smart and cheap – books, glorious books!’
Whenever he passed a table of women, he would announce: ‘Reading makes you beautiful, reading makes you rich, reading makes you slim!’ In between times he posted himself outside Le Petit St Trop restaurant and cried: ‘Feeling unloved? We have the book for you. Having trouble with your skipper? We’ve got the book for that too! Caught a fish, but don’t know how to gut it? Our books know everything about everything.’
Some passers-by recognised the author from newspaper pictures, others turned away in irritation, and a handful did make their way to the Literary Apothecary for advice.
And so Max, Jean and Salvatore Cuneo earned their first euros. A tall, dark monk from Rogny also presented them with a few pots of honey and jars of herbs in exchange for Perdu’s non-fiction titles on agnosticism.
‘What on earth is he going to do with them?’
‘Bury them,’ Cuneo reckoned.
Having asked the harbourmaster about the Moonlight cargo ship, he bought a few more herb seedlings from him, and using timber from some bookshelves, speedily created a kitchen garden on the afterdeck, much to the delight of Kafka and Lindgren, who made a mad dash for the mint. The cats were soon chasing each other around the boat, their tails bristling like scrubbing brushes.