Love Is Pink!

David and I hurried back to the car. Baby seemed a little better and had managed to sit up halfway. We covered him in the blanket again and carried him together toward the castle. Two additional lanterns were turned on, making the short trip easier.

Emma walked next to us across the snow. Wheezing, she dragged David’s huge travel bag behind her. The castle door was wide open now. As we reached it, Emma stopped and gasped for air.

“And what is your name?” the old woman asked.

“I’m Emma. And this is my papa and Michelle. And my dog’s name is Baby. He’s still groggy from the operation.”

“My name is Madame Segebade. Welcome to my house.”

“This is not a house,” Emma said. “This is a castle.”

Madame Segebade smiled. “But a small one.” She proceeded forward. We wound up in a long corridor with many oil paintings hanging on the walls, along with framed photographs of German shepherds. Madame Segebade was obviously a dog person.

She pushed a sliding door to the side, and we entered a giant living room. A fire burned in an open fireplace. The floor was covered in hand-woven carpets, and there were countless boxes sitting around. A Christmas tree was laying in the middle of the room, not yet in a proper stand.

Madame Segebade shrugged shyly. “Please excuse the mess. I was not expecting visitors. But where is my head!” She pointed to a large leather couch. “You’d do best to lay the dog there.”

“On the sofa?” I asked doubtfully.

“Of course! He needs to be somewhere soft and warm. The floors aren’t heated in this old place.”

We got Baby to the couch. He whimpered a few times, then he closed his eyes and started to snore.

“That seems taken care of,” Madame Segebade said, satisfied. “Michelle, if you could please help me in the kitchen? Certainly, you’re all hungry.”

“And how!” Emma blurted out.

“Could Emma and I also help you in some way?” David asked.

The old woman thought for a moment and made an expansive gesture that embraced the whole room. “Well, I don’t like to force anything upon you, but I was just about to make my living room look a little bit like Christmas. In truth, I was starting to despair. The tree is just too big and heavy for me.”

I could see that she wasn’t telling the truth, but her fib made it easier on David. “Emma and I are happy to put up the tree for you,” he said. “And if you like, Emma is a real expert when it comes to Christmas decorations.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Emma said with sparkling eyes. She immediately made her way to one of the boxes, reached inside, and pulled out a gorgeous shiny-red Christmas ball.

“I think those two will be very busy,” Madame Segebade whispered to me. I looked at her, surprised, and she winked and said, “Now we have plenty of time to prepare the food. And you’re chilled to the bone—maybe you’ll both have a little cognac with me?”

“That we could definitely use,” I said as I followed the old woman through several doors before arriving at the kitchen.





30


Gigantic! There was no other way to describe the kitchen. Utility sink, counter space, refrigerator, stove, fume hood—every element assumed proportions that I’d only seen in the movies. You know, those movies in which a staff of ten prepares meals for Lord Sinclair, and all sorts of intrigue arise when they have to decide who will help the butler iron the lord’s trousers. I love those! Back then, the world was still whole, and everyone knew their place.

Madame Segebade noticed how impressed I was. “A long time ago, more than a dozen people lived here. But now . . .” She sighed. “My daughter owns a gallery in Paris. She seldom finds the time to visit me. Perhaps she’ll manage to this Christmas.” She sighed again and smiled. “Do you have an idea for what we should cook?”

I looked at her helplessly. “Well, if I’m being honest, cooking is not exactly my forte.”

The old woman’s smile broadened. “We’re going to change that right away. What do you think of quiche?”

“Is it difficult?”

“No.” She shook her head. “If we both pitch in, it’ll be a cinch.”

She gave me a basket full of apples, a cutting board, and a vegetable knife. With her guidance, I chose the most beautiful fruit and peeled it.

As I worked, Madame Segebade prepared the dough.

“It’s so nice of you to take us in,” I said, cutting the apples into thin slices. “I never would have thought that there were such helpful people.”

“Oh,” she said, waving away my statement, “I’m only being selfish. Being alone is sometimes difficult. I very much enjoy having visitors, especially during the Christmas season.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “Being alone definitely isn’t easy.”

“And you?” she said. “The three of you will surely celebrate Christmas together.”

I had just cut into an onion. It burned my eyes, which began to tear. “David and I, we’re not married.”

“I’d already noticed,” said Madame Segebade. “You don’t wear any rings.”