‘Honey, could you get the door? I’m in my studio,’ Clara called. There was no answer. ‘Never mind,’ she called after the second knock. ‘I’ll get it. Don’t bother yourself. No really. I don’t mind.’ She yelled the last at the closed door to his studio. She was pretty certain he was in there playing free cell.
It was unusual to hear a knock. Most of the people they knew walked right in. Most helped themselves to whatever was in the fridge. Peter and Clara sometimes came home to find Ruth asleep on their sofa, a glass of Scotch and the Times Literary Review on the hassock in front of her. Once they found Gabri in the bath. Apparently the hot water in the B. & B. had run out, and so had Gabri.
Clara yanked open the door, prepared for the blast of cold air and not totally surprised to see Chief Inspector Gamache, though a tiny part of her still hoped it might be the chief curator of the MOMA, come to see her works.
‘Come on in.’ She stepped aside and quickly closed the door after him.
‘I won’t keep you long.’ He gave a tiny bow and she bowed back, thinking maybe she should have given a subtle curtsy. ‘Do you have a video player?’
Now there was a question she wasn’t expecting.
He unzipped his parka and brought out a video, kept warm against his body.
‘The Lion in Winter?’ She looked at the box.
‘Précisément. I’d very much like to watch it, as soon as possible.’ He was perfectly contained and relaxed, but Clara knew him well enough to know this wasn’t a casual request or a nice way to spend a quiet winter evening in the country.
‘We do. Ruth and Myrna are coming over for dinner, though.’
‘I don’t want to be in the way.’
‘Never.’ She took his arm and led him into the warm and inviting kitchen. ‘Always room for more, but I want to make sure you don’t mind the company. Peter’s made a family specialty from the leftover turkey and vegetable. It looks horrible but tastes like heaven.’
Before long Peter had emerged from his studio and the others had arrived, Myrna enveloping everyone in her generous arms and Ruth making for the bar.
‘Thank God,’ was Ruth’s reaction when told Gamache wanted to watch a video. ‘I thought I’d have to make conversation yet another night.’
Clara prepared a basket with dinners for Richard and Crie and Myrna volunteered to deliver it.
‘May I drive you up?’ Gamache offered.
‘It’s a short walk. Besides, if I walk that’ll give me permission to have seconds.’ Myrna smiled as she wrapped a huge colorful scarf round her neck until she looked like an African tribesman in a cold spell.
‘Could you check on Crie when you’re there?’ Gamache lowered his voice. ‘I’m worried about her.’
‘What’re you thinking?’ Myrna asked, her normally jovial face searching and serious. ‘It’s natural for a child who just saw her mother murdered to be abnormal for a while.’
‘True, but this seems like more. Could you just see?’
She agreed and was off.