The card was signed by Olivier, Gabri, Clara, and Myrna, and Ruth had added in her scrawl at the bottom, When you inevitably fuck up, again.
Armand smiled and, taking a deep breath, he rocked himself out of the comfortable chair and put the picture on a side table before walking to the huge window.
His rooms were on the top floor of the academy, commanding a spectacular view through the wall of windows. At least it would be spectacular, had the blizzard not arrived and the night not fallen.
Now all he could see was his own reflection. The snowstorm had swallowed the town of Saint-Alphonse, lights and all.
Saint-Alphonse was one of the first places settled by the French centuries ago, because it was flat and fertile. But the very elements that made it so inviting in summer made it especially brutal in winter.
There was absolutely nothing to stop the wind and snow as they howled down from the mountains and along the riverbanks and burst out across the flatlands. The only thing that eventually stopped them was the town of Saint-Alphonse, which took it in the face.
Out of the darkness, a white fist thumped the thick glass window, as though to remind Gamache it was still out there. And not happy.
He didn’t flinch. But Gamache was aware that they were fortunate to be inside while it was outside.
There was a knock on the door and Jean-Guy entered.
“Since when have you knocked, mon beau?” asked Reine-Marie, getting up to greet her son-in-law.
“I wasn’t sure if anyone else had arrived,” he explained, his eyes scanning the room.
Jean-Guy suspected the other staff members knew of his relationship with the Gamaches, but the students probably didn’t yet. He had no intention of letting anyone see an act of friendship and intimacy.
Beauvoir’s sharp eyes took in his surroundings. Always alert for any threat. Like a gunman, or an open poetry book.
These were very different quarters from any other home the Gamaches had had.
This space in the academy was modern. Mid-century modern, he’d learned. With odd-shaped chairs with names that did not include La-Z-Boy, and did not look at all comfortable. At first he’d assumed the place had come furnished, someone else’s taste, and then he’d found out that the Gamaches had bought the stuff themselves.
He didn’t like it.
Walking across the thick shag area rug, he warmed his hands at the fireplace, then grabbed a Coke from the drinks table.
There was a knock on the door and the first of the guests arrived. Within twenty minutes they were all there. A group of carefully chosen cadets, and a group of equally carefully chosen professors.
They chatted, and helped themselves to food and drinks.
The initially stiff atmosphere softened with the help of the cheerful fireplace, the storm outside, the drinks, and the ease of their hosts, Commander and Madame Gamache.
*
Amelia Choquet wasn’t fooled.
She stood in a corner, wedged between a bookcase and the wall of windows. She could feel the cold glass against her sleeve, and every now and then there was a scratching from outside, as a particularly savage gust of snow hit the glass and slid down.
From there she surveyed the room.
And the room surveyed her. When one set of eyes stopped staring at her and looked away, another set jumped in. Like a visual tag team. Or cage match.
Amelia had shown up, expecting something else entirely. What she had not expected was a cocktail party.
Madame Gamache had greeted her at the door, leading her to the drinks table where Amelia poured herself a Canadian Club and ginger.
In her soft sweater and scarf, smelling of soap and roses, the Commander’s wife was as alien to Amelia as Amelia was to the rest of the room.
She could see it. She either revolted or frightened, or amused, the other cadets. And the professors simply dismissed her.
Except one. He was middle-aged, short and stubby, but not fat. Amelia could sense taut muscles beneath the casual sweater and wondered if he took steroids.
The man kept looking at her, but not with a critical eye. Not after that first sharp glance. It had evolved. She interested him. She could see it. Not, she thought, sexually. She had a pretty good radar for that.
This was something else. He was assessing her.
It was, from what she could see, a strange group. At first she’d thought those invited must be the most promising, the most intelligent, the natural leaders. Though that didn’t explain her presence.
But now, watching the other students more closely, she knew that wasn’t true. There were both men and women. Some clearly Anglos, most Francophones. Most white, but one was Asian and there was one black man. And one of the guests was in a wheelchair. She couldn’t tell if he was a student or a professor.
None of them seemed remarkable.
The Asian woman approached Amelia.
“Huifen.”
“What?”
“That’s my name. I’m a third-year cadet. You’re a freshman?”
She was looking at Amelia expectantly. This woman, thought Amelia, did not have good survival instincts.
“What?” demanded Amelia.
“Who are you?”
“None of your fucking business.”
It wasn’t exactly the sparkling cocktail party conversation Amelia had read about in books.
Huifen nodded, as though Amelia had given her valuable information. It was a gesture Amelia found disconcerting.
“He’s new, you know.” Huifen was looking through the crowd toward Commander Gamache, who was standing with a drink and listening to some students.
“He looks used,” Amelia said.
Huifen laughed.
“That man”—Huifen gestured toward the professor who’d been staring at Amelia—“is Professor Leduc. The Duke. He used to run the place.”
Huifen looked from Leduc to Gamache, then she leaned closer to Amelia, who bent away but not before she heard Huifen whisper, “Stay away from him. He’s interested in you, I can see. Stay away.”
Then Huifen stood up straight and laughed, as though one of them had said something clever.
Amelia looked at Leduc, then at Gamache. Not at all sure which “he” this senior cadet meant.
“I wonder why he’s here,” said Huifen, and this time it was obvious that she meant Gamache.
“Either way”—Huifen returned her gaze to Amelia—“this should be interesting.”
She raised her brow and smiled, then drifted, apparently aimlessly, across the room. But Amelia soon noticed there was a destination. After meandering about, Huifen stopped next to Leduc. The Duke.
He looked, Amelia thought, not at all like a duke. There was nothing remotely regal about him. He radiated raw energy. In this genteel gathering, there was something primitive about him.
He was both repellent and attractive. Not in a personal way, but in the way that power attracts. And she wasn’t the only one to feel it.
There was a tight knot of students around him.
Whoofa, or whatever her name was, was speaking with him. And then, slowly, he turned his head. And looked at Amelia.
This was the second time Leduc had stared at her. It was a long, thoughtful, assessing stare. It was the way a person might judge a puzzle piece.
Would it fit or not? Was it useful, or not?
And Amelia wondered if Whoofa had come over to speak to her on his orders. And she wondered what she’d reported back.
And then the moment passed, the connection broke, and Amelia was set adrift once again.
She sipped her CC and ginger and watched the ebb and flow of the gathering. It came to her attention that someone else was also quietly observing the party. An older professor.
He’d slipped in late, long after everyone else had arrived. Amelia hadn’t seen him before. Not in the corridors, not in the classroom or even the dining hall.
He was new, and old.
He stood alone by the door, elegantly holding a glass of Scotch and scanning the room. His eyes met Amelia’s, and for a moment she thought he might smile. Or, even worse, gesture her over, to keep him company.
But his sharp eyes traveled over her, and through her, and beyond her.
Amelia wondered if he was one of the old guard or a new professor brought in by the Commander.