Anyway, why does it still bother me so much?
The church clock strikes the hour. The midnight mess over, devoted parishioners are flocking out of the church onto the street.
I watch snowflakes dance in the dim light of street-lamps for a little while then come to my Christmas tree. Taking the present Nicolas has brought me, I look at it, tempting myself. ‘I could open it right now’, I think. The Christmas Day has already arrived. But then I change my mind. What am I? A kid? Surely, I can wait till breakfast. I put the present back under the tree and walk out of the room.
Episode 9 – The Possible and The Impossible
Monte Carlo, France, 24 December
The dinner is in full swing now, but the place of ‘Mademoiselle Du Monde’ remains unoccupied.
An odd thought flashes across my mind: ‘What if we are somehow connected?’ I glance at her chair again. But what is there to be connected to? The chair? Or the black card with her name embossed in gold? Besides, I’ve never seen her in my life and most likely will never see her in the future. And yet, her absence seems to hold some power over me.
I must have drunk too much. Or it must have been the toast about love that Monsieur Moreau intrigued me with. Either way, I keep on thinking of possible ‘what if’ scenarios.
‘My dear Luke, you appear to be tormented by something.’ I hear Monsieur Moreau addressing me.
‘No, why?’ I reply, trying to focus on my dessert, a crème brulee7 that I can’t stand.
‘Forgive me, but I couldn’t help but notice that while talking to me you kept throwing rather interested glances at the chair on your left.’
My cheeks turn red.
‘I didn’t know you could read people’s mind.’ I say.
‘I can’t, but it is written all over your face.’
‘Really?’ intrigued, I look up at him.
He meets my eyes and, drawing deeply on his cigar, lets the smoke out through his nostrils.
‘Yes, really.’ he nods.
Putting his cigar aside, Monsieur Moreau takes up his coffee cup and raises it to his lips. A diamond of his cufflink flickers knowingly at me.
We sit in silence for a short while. Monsieur Moreau finishes his coffee then says: ‘If I were you, I’d take the card and would find out as much as possible about this mysterious guest… In fact, I’d find everything possible and even the impossible about her.’
With these words he stands up and stretches his hand out to me. Jumping to my feet, I give it a shake, then grab the card and slip it into the pocket of my trousers.
Episode 10 – Déjà Vu
Monte Carlo, France, 24 December
It is midnight. Finally, maman’s guests start leaving. The dining room deserted, the only signs of their presence left are the unfinished wine in crystal glasses, heaps of creased napkins, and remnants of melted candles on the tables.
I go up to my room. The storm has calmed down, but the droplets of rain haven’t dried out on the windows yet. I take off my tux, untie the bow and undo the collar of the shirt, finally freeing my neck from its starched clutch.
Lying down on the bed, I take the card out and study the name written on it. ‘Where could I have possibly heard it before?’ I think. But no matter how much I try, I don’t seem to be able to recall anything of relevant nature. Yet, I somehow feel that I know the woman whose name is embossed in gold on the card. Though, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone called Mademoiselle Du Monde, at least not at the dinners, suppers or balls that have been organised by maman. And even outside these ‘festivities’ I don’t remember meeting such a person. Unless, without me having realised it, our life paths happened to cross somehow.
I, of course, can enquire about it of maman. But chances are, she will misinterpret my intent. I’d better deal with it myself, I decide.
Hearing the knock on the door, I slip the card back into my pocket. The door opens a crack and in peers maman.
‘Chéri, are you asleep?’ she asks.
‘Not yet.’
She enters the room.
‘You’ve been such a darling tonight.’ she says.
I give her a grin.
‘You know, Monsieur Moreau is quite taken with you!’
‘Likewise. By the way, why haven’t you introduced him to me before?’ I ask.
‘Oh, there hasn’t ever been a right moment. He travels a lot, you know, and doesn’t visit Monaco often …’
‘Ah, I see.’ I mutter, not looking at her.
She comes to my bed and gives me a kiss on the forehead.
‘Good-night, sweetheart.’
‘Good-night, Mum.’
She leaves the room. I turn the light down and, staring into the darkness for a while, listen to the silence of the house, pondering over the name of the stranger who seems so familiar, then pull the blanket over my head and fall asleep.
Chapter Two
‘It’s just a drop in the ocean
A change in the weather
I was praying that you and I might end up together.’
– Ron Pope, A Drop in The Ocean
Episode 11 – Santa Claus
Monte Carlo, France, 25 December
The curtains undrawn, the bright sunlight is flooding into my room. Stretching, I throw the blanket on to the floor and spring off the bed. In the bathroom, my sleepy face, the hair’s sticky and dishevelled, glances back at me from the mirror. I turn away and, pulling my clothes off, step under the shower.
In the dining room, maman, as fresh as daisy, sits at the head of a large walnut table, polished to a gleaming shine. On her right, Monsieur Moreau is seated. It seems he has never left the house.
‘Good morning, darling.’ maman greets me, a wide smile attached to her lips.
‘Good morning.’ I reply and seat myself opposite Monsieur Moreau.
My appearance seems to have interrupted their somewhat intimate conversation. Shunning their gazes, I pour myself some coffee and start on my bacon and eggs breakfast.
‘Did you sleep well?’ maman breaks the silence.
‘Quite well, merci.’ I answer, not looking at her.
‘Chéri, I’ve invited Monsieur Moreau to spend Christmas with us. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘No, not at all, on the contrary … It’ll break our usual routine.’
‘Luke, dear, what on earth do you mean by that?’ she cries out.
‘I think Monsieur Luke might have meant that guests bring an element of a surprise into family holidays, making them more delightful.’ Monsieur Moreau joins in.
I nod in agreement.
The rest of breakfast passes in a solemn silence. Finished, we move into the sitting room where a glitzy pyramid of gifts towers under the fluffy Christmas, tree, a miniature version of the one in the reception room.
Maman sits down on the sofa, her legs crossed. I flop into an armchair. Monsieur Moreau, cigar in mouth, comes and stands by the fireplace.
‘My dear Rosalinda,’ he addresses maman, ‘may I take on a role of Santa Claus in this house today?’
‘But of course! I’d be delighted. Usually, I’m the one who have to play this role.’ she replies with a laugh.
‘Very well,’ he says, ‘then I’d like to start with Monsieur Luke Edward Allen.’
Episode 12 – Classic
Monte Carlo, France, 25 December
Approaching the Christmas tree, Monsieur Moreau reaches out behind it and draws out a box, in height levelling his chest. His arms wrapped around it, he comes over to my armchair and places the box before me.
‘Here, my dear friend,’ he says, ‘I hope this gift will mark the beginning of your journey in the fascinating world of music.’
Intrigued, I examine the box, then rip the golden wrapping paper off it and open it. Inside, I find a Fender electric guitar, brand new, still smelling of fresh lacquer – a real classic. Carefully, I pull it out and, laying it on my lap, stroke it gently.
‘Thank you so much, Monsieur Moreau,’ I say full of delight. ‘I’ve always wanted to have one just like that …’
He smiles and goes back to the Christmas tree.
Soon, the pyramid of now-opened presents is transferred onto the sofa and the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace becomes littered with colourful sparkling bits of wrapping paper.
‘And now, time for a glass of cherry.’ maman announces and gets up.