Free And Then Came Paulette by Barbara Constantine, Justin Phipps

worked very well. Naturally he didn’t ask too many questions, but he understood she didn’t have the money. Because three days earlier when he had cooked chicken, she had eaten it and had even complimented him on the taste.
    He had learned the odd little thing about her apart from that. She was Polish and not Russian or Hungarian, as he had thought. Her firstname was Marcelina, but everyone called her Marceline. She had gotten married here about twenty years before. That was why she spoke French so well, with hardly a trace of an accent. She had worked in many foreign countries while she was a musician. He really wanted to know why she wasn’t doing that anymore, but didn’t dare ask. Must be a pretty good reason. But not worth pursuing now.
    She put the dish on the table. He winced.
    “You don’t like rutabagas?”
    “I do, but they don’t agree with me.”
    “I’ve put a bit of baking soda in them.”
    “How come?”
    “It stops the side effects; you don’t get gassy.”
    “You really think that works?”
    “It makes a difference. You’ll see.”
    “I hope so.”
    She was amused.
    “Well, if not, we’ll have our coffee outside after dinner. Then you’ll be more relaxed. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain again!”
    Ferdinand thought of Henriette. They had never joked together in that way.
    After dinner they went outside. Not because of the rutabagas—the baking soda did seem to work—but because Cornelius was noisily demanding a bit of attention. That donkey had a mind of its own; he liked to come and go as he pleased: he’d leave his stall and wander around the farm, spending a long time working out how to get through gates and fences, particularly ones leading to the vegetable garden. But when evening came he wanted you to go and say good night to him before he went to bed. Just like a child.

26
Mireille Has Something to Ask
    When Mireille arrived in the farmyard, the kitchen light was still on. She was surprised to be greeted by barking. Velcro, Ferdinand’s idiotic dog, had died at least six months earlier and he’d sworn he would never have another. He must have changed his mind and forgotten to tell them. Irritating. But she soon got over it. There was something she wanted to ask. She told herself that after all the poor guy was entitled to his little ways. And besides, it wasn’t so stupid to have a dog when you were lonely.
    She got out of the car, the dog recognized her and came over wagging its tail. Mireille was puzzled.
    Ferdinand came to the door. He was surprised to see her. It was the first time she’d been to the farm since moving out. Almost two and a half months now. And at this time of night, with no warning. He was anxious. Roland had called an hour before, but hadn’t said anything. Had something happened to the children? She shook her head. No, everything was all right. She looked worn out and slumped into a chair. Marceline offered her some coffee. Or a tisane perhaps? Shewanted something a bit stronger. If there was any wine left, that would be nice. Marceline went to find some of her celebrated plum wine, while Ferdinand got out three glasses. They drank a toast. Then wishing to give them a bit of space, Marceline excused herself, saying she must go and see to her old cat.
    As soon as she had left the room Mireille looked at Ferdinand with a flicker of a smile. He sensed she was going to say something stupid, so he preferred to take the initiative and explain why Marceline was there: the storm, the leaks in the roof, the danger it might collapse . . . He’d decided to invite her to his house, it was large, and had been empty since they’d moved out. He added that at first of course she had refused, but he’d managed to convince her, so she was going to stay until the work on her house had been done. Mireille remained silent for a while. Finally she muttered, as if to herself, that she hadn’t seen it coming. It had been such a long time . . . She had thought she