Read Online Speak Softly My Love by Louis Shalako - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis Shalako
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with that one. The damned thing kept coming back for
more.
“ Hello, hello.” He’d always stopped short of using her first
name, although he’d come awfully close sometimes.
This was
one of those times, for whatever sentimental reason. A solitary
man, the fact was that Gilles lived alone and a good housekeeper
did a lot to make that bearable. He was only going to get so
attached to her.
“ What’s for dinner?” Gilles was famished.
He’d had
lunch at the usual time when court recessed.
Man did
not live on sandwiches and milk alone.
“ Ah.” Beaming at her hapless charge, she launched into a full
and unabbreviated explanation.
Whatever
it was, it sounded good.
Pulling
a chair back, he sat at the table. Sylvestre clambered up into his
lap.
“ Ugh. Such a big heavy thing—”
He
watched her move around the kitchen getting his plate ready for
him. Her purse hung in its usual spot, and her coat and hat were on
a rack by the door. She habitually wore slippers around the place,
her own staid and sensible shoes placed just exactly so, on a
rubber mat by the door. Fifteen or twenty minutes and she would be
gone for the day. It was enough to half-listen and be appreciative.
It was warm and dry and at least he had a roof over his
head.
The mail
and the newspapers would be in a stack by his armchair. It was a
well-ordered existence in a precarious world. Some cynic had
described the body as the temple in which the god Stomach was
worshipped. Gilles would like to hope that he wasn’t quite that
bad, but work was demanding. Life was exhausting and there was
little doubt that he would have let himself go without some
moderating influences of the feminine variety.
Madame
Lefebvre fulfilled a number of important functions, and she did a
wonderful job of doing so. As for the expense, he could eat
exclusively in restaurants. He did not really need a cat to
survive. A simple maid service might have been a little cheaper.
This obviously went deeper than that, and yet originally she had
been a total stranger.
Home at
last. It was strange to think that Gilles Maintenon was the centre
of the cat’s little world, and that for him, there was essentially
nothing else but this and the job.
It was
the job that was important—not the man.
The
animal was purring contentedly and of course the claws came out and
began to knead his thigh.
“ Argh. When I find myself thinking of you, in the middle of
the day, that will be the time to hang it up.” The cat looked up
with love in his eyes and Gilles felt a moment of guilt.
Madame
chuckled softly, doing the pots and the pans and putting them in
the rack to dry.
He
scratched the wretched thing behind the ears, as if to make up for
lost time.
Maintenon supposed he really did love the thing. He probably
needed to—to love something.
We all got to have something, as the Yanks would say.
If that
thought didn’t humble a person, nothing would.
***
Madame
Lefebvre had taken off.
After
wrapping his belly around a second helping of pork Provençale with
leeks and olives, garlic mashed potatoes, crusty bread thickly
spread with somebody’s home-made butter…cheese, a bottle of wine
and you my love. His time was now his own.
Speak softly my love, for the heart can never lie.
Speak softly to me, and lover, please don’t cry.
Speak softly my love, speak softly—
Speak softly, my love…for our love shall never
die.
The
ghost that was Ann hovered in the back of his consciousness. The
house was dead quiet. Madame Lefebvre had departed for her own home
and what Gilles sort of assumed was a much brighter existence. She
had her own brood of adult children and consequently grandchildren,
nieces, nephews. They were all good Catholics. She had two sisters
living in town here and more in the place of her birth, Limoges.
She seemed like a happy person, and that was all he
knew.
It was
an assumption. After all, he might have been wrong about
it.
The
chair squeaked
more.
“ Hello, hello.” He’d always stopped short of using her first
name, although he’d come awfully close sometimes.
This was
one of those times, for whatever sentimental reason. A solitary
man, the fact was that Gilles lived alone and a good housekeeper
did a lot to make that bearable. He was only going to get so
attached to her.
“ What’s for dinner?” Gilles was famished.
He’d had
lunch at the usual time when court recessed.
Man did
not live on sandwiches and milk alone.
“ Ah.” Beaming at her hapless charge, she launched into a full
and unabbreviated explanation.
Whatever
it was, it sounded good.
Pulling
a chair back, he sat at the table. Sylvestre clambered up into his
lap.
“ Ugh. Such a big heavy thing—”
He
watched her move around the kitchen getting his plate ready for
him. Her purse hung in its usual spot, and her coat and hat were on
a rack by the door. She habitually wore slippers around the place,
her own staid and sensible shoes placed just exactly so, on a
rubber mat by the door. Fifteen or twenty minutes and she would be
gone for the day. It was enough to half-listen and be appreciative.
It was warm and dry and at least he had a roof over his
head.
The mail
and the newspapers would be in a stack by his armchair. It was a
well-ordered existence in a precarious world. Some cynic had
described the body as the temple in which the god Stomach was
worshipped. Gilles would like to hope that he wasn’t quite that
bad, but work was demanding. Life was exhausting and there was
little doubt that he would have let himself go without some
moderating influences of the feminine variety.
Madame
Lefebvre fulfilled a number of important functions, and she did a
wonderful job of doing so. As for the expense, he could eat
exclusively in restaurants. He did not really need a cat to
survive. A simple maid service might have been a little cheaper.
This obviously went deeper than that, and yet originally she had
been a total stranger.
Home at
last. It was strange to think that Gilles Maintenon was the centre
of the cat’s little world, and that for him, there was essentially
nothing else but this and the job.
It was
the job that was important—not the man.
The
animal was purring contentedly and of course the claws came out and
began to knead his thigh.
“ Argh. When I find myself thinking of you, in the middle of
the day, that will be the time to hang it up.” The cat looked up
with love in his eyes and Gilles felt a moment of guilt.
Madame
chuckled softly, doing the pots and the pans and putting them in
the rack to dry.
He
scratched the wretched thing behind the ears, as if to make up for
lost time.
Maintenon supposed he really did love the thing. He probably
needed to—to love something.
We all got to have something, as the Yanks would say.
If that
thought didn’t humble a person, nothing would.
***
Madame
Lefebvre had taken off.
After
wrapping his belly around a second helping of pork Provençale with
leeks and olives, garlic mashed potatoes, crusty bread thickly
spread with somebody’s home-made butter…cheese, a bottle of wine
and you my love. His time was now his own.
Speak softly my love, for the heart can never lie.
Speak softly to me, and lover, please don’t cry.
Speak softly my love, speak softly—
Speak softly, my love…for our love shall never
die.
The
ghost that was Ann hovered in the back of his consciousness. The
house was dead quiet. Madame Lefebvre had departed for her own home
and what Gilles sort of assumed was a much brighter existence. She
had her own brood of adult children and consequently grandchildren,
nieces, nephews. They were all good Catholics. She had two sisters
living in town here and more in the place of her birth, Limoges.
She seemed like a happy person, and that was all he
knew.
It was
an assumption. After all, he might have been wrong about
it.
The
chair squeaked
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