Read Old Bones for Free Online

Claude was involved in another unpleasant scene, this one having unexpected consequences for Ray. As usual the Buttses and du Rochers— and Ray—were at one end of the long dining room table, the Fougerays clustered at a smaller table as far away as possible. Claude and Leona were quarreling again, their sharp whispers increasing in volume through
crûdités, potage au cresson,
and
loup de mer
until, just after the
    meat course had been set down, Leona leaped up, her eyes blazing. She leaned forward and slapped her husband’s face with a resounding smack.
    "Pig!" she spat.
    Claude’s eyes bulged wildly. "Sit—!"
    With a grand and graceful swoop of her slender, Hanae Morae-clad arm she flung her napkin into his face, then spun dramatically about and clicked out of the room on wobbly spike heels. Ray began to wonder if they did this every day.
    "Ah," murmured Jules du Rocher drolly, "the evening’s entertainment begins." But he was careful this time to keep his voice within the hearing of his table companions only.
    Claude tore the napkin from his purpling face and began to shout something after her, but Claire laid her hand on his.
    "Father…" she murmured.
    He brushed her away and stood up, looking after Leona, his head lowered menacingly. Claire rose anxiously with him.
    "Oh, leave me alone, for Christ’s sake!" Claude snapped. "Stay where you are!" He glared at her until she sank miserably back into her chair, then clumped off after his wife, staring pugnaciously at the assembled Buttses and du Rochers in passing.
    Jules waited until he was in the stairwell, safely out of hearing, then patted the corners of his plump mouth with the folded edge of his napkin and looked slyly around the table to indicate that a witticism was on the way.
    "I must remember to compliment Madame Fougeray on her aim," he said. He spoke in a cool, conversational voice, willing to brave the umbrage of Claire Fougeray, if not her father. "I thought that Cousin Claude looked quite fetching with a
serviette
—"
    "Why the hell don’t you shut up?" Ray said in English.
    He saw Sophie and Ben glance at each other with surprise, but they couldn’t have been more startled than he was.
    Jules stared open-mouthed at him. "What?" He spoke French.
    Every one of Ray’s many inhibitions called on him to mumble an apology. Instead, he translated his remark for Jules’ benefit, although everyone at the table spoke fluent English.
    "Fermez,"
he said with his most precise accent,
"ta bouche."
    Then, in the stupefied silence that followed, he did something even more amazing. He stood up, tossed his napkin onto the table, and strode—not walked, strode— across the room to where Claire Fougeray sat alone, staring dolefully at her untouched and congealing
entrecôte chasseur.
    "May I sit down, mademoiselle?"
    She lifted her head briefly, but not so briefly that he failed to see the glimmer of tears.
    "Of course, monsieur."
    He sat, and the astonishing confidence that had swelled his chest and straightened his back suddenly wasn’t there anymore. What was he doing? What was he supposed to say now? Had he made things worse for the wan, wretched woman across from him by calling attention to her? And what about the attention he had called to himself? The back of his neck burned; were they all still staring mutely at him?
    How would he explain to them that he’d merely surrendered to an irrational and momentary urge, that he hadn’t intended by any means to…Or had he? There was a strange tug at the corners of his mouth. A guilty grin? Jules had had it coming, and it had felt remarkably good to deliver it. It had felt splendid, in fact. No wonder so many people seemed to enjoy being rude. There was definitely something in it.
    "I want to apologize for my cousin’s behavior," he said.
    "Oh, no," Claire said, and looked at him. A tear broke loose and ran cleanly down her cheek; she wore no makeup. "It’s I who should apologize. My parents…It’s only when