Serafina must admit it, the dining room looked lovely with the shimmering gas lights of the chandelier, the flames of the candelabra, and the lilies and lavender from Rosa’s garden as a centerpiece.
They began with bouillabaisse served in hand-painted Limoges bowls Renata found in the china hutch. The butler poured the wine, a rich-tasting Chablis from Burgundy that Loffredo thought was the perfect temperature, and a maid brought out fresh baguettes and sticks of salted bread.
“The rouille is delicious, and the bouillabaisse divine. I must have your recipe.”
“Like ‘ La Divine Sarah ’?” Carmela asked.
Serafina much preferred the single conversation produced at a round table, but after a few glasses of champagne and Chablis, she decided words and phrases had their place, too. She strained to listen to Carmela talking to Busacca about Sarah Bernhardt.
“And I suppose you saw Phedre and didn’t tell me,” Serafina said.
“Not as exciting as this bouillabaisse, my compliments,” said Busacca, lifting his glass.
“Reminds me of a bouillabaisse we had in Marseille once. Remember, Alphonse?”
“Only this is better,” the inspector said.
A maid came in offering extra napkins to those who wanted them. Toto, his face a mass of sauce, raised his hand for one.”
“I met a chef in Marseille when we were waiting for our train,” Renata began.
“You never told me,” Serafina said.
Renata ignored her. “I tripped on the stairs going up to the station and he helped me. He was on his way to Paris to cook for the chief of state and we started talking about food. I told him I’d read about bouillabaisse and wanted to try it some day. The following week we met at Les Halles and he showed me which vendors he knew and gave me his recipe.”
“How did I miss this?” Serafina asked.
Renata blushed. “I’m not sure.”
“I am,” Rosa said. “So is this a romance de cuisine?”
“Don’t be silly. For all she knows, the man is married,” Serafina said.
“We agreed to write and exchange recipes, that’s all.”
Toto was busy slurping up sauce from his bowl with a piece of baguette and stuffing it into his mouth, leaning a little too far into his bowl as far as Serafina was concerned.
“I have a lobster in a net at the bottom of my soup,” Toto said, holding his empty bowl up for Charlus to see.
Serafina shot him a look. She could see she’d made a mistake not seating Valois closer to Loffredo and asked him if he’d had the chance to visit with Ricci and retrieve the photographs and plates.
“Yes, a rather complicated and mean twist to this unfortunate affair. A story for another time,” he said, nodding toward Busacca.
“Later perhaps.” She told him of Busacca’s plans to leave after the meal. “He’s an old man now who tires easily.”
“Yes, we saw her last month, or was it two months ago,” Carmela said.
“Who, dear?”
“Sarah Bernhardt, of course. Quite bizarre, her acting, but mesmerizing,” Carmela said.
“If you’re not used to the French stage, you can find it quite an experience the first time, outre, perhaps,” Francoise said. “The actors declaim. They tell me it is an acquired taste, but I’ve seen it all my life.”
“We must go,” Rosa said. “Have you seen Bernhardt?” she asked Francoise.
“No. We meant to go, but Alphonse has been so busy, especially with the Elena case and of course crime does not wait until one case has been resolved.”
Valois nodded, but his heart wasn’t in the conversation.
While two maids cleared the soup bowls, Renata herself brought out the chicken, three Poulets de Bresse fried in olive oil and butter, glazed with creme fraiche and placed on a bed of vegetables. A maid followed with potatoes in a cream sauce and shallots.
Francoise turned to Serafina. “I think Alphonse means to ask you if you’d be interested in doing some work for him.”
“And I meant to tell you, a woman on the third floor needs you to find her daughter,” Rosa said, watching them serve the meal. “Where is Jacques with the wine?” she asked, but just then he appeared, poured some liquid into Loffredo’s glass and when he nodded, served everyone else.
“A Chateauneuf du Pape,” I believe, Valois said.
“Bravo, you know your wines.”
He smiled. “I saw the label.”
As the meal continued, the conversation became more animated, especially at the other end of the table with Carmela and Giulia arguing the acting ability of Sarah Bernhardt.
“Are we still on her?” Serafina asked.
“She is quite something, you should see her,” Francoise said. “Her morals, well, we all know about them, but what can you expect from an actress? You must visit the studio of Nadar, a photographer who is taken with her. He exhibits some of his portraits of her that are truly beautiful. We saw them at the Palais de L’Industrie-when was it, Alphonse?”
He shrugged.
“She has a certain charm. She’s taken our hearts, you know.”
“I’m still not convinced,” Serafina said, watching them clear the plates.
“You remind me of her,” Francoise said.
Giulia and Carmela began to clap. “You do, Mama! Same nose, same hair, same gestures, especially when you’re in a mood.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Serafina felt hot color swim up from her neck to her cheeks.
“Loffredo, tell them.”
There was silence while he focused on the question. “I never thought to make the comparison.” Serafina saw him narrowing his gaze. “No, I cannot agree. Fina is a unique star and for me no one compares.”
“Two things that do not lie,” Busacca said. “The blanch and the blush.”
“Coffee and dessert will be served upstairs in a few minutes,” Serafina said, dabbing her mouth with a linen and laughing with Francoise.
Valois made his way to Loffredo and Busacca asked the butler for his hat and cane. “Forgive an old man,” he said to Serafina. “This is the last I’ll see of you in Paris for a while. Despite what you must think, I am happy with your work. My daughter was a deep disappointment, and I cry every night for her. My wife is inconsolable, I know, but for me, Elena died a long time ago.”
Serafina looked at Rosa. Both were at loss for words. Serafina kissed him on both cheeks and asked him what he did about paying money for his store’s protection.
“Busacca Millinery is a rare exception. We’ve complied with odious laws, hidden, been clever, created unrivaled goods and survived since 1282. Next to the Inquisition, what is the mafia? They wouldn’t dare mess with us. But don’t second guess your decision to leave. It was the right one for you. Your son stayed behind?”
“School.”
The expression on his face was inscrutable. “I’ll keep you informed.”
After she helped him with his cape, she walked with him to the street where his carriage waited. “I cannot thank you enough for your help,” she said. He cocked his head but made no reply and stood there a moment, a stooped soul, wrapped in his grief.
After Serafina returned to the apartment, she walked over to Loffredo and Valois and asked him again about the photographs.
“You were right. The photographer was the link,” Valois said.
They stood in the foyer and continued their conversation, reluctant to climb the stairs and join the others.
“It’s a complicated story, mean and somewhat daring, but our police photographer-the one who took the photos of the dead woman shortly after we discovered the body-was a friend of Beniamino de Masson long before they colluded in the Elena affair.”
“No doubt they’ve always been up to no good,” Loffredo said.
“A bad seed from the time he was two, Sophie, his mother said of her oldest son.”
Serafina stared at Valois, then lost herself for a moment while she considered something.
“More about Sophie in a moment,” Valois said.
“Back to their involvement with Elena,” Serafina said, glancing up, glad to see that Rosa and Francoise were in the middle of a conversation about something or other, doubtless having to do with Tessa’s painting ability-Rosa, the campaigner.