Motion sickness was for the feeble-minded, or at least that was what Haidée believed before the coach had to traverse the thin path that zigzagged around up the cliffs of Mont Saint Filan. She sat stiffly in her seat with fists clenched and eyes closed in mock sleep. She silently swallowed, trying to keep the bile down in her unsettled stomach. By the time they reached The Comorant, an inn in the island’s small village, she was ready to pitch over in a dead faint.
“The place does look lively, doesn’t it?” said Renaud as he stepped out first to survey the surroundings.
Haidée soon followed somewhat shakily. The air outside blew coldly, hinting at the chilly night to come. The setting sun washed the sky in a nauseous orange color. She put a hand to her mouth and studiously averted her eyes from the scene above. The inn was a three story stone building, whitewashed and trimmed with flower boxes at the windows. Curtains were pulled aside revealing light within. Snatches of conversation and music drifted outside.
“I, for one, am looking forward to a hot bath and dinner,” announced Maurice Ducos. The stout man marched to the front door and flung it open. Haidée, Renaud, and the driver Felix followed behind him.
The first impression that Haidée had of The Cormorant was that it was crowded and noisy. If this was the kind of patronage that frequented the Rue de la Seine Theatre back in Paris, the director, Monsieur Signe would have thrown a tantrum. An audience was supposed to be sober, attentive, and quiet. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t like the crowd—just that she was uncomfortable being among the people instead of in front of them on a stage.
“You’ve finally arrived! And at the nick of time, as well. They say it’s less than an hour until the tide comes in,” shouted someone from the crowd. A slightly balding man, middling in height and in dark non-descript clothes detached himself from the milieu of the busy inn tavern and headed toward Ducos. The two men clasped hands, apparently already well acquainted with each other.
“What a surprise,” exclaimed Ducos. “It seems as if the entire place is full tonight. The locals?”
“Oh no,” his friend replied with a wink. “They all arrived with me earlier in the day.”
“Hopefully there is still room…”
“I reserved a bed already for you, my friend.” Then the man glanced at the three persons trailing behind. “You have companions?”
“Other vacationers,” Ducos replied, placing an emphasis on the word “other.”
Further back in the inn tavern was a counter where the innkeeper was busy playing bartender, plying out drinks to his customers. He was a rather thin man with an enormous moustache and a stained apron, and he sent out a strange, inhospitable glare as the new travelers headed towards his location.
“Monsieur Fasset,” said Ducos’ friend. “Apparently you have some new customers. I will be gracious and ask you for them, have you any extra rooms?”
Fasset cleared his throat in irritation. “No extra rooms. Not unless you want to sleep in the courtyard.”
Haidée put her hands on her hips. “I am not sleeping in some courtyard. Surely some of your customers would be so kind as to share some rooms to free up more spaces?”
“I don’t think so,” the innkeeper replied. “First come, first serve. Unless you want to share a room with some of my other customers.”
She huffed and couldn’t prevent herself from stomping a foot. “How rude! I am not that kind of woman.”
The innkeeper grunted. “One wouldn’t think so except for that monstrosity on top of your head. I usually don’t allow any of the demi-monde around in this establishment—not that there are any around here anyway.”
“I am an actress,” said Haidée, her voice rising. “And this monstrosity you speak of his my hat. It is of the latest fashion in Paris.”
“Bah, Paris,” Fasset said darkly. “And I don’t make exceptions for actresses either.”
“I’m afraid The Cormorant’s innkeeper thinks you’re too fast in either case,” Renaud told her, the edge of his mouth curved in amusement. “And it probably doesn’t help that you look like you’re about to regurgitate your lunch.”
She swirled around to pin Renaud with a haughty glare. “Just wait until I regurgitate my lunch on you.”
Ducos’ friend laughed. “Monsieur, you must have a devil of a time trying to control your wife.”
“My wife?” said Renaud with a horrified expression. Haidée blanched at the man’s implication. “She’s not my wife.”
“Thank God,” she muttered under her breath.
Felix shook his head. “You needn’t worry about me. I am staying with my sister and brother-in-law who live on the other side of the village. I am sure they wouldn’t mind having extra guests, if they actually had any room. They have a rather large family, I’m afraid. Six children.”
Haidée shuddered. Even if Felix’s sister had room enough, she didn’t think she could stand having a vacation with children running underfoot. She’d had enough bad experiences taking care of the brats of the well-to-do before she was fortunate to be discovered by Monsieur Signe to last her several lifetimes.
“There is the observatory, though,” continued Felix. “I heard that they sometimes take on guests that the astronomers invite or when some of the dignitaries from the government come to visit. I am sure that they have some extra rooms.”
“If that is the case,” Haidée replied, “Then why haven’t you gotten a room at the observatory?” She gave Renaud one of her pointed looks that usually made men whimper.
Renaud only grinned. “I was not aware that the observatory had any extra rooms. Besides, I’ve arrived on short notice so the director of the observatory does not know that I am coming. I did not want to suddenly impose on their hospitality.”
“Somehow, I think worrying about imposing on their hospitality was the last thing on your mind,” she replied. “But if there is room in the observatory, I suppose I cannot complain, even if the company is less than stellar. I would rather have a roof over my head tonight.”