A ROMANCE IN CANNES

Chapter 15

What was I going to do with all those potatoes?

And who buys so many potatoes just to be able to learn more about their neighbour? An i***t in need of a social life.

However, I knew at least one person who was going to be able to help me – with the potatoes, not for my irrational behaviour. My mother.

I sent her a message, and she was quick to reply:

You just have to cook for your neighbours.

I was going to tell her that, unlike her, I had no blood ties with my neighbours. Not even any distant links. But, if she assumed that I lived down the street from Wisteria Lane, where newcomers were greeted with baskets of beribboned muffins, I might as well not shatter her illusions. The last thing I needed was for her to think I wasn’t happy here.

However, thinking about it for a moment, her idea wasn’t that bad. I had a flash: the neighbour and his ready-made meals, which he must certainly have eaten from the same tray. He kindly helped me, too. Wouldn’t it be time to show him my gratitude and thereby try to bury the hatchet?

Taking stock of my available ingredients – without forgetting the main one: the potatoes –, I cooked a gratin dauphinois. It was the kind of dish that everyone loved, right? It was still early and, despite the rather long cooking, it would be ready in time for dinner.

That’s how I find myself, two hours later, knocking on Victor’s door. He opened it with a look of astonishment, especially when his eyes drifted to the gratin dish I was holding in my hands. To tell the truth, at that moment, I found myself a little ridiculous, but I didn’t let myself be intimidated.

“Won’t you let me in?” I asked, a small smile on my face.

“Uh, why exactly?”

Victor ran a hand through his already messy hair. He seemed nervous.

“I made you a gratin dauphinois.”

“A gratin dauphinois?” he repeated as if it were an incredible thing.

In his defence, it’s not often that a neighbour has to show up at his home with food. Given his attitude of a badly beaten bear, I even think that we should forbid the children of the building to go to his apartment to sell raffle tickets.

“Yes. To thank you for your help. And then, we can’t say that we started off on the right foot, you and me. I thought a peace offering would be welcome.”

Victor remained silent, showing no emotion. I don’t mind. I pushed him lightly and walked into his apartment. Was it rude of me to do that when he hadn’t invited me in? Certainly. But I also felt that if I had waited for him to make up his mind to do something, I would have had plenty of time to take root on his doormat. Besides, he said nothing to me and contented himself with closing the door.

I looked around me. It was much bigger than my apartment. The walls were white and the decoration basic. We could see that it was a man who lived there. A black leather sofa, a black lacquered coffee table and a giant television screen. And, of course, a game console. I was right about the geek side! However, I had the impression that paintings, once added to the walls, had been removed. The furniture also seemed new. Has he just moved in?

“How long have you been here?”

“Five years,” he replied.

I turned to him. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was watching me with a frown. I couldn’t blame him; I would have found it curious that my neighbour arrived at my door, entered without being invited and asked questions.

“You’re alone?” I continued.

“Yes.”

“Does your wife travel?”

Victor’s expression became even more annoyed if that was possible.

“My wife?”

The moment he said those words, I realised that I had probably just made a huge mistake. s**t! What if he’s a widower and I just asked him where his wife is!

Just to justify myself, I pointed at his finger.

“Your ring.”

He lets out a mirthless little laugh.

“My wife…”

He scratched his head, probably to give himself time to find the appropriate explanation.

“Oh! You’re gay!” I exclaimed, having a sudden revelation.

I wouldn’t have thought so at first but, after all, our s****l orientation isn’t tattooed on our foreheads. And fortunately, by the way!

This time, he really burst out laughing. Which surprised me. I hadn’t thought he was capable of it. He had an attractive laugh too, serious and honest.

“I’m not gay,” he said, shaking his head.

He raised his hand to take a look at his wedding ring.

“My wife left me a year ago. Actually, we’re even divorced.”

I sighed internally. Okay, that wasn’t a great situation, but much less embarrassing than if he had confessed to me that she was dead.

“Why do you still wear your wedding ring?”

I was a little boring when I put myself in curious mode, but I couldn’t help it. He shrugged.

“Out of habit, I guess.”

He left a pause and continued, but I had the impression that, at this moment, he was talking more to himself than to me.

“It’s ridiculous when you think about it. Maybe because when I accepted this ring for better or for worse, I really believed in it.”

I saw him bite his lip as if he regretted having said too much. Trying to change the subject, not wanting to make him too uncomfortable either – I had already done enough – I asked him:

“Well, Victor the neighbour, are you expecting someone tonight?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s sit down and enjoy my gratin before it’s completely cooled,” I announced as I walked towards the kitchen area where a table and four chairs were set up. “Where are the plates?”

Victor seemed to realise suddenly that I was inviting myself to his home for dinner. Actually, could you really say that I was inviting myself since it was I who brought the meal?

“Are you going to eat here? With me?”

“Unless that’s a problem for you, Victor? By the way, we could talk to each other. Picking up potatoes on all fours in the street brings you closer, don’t you think?”

“I mean, I have work and…”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t planning to eat. And who works at this hour?”

Objectively, lots of people, but I wasn’t going to admit defeat so quickly.

“I was working when you arrived.”

“Well, let’s say you’re taking a break. And admit that my gratin looks much nicer than the depressing lasagna trays you bought at the supermarket. You know they put horse meat in it sometimes?”

Victor rolled his eyes.

“Come on, let’s say I stay half an hour and then I’ll leave you alone,” I suggested.

“What do you want, Danielle?”

“Just getting acquainted. It’s rather silly to live next door and not know each other at all. Maybe it will allow me to discover that, in reality, behind this scowl, hides a great comic.”

I felt the shell was cracking.

“No. I’m a boring guy.”

“Okay, so I’ll be home soon, but at least I tried. Where are the plates?”

“You’re not the type to give up, are you?”

At least I managed to make him agree!

“No, it’s one of my many qualities,” I smiled, “in addition to being an excellent cook, but you’ll discover that very quickly.”

“And humble with it…”

“It’s my middle name.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

I had the feeling that sarcasm wasn’t his thing either.

Victor set the table in record time. He cast glances at the gratin, he certainly wanted to eat it more than he cared to admit. He invited me to sit down and I served each of us a portion. Barely enough time for a bon appetit and he was sticking his fork into the potatoes. He swallowed a bite, then a second and closed his eyes for a moment, to savour it better perhaps?

“You have the right to say it’s good, you know,” I pointed out.

A slight smirk formed on his lips.

“It hurts me to feed your ego, which seems already oversized to me, but I must admit that it’s good.”

“It’s good? That’s all?”

“Okay. I admit it’s the best gratin dauphinois I’ve eaten in a while. Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” I smile.

We eat a few more bites in comfortable silence. After a while, however, I broke it.

“So, Victor? What do you do in life?”

“I was a computer scientist.”

Ah! You see! I told you, a geek!

“Was?” I questioned.

“I sold my shares in my company,” he said without looking at me.

“Wow! Are you a kind of Mark Zuckerberg?”

“If you want… But much less rich, however.”

It made perfect sense, otherwise, he would be living in one of the extravagant Super Cannes villas.

“And what do you do with your days now?”

Curiosity is a terrible fault, Mamée used to tell me when I was little. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to solve the Victor mystery. During our first eventful meeting in the hallway, he had said that I had made him lose his work. He wasn’t talking about progress on one of his video games, was he?

“I’m writing a book.”

His response was brief, almost as if he were embarrassed.

“You’re writing a book! But that’s great! What’s it about? Oh! Let me guess? Are you writing your memoirs?”

“My memoirs?” he wondered. “I don’t think that would be of interest to the general public.”

“It all depends if you put a catchy title like: I, Victor, computer scientist, solved the first 403 errors on the web.”

He burst out laughing for the second time that evening.

“I never would have thought that you were the kind of girl to make geek jokes!”

“Why? What kind of girl am I?”

He looked down and looked guilty.

“Okay, you don’t want to answer the question because that would be something I wouldn’t like, right?”

I had trouble figuring him out. He seemed a bit stuck up, but at times there were little details that let me see that under the shell might be someone more interesting. So as not to make him more uncomfortable, I returned to less slippery territory.

“You didn’t answer me. What’s your book about?”

“It’s a fantasy novel.”

“Like Lord of the Rings?”

“If you like, but it’s not quite that.”

“With vampires, then?”

“No!”

This idea didn’t seem to please him.

“Aren’t vampires good? I thought they were trendy?”

“Let me guess? Are you a Vampire Diaries fan?” he scoffed.

“Absolutely not. For me, guys with pale skin and pointed canines don’t make me fantasise at all. And also, just the idea that you have to stuff yourself with several volumes to get to the end of the story, that doesn’t tempt me at all. I’m far from being a bookworm. I usually just read books that Cali, my best friend, gives me.”

“So not a big reader.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, but let’s say it’s not a passion, either. You, I suppose it’s the opposite? Can’t do without books?”

“Hm-hm. From my e-reader, especially.”

“Of course, you have an e-reader!”

He smiles and asks me:

“And you? What do you do?”

“You mean besides cooking delicious casseroles for my neighbours? I’m housekeeper-general at Western Palace. I just arrived.”

“Beautiful establishment!”

“You know?”

“I held a few events there with my company.

He might not be Mark Zuckerberg, but if his company had the opportunity to offer meetings or cocktails at the hotel, it must have had a decent turnover.

“Do you go anymore?”

He shook his head.

“It’s all over for me.”

“You work from home. Isn’t it a bit hard to be alone all day?”

“I like to have silence to concentrate.”

“With a neighbour who sings in the shower, it must not be easy,” I pointed out with a very serious look.

“Fortunately, my neighbour has long days at work and isn’t around very often.”

I then asked him more questions about his work. I had a hard time understanding how you could stay locked up all day, alone, with no one to talk to. In his place, I wouldn’t have been able to. I needed to have people constantly around me. That’s why I think I love my job so much. It’s only since I’ve been in Cannes that my evenings have gone quiet. I needed it, it was even one of the reasons that had pushed me to leave the Luberon. But I couldn’t have led a solitary existence.

I tried, through my questions, to find out more about Victor. He didn’t open up easily but, from what I understood, his daily life seemed monotonous and quite lonely. He didn’t seem to get company very often. However, once the ice was broken, he was far from unpleasant. He hadn’t even kicked me out after the half-hour he had given me at the start – or that I had given myself. When I leave after two hours, I promise myself to remember to repeat the experience another time.