a meal of her loins

continued from part 5

Nord-Pas-de-Calais was a memory, Jasmin had sent Amando packing, back to Zaragoza where his landkeeper kinship was organizing the capital city's centennial celebration of the 2008 World Fair. The event was years off, but planning and construction was all consuming for the archaic city on the Ebro. According to Amando, his wealthy family was pouring millions into a reconstruction of the Aljaferia Palace, bombed by revisionist Swordsmen, from Bergerac, France. To this day there was an annual festival held on the banks of the Garonne at Port-Sainte-Marie, where the Spanish and French reenactors fought with bare hands and bare chests, then drank themselves silly for three nights. Good times. Already, the Mayor of the city of Bergerac was vowing to wage war on the castle's new walls, and was caching barrels of the regions finest wine for the event.

Jasmin promised to attend the festivities, though secretly she doubted the possibility, given her circumstances. Now she was staying in a one room apartment, overlooking a narrow street in Montpellier. For breakfast she usually dined on fresh coffee and beignets in a tiny French pastry shop. Jasmin kept her passport, but thought it best to stay in Europe where it would be difficult to track her movements. In the late afternoons she walked by the sea, and sometimes took a dip, floating in the warm waves of the Mediterranean Sea.

She had just woken from a short nap in her balcony chair when a clatter of dishes startled her fully awake. The stack she left leaning precariously by the lower entrance toppled, either by the mysterious cat she sometimes saw prowling the whereabouts, or an intruder she didn't know. Jasmine hurriedly slipped on her shoes and lowered herself from the balcony on a rope she had tied just for that purpose. Her escape was on the opposite side from the door, and as she assuredly turned a corner from the building, Jasmin didn't look back. After half a dozen cuts through the tight streets and alleyways, Jasmin turned into cafe and sat down in a back corner, facing the picture window. The waiter brought her water, and she ordered a small dish of sorbet and coffee. She had doubled back, and the cafe looked toward her apartment.

The door was closed, but Jasmin thought she caught a glimpse of movement through a window. Moments later, the door opened, and a man stood at the entrance. He held the short length of a coiled rope in his left hand, and before he pulled the door shut, he turned and kicked an unbroken teacup. The man slowly looked up and down the avenue, then crossed the street and mounted a cycle in front of the cafe. The lid rolled up and through the acclimating frost cover Jasmin thought she saw the man staring into the cafe. He may have scanned the interior, but from the corner sipping her water she doubted he would recognize her behind sunglasses and a tatty ball cap. The man motored off, kicking dust up from the curb.

Jasmin finished her dessert, and set the spoon on her napkin after she wiped some frozen sugar from her lips. She was just about to get up and sneak back into her apartment, when a new man, in an overcoat, stepped in front of the window. He was wearing a conspicuous stetson that shaded his face and dark glasses. The man had a familiar gait and stoop to his shoulders, she almost thought it was her husband, Alex, but shook off the thought. The glass of water, untouched on her small table, clouded then cleared, and the man turned his head to the cafe, then strode off. Jasmin thought she saw a smirk on his lips. “How strange,” she muttered, then picked up a menu.

The waiter hovered over her table, filling her cup. “What's good from the kitchen?” she asked.

“Ah. The chef, Mademoiselle Buechard, has a Enchaud Perigordine, with potatoes. It's pork.”

“I know what it is. I'll have a small portion, and the house wine.” She handed him the menu and sat back, sipping her coffee. Where to now, she pondered, wishing Amando was still in the country, dining with her, on her, instead of the opposite predicament.

continued in part 7