Page 33 of A Noble Affair
When his father came in, he started up. “Papa. I didn’t expect you.” He managed to snub out the burning end of his cigarette and stand in one movement.
His father took in the room with quiet irony. “I see I should visit you more often. Since when have you started smoking?”
“Oh, that.” Louis had recovered, and his defensiveness returned. “It’s not all that big of a deal."
His father returned no answer but leaned against the messy desk near the entrance and stared at his son. Louis squirmed under his searching gaze.
“I was just wondering how you were doing, and if you needed anything.” Charles reached down and pulled something that poked at himfrom where he was sitting. It was the screwdriver from a Swiss army knife.
“I’m fine.”
Charles reined in his exasperation. “Louis, you say you’re fine, but it doesn’t seem like you are. I’m here to talk, you know. Are you sure there’s not something you want to talk about, or something you need?”
Louis jabbed his toeagainstthe wood floor, sending a sock skidding across the room, and looking at that moment much younger than his teenage self. “Well, uh. I was thinking I would like to buy a moped. Can I have one?” He glanced up, frowning.
Shifting position, Charles said, “Sure. But why don’t we discuss it once you get your grades back up.”
Louis flushed and crossed his arms. “I’ve been working on them. But some of the classes are really hard."
“Maybe we could get you some tutoring.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Louis turned back to his iPad. “Forget about the moped. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Charles struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t harp on his son’s grades but couldn’t think of anything. “Okay, we can talk about it another time. Paltier told me that Manon paid me a surprise visit, so I’m going to see what she wants.” Louis just nodded. As Charles reached the door, he suddenly turned back. “Who’s your English teacher now?”
His son looked up in surprise. “Miss Whitmore.”
“Yes, but I mean now that she’s in the hospital with her son and not teaching classes.”
“Oh. Uh. I can’t remember her name. Mz. Mercer taught one class, and then this other teacher came in.”
“Do you like her as well as Mademoiselle Whitmore?”
“I don’t know.” Louis shrugged. “I suppose not. You can tell Miss Whitmore cares about the kids.” He looked embarrassed to have revealed as much and scowled.
“Okay. Well…good night.” Charles went into the hallway and shut the door with a soft click.
He found Manon curled up on one of the hard-backed sofas, her shoes off and feet tucked underneath her, and her coat serving as a blanket. Her face was tear-stained, her eyes tired. “Charles.” There was no trace of her usual animation.
He walked over to where she sat. “What is it, Manon?”
She leaned her face into her hands and sobbed quietly. He had never seen her so distraught. “My grandmother died suddenly. That’s why I've come back from London.”
Charles knew how close Manon was to her grandmother so he just sat on the couch and put his arm around her curled-up legs. “I didn’t know where else to go.” She sniffled. “I didn’t want to go back to my empty apartment.”
Rubbing her leg, he asked, “What happened? When we saw her at Christmas, she seemed to be in great health.”
“Aneurism,” Manon choked out through her sobs, which were growing louder. Charles pulled her up next to him and put his arm around her, hugging her close.
“My grandmother raised me. She’s the only family I have.”
“I know,” he said. This was only slightly inaccurate. Charles knew that though her parents had been killed in a drunk driving accident when she was a baby, her narcissistic extended family had wanted nothing to do with her until she became famous. Her grandmother, alone, had given her a loving and orderly—if bourgeois—childhood.
After a period of crying, while Charles waited, Manon finally pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. She spoke numbly. “The funeral is on Wednesday. I was given time off to attend it until Thursday. Could I stay here?”
Charles cleared his throat and looked down at the top of her blond curls. He was not thrilled at having her stay in the same house as his son, but he was not a monster either and could see she needed him. She felt small in his arms, and her perfume was familiar, even if it had stronger overtones than he generally liked. After a minute he perceived he had not yet answered.
“Of course.”
