A Fatal Grace Read Online Free PDF Page B

Gabri, winking at Clara. ‘ Salut, ma chère. ’
    ‘ Salut, mon amour. What’s that other book you have?’ Clara asked.
    ‘CC de Poitiers’s. Did you know our new neighbor’s written a book?’
    ‘God, that means she’s written more books than she’s read,’ said Ruth.
    ‘I got it over there.’ He pointed to a pile of white books in the remainder bin. Ruth snorted then stopped herself, realizing it was probably just a matter of days before her small collection of exquisitely crafted poems joined CC’s shit in that literary coffin.
    A few people were standing there including the Three Graces from Three Pines: Émilie Longpré, tiny and elegant in a slim skirt, shirt and silk scarf; Kaye Thompson, at over ninety years of age the oldest of the three friends, wizened and shriveled, smelling of Vapo-rub and looking like a potato; and Beatrice Mayer, her hair red and wild, her body soft and plump, and ill-concealed beneath a voluminous amber caftan with chunky jewelry about the neck. Mother Bea, as she was known, held a copy of CC’s book. She turned and glanced in Clara’s direction, only for a moment. But it was enough.
    Mother Bea looked overtaken by some emotion Clara couldn’t quite identify. Fury? Fear? Extreme concern of some sort, that much Clara was sure of. And then it was gone, replaced by Mother’s peaceful, cheery face, all pink and wrinkled and open.
    ‘Come on, let’s go over.’ Ruth struggled to her feet and took Gabri’s offered arm. ‘There’s nothing much happening here. When the inevitable hordes arrive, desperate for great poetry, I’ll race back to the table.’
    ‘ Bonjour , dear.’ Tiny Émilie Longpré kissed Clara on both cheeks. In winter, when most Québecois looked like cartoon characters, wrapped in wool and parkas, Em managed to look both elegant and gracious. Her hair was dyed a tasteful light brown and was beautifully coiffed. Her clothes and make-up were subtle and appropriate. At eighty-two she was one of the matriarchs of the village.
    ‘Have you seen this?’ Olivier handed Clara a book. CC stared back, cruel and cold.
    Be Calm .
    Clara looked over at Mother. Now she understood why Mother Bea was in such a state.
    ‘Listen to this.’ Gabri started reading the back. ‘Ms de Poitiers has officially declared feng shui a thing of the past.’
    ‘Of course it is, it’s ancient Chinese teaching,’ said Kaye.
    ‘In its stead,’ Gabri persevered, ‘this new doyenne of design has brought us a much richer, much more meaningful philosophy which will inform and indeed color not just our homes but our very souls, our every moment, our every decision, our every breath. Make way for Li Bien, the way of light.’
    ‘What is Li Bien?’ Olivier asked no one in particular. Clara thought she saw Mother open her mouth, then shut it again.
    ‘Mother?’ she asked.
    ‘Me? No, dear, I don’t know. Why do you ask?’
    ‘I thought since you have a yoga and meditation center you might be familiar with Li Bien.’ Clara tried to put it gently.
    ‘I’m familiar with all spiritual paths,’ she said, exaggerating slightly, Clara thought. ‘But not this one.’ The implication was clear.
    ‘But still,’ said Gabri, ‘it’s a strange coincidence, don’t you think?’
    ‘What is?’ Mother asked, her voice and face serene, but her shoulders up round her ears.
    ‘Well, that CC should call her book Be Calm . That’s the name of your meditation center.’
    There was silence.
    ‘What?’ said Gabri, knowing he’d somehow put his foot into it.
    ‘It must be a coincidence,’ said Émilie, evenly. ‘And it’s probably a tribute to you, ma belle .’ She turned to Mother, laying a thin hand on her friend’s plump arm. ‘She’s been in the old Hadley place for about a year now; she’s no doubt been inspired by the work you do. It’s a homage to your spirit.’
    ‘And her pile of crap is probably higher than yours,’ Kaye reassured her. ‘That must be a comfort. I