The house is dark and silent throughout. Everyone has gone up to bed already. Carl seems to have an instinctive feel for all the rooms and passageways and stairs we have to negotiate in the dark, and Francois and I both follow very closely behind. In the kitchen, be both sit down at the table while Carl goes through the pantry and fridge for a couple of boxes of Breton crackers and a lovely wedge of vintage cheddar.
"What?" says Francois in mock indignation. "No plates?"
"You know where they are", says Carl as he rips open the first box of crackers.
Francois calls his bluff and gets up and returns with three white plates with gold rims. "Anything to drink?"
"It worked", says Carl, chuckling.
"Oh, fuck off and cut me some cheese, big guy", says Francois, smiling.
"Your wish is my command, padre." Then turning to me, he says, "By the way, that was quite a read you treated us to tonight, Chris."
"I am every bit as amazed as you are", say I.
"You mean to say that you had no idea? None at all?"
"Wait a minute", say I just before taking my first bite of cracker. I do recall something. At the café where I worked, just a few nights before he died..."
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