TWENTY-EIGHTPeter ushered Gamache into their home and took his coat. There was a definite smell of popcorn and the sounds of a Gothic choir in the background.
‘They’re just finishing the movie,’ said Peter.
‘It’s over,’ said Clara, popping into the kitchen to greet Gamache. ‘Even better the second time, I think. And we found something.’
They walked through to the living room to find Jean Guy Beauvoir staring at the screen, wide-eyed, as the credits rolled.
‘Mon Dieu, no wonder you English won on the Plains of Abraham,’ he said. ‘You’re all nuts.’
‘It does help, in war,’ agreed Peter. ‘But we’re not all like Eleanor of Aquitaine or Henry.’ He was tempted to point out that Eleanor and Henry were actually both French, but decided that would be rude.
‘You think not?’ Beauvoir asked. He’d
