Chapter 7 - Continued
On the way home, they made three stops; a small clothing store he knew was open unusually late, tucked down a back alley that started at the Champs Elyises but ended almost a mile from there, a convenience store for necessities, and Babette’s apartment to check in on Camille. By the time they reached Benoit’s two-story apartment, the conversation had shifted from this Albert - Zoe hadn’t known much beyond its near completion, after all - to happier things. Sharing their previous experiences in Paris, stories about their childhood, the real “getting to know you” things that they should have been talking about at dinner. Benoit tossed his keys carelessly on a side table by the door, exhausted and in a remarkably good mood. There was hope that Zoe would be out of his hair tomorrow. He might be able to attend the rest of the Fermier after all. He could possibly even invite Zoe to join. Where did that come from?
Shaking his head, Benoit turned to see Zoe on her tiptoes, head bent down peering just in front of her feet, hands covering her eyes. “Peekaboo!” she said softly, pulling her hands back, then repeating it. In the middle of the entryway to the apartment. Benoit cleared his throat; it was the only appropriate reaction he could think of to these moments of insanity.
Zoe turned her head, excitement in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you had two children!” Her head whipped back to where she had been focusing, and concern crossed her face. She looked back up at Benoit. “Oh,” she said dully.
That had been part of their conversation; at least Zoe was aware that she was seeing things, and had been for some time. It made things less awkward, but the fact that Zoe continued to believe everything she saw meant she really hadn’t accepted it as truth. Less awkward, but potentially more dangerous.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing with one of the small bags of clothing to a metal spiral staircase in corner of the space, “I’ll show you to your room.”
Zoe nodded, and followed him upstairs. A short hallway had just enough space to lead into two separate rooms; his bedroom, and what a long time ago was a servant or maid’s room, but now belonged to Camille. Cramped quarters, but Benoit had a faint idea of what his estate was paying for this apartment. Anything larger may well have made House Delatour bankrupt.
“I apologize,” he said, waiving the bag of toiletries, “but the only bathroom is downstairs. This building was built before there was a need for multiple plumbing options.”
“No problem,” she shrugged casually. “I’ve spent a month camping in the jungle before. Hell, I’ve lived in New York City. This is luxury, in context.”
Benoit placed the remaining items on the bed, and consciously stopped himself from cramming his hands into his pockets nervously. Instead, he opened them as if offering her the room. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No, thank you. This is already too much. I’ll try not to make too much noise.”
“Good night, Zoe.”
“Chavah.”
“I’m sorry?” The words sounded awkward coming out of his mouth; a side effect of Benoit’s power is that he rarely if ever asked someone to repeat themselves.
“Zoe is a code name. My real name is Chavah. And good night, Benoit.”
He hesitated there for a moment before nodding his head and making his exit. Closing the door silently behind him, Benoit returned downstairs and pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
“Well well, Benoit. I was beginning to believe the worst.”
“Alec enough. I have news about your mysterious Delatour-hunting Sentinel.” Benoit related everything that Zoe told him in a rush, and included that he had sent Camille to live with Babette for a while. On the other end, there was silence.
Finally, Alec spoke. “Can you be certain she is telling the truth, Benoit?”
He hesitated. Isn’t that what this whole night was supposed to be about? Wasn’t he supposed to be judging this with a critical eye, and not simply falling for a set of pretty eyes and a crooked smile? “I am certain, Alec.”
“There are some…inconsistencies, then, Benoit. The girl I met a month ago said she had already seen this Albert. She said it spoke to her. A month ago, Benoit.”
Benoit’s stomach dropped. He thought he was going to sick up. “All that means is we have less time than we thought.” Plans started rushing through his head, but there was nothing he could do tonight. “Alec, be careful.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll talk to Fury tomorrow. Maybe Interpol can find a place for me out of the way.” He doubted that, of course; if this machine was willing to go to Canada of all places to find Alec, it would find Benoit no matter how far he ran. But Alec didn’t need to know that. Bigger brother or not, sometimes it fell to Benoit to shelter Alec from the world. “I will call tomorrow.”
“Bon nuit, Benoit. Be careful of the girl - I’m not sure I fully trust her yet.”
Benoit closed the phone before he let the words escape his mouth. “But I do,” he whispered, “now what?” He stood staring at a slight gap in the wood flooring of the foyer, his knuckles white against the phone still in hand. He should have been exhausted, but his body and mind both ached for action. Yes, there was nothing he could do tonight. But that had never stopped him from trying before. Grabbing a spare notepad from the kitchen counter and a pen from a mug Camille had painted in class for him, he shrugged on a coat and quietly closed the door behind him. In the back of his head, something tugged at him that Zoe had not yet been down to use the restroom.
Café de l’Industrie was on the other side of the Seine from his apartment, a beautiful high-ceiling coffee shop with an older Parisian crowd that wouldn’t know him from Jacques, mediocre espresso, and a lingerie shop on the second floor. Partly for the anonymity, partly because when he found a place he could think Benoit clung to it jealously and visited regularly, Benoit had been coming here at least once a week since he discovered it almost two years ago. It had been a fluke really, a passing while out with friends, a chance glance in the window and a mental note to come back. And while normally he would take a car service, tonight he needed to walk.
Benoit stopped on the Pont de Sully and propped his elbows on the railing. The weather had turned to that misty rain against which an umbrella was useless, but Benoit didn’t feel it. There were too many factors to consider. Was remaining in Paris still an option? The protection of the government and Interpol might be appealing, but too many people knew him here - the dangers of being a socialite. If there was torture, or hell even questions, Sentinels, Friends of Humanity, and this S.H.I.E.L.D. organization could each find two dozen people more than willing to tell them where Benoit Delatour could be found. Most of them men with ex-girlfriends, the rest, those ex-girlfriends.
So leaving Paris, then, and starting a new life. Benoit was surprised with how easy that thought sat with him; he would be fleeing a city that had become a part of him, and an existence filled with anything he pointed a finger at. He would go with or without his daughter. And he wouldn’t know when - or if - he could ever return. So why was he so nonchalant?
Breathing deep and throwing his hands into his coat pockets, he kept walking toward the café. His feet knew the path, and newly resolved to leave, his mind ran through details. Most of them surrounded Camille - she would have to be taken care of, and as wonderful as Babette was, she truly didn’t have room to raise a child in her own apartment. Nor could she be sent to Marseilles; it would be a sore reminder to his family of his own “shortcomings,” and while they would grin and bear it and treat Camille with the best of intentions, she was sensitive to the mood in a place. She would instantly feel their unease, and it would be no place for her. He hated to do this just as she was comfortable with Babette, but he would have to find a new au pair. He mentally added it to the list as he pushed the large red door open into the café.
This late at night, the café was winding down its business. Nobody came for the coffee here, really, they came for a bite before dinner or a stiff drink after, and the rain generally kept people from the latter. But he took a seat at the bar, ordered a double espresso, and pulled out the now slightly-damp notepad. He scribbled “Cammy” at the top of the pad and underlined it, then started tapping his pen against the bar in thought. He was still tapping when his espresso arrived.
Benoit let it sit, and began writing. “Au pair” was first, followed by “school - talk to teacher re: who is in charge.” And more followed, everything from as large as setting up a trust for her to as small as writing her a letter to explain what had happened. He wracked his brain for every indulgence he had denied her - not for lack of money, but just to avoid spoiling her - and wrote it down. She would have it all, now.
Other issues came to mind. He kept a small file cabinet in his bedroom which had receipts, certificates, insurance information, other important documents. It wasn’t terribly full - he wasn’t the one keeping track of the electricity bill - but he would either need to take it with him or burn it, at Fury’s direction. Which led to changing the name of the caretaker on Camille’s health insurance. There was a mountain of things to do, but Benoit at least liked to believe that he worked well under pressure, and with a goal in mind.
Two hours later, having finished that espresso and a small plate of snails he had ordered somewhere in the fog, Benoit was finally feeling the onset of the day. He slipped the pad into his pocket, threw a pile of Euros on the bar, and walked outside. The list was still spiraling in his head.
The mist had turned to proper rain, but waiting for a car service would have taken another 30 minutes. Most nights, he wouldn’t have minded the wait, but he was newly determined, and his eyelids felt heavier each second. He hailed a cab and all but flung himself into the back seat. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he gave the driver directions first in Hebrew before switching to French.
When he finally got back into his apartment and went upstairs, he could see light coming from Camille’s room. Of course, Zoe wouldn’t be asleep now - or ever - and he didn’t want her to think that an intruder had come into the apartment. He made sure his every move was accompanied by a lot of noise. Benoit certainly was not one to barge in on his guest, but he wavered between wanting to spread out on his bed and wanting her to come out of the room so they could talk.
In the end, she decided it for him; whatever she was up to, it was for her to know alone. The heavy eating throughout the day had won the battle, and sleep came easier than he thought possible, given the circumstances.
When Benoit woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in the room, he peaked through the door across the hallway. The door was still closed, the light still on and shining through beneath. He understood; being in a strange place, she was unlikely to leave her room unless she knew he was awake. He stumbled to the closet and threw some house clothes on - certainly not something he would be seen in outside, but enough to cover himself so she would come out for breakfast. Halfway into his shirt, his mind jolted. Bright day in the window. The light on in her room. And an insomniac who would have seen that bright sun outside hours ago, and turned off the light if she thought to. It was a fluke, surely, but he hastened to finish getting dressed and almost jumped to knock on her door, not even bothering to check is sleep-hair in the mirror.
After there was no answer at the second knock, Benoit began to panic.