Читать книгу Puzzled - Seraphima Bogomolova - Страница 14

Monte Carlo, France, 25 December

Approaching the Christmas tree, Monsieur Moreau reaches out behind it and draws out a box, in height levelling his chest. His arms wrapped around it, he comes over to my armchair and places the box before me.

‘Here, my dear friend,’ he says, ‘I hope this gift will mark the beginning of your journey in the fascinating world of music.’

Intrigued, I examine the box, then rip the golden wrapping paper off it and open it. Inside, I find a Fender electric guitar, brand new, still smelling of fresh lacquer – a real classic. Carefully, I pull it out and, laying it on my lap, stroke it gently.

‘Thank you so much, Monsieur Moreau,’ I say full of delight. ‘I’ve always wanted to have one just like that …’

He smiles and goes back to the Christmas tree.

Soon, the pyramid of now-opened presents is transferred onto the sofa and the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace becomes littered with colourful sparkling bits of wrapping paper.

‘And now, time for a glass of cherry.’ maman announces and gets up.

She walks out of the room, leaving me tête – à – tête with Monsieur Moreau. I take the opportunity and venture out with a question: ‘Monsieur Moreau, why are you being so kind to me?’

‘Well, mon ami,’ he replies, ‘firstly, because you’re the son of Rosalinda, and secondly, I find a great pleasure in pleasing others, if I may say so.’

‘Are you saying that you’ve given me this guitar purely for the pleasure of pleasing my Mum?’ I ask.

‘No, of course not, I was trying to say that … ' he begins, but falls silent, as maman walks in, followed by a maid, carrying a tray with three cherry glasses on it.

We each pick a glass, filled with golden brown liquor.

‘Merry Christmas!’ maman intones, raising her glass.

‘Merry Christmas!’ we echo in unison.