Black Diamond

heading toward Bill, holding up her cheeks to be kissed. He had no time for that now.
    “Alain, Régine, Mireille, Simon, Dominique, Jean-Louis, Philippe and Colette, come over here to me please,” he called. He knew them from his tennis classes, and they came forward eagerly. He explained how he wanted them to organize the under-sixes into groups of four and take them to the tables.
    “They are allowed one sandwich each, and one of each of the cakes. Otherwise we might run out. If you have a brother or sister among them, pick them first. Off you go.”
    He heard Simon muttering, “I’m sure that’s Bruno” as they left, so he raised his voice again, gave a few more Ho, ho, hos and walked across to the mothers with the toddlers.
    “
Mesdames
, I count on you not to let your little ones grab too much or make a mess. Perhaps you would go after the under-sixes have been fed.”
    Then Bruno turned to the over-sixes, who were almost dancing with impatience, and he told them to go to the CD player and decide which of the Christmas music discs they wanted to hear. He waved Bill over and asked him to supervise the music. The elder Pons had disappeared, and the mayor was being political, kissing the cheeks of each of the venerable ladies who were watching proudly from behind the tables as their cakes and biscuits were eagerly devoured.
    “Where are the presents, and when do you want to give them out?” Bruno asked Mathilde.
    “I think Monsieur Pons wants to hand out the presents,” she said crisply. “That’s what he said, and he added very firmly that since he’d paid for them, he was the one to do it.”
    “Ah,” said Bruno. “Well, just so long as he doesn’t dress up as Père Nöel to do it. The kids would get awfully confused if they saw two of us.”
    “You’re right,” she said. “I’d better go and find out what he’s planning.”
    Bill had gotten the CD player to work. Pamela stood close beside him. Bruno could discern the gentle tones of “Silent Night” being drowned by the low roar of children’s voices. Ah well, time for some more Ho, ho, hos, and perhaps a sandwich or two. He headed over to the tables, ruffling the hair on little heads along the way and lifting toddlers for a Christmas kiss until one of them became alarmed and started to bawl. He quickly handed the infant back to a clucking mother and moved on.
    “I think these two want a kiss from Père Nöel,” said Florence, pushing her children toward him, their cheeks round with food and their mouths smeared with chocolate.
    “Happy Christmas, Dora,” he said, swinging her up. “And you, Daniel,” he said, scooping up the boy with the other arm. He received a smacking kiss from each, and then their mother leaned forward and kissed him on each cheek.
    “Merry Christmas to you, Père Nöel, and thanks for everything. You’ve got a bit of chocolate on your beard.” Florence pulled a tiny handkerchief from her sleeve, popped a corner into her mouth to wet it and began to scrub his cheek. He felt himself blushing, convinced that Pamela was watching.
    “Ho, ho, ho. Thank you, Florence. I’d better get some food before it all goes.”
    He had time to devour a ham-and-cheese sandwich, a
madeleine
and a
galette
, and was washing them down with a glass of orange juice when the mayor approached with an urgent look on his face and holding out a mobile phone.
    “It’s Nicco from Ste. Alvère,” he said. “There’s been a tragedy and they want you over there.”
    Bruno took the phone, but couldn’t hear. He turned away toward the door to the kitchens, fumbling to unhook his beard from his ear as he tried to make out what Nicco was saying.
    “It’s Bruno, it’s Bruno,” called out one of the older children as his beard swung down to one side of his face and Nicco’s voice said, “It’s Didier—he’s dead. He shot himself.”
    Then the kitchen door swung open and another Father Christmas emerged, flanked by two elves dressed in green and carrying large sacks. Bruno had just begun to register this when Pamela appeared before him, her face tight with anger.
    “I’m not going to make a fuss here, but I think you’re a bastard.”
    He stared at her in bafflement, and one of the elves brushed against his arm with a sack of presents, knocking the mobile phone from his hand. He bent down to grope for the phone on the floor. People were turning to look at the appearance of the second Father Christmas as Pons strode