“Not at all.”
“You looked deep in thought just now.”
“A great deal to think about,” said Gamache, with a small smile, tucking his notebook back into his breast pocket.
“What you did was very difficult. I’m sorry it was necessary.”
Gamache said nothing and the two men stood quietly in the cabin.
“I’ll leave you alone,” said Gilbert eventually, making for the door.
Gamache hesitated then followed. “No need. I’m finished here.” He closed the door without a backward glance and joined Vincent Gilbert on the porch.
“I signed this for you.” Gilbert handed him a hardcover book. “They’ve reissued it after all the publicity surrounding the murder and the trial. Seems it’s a bestseller.”
“Merci.” Gamache turned over the gleaming copy of Being and looked at the author photo. No more sneer. No more scowl. Instead a handsome, distinguished man looked back. Patient, understanding. “Félicitations,” said Gamache.
Gilbert smiled, then unfolded a couple of aluminum garden chairs. “I brought these with me just now. The first of a few things. Marc says I can live in the cabin. Make it my home.”
Gamache sat. “I can see you here.”
“Away from polite society,” smiled Gilbert. “We saints do enjoy our solitude.”
“And yet, you brought two chairs.”
“Oh, you know that quote too?” said Gilbert. “I had three chairs in my house: one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.”
“My favorite quote from Thoreau is also from Walden,” said Gamache. “A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.”
“In your job you can’t let many things alone, can you?”
“No, but I can let them go, once they’re done.”
“Then why are you here?”
Gamache sat quietly for a moment then spoke. “Because some things are harder to let go than others.”
Vincent Gilbert nodded but said nothing. While the Chief Inspector stared into space the doctor pulled out a small Thermos from a knapsack and poured them each a cup of coffee.
“How are Marc and Dominique?” Gamache asked, sipping the strong black coffee.
“Very well. The first guests have arrived. They seem to be enjoying it. And Dominique’s in her element.”
“How’s Marc the horse?” He was almost afraid to ask. And the slow shaking of Vincent’s head confirmed his fears. “Some horse,” murmured Gamache.
“Marc had no choice but to get rid of him.”
Gamache saw again the wild, half-blind, half-mad, wounded creature. And he knew the choice had been made years ago.
“Dominique and Marc are settling in, and have you to thank for that,” Gilbert continued. “If you hadn’t solved the case they’d have been ruined. I take it from the trial that was Olivier’s intention in moving the body. He wanted to close the inn and spa.”
Gamache didn’t say anything.
“But it was more than that, of course,” said Gilbert, not letting it go. “He was greedy, I suppose.”
And still Gamache said nothing, not wanting to further condemn a man he still considered a friend. Let the lawyers and judges and jury say those things.
“The Hungry Ghost,” said Gilbert.
That roused Gamache, who twisted in his garden chair to look at the dignified man next to him.
“Pardon?”
“It’s a Buddhist belief. One of the states of man from the Wheel of Life. The more you eat the hungrier you get. It’s considered the very worst of the lives. Trying to fill a hole that only gets deeper. Fill it with food or money or power. With the admiration of others. Whatever.”
“The Hungry Ghost,” said Gamache. “How horrible.”
“You have no idea,” said Gilbert.
“You do?”
After a moment Gilbert nodded. He no longer looked quite so magnificent. But considerably more human. “I had to give it all up to get what I really wanted.”
“And what was that?”
Gilbert considered for a long time. “Company.”
“You came to a cabin in the woods to find company?” smiled Gamache.
“To learn to be good company for myself.”
They sat quietly until Gilbert finally spoke. “So Olivier killed the Hermit for the treasure?”
Gamache nodded. “He was afraid it’d be found. He knew it was only a matter of time, once your son moved here and Parra started opening the trails.”