Belle Âme ~ Seth Clearwater

43|Manon Beauchéne

Estelle Nakamura had always noticed Manon Beauchéne. The very first time had been on a hot summers day in 1989 when she'd witnessed the women driving by in an open top ,red convertible, a pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes and a head scarf keeping her hair out of her face. She's looked very glamorous and beautiful — Estelle would come to learn that this was a natural state for her.

The young girl had always kept an eye out for the women. Not just because she was beautiful or the only new face in town since the Nakamuras had emigrated to France from Japan, but also because, for the very first time, there was another non white resident in Château-Chalon beside Estelle and her family. And this had meant a lot to the young girl, who'd always felt isolated from her everyone else growing up. She ate different food, spoke a different language, looked different, spoke French with a Japanese accent. But Manon's presence in the town made her feel less alone.

But now, 15 years on, there was a new presence in the small, rural town of Château-chalon. This time it was two people in a sleek black car, which had been spotted driving down the long road that connected the town to one of the major roads of France by the groups of teenagers that liked to drive out of the town and congregate in the many miles of empty land surrounding it and drink alcohol. One of those teenagers had taken a picture and circulated it among the very small population of young people in Château-Chalon, who had inevitably told their parents, who had inevitably gossiped among the adults on their street. Within the hour it felt like everyone knew. God, Estelle hated this town.

Just like with Manon, Estelle was privileged enough to witness the newcomers first hand as their car parked in one of the two parking spots outside the very small convenience store she had decided to walk to on a whim. The first one to hop out was a tall, long-limbed man who exited the car with so much grace that she wondered if he was a dancer. He was dressed like a university student in a knitted jumper, skinny jeans and a long coat. Estelle could picture him studying English or philosophy, or something else equally pretentious, conjuring up a mental image of him hunched over in a library somewhere, pouring over books.

The tall man walked round to the other side of the car and opened the door for the person in the passenger seat in a move uncharacteristically gentlemanly for a man of the 21st century. The other person stepped out, smiling at the talk man gratefully. This one was tall too, though less slender and more muscular. He had brown skin and black hair that hung past his shoulders, which Estelle instinctively wanted to run her fingers through and maybe braid.

As the two men entered the shop, they clasped hands. Estelle startled, wondering if they were a couple as she entered behind them. Skin-ship among men was rare, so she was sure they must be. It would make them all the more subject of gossip if anyone saw them given the narrow mindedness so common in small towns like her own.

Deciding to succumb to curiosity, Estelle allowed herself to eavesdrop on the duo as they all moved around the shop.

"Aurélien, what are those French snacks I like called again?," the brown skinned boy said to his companion. Estelle noted the American accent and wondered why a tourist would ever come to this part of France. Usually it was Paris or Nice or Sannes that they visited, and if they visited a town it was some of the more famous ones with sprawling vineyards and old architecture. Not Château-Chalon.