A Period of Adjustment (26 page)

‘We speak in French, all of us. I was anxious that we would have to speak in English and my knowledge of that is very – what did you once say it was, Monsieur Colcott? - “Rusty”? And it
was.
“Rusty”. An odd word?' Ice cracked, shyness began to melt.

Giles made a face and said, ‘I have to be a little Frenchman. Mother said so. But I think she was being a bit rude.'

Madame Prideaux folded her arms. ‘Quite possibly. And we are two short? Two empty places here?'

Arthur said quickly, ‘The de Terrehautes. They are a bit further away than we are. A longer journey.'

Eugène appeared with the Bollinger in a white cloth, eyebrows raised to me in question. I nodded and he began to pour, Madame Prideaux first, who almost instinctively put her hand over her glass and then, as quickly, removed it. Realizing.

‘A toast?' she said. ‘To Gilles. And he will have but a sip. A true
little
Frenchman would
not
take a full glass. Not at all!'

Giles scowled; Dottie laughed; Florence said pleasantly that she knew a lot of
real
little Frenchmen who would easily take a full magnum, and we talked and began to raise our glasses at exactly the moment that Lulu swung into the square in a haze of dust and the open-top Mercedes. We lowered our glasses. She crunched to a stop beside my yellow car, waved across to us up on the terrace.

‘Hi Giles! Happy, happy Birthday! We are late because of someone's goddamned cows wandering back to their barn. Hi, y'all!' And, opening his door, she pushed Frederick into the square. ‘Get out, little one, save some wine for Mama!'

There was an instant lifting of mood on the terrace. I got to my feet, Giles ran to greet Frederick, the hotel residents lowered their
War Matins
and
Le Mondes
and watched as Lulu parked easily, slammed doors, took off her dark glasses and swung elegantly up the steps towards us, arms outstretched to embrace Giles, who this time around didn't duck, and running her fingers through my hair said how pretty it all looked, gay and festive, and were we speaking English or French?

‘French,' said Sidonie Prideaux mildly, adjusting a bracelet. ‘If you
can?
'

Lulu regarded the Colonel's widow calmly. ‘I can. I have a terrible Ammurican accent which will possibly amuse you, but the grammar is good, and the slang even better, and …' Moving slowly towards her victim, taking an unoffered hand in both of hers, she said in a sweet and low voice, ‘You won't remember at all, but we did meet, years ago. At your country house, Jericho? I was with my second husband. We were on a kind of “Return to the Ancestors” kick. I met you with that very handsome son of yours. Remember? He was just ravishing … Richard? Robert? I forget, it was the briefest of meetings.'

Madame Prideaux sat quite still, her hand held firmly in Lulu's. ‘Raymond,' she said. ‘His name was Raymond. He was killed.'

Lulu leant down swiftly, intimate, caring (I was fascinated watching her play). ‘I know. I
know.
I was
terribly
sad to hear that …' And looking directly across the table at Florence, who was sitting between Arthur and Giles, ‘You, you are his sister, Madame? Florence Caldicott? Raymond's sister, Giles's aunt? That is correct? I don't remember if
we
actually met, but I can see so astonishingly how similar you are. The same
lovely
eyes, grey, his eyes were unforgettable, the same straight back. An amazing resemblance, eh, Madame? You were fortunate in your children?'

Madame Prideaux's hand had relaxed in the steady hold of Lulu's two. She nodded. ‘I
am
fortunate indeed. I do recall our meeting with your husband. He found French difficult, I remember. But it was a pleasant meeting. He enjoyed Raymond's new motorcycle.'

Lulu, sensing a modest victory, eased smoothly away, in a drift of Mitsuko and pale blue chiffon, waved at Dottie and Arthur, and said where did she sit? She sat across the table, beside Arthur, one removed from Florence, and Eugène filled her glass deferentially.

We re-toasted Giles, we smiled pleasantly, he and Frederick sipped cautiously at thimblefuls and said that Coke was better and we laughed in that stupid, immoderate way that adults do if they are slightly ill at ease and use childish utterances as a relief from temporary awkwardness.

But it all passed quickly enough. Dottie began to chatter across to Madame Prideaux, on my right, about some new disaster she had had with white fly; Arthur and Lulu were laughing; Florence, chin in her hand, talked with Giles, and across to Frederick, about the possibilities of going up to the hameau of Jericho when the range was not being used by the military. It was all general chitter chatter, easy. Wine was a help and then Clotilde and Eugène arrived carrying the first course and the supper commenced as the evening slowly began to drift into the square, throwing shadows across the terrace, deepening the shade beneath the little striped awning under which we sat.

Candles were lit, and in the laughter and general murmur, the sudden barks of laughter from Frederick and Giles to each other – amidst all that I could see that Florence, although occupied apparently perfectly happily with Arthur
and one of his stories about something or other, hardly ever took her eyes from Lulu, who was sitting beside him and looking, from time to time, with half-concealed amusement, across at me. Quite well aware that she was under close scrutiny at every move. But it was all perfectly pleasant: pleasure spread with the Domaine d'Ot, a chilled rosé, the candles veiled us in gentle amber light, smoothing lines and wrinkles, glinting softly on silver and glass, throwing the wine glasses into cornelian globes, bringing a general sense of comfort and ease.

Across the square, in the now gathered darkness, the Le Sporting sign still winked its fusing letter ‘O', a turquoise scrawl of neon script in the dark, a slightly mocking commentary on the performances taking place round the table on the terrace. And then, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, white apron crackling with starch, great silver platter held high, Clotilde arrived and set down the steaming, golden couscous to cries of delight from Giles and Frederick and a stifled moan from Sidonie Prideaux.

‘Mon Dieu! At
this
hour of the night!'

I murmured to just take a forkful, that Giles had ordered it especially as a compliment to herself and his ‘aunt', because of the Algerian connection, and Eugène put the silver jug of harissa on the table with unnecessary warnings that it was very, very hot. We ate, we drank, we talked. I don't recall much of it really, and when the Cherries Jubilee had been dealt with the two boys asked, and were instantly given permission, to leave the table because there was a Clint Eastwood film on the TV and they still had time to see half of it.

‘Who is this Clint Eastwood. Does he sing?' said Madame Prideaux.

‘No, Madame. He shoots.'

‘People, I imagine?'

‘People. Yes.'

‘Of course. The young. I thought maybe that he was black. And sang that awful stuff with bongo drums, guitars and things. I used to hear it so often in Casablanca. Wails and moans. Now the children all dance to it. Shimmy,
we
called it.'

Lulu closed ranks, taking Frederick's place beside Dottie, whom she leant across to place her hand on my arm, which she pressed firmly. ‘You have made your boy so happy! Really so happy. You saw his face? Great! You are making a
perfect
papa!'

I laughed and Florence suddenly turned from Arthur, her eyes as shining and hard as flints. For a second, a split second of a second, we held each other's look and then she looked away, and Dottie cried quickly, ‘Oh! What a
splendid
evening. It's so difficult to keep a balance when they are that age. Ten. But you were right to let them go to see Mr Eastwood. They had been very patient. Eat and
then
treat!'

Lulu gently removed her hand from my arm, smiling across at Florence, who had turned back to Arthur.

‘No. I have never seen a nest. A weaver bird's nest … I'd like to,' Florence said. ‘Can you show me one perhaps?'

Madame Prideaux took up her napkin and idly polished an unused knife, having noticed this tiny exchange, under lowered lids. ‘It is a long time, you know, since Thomas saw his cousin. I would like very much to bring him over for another tea party. You remember? The last one? That was long before they went to Marseilles. For that little holiday.'

‘I do remember. He must come again.'

‘I wish that. It is important for him to be with people who are not … who are not disturbed – I can say? – by his appearance. Gilles was very good about that, you remember they were hand in hand? And the fresh, clean air up there …'

‘I do. Let us arrange things. Giles is on holiday. When?'

‘It is a question of Florence of course. She has to be in Sainte-Brigitte next week. A job. She must get a job, you know. There is a charming person there, a Monsieur Jouvet. He is a veterinarian. There is a position there for her, if they are compatible. But …' She shrugged. ‘Sainte-Brigitte. It's a journey, every day.'

‘I'm not very certain, you know, that Florence will care to return to Jericho.'

‘She will. I am a stubborn woman. She will. And in any case I want to see just what you have done to my property! Clotilde says you have made it a paradis anglais! It is true?'

‘Not exactly. But it is pleasant. Come and see.'

‘And the garden. Clotilde says that you work day and night. I think that you are a determined man. Is that so?'

‘That is so. I'm just beginning to realize the fact for the first time.'

She smiled suddenly, a warm, gentle smile, nodded her head. ‘I
too
am determined. It is a useful quality, so many people give way … It is a quality I much admire.'

And then suddenly Madame Mazine, squashed into a tight button-through dress, a corsage of carnations on her shoulder, hair lacquered, shining as cheap porcelain, beaming through her glasses, brought in the cheese platter and set it down, with a nod and a bob, before Lulu.

‘Madame,' whispered Madame Mazine. ‘Your presence is
such
an honour for my modest house. An honour!'

Lulu (as I knew that she would) accepted her ‘aristocratic' role with alacrity, bowed gently back, murmured words of thanks and said it ‘had been quite delightful'. At which, before a slightly startled table, Madame Mazine backed away and only turned to steady herself when she reached the shadows.

Arthur cut himself a piece of Cantal. ‘We are going to take the boys to Marine Land. Antibes. Next Thursday. An
added treat. I know Frederick longs to go. That's all right, I suppose, with the parents?'

The parents declared themselves delighted.

‘Can you bear it? All that water, dead fish, dolphins and stuff. You are really amazing, both of you,' said Lulu.

‘We ran a school,' said Dottie dryly. ‘You have to get used to the brats. And here they come.'

Giles racketing in from the bar firing imaginary guns: ‘Pow! Pow! Pow! Stick up your hands!'

Arthur said mildly, ‘What is that in, French? You appear to be speaking a foreign language. Was the film dubbed?'

And then, in a muddle of light laughter, chairs scraping back, the tinkle of a fallen spoon, we edged towards the terrace steps. Lulu took Frederick by the arm and pulled him to the Mercedes. ‘If the dew has fallen you'll have a damp ass, in you get.' And as she slammed the door she said to me, under her breath, ‘Next Thursday then? Two-ish suit you?'

Dottie and Arthur were chirruping away up to Florence and her mother, who were still standing by the table with Giles.

Arthur called out, ‘Next Thursday! Marine Land, Giles, okay? Be with us about ten-thirty. We'll get lunch there.' Giles shouted, ‘Great!'

I eased Lulu into her seat, shut her door carefully. ‘Fine. Two-ish.
My
way this time?' Laughing, and with a gloriously extravagant wave and a shout of ‘Thank you' echoing across the deserted square, she reversed, squealed around and drove in the dark, car radio blaring Air-Inter Jazz. ‘A really happy, happy evening, Will! Thank you.'

Dottie was smiling, eyes sparkling. ‘I do so love the little undercurrents, don't you? Irresistible.' She slammed her door, Arthur switched on his ignition and lights. ‘Thursday then? Bring the boy over about ten-thirty, as you heard. Not too early for you?' And they inched cautiously back, eased
away, and as they began to move down the hill Dottie leant out of her window. ‘There's a killer whale at Marine Land, and dolphins galore. No shrimps though.' She was laughing.

Arthur said, ‘Oh, come on, woman. Chatter, chatter.' They drove away, their rear lights bouncing over the cobbles, headlights raking the blind façades of the shuttered shops and houses.

Up on the terrace Eugène and Clotilde, accompanied by a girl I had never seen before, were starting to clear the table and douse the guttering candles with a little tin conical hat.

Walking Florence and Madame Prideaux back to II rue Émile Zola, Giles said, ‘You know, that was a very happy time. I am most content. Really very content. Did you like it? I am so glad you came, thank you.'

I had rehearsed him in the latter part of his speech, but not in the first. That was his own voluntary addition, and it pleased me because obviously he
was
pleased, and even in stilted French his happiness was apparent.

Madame Prideaux put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It was most kind of you to invite us to celebrate with you, Gilles. Did you get some good presents. From your mama, perhaps? It is sad she could not be with you, eh?'

Florence looked at me and smiled, remembering, I suppose, my outburst of joy when Helen had called once before during our first dinner together at La Maison Blanche, and when she had made it clear that I was now a ‘free man'. We crossed under a street-lamp to the little iron gate of No. II.