by Ann Bridge
‘Oh, it’s just the Colorado beetles’ Mr. Stansted said—his wife was still in the Bureau de Poste buying stamps. ‘Listen—can you hear them?’ he said, following her down the little path. ‘You can if your ears are good.’
Julia’s ears were good; when she reached the point where the living potato-plants still stood she saw that they were covered with black-and-yellow insects, rather like out-size lady-birds; and from the two or three infected rows came a very faint, but quite audible, rustling sound.
‘Goodness! Is that them munching?’ she asked, horrified, watching the creatures swarming on every leaf and small stem.
‘Yes.’
‘How methodical they are! Why don’t they eat everywhere at once?’ The lower rows of potatoes were untouched, she noticed.
‘Oh, they always eat like that: work straight across a patch, from one side to the other—finish a row or two, and move on to the next.’
‘But can’t people spray them, or use a flame-thrower or something?’ Julia, familiar with Connaught, where potatoes are still the staple diet, was appalled by the sight of this destruction.
‘They haven’t got round to that yet, here’ Mr. Stansted replied. ‘It is quite frightful, of course.’
‘Well, I don’t wonder the Irish make such a fuss about importing plants, even from England’ Julia said, walking back and reseating herself on the sunny bench. ‘This really is something to be afraid of.’ Just then she got her call to Lady Heriot, and gave the time of Luzia’s train. ‘It’s most good of you to have her met—I do hope it won’t be inconvenient.’
‘My dear, if she’s as beautiful as you say the boys will be thrilled’ Lady Heriot said cheerfully. ‘How do you find Larége?’
‘Entrancing’ Julia said, and rang off.
The following day the Stansteds asked the Monniers in for drinks. ‘They’re nice neighbours, and your husband knows them—him, anyhow’ Mrs. Stansted explained. Julia was interested to meet any friend of Philip’s, and particularly a member of the French Resistance—in all her rather varied experience she had never encountered this particular product of World War II. The Monniers proved to be complete charmers, in quite different ways. She was fair, petite, and mostly rather quiet—when she did throw a remark into the conversation it was sharply astute, even cassant; Monnier however was a terrific talker, and also a highly intelligent one—Julia learned more about the French political set-up from an hour with him than from scores of articles by ‘Special Correspondents’ in the English press. He had the peculiar French gift of acute appreciation of facts, combined with brief and lucid expression—Julia enjoyed him. There was a lot about the O.A.S., and the inner reasons for their antipathy to General de Gaulle; Julia held her hand over this—she would like, sometime, to get Monnier alone, and go into it more thoroughly, but she was taking no risks with the Stansteds, whom after all she barely knew.
Little Mme. Monnier was more practical. After taking an appraising look at Julia’s figure, she found occasion to lead her out onto the gravelled terrace, and like Lady Heriot asked when the baby was due?
‘In three months’ time.’
‘Tiens! I should have said sooner. Is it jumelles?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Julia said, startled by the idea of twins.
‘You had no radio-photograph taken?’
‘No. Can one?’
‘Of course—but here, not nearer than at Bordeaux. You have a car?’
‘No. no car,’ Julia replie—she was beginning to feel, a little gloomily, that she and Philip between them were rather falling down on this business of maternity. Good Madame Monnier was obviously troubled too.
‘Do you think you will be able to vous tirer d’affaire? One can get no help, here in Larége; you will not be alone, I hope?’
Julia said No—she had a friend coming on Tuesday, who would stay with her till she returned to England; in reply to the sensible little French-woman’s rather persistent enquiries, she was obliged to say who the friend was.
‘Ah! Espérons. Now les Stansted leave early on Monday, I know; I shall come down the moment after breakfast to give you a little help. On no account go up to empty la poubelle, or to fetch water—I do this for you.’
But on their way home Mme. Monnier broke out to her husband with vigour. ‘I always knew the English are mad, but really, for this Jimmison, your so dear friend, to send his wife up to Larége!—with twins impending, and no car! This is completely crazy.’
Monnier, with masculine calm, asked if she knew definitely that it was to be twins?
‘Not certainly—they have not even had an X-ray! But you saw her shape!—I am positive that it will be twins. And who is to be her companion, and help her?—the daughter of a Portuguese Duke! Of what use will she be, I ask you?’
In fact Luzia was of a great deal of use, after the Heriot twins had driven her up on the Tuesday, in the late afternoon; they all had coffee out by the spring, a laughing group of youth, which somehow filled Julia with delight—all so good to look at, so happy, so well-mannered, so enjoying one another. But when the twins, with obvious reluctance to part from Luzia, had gone the girl carried the coffee-tray back to the house, asking on the way—‘Who brought this out?’
‘I did.’
‘Well, so you do not do again. Carrying trays!—this is uma loucura’ (an idiocy.) ‘While I am with you, I do this for you.’ Luzia washed up the coffee-things, and insisted on being shown the store-cupboards, and the working of the three stoves; she was immensely amused by the low-doored bathroom in the former pig-sty. ‘How one sees this as it was when a farm; the cattle stalled, and munching—where now we sit, and cook, and eat. But it is quite charming—my Father would like it.’
She then hunted Julia upstairs, to lie down and rest—her own room was next to Julia’s, also opening off the sitting-room on the first floor; the twins had taken her luggage to it.
‘Now rest—I prepare supper.’
Julia was once again quite glad to rest, but wondered what on earth they would get to eat under Luzia’s preparation? She was agreeably surprised. There was a superb soupe à l’oignon, complete with cheese and toast thrown into it, followed by a delicious omelette, salad, and some magnificent peaches. ‘I brought these from home’ the girl said—‘With Papa’s love.’
‘Luzia, I had no idea that you could cook’ Julia said, as they sat drinking their coffee on the sofa under the big window, in the fading light.
‘Oh, I love doing it!—I made the chef teach me. Since I am older I can do more what I like—much more than when you directed me!’
Julia laughed.
‘Yes; but now, also, I have more control over Tia Francisca’ the girl explained airily. Julia understood. She had often tried to stand between her pupil and the eccentricities of the widowed Duke’s spinster sister, who kept house for him, in her rather dotty and rambling fashion, after his wife’s death—she was glad to think of Luzia at last ‘controlling’ her tedious Aunt.
A few evenings later they were drinking sherry out on the tiny terrace with the Monniers when they heard a car pull up, reverse, and switch off at the car-turn.
‘Tiens! Vous avez des visites’ said Madame Monnier—and a few moments later Colin Monro, carrying a knapsack, stumbled down the steep steps and almost fell into the little company.
‘I happened to be near here, so I thought I would look you up. Can you give me a bed?’ he asked.
‘Darling, of course. How lovely to see you’ Julia said, rising to give her cousin a kiss—then she made the introductions.
‘Could I have a wash?’ Colin asked the moment these were over.
‘Yes, Luzia, would you show my cousin the top bathroom?— and he will be in the room over mine, so he can take up his things now. Take up the Belling, dear, and put it in the bed, will you?’
‘What is this, the Belling?’ Mme. Monnier asked, when Luzia had taken Colin indoors.
‘Oh, the most invaluable gadget! It’s an electric bed-warmer,
a sort of round metal thing; you put it in the bed, standing upright, and plug in and switch on; and it airs not only the mattresses but the bed-clothes—no propping mattresses against radiators! I brought one out with me.’
‘I should very much like to see this’ Mme. Monnier said. ‘When one comes to a house in the mountains, especially in winter, to get the beds dry is the problem of problems!’
‘You shall, sometime. Do have another sherry, Madame.’
When Colin presently rejoined them Julia noticed that Monnier looked rather hard at him; after some general conversation—‘You have business at Lacq?’ he asked the young Englishman.
‘Good God, no! Just cruising around.’ He turned rather abruptly to Julia and asked if she knew that lovely Baroque Church in Bordeaux, with the altar standing free, and its great supporting candlesticks, like bunches of gilded flowers? Julia didn’t; the Monniers did, and they peacefully discussed ecclesiastical architecture in Bordeaux till they took their leave.
‘Why was he so nosey about me and Lacq?’ Colin asked, when they had gone—Luzia had stated that she had made Colin’s bed, and was now going to see to the supper.
‘No idea. He’s a friend of Philip’s—my Philip’s; he was in the Resistance.’
Colin grunted.
‘Have you business at Lacq?’ Julia asked.
‘No. It’s just one of a number of places to keep an eye on—sabotage there could be a frightful thing.’
‘Don’t the French keep an eye themselves, so?’
‘After their fashion. It’s always as well for someone to keep an eye on the French, and their eye-keeping’ Colin said, with his still-youthful grin.
They had another lovely supper. But after it Luzia began making some very practical house-keeperly demands of her hostess: they must have a joint of meat, a chicken, more eggs, and vegetables, especially salad—‘but onions too. How can one cook without onions?
‘Oh dear, the veg-van came yesterday, and the meat-van won’t come till Tuesday—I quite forgot to get any more’ Julia said. ‘How stupid of me.’
‘Is there no place to which one can drive, and buy food?—since Monsieur Monnro has a car?’ Luzia asked. ‘Pau, perhaps?’
‘No—one can get everything in the market at Ste.-Marie des Pélérins’ Colin replied at once. ‘We’ll go down there tomorrow and stock up.’
They did this. St. Mary of the Pilgrims owes its charming name to the fact that it was one of the staging-posts on the long route across France from Germany and Italy to Santiago de Compostella in Spain, St. James’s famous shrine. And the town is as charming as its name. Tall old houses overhang the Gave, the clear green river; there are shaded cafés to sit and drink in, and a crowded, gay, noisy market, its stalls bordering the sunny streets—in summer these are very hot, as Julia found when she and Luzia went to buy their meat, and bargain for their chicken, and the salads and courgettes. Besides a joint of veal Luzia wanted steaks, and was extremely fussy about getting these cut exactly right—the right way of the grain, the right thickness. ‘I want to make you a dish!’ The butcher was impressed by her firmness, as the French always are by any real expertise; he ended by doing exactly as she asked, and charging less than he had originally demanded. Colin, tagging along, carried the parcels. But Luzia, their main marketing done, wanted to buy some of the local espadrilles—red, with white embroidery on the toes—and some of the pretty peasant head-scarves of the district; as Julia was feeling the heat they took her to the inn recommended by the Stansteds, parked her and their purchases there, and went off to shop again till lunch—this Colin ordered in advance; he was familiar with French country inns.
Julia was glad to sit in the cool darkened room, its shutters drawn against the sun—oh, how tiresome this baby-weakness was! Sipping a fine à l’eau she looked through her shopping-list again. Oh dear, they had forgotten the rice and the onions—but it was too hot to toil out again and get them; she sat and read Le Sud-Ouest, the local newspaper, which was agreeably full of murders, crimes passionels, and dramatic accidents. When the others reurned she mentioned this omission—‘We’ll get them on the way home’ Colin said.
They ate a huge, delicious lunch of French provincial food; it was hotter in the salle-à-manger, close to the kitchen; Julia fanned herself with the Sud-Ouest. ‘You are tired’ Luzia said, concerned.
‘No, only hot. You’d be hot if you had a huge sort of muff attached to your front’ Julia replied. ‘I think babies must have some sort of central heating in their systems.’
Next day Colin’s car came in handy again. Julia, having examined overnight the supply of wine left by the Stansteds under the big walnut table, decided that they had better get some more sherry—‘Mrs. S. said one could get it in a place called Haca. Where is Haca?’
‘Jaca is just across the Pass’ her cousin told her. ‘We’d better take a couple of bombonnes; it comes cheaper out of the cask. I expect they’ve got some—’ he delved about behind the vast walnut table, which so oddly served as a sort of wine-cellar. ‘Yes, here we are’ he said, emerging with two enormous balloon-like glass containers, thinly covered with wicker-work. ‘These each hold twelve litres—twenty-four litres should last you for a week or two!’
‘We can’t pour out of those huge things’ Julia objected.
‘No—I’ll bottle it when we bring it back. Scores of empties!—and I see they’ve got a corking machine. Sensible people, your tenants.’
‘Have you got all the papers for going into Spain with the car?’ Julia asked. ‘Luzia and I have got Spanish visas—Philip said we’d better.’
‘Lord yes!—I was in Pamplona last week.’
‘Oh. What were you keeping an eye on there?’
‘You mind your own business!’ her cousin growled—and then laughed.
They drove down the hairpin bends to the main road, and up it to the Grandpont Pass; crossed the frontier smoothly—though with the usual Franco-Spanish delays—and ran down into Jaca. There they first filled the two bombonnes at a wine-merchant’s, for a fantastically low price—Julia insisted on tasting sherry from several casks before she decided on one—and then went and ate a Spanish provincial lunch at the local inn; this was more impregnated with both oil and garlic than their meal at Ste. Marie des Pèlèrins the previous day, but it was good, and they all ate with relish. Julia prudently insisted on calling back at the wine-merchant’s to get a supply of new corks—‘No more use bottling new wine with old corks than putting new wine into old bottles’ she observed as they drove home.
On their return Luzia was busy rinsing out bottles and setting them to drain on the terrace in the sun, Colin trying to master the intricacies of the corking-machine, and Julia slicing cabbage, onions, and some raw smoked ham to make a garbure, when they heard a horn sounding loudly at the car-turn. Julia threw her vegetables into a saucepan of water and set it on the Buta-gaz stove; she was still washing her hands when the Heriot twins walked in—not in the least to her surprise. She introduced them to Colin—‘One is Nick and one is Dick, but it doesn’t matter which is which, because you’ll never be able to tell them apart.’ They all went out and had sherry by the spring, from one of the newly-corked bottles.
‘I say, where did you get this? It is much better than the Stansted’s stuff’ one twin observed.
‘We fetched it from Jaca today—my cousin chose it’ Colin said, with a certain pride. ‘She cares about her wine.’
But while checking on the supply of sherry the previous evening, Julia had noticed that the vin de table was not very abundant—she seized the opportunity of the twins’ presence to consult them.
‘Nick—or Dick—do you know the name of that farm, or vine-yard, that sells wine? Someone told us you would.’
Oh yes, the twins replied; they knew a farmer who sold very decent vin ordinaire. ‘And what is more, I fancy he still has some of last years’ left, because we went over the other day and got a supply for His Lordship,’ one twin said—Julia was in time to
become familiar with this odd way of referring to their parents, habitual to the young Heriots. ‘It was rather extra good. Tell you what—if you care to come and get some tomorrow or the day after, we could meet in Ste. Marie and take you on; the place is a bit tricky to find, and the old man talks frightfully thick Béarnais!
Julia gratefully accepted this offer. ‘But better the day after, I think; that will give us more time to wash the bottles.’
‘And for you to rest’ Luzia put in. ‘Two days you are always on the road.’
‘We can wash bottles now’ the twins said in chorus—and wash them they did, with Luzia; the sounds of their laughter, and her objurgations of their carelessness, came out through the open window over the sink.
‘What fun the young are’ Julia said smiling, relaxed in her garden chair.
‘If you ask me, this expedition is entirely in aid of their seeing a bit more of Luzia’ Colin said.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it! That’s what brought them up today, for sure—but we do need more wine, and you and I are being saved the bother of bottle-washing.’
When the twins came out to say Goodbye Julia asked if they should take bombonnes to the farm?
‘No, the old fellow sells it in small barrels, which one returns later’ one twin said. ‘But we can do that for you. We’ll come up and help to bottle too, if you like.’
When they had left Colin asked if he could have sandwiches got ready that evening—he wanted to walk next day, and make an early start. Luzia did this for him, grumbling a little at the crusty bread—‘Proper sandwiches one cannot make; but here is buttered bread, and cold chicken, and cheese. Will this suffice?’