I was puzzled. Why would the Allies have attacked a Chateau in the middle of a mediaeval town? As far as I knew the only targets we attacked in France were those occupied by the Germans, troop emplacements or munitions factories.
“Was it bombed?” I asked.
“Well, yes.” Étienne grinned. “The RAF did have a go in 1944. But it blew up a little before then.”
I leant forward to look beyond Grandmère to Étienne. He was whistling a little tune and tapping his hands in time on the steering wheel. His good humour had returned.
“Blew up?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Part of it, anyway. The Nazis stored arms in it. We had to get rid of them.”
I sat heavily back on my metal seat. Lisette had dropped off to sleep with her head pushed against my neck and her arm draped over my shoulder. For once colour had come into her cheeks.
I considered Étienne’s words. We had to get rid of them? That’s what he’d said and sneaking another look at his tanned face, so open and friendly I could hardly believe what I was now suspecting. But deep down I knew. I knew what he’d done in the war.
No wonder, I thought, that he hated the Germans. He must have been in the Resistance and fought a most dangerous and dirty war. He would have had total belief in the evil of the occupation and put aside all compassion for the enemy. That’s why he was so angry when M. d’Amboise thought that some of the ordinary German soldiers hadn’t been so bad.
I wanted to ask more. About his exploits, his compatriots, had he killed anyone? And had he been captured? Madame d’Amboise had said he’d ‘had it worse than most’. What did she mean?
I was intrigued and impressed at the same time and excitedly opened my mouth to ask him but I could feel Grandmère twitching beside me and glancing round her I saw Étienne’s face set and closed again and thought better of it. Settling in my seat with my arm around Lisette I let the questions tumble around unasked in my head. Maybe another opportunity would come but really, and here I gave myself a little shake, it was none of my business.
We were on the outskirts of the city and I could see the twin spires of the Cathedral in the distance and we were soon driving alongside the castle. Now I gave myself over to looking outside and forgot about Étienne. Strange how young people always live for the moment.
It was a lovely day and by mid afternoon I was exhausted. We’d visited all the sights, eaten Grandmère’s packed lunch in the park beside the river and afterwards I played chase with Lisette between the beds of petunias and lilies until both she and I had pink faces.
“Enough,” said Grandmère sharply after a while. “You’re giving me a headache.”
We weren’t but she always said it and I learnt like Lisette to ignore the reproof. Étienne who’d wandered off to watch the fishermen on the bridge came back. “Didn’t you tell me you want to do some shopping?” he asked.
We went back up hill to the centre of the city and while Grandmère and Étienne settled themselves at a pavement café, Lisette, who would not let go of my hand, and I went to see what we could find.
When we came back Étienne ordered citron pressés for us. He was drinking beer and Grandmère sipped at a small coffee.
“Eleanor bought presents for her Maman and Papa,” said Lisette. “Lovely presents.”
I thought I had too. I’d found a green silk scarf for Mother with pictures of the Cathedral and the Castle and for Dada a lovely tin box with a map of the Loire valley on the lid. The box contained chocolate liqueurs which I thought he’d enjoy.
“This is for you, Grandmère,” I said, handing over a small package. I felt very shy about giving her something but she had been kind to me and what else was I to spend my money on?
“A gift?” Grandmère looked surprised. “No, no Eleanor I don’t need a present from you.”
“But I want to give you something,” I said.
“Take it, take it.” Lisette hopped from one foot to the other. “I helped to chose.”
With a frown Grandmère carefully opened the tissue paper and drew out the pair of black lace gloves I’d seen in the shop where I bought Mother’s scarf.
“For Sunday. To wear to church.” I had been as excited as Lisette but in the ensuing silence I began to worry. Maybe I’d been too familiar in giving this woman, whom I’d only known for ten days, a gift and I bit my lip anxiously. Lisette’s little hand crept back into mine and I could feel the slight tremor fleeting through her.
It seemed like hours but of course was only moments before Grandmère looked up and I saw with relief her rare smile.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” she said and leaning over kissed me on each cheek.
“Oh!” If I’d felt shy before it was nothing to how I felt now. I was rarely kissed. Mother gave me a peck at the station before this journey but I couldn’t remember when she’d kissed me before. And Dada, well, he didn’t touch anyone.
Lisette laughed. “I knew you’d like them,” she warbled in her little bird voice and Grandmère smiled at her too and grabbing hold of her, retied the green ribbon in her wispy brown hair and pulled up her socks. It was the first time I’d seen her pay real attention to the little girl and I could see that Lisette enjoyed the rather rough handling.
“Eleanor bought me bon-bons, look.” The child held up a paper bag of sweets and offered them to Grandmère and to Étienne.
“Ah.” Étienne put one of the icing sugar sweets in his mouth. “So my present is a bon-bon?”
I flushed. “I didn’t know what to buy you.”
He grinned. “I’m joking. I don’t need a gift. You are a gift. You make us laugh.”
I thought about that remark on the way home and decided that it was meant kindly. They didn’t think I was just a silly girl. They liked me and that was good. I liked them.
We sat as before in the front of the van rattling along the dusty lanes with Lisette tiredly quiet on my knee and Grandmère thoughtful beside me. Étienne whistled softly as he dragged the steering wheel left and right, cheerful now and able to shout abuse at other drivers in his old way.
Mathilde and Jean Paul hadn’t been mentioned once all day. It was almost as if they didn’t exist, that I had dreamt them up and that we four in the car were the only family at Riverain. But the closer we got to the farm the more my mood lowered.
I think it was the same for all of us. Étienne had stopped whistling and when I looked at Grandmère she looked back at me with a an odd, uncomfortable expression.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“A bit.”
“Étienne will take you fishing after supper, if you like. He promised, didn’t he?”
I nodded and looked beyond her to her son. He was grinning again. “Yes, Miss Eleanor, ma mère teaches cooking, I teach fishing.”
Chapter 9
They were there at supper, in their usual places, smirking at each other. Neither Mathilde nor Jean Paul asked about the day out but in a way I was glad. Their voices would have spoilt what was for me the best day I had ever spent.
The pea soup and ham omelettes were eaten in near silence and even Lisette’s chattering was sporadic and the little girl’s eyelids drooped with tiredness. I hugged the experience of the day close and found myself smiling as I ate my omelette and helped myself to salad. I looked up to see Jean Paul staring at me and I left the smile on my face hoping to encourage him to be more friendly but he quickly looked back at his food as he shovelled the rest of it into his mouth.
“Did you feed the calves?” Étienne’s voice sounded unnaturally sharp and I slid my eyes sideways to get a quick look at him. He had the jug of wine in his hand and was pouring himself another glass.
Jean Paul nodded. “Yes.”
“What else?”
There was an awkward silence before Jean Paul shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Étienne dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. “Nothing?”
The calm atmosphere in the dining room wa
s deteriorating and from the corner of my eye I could see Étienne’s fist bunching. I knew that any minute he would explode with rage.
“Has everyone finished?” Grandmère’s cool voice cut through the darkening mood and eager to be out of the room I stood up and started to clear the plates. Mathilde stood up too and after the slightest pause picked up her plate and pushed it into my hand. It was so quickly and so meanly done that I had to juggle with the two I was already holding. For a moment I thought I would drop them all but Étienne with an exclamation of annoyance reached out his large hand and covering mine, held the pretty pink and white dinner plates securely.
“Thank you,” I said and waited while he slowly released my fingers. His hand was warm and slightly damp and left mine the same.
“Sorry.” I was upset that I’d annoyed him and knew that my cheeks were red when I lifted my eyes to his.
“It was not your fault,” he muttered. “It was…” The rest of the sentence was left unsaid and I was grateful; it allowed me to calm down.
Mathilde had already left the room but when I turned with the plates in my hand ready to take them to the kitchen I met Grandmère’s calculating eye.
Later when Lisette had drifted off to bed and Jean Paul had disappeared to wherever he went in the evenings I lingered in the kitchen with Grandmère. She was doing her usual preparation for tomorrow’s meal while I washed the dishes, in the way she had taught me, soapy water in one sink and clean rinse in the other. I was waiting for her to go into the little parlour. Surprisingly, I wasn’t tired at all, rather I felt exhilarated as though my relationship with her and Étienne and even Lisette had moved onto a more intimate plane. I hoped she would tell my fortune again.
“Étienne will be waiting for you on the bridge.” Grandmère spoke over her shoulder. “He’s taken a spare rod for you.”
“Oh, I forgot.” I hadn’t really but now I felt nervous. At dinner Étienne had been angry and maybe a little drunk and somehow that casual remark about teaching me to fish had taken on an importance.
“It’s very hot this evening,” I said, “will it still be alright for fishing?”
“Of course.” Grandmère turned round to face me and gesturing with a wooden spoon, pointed towards the door. “Off you go.”
The pastel moon was rising in a lilac coloured sky. The sun had disappeared behind the vineyard hill but it wasn’t properly dark yet and I wondered how one could fish at night. I supposed one did it by moonlight and judging by the clear unclouded sky it would be a very bright night.
Étienne was standing in the middle of the bridge, his rod and line cast over the river. He was quiet this evening, no whistling or humming and the only sound was the occasional last twitter from the finches in the alders as they settled for the night. In the distance a dog was barking but here on the river it was all still and utterly peaceful.
“Hello,” I said, setting a foot on the bridge.
“Come here, Eleanor” he ordered. “I have your fishing rod ready.”
I noticed that he no longer addressed me as ‘miss’ Eleanor. Could I call him Étienne instead of M. Martin? I didn’t dare.
“Come on,” he urged as I lingered. “This is for you.”
That night I learned to cast a line and caught my first fish but that was not all I learned. I learned how to kiss a man and more importantly how to let him kiss me.
“I’ll be no good,” I said taking the fishing rod in my hand and watching as Étienne baited the hook. “It’s really a waste of time.”
“No it isn’t.” He looked down into my face, his eyes serious. “You have to try everything.”
At first I couldn’t get the hang of casting the line. The hook landed on the bank, in the overhanging branches and even, embarrassingly, clattered stupidly beside me on the bridge.
“I’m hopeless,” I wailed.
“No. You are learning.” Étienne reeled in the line, checked the fly and putting a hand on my shoulder urged me to move further along the bridge.
“I must check the railing there,” he said looking back to where we’d been standing. “It’s loose. Might be dangerous. Now, Eleanor, try again.”
We were close to the far bank in the shadow of the overhanging willows and it was almost too dark to see. I heard a bird squawking quietly up river and small animals rustled purposefully in the undergrowth and I began to lose sense of space. It was as if we were part of the landscape, as natural as the trees and the water and we were fading into it. We had become river creatures and so it was no real surprise when suddenly I got the hang of casting a line. I swished the rod and the line flew gently away, snaking in a low quivering arc until it landed softly onto the river and was taken into the flow.
“Good.” Étienne’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Very good.”
It was luck, of course when immediately a small tug on the line indicated a catch. “Oh” I gasped and my hand holding the rod shook with excitement. “I’ve caught something. It’s pulling.”
“Careful.” Étienne put his hand over mine to hold the rod steady. “Now. Slowly reel in.”
My fish, it was a trout, was landed and curled and struggled on the bridge, silvery in the moonlight while I stood with the wooden mallet in my hand. “Hit it,” urged Étienne. “It’s suffering.”
So that night I killed a fish and after a first haltering revulsion of the act of murder thought no more about it.
“I caught a fish!” I looked up into Étienne’s amused brown eyes. “I actually caught a fish.”
“You did. Well done.”
He put out a hand, maybe I thought to shake mine in congratulations and I moved closer to him. I was grinning and felt utterly elated with my success. I had had a wonderful day and it had culminated in this achievement. Why had I been so worried about going out this evening?
“Eleanor.” Étienne’s voice sounded throaty and unsure and as my grin faded his proffered hand moved away from mine and touched me on the neck.
“You are so young,” he muttered. “So…unused.”
I could feel myself trembling. Something was happening, something different. I should turn and go back across the bridge to the kitchen and to Grandmère where I would be safe.
But I didn’t. Instead I turned my face up to Étienne’s and welcomed his mouth pressing onto my lips and his arms crushing me into his body. Unlike my little silvery fish I didn’t struggle. Why would I when his very touch sent thrills of undreamt of pleasure through me? I wasn’t even merely unresisting, rather I melted my body into his and put my own arms around his shoulders. I wanted this so much.
He broke away. “I am sorry,” he muttered. “That was wrong.”
I nodded. My lips felt swollen but when I licked them I could taste him and my whole body quivered from his touch. When I got to my room I would look in the mirror and see if I could find the imprint of his hands. I so hoped I would.
“You are so young and so very lovely, Eleanor. I could not resist.”
He should have resisted, I suppose. He was an adult, much older than me and married. These days we would say that he had a duty of care towards me, in loco parentis but then he was so far removed from any idea I had of a parent. In my eyes he was simply Étienne and I was spellbound.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said still tasting him. “I am not…” here I searched for the word, “I am not offended.” I wasn’t offended. From what I’d seen he didn’t get much comfort in life. Mathilde wasn’t a loving wife and Jean Paul and even little Lisette existed only to irritate him. I knew what it felt like to be unloved and if he needed to kiss me then he could.
“I liked you kissing me,” I added blushing with sudden shyness. “It’s the first time anyone has ever kissed me.”
He stared at me then, frowning and nervously biting his lip. “You have not a boyfriend in England?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“I have a wife. It is wrong of me to kiss you.”
I said nothing. I knew it was wro
ng. My literary heroines had known it was wrong but they had kissed hadn’t they? Anna and Emma and certainly Becky Sharp. The girls in school talked all the time about boyfriends. Was this what they meant? Did they experience what I had just experienced? Had they been overwhelmed? A small triumphant thought shot into my head. Would I tell Suzy?
Étienne turned and looked back at the house. A light shone in the kitchen and from one of the upstairs rooms but otherwise all was quiet and still. A streak of cloud had slowly covered the moon and now we were in darkness. I felt that we were alone in the world so that when Étienne took me in his arms again I knew that it was the perfect thing to do.
We kissed, pressing our lips together at first slowly then with more urgency and I let him force my mouth open and explore it with his tongue. His arms pulled me closer so that I could feel the length of his body while I lifted my hand to his hair. My fingers threaded through his black curls and I found myself pushing his head harder onto my lips until I felt bruised and eaten up. How long we would have stayed there I don’t know. Grandmère’s voice called from the kitchen door and broke the spell.
“Étienne, Eleanor. It is late. Come inside now.”
Did she notice my bruised lips? I don’t know but to me they stung and throbbed and I couldn’t resist putting a finger up to feel them.
“It’s late. You must go to bed now.” She didn’t look at me but bustled into the larder with a clafoutis which she’d just taken from the oven
“Yes,” I said and taking a glass of water walked up the little back stairs to my room. She hasn’t asked me about the fish, I thought and I wondered what had become of my catch. Would Étienne throw it back in the river? After all one little trout would barely make a meal.
I undressed slowly and looked at my body in the oval mirror that fronted the carved wardrobe. My face, arms and legs were tanned but the rest was white; the small girlish breasts, the flat, almost hollow belly and turning slowly, the equally flat boyish backside. I let my eyes travel up to my back and there they were. Slight red marks where Étienne had grasped me so tightly.
When I Was Young Page 11