I think I did cry a little. I felt as though a huge dam of tension had been washed away and I was so relaxed that nothing really mattered. Étienne had moist eyes too
“I didn’t think I could be so happy,” he said quietly. “You have given me life.”
“I’m glad,” I said, “because I love you.”
I never stopped loving him.
In the morning when I cycled to the bread shop, I couldn’t stop grinning even though the rain drove into my face and soaked my clothes. Étienne had left my bed earlier to see to the cattle, and I, my body still throbbing and flushed had quickly washed and gone off to the village.
“Good morning, Miss Eleanor, said the baker, putting down his bowl of coffee. “A welcome rain has come at last.”
“Yes. Yes it has,” I replied. And not only that, I longed to say. I was made love to last night. Can you tell?
Grandmère could tell. “You look different today,” she said, taking the bread from me as I brought my purchases into the kitchen.
“Different?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I’m wet. My hair’s plastered to my head. That’s what makes me look different.”
She didn’t answer but when Étienne came in from the yard she watched us. Watched the look that passed between us and saw our faces soften and flush as we remembered the night that had just passed.
Lisette wandered in carrying the man and woman doll from the doll’s house. “Hello,” she said, “it’s raining.”
“Put those dolls down and have your breakfast,” said Grandmère, putting a bowl of hot chocolate in front of her. “Eleanor has brought pain au raisons this morning.”
Étienne drained his coffee bowl and with another quick look at me went out back to the yard. I ached to follow him. To touch his arm, or his neck or…I took a deep breath. I had to remain calm.
“Do you still like your doll’s house?” I asked Lisette.
“Oh yes,” she said, her hazel eyes shining. “I’ve played with it since I woke up.” She took a big gulp of her chocolate and tore eagerly into her pan au raisons.
Grandmère nodded approvingly. “That child has discovered an appetite,” she said. “I swear she’s grown in the last few weeks.”
I think she had both in size and emotionally. Certainly she didn’t seem so strange and secretive and having a friend in Claudine allowed her to be the child she should have been. Étienne came back in carrying a couple of letters. He looked worried and my heart lurched as he put them on the table. “The post boy brought these. They’re both for you,” he said and I know he felt as sick as I did.
“That one is from Jean Paul,” mumbled Lisette, her mouth full of bread. She pointed to one of the envelopes. “I’ve seen his writing on his school book.”
I looked at it. It was addressed simply ‘to Eleanor’, wrongly spelled and with no surname, then the name of the farm and the village.
“Goodness,” I exclaimed. “Why would he write to me?”
“I don’t know,” Étienne muttered. “Open it.”
Inside was a single piece of paper. It was thick, a mottled beige colour and looked like it had been torn from the back of an old book. Who’s book, I wondered because I knew that Jean Paul would never have had one in his possession.
“What does he say?” asked Grandmère, leaning over and trying to read the scrawling writing.
“He says,” I struggled to read the barely legible sentence. “He says… I am sorry. She made me.”
Grandmère snorted, “Well, we knew that, didn’t we?” She put a comforting hand on my shoulder while I turned the paper over to see if anything was written on the other side. There wasn’t.
“Knew what?” asked Lisette, wiping the chocolate ring from around her mouth. “What did we know?”
“This is nothing to do with you,” said Grandmère, swiftly. “Now, Lisette, if you’ve finished your breakfast, what about your chores? There’s a bowl in the pantry with scraps for the cats. Take it to the barn and then go into the garden and pick some parsley and thyme. And don’t pull out clumps like you did last time.”
“Yes, Grandmère.” The child left her little dolls on the table and went into the pantry.
Étienne was examining the envelope. “The postmark is Marseilles. He’s got all the way down there. Huh! So much for M. Hubert saying that they would catch him within the next few days.” He tapped the envelope against his chin for a moment, thinking before handing it to Grandmère. “I wonder…” he said.
“What?” She looked at him, frowning.
“Well, Marseilles. He could be trying to get on a ship or,” he paused again. “Or going Algeria.”
“Why Algeria?” I asked, surprised.
Étienne shrugged but Grandmère took the letter and the envelope out of his hands. “I think we should get rid of this, don’t you think, Étienne?” she said.
“Mm,” he nodded. “No point in giving Hubert any more information than is absolutely necessary. But it’s your letter, Eleanor. You decide.”
“Burn it,” I agreed.
Lisette came out of the pantry with the bowl of scraps just as Grandmère was putting the letter into the fire-box of the cooking range but she said nothing and went out into the yard.
I was examining the other letter. It was from Angers and I knew it was from M. Castres. With Étienne and Grandmère watching me I tore open the envelope and read the typed letter.
Dear Miss Gill, he had written.
You’ll be pleased to hear that I have contacted Mr Franklin and he and his family have agreed to give you a home for as long as is necessary. Mr Franklin is very concerned that the police will not let you leave the country and has asked to be kept informed.
The news from the hospital is not so good. Your mother is quite ill and the doctors say that she will have to be kept in for some time. Her diagnosis is septicaemia which is, I believe, a severe infection. I’m sure she is getting the best of care.
Your father is still in the Institute and there is no further news of him.
I have spoken to the Police Department and requested permission for you to travel home as soon as is possible but owing to the serious nature of the crime committed on M. Martin’s land, they have refused your departure. I will continue to act on your behalf.
Please telephone my office if I can be of any further help.
I read the letter out loud, translating as I went. I knew no translation for septicaemia but it seemed as though it was nearly the same word for they both nodded and then I read it again.
“Who is this Mr Franklin?” asked Étienne, frowning.
“He’s my friend’s father. He’s a solicitor. Very respectable.” I added that last bit because he was looking concerned. Maybe he thought if I would go with one older man I would go with another.
“Am I not respectable?” he whispered almost under his breath, hoping I think, that Grandmère wouldn’t hear.
“No,” I giggled. The news that the police wouldn’t let me go added to remembrance of last night was making me feel a bit light headed.
“Septicaemia,” mused Grandmère, she was deliberately not looking at Étienne and me. “Some of the men who came back from the wars had that. From the wounds, you know when they got dirt into them, I think. Maybe your mother got dirt into a wound.”
“Well, it could be, I suppose,” I agreed. I thought back to the cuts and scratches she was always getting on her hands. They often went septic but cleared up quite quickly. Maybe she’d had something bigger than a cut this time.
“It looks like you’ll be staying with us for some time yet.” Étienne turned to go back into the yard, “even until the grape harvest.”
“Oh,” I said, overjoyed and all thoughts of mother and her illness callously flew from my head, “I do hope so.”
I wasn’t alone with Étienne for the rest of that day except for five minutes in the vegetable garden when he kissed me, fiercely and pushed his hot hand down the back of my shorts.
“O
h,” I giggled and nearly dropped the basket of eggs I was carrying. “You mustn’t. Someone will see.”
“I don’t care,” he crooned, kissing me again. “I love you.”
“Do you?” I was breathless both from the kisses and the enormity of what he’d said. “Do you really love me?”
He stood back from me and pushing an unsteady hand through his thick dark hair, he gazed into my eyes. “Yes, I do,” he said and his voice sounded as though it was breaking. “Never doubt me in this, Eleanor Gill. I will love you until the day I die.”
For the rest of the morning Grandmère found tasks for me both in the kitchen and the dairy and then after lunch, when Grandmère went for her afternoon rest Lisette wanted me to play with her doll’s house.
“You look softer,” she said.
“What?” I laughed. “You mean I look sillier?”
“No.” Her little face was quite solemn. “You look like your edges are melting. Just a bit. It’s nice and pretty.”
I gave her a hug then and sat the dolls at the tiny dining room table with their miniature plates set out before them. The plates even had pretend food on them and there were little china cups and saucers. Each room in this house was full of furniture. Nothing had been stinted and it must have cost Étienne a fortune.
“Eleanor!” My name was being called.
“Don’t go,” grumbled Lisette, “we’re having such a nice time.”
“I must,” I said. “You come too.”
It was Luc, waiting in the kitchen for me and we strolled out across the bridge and wandered through the trees on the far bank. The rain had stopped but water still dripped from the branches, wetting my hair and shoulders. I didn’t mind, it was such a change from the days that had gone before when the only damp feeling on my head had been sweat. The air smelt sweet and fresh and even the river had lost some of its sludgy tang and was running faster and cleaner as though it had regained enthusiasm for life.
We walked towards the vineyard where I could see Étienne working at the top by the barn. He had been prevented by M. Hubert from continuing to demolish the grape barn or even going inside it but looking up I could see that he had a box of bottles in his arms. Those must have come from inside.
“I thought he wasn’t allowed in there,” said Luc.
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I lied. “But I don’t suppose it matters.”
He frowned. “I think it does. There will be evidence to collect. That way the detectives can get to the bottom of Mathilde’s death.”
“They were in an out of that barn for days,” I said and I couldn’t help letting my irritation show. “If there was anything to find, they’d have found it by now.”
“Have you heard any more from the police?” Luc asked as we walked through the undergrowth.
“No, nothing,” I said and then a thought came to me. “Luc. Why would somebody go to Algeria?”
“Algeria?” He stopped and stared at me. “What made you say that?”
Suddenly I felt as though I was giving too much away. “Oh, nothing,” I answered quickly. “It’s just something I read…in a book.”
“The headquarters of the Legion Étrangère is there,” Luc said and his eyes narrowed as though he was working out what I meant.
“Oh. The Foreign Legion, of course. Beau Geste. A book I took from the library.” I grinned at him and now it was his turn to look confused.
We had reached the vineyard and I cast an eye on the grapes. They were growing well, the overnight rain storm had plumped them up and they hung in glistening purple bunches from strong stalks. I spotted a stray tendril and moved to fasten it back on the wire.
Luc grinned. “You’re getting good at that,” he said. “It’s a pity you won’t be able to use this knowledge when you go home.”
“Mm,” I murmured. Being at home was something I was beginning to forget. My life was here now…with Étienne. “I’m looking forward to the grape harvest.”
“But that’s not for weeks yet. Surely you’ll be going back to England before then.” He took my arm. “What about school?”
I stared at him, perplexed. School? I hadn’t even thought about it. If I’d imagined my life at home it had been on the hill with Mother and Dada. I’d completely forgotten about school.
“Have you heard about your exam results?” Luc’s voice broke into my thoughts and I shook my head. The results would be out by now, and if I’d done well, I’d be going into the sixth form.
“What’s the date, Luc? D’you know?”
“25th August.”
“Oh,” I said. The letter telling me how I’d done in the exams would be at home, waiting for me and the new term would be starting in a couple of weeks. Everyone would be back at school, talking about the holidays and for once I would have something to say. Suzy would be showing off her tan, her new watch, her new hairstyle and telling everybody who would listen how marvellous her time in Paris had been. “Chantal and I will be friends forever,” she would say, “and Mummy and Daddy have been invited there for the weekend to go to the races. Oh, the family is so smart.” Then she would turn to me and ask, “whatever happened to you?”
I gazed at Luc’s concerned face. The sun had lightened a streak in the front of his brown hair and he looked younger and more of a schoolboy than I remembered. He was such a nice person and such a good friend but…I transferred my gaze up to the grape barn where Étienne was still carrying bottles out and stacking them up beside the dark patch where he had had the bonfire… “I don’t know about my exam results,” I said, absently, yearning to climb up between the vines and be close to Étienne. “But I can’t go home yet, I had a letter from the British Consul. He said the police insist I stay here.”
“What?” Luc shook his head. “That’s just silly.” He thought for a moment and then said, “I’m surprised the Consul hasn’t got you a lawyer, after all, no one could possibly suspect you, whereas…he glanced up to the grape barn, “M. Martin must…
He was interrupted. “My Papa bought me a doll’s house.” Lisette had crept up behind us and was now hanging onto my hand. “When we were in Chinon yesterday.”
“So you’ll be the same as Claudine, now,” Luc said, rapidly changing the subject and smiling down at her.
“Yes, I will. And my doll’s house has little people in it. A papa and a maman and a little boy and a little girl. I will give them names.” She looked up to where Étienne was dragging an old basket press out of the barn. “I’m going to see my Papa now. Bye.”
I watched her go, skipping through the row of vines, and wondered how much of the conversation she’d heard. I often wondered how much of all our conversations she heard and for the first time I realised that she might know more about Mathilde’s death than she had said.
“She’s happy,” Luc said, watching her too.
I nodded, then thought of what he’d said about her father, the German officer. “Luc,” I said slowly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“And will you tell me the truth?”
He shrugged. “If I can.”
“Then… what happened to Lisette’s father?”
He was quiet for a moment then he said, “the story is that he deserted. A few days before the Americans liberated us in 1944, he simply disappeared, leaving all his belongings, his car and apparently, the photograph of his wife and son.”
He sighed. “The thing was that nobody believed it. They knew Étienne was in the area, he and Robert Brissac were preparing the way for the Allied advance, and everybody was certain that Étienne had killed him and hidden his body. My father says that the whole village was terrified of reprisals because the Germans would shoot anyone who attacked their soldiers. Two days later the American army swept into the village and the Germans were on the run. But Major Bergmann had gone and Mathilde was left alone, entirely despised and unprotected.”
I felt suddenly cold. Poor Lisette, I thought. How long would it be before some
one told her that the man she thought was her father had killed her real one. I looked up to the barn and saw her sitting on the ground beside the growing pile of boxes that Étienne was dragging out. I knew she’d be chattering and he wouldn’t be listening but I also knew that they were alright with each other.
“I don’t believe Étienne killed the German officer,” I said.
“I do,” Luc replied.
Chapter 22
Those were golden days that followed. The warm weather had returned, every day sunny but not oppressively hot as it had been before and we were all happy.
Grandmère went about her tasks with a secret smile on her face, cooking delicious meals and teaching me how to make wonderfully aromatic tomato sauces, which we bottled up ready for the winter. We also dried tomatoes and mushrooms and bottled peaches and plums so that the pantry shelves groaned with a multitude of produce.
I made my first butter, hard work at the churn but the results were worth it and when I proudly brought it in from the dairy and lay it on the cold marble shelf in the pantry, Grandmère was the first to taste it.
“A little too wet, perhaps and too little salty,” she pronounced. “But good for a first effort. You’re a quick learner, Eleanor.” And we grinned at each other, as companionable as a mother and daughter should be. She knew about Étienne and me and I know she approved. She never commented on the hours we spent together, lying on the river bank and if she saw anything on my bed sheets, nothing was said. More than once she stopped Lisette from following me when I wandered out the hay barn to find Étienne.
I loved lying on the sweet smelling hay with him lying beside me. I would watch the birds flying in and out through the little holes in the roof, cheeping, fluttering and so alive. I would gaze at the pin pricks of sunlight which beamed through the holes, slim pencils of light, illuminating the dusty yellow hay.
This was the place where I’d first been utterly entranced by Étienne. I’d thought how foreign he looked, how different from the pale English men whom I met at home, our neighbours, shop keepers or the man who sold Mother the coley. I couldn’t imagine Jed Winstanley stripping to the waist to fork over the hay and the very idea of his crabby gaunt body made me giggle as I lay in the crook of Étienne’s arm.
When I Was Young Page 24