“Papa was tickling Eleanor, on the ground,” Lisette squeaked happily. Grandmère raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing while Lisette chattered on, “then he tickled me. I laughed so hard.”
“Well, go and have a wash, then you can pick some herbs for me. I want, for this chicken, um… tarragon and parsley. I showed you were they were.”
“Yes, I know and I’ll be careful when I pick them.”
The child danced away and I ran up the back stairs to wash my hands and brush down my shirt. When I came back into the kitchen, Grandmère had the bowls and eggs ready on the table for me and I made meringue.
“We’ve been invited to the d’Amboise’s this evening after supper,” she said. Then, she added, perhaps rather proudly, “our friends are sticking by us.”
It seemed a strange thing to say and then I remembered Mathilde’s murder. I wondered vaguely why I never thought about it and why we were all so happy, but only briefly and even when we were all sitting around Edith d’Amboise’s table later on, the subject was hardly mentioned until we were ready to leave.
“You look very well, Eleanor,” said Madame d’Amboise when we arrived at their house. I was wearing my new dress and with my tan and my general air of happiness, the sweet pea colours of the fabric seemed to lighten any room I was in. “Yes indeed,” Edith repeated. “Doesn’t she, Luc?”
“Yes,” he nodded, blushing and shifting the book he was carrying from hand to hand. He looked embarrassed and suddenly I realised that our friendship was deeper on his part than on mine. Madame d’Amboise realised it too and smiling, pushed me forward into their dining room where I was invited to sit next to Luc. I looked across the lace covered table to Étienne and saw that he was watching me. I gave him an impudent grin, knowing that he was jealous. Was this how flirting worked? How men and women teased each other as a prelude to love? I didn’t know. I’d fallen in love without experiencing that early stage but it was fun teasing him.
Henri d’Amboise came in from the kitchen, his hands still wet from where he’d scrubbed them after working in his vineyard. “Hello, hello!” he shouted, and took a bottle of rosé wine from the silver tray on the side board and put it on the table. “I think,” he said to Étienne, “you’ll like this. It is very fine.”
Small wine glasses were produced from the cupboard and the wine poured. “Mm,” Étienne rolled the wine over his tongue. “Yes, it’s good, dryer than usual but no acidity.” He took another sip. “I recognise this. I tried some at Robert Brissac’s place a few weeks ago. He’s buying it in.”
“Ah, well,” M. d’Amboise smiled. “It seems I can’t fool you, that’s where this came from.”
“D’you see poor Robert often?” asked Edith, offering us small slices of almond cake. I watched as the cake was dipped into their wine by the women but not the men. I tried dipping it in mine. It was delicious.
“From time to time,” Étienne replied. “He’s not very well, these days; his injuries have left him weak and I think the terrible treatment he had has affected his heart. But he’s still the determined man he used to be and still believes in justice. I respect him for it.”
“We all do, I’m sure.” Henri d’Amboise said, pouring more wine into our glasses.
“Robert is keen for me to extend my vineyard,” said Étienne. “He remembers the wine my father produced and how well received it was.”
“Ah, yes,” said Henri, “M. Paul was an artist with the grape.”
Grandmère beamed at that and Edith offered her more cake.
“May I have some more,” asked Lisette. “It is lovely.”
Grandmère was all for reminding her of her manners but Edith smiled and said, “Of course, you may,” then turned to Grandmère and said, “The child looks well. She’s got a lot more colour in her cheeks. And growing too, I think.”
“She’s getting cheeky,” Grandmère growled, but there was a little twinkle in her eye.
“Have you heard from home?” Luc asked me while Étienne and Henri were extolling the virtues of the Chinon grape variety and Grandmère and Edith chatted about Marie, Luc’s sister and how she was coming back to the village to live.
“No, not recently,” I said. “I had a letter from the Consul who said that Mother was still in hospital and Dada is…where he is. The thing is that the Police Department won’t let me leave even though the Consul has arranged for me to be looked after in England. They think I know something about,” here I lowered my voice so that I was speaking into Luc’s ear, “about Mathilde’s death that I haven’t told them.”
“And do you?”
“No.” That ‘no’ came out louder than I’d meant and Étienne frowned in the middle of his conversation with Henri and looked across at me. I shook my head slightly, hoping he’d understand that it was nothing and he nodded and turned back to Henri.
“I know nothing,” I hissed. “None of us does.”
From the look on his face, I knew that he didn’t believe me. He was certain that someone at Riverain was responsible for Mathilde’s death. I wondered if his parents thought the same.
“No sign of Jean Paul?” asked M. d’Amboise, pouring more wine into our glasses.
“No,” said Étienne, after the slightest pause. “Not a word. God knows where he is.”
That last was true even if the rest wasn’t and I thought again about Jean Paul. Maybe he had killed his mother. That night when he’d sat beside her at the table and couldn’t look at me because he was so embarrassed, meant something. She’d made him do awful things, vile acts that no mother should ask of her son but which he’d been too weak to resist. Maybe killing her was the only way he could get free.
Lisette opened her mouth to speak and I bit my lip. She’d seen the letter from Jean Paul, she’d been there when we discussed it and seen Grandmère put it on the fire. Oh God. My stomach lurched. She was going to contradict what Étienne had said.
“I like the book you gave me, Madame d’Amboise,” was all she said and I let out the breath I was unconsciously holding and from the corner of my eye I saw that Grandmère was doing the same. “Eleanor is teaching me to read.”
“Very good, dear,” Edith smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll do well in school.”
Lisette’s interruption had temporarily stopped Henri d’Amboise’s questions and when I looked at the little girl she was wearing a rather smug expression. Did she interrupt on purpose? I think now that she did.
But Henri wasn’t quite finished. When we stood up to go he said, “when is Mathilde going to be buried? The police must have finished with her by now. I mean, it’s hardly decent for her…” His voice trailed away as Madame d’Amboise spoke her goodbyes to us over him, her head jerking all the time towards Lisette.
As it happened, Albert Charpentier came by the next morning to say that Mathilde’s body had been released and could now be buried.
“Is that it, then?” Étienne asked. “Have they finished with us?”
The young policeman shuffled his feet. “I don’t know, Monsieur. Hubert is like a tiger with this case; he’s determined to find the murderer. It will increase his chances of promotion.” He looked round as though there might be someone listening but there was only Étienne and me standing in the yard.
“I can tell you that he is now questioning Jean Paul’s friends and has found some of Madame Martin’s, er… acquaintances. That’s his new line of investigation.”
Mathilde was buried a couple of days after that in the town and only Étienne went. In the morning he’d sat at the kitchen table and, pulling her close to him, spoken quite seriously to Lisette. “Your mother is to be buried this afternoon,” he said gently. “I shall go, of course, and I will take you with me if you would like.”
The child thought for a moment and then put her hand on Étienne’s cheek. “No thank you, Papa, I don’t want to go. I don’t think Maman liked me very much so she wouldn’t want me there.”
So she stayed at home with Grandmère and
me and had crêpes dentelles as a treat. These were little pancakes made with the usual mixture but Grandmère added grated orange and lemon peel and sprinkled them with lots of sugar. I could easily make these at home, I thought. Although with less sugar because of rationing. It would make a change from the apple pie and custard but then home seemed to be a long way away both in miles and, increasingly, in my consciousness.
Étienne was quiet when he came home. He took off his suit jacket and put it over the back of a kitchen chair and went to wash his hands and throw water on his face. “Was anyone there?” asked Grandmère while he was drying himself. “Friends, family?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You know she didn’t have any family and as for friends, well…so it was just me and the priest. Oh, and M. Hubert.”
“Why would he go?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Étienne answered. “Perhaps he wanted to see who would turn up.” He turned to Grandmère. “He said he was surprised that you and the child weren’t with me. I told him it was none of his business and that he should push off.” His expression darkened as he recalled the encounter. “That man’s a bastard.”
“Be careful,” Grandmère warned, her voice low. “He’s no fool and could be dangerous.”
August melted into September and the days began to shorten. One afternoon Étienne and I strolled in the vineyard and examined the grapes. It was a brilliant day, a little cooler than of late and looking down to the woods by the river, I could see that the leaves on the trees were losing their summer lushness and noticed that more light was showing through the branches. It’s nearly autumn, I thought and with a jolt, realised that all my friends would be back at school. Would they be talking about me, I wondered. Would they want to know why I wasn’t at school? Maybe Suzy would tell them that I was mixed up in a murder inquiry, that the French police were questioning me and I wasn’t allowed home.
“Goodness!” Janet Blaine would say, “Eleanor Gill? I don’t believe it. Nothing ever happens to her.”
“Now, now, girls. That’s enough.” I could see Miss Baxter fluttering her hands in alarm while she tried to dampen the gossip. “Eleanor’s parents are both seriously ill and she’s unable to live at home for the moment. Her French hosts have kindly allowed her to stay whilst arrangements are being made for her here.”
The girls would settle down then but Suzy would whisper to Janet, “In the break, I’ll tell you what was in the letter my father had from France.”
I smiled to myself, standing beside my lover, in his vineyard and didn’t have to wonder why I didn’t care.
Étienne took out his knife and cut a bunch of grapes off its stalk. He held it up to the light and then pulled off a grape and tasted it. “Here,” he said, “offering the bunch to me. “Try one.”
The grapes were blue and plump and had a downy glow. When I tasted one it was sweet and soft with a hint of perfume. “Oh!” I gasped, taking another and another, “they’re wonderful.
“Mm,” Étienne agreed. “And almost ready for picking. A week at the most, then the hard work begins.
I felt excited. Why the idea of harvesting grapes should be so entrancing, I wasn’t sure but from how everyone talked about it and prepared for the days ahead it seemed to presage a thrilling event. Grandmère had said that there were parties after the harvest that everyone went to and I was looking forward to them as well.
“This will be my last year of sending the crop to the co-op,” said Étienne as we walked back to the house. “From now on I will build up the name of Riverain and in ten or fifteen years my wines will be served in the best restaurants in Europe.”
“Will it take ten years?” I asked.
“At least.” But he grinned. “I shall enjoy the struggle, the experimenting, the tasting. Christ!” he sighed. “I’m turning into my father.”
When we stopped on the bridge I looked at him. He had changed in the last few weeks. The man I saw now was quieter and calmer; not given to the frequent eruptions of rage that had previously marred his predominantly cheerful disposition. And yet he looked younger and still as handsome as ever. I put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face down to mine.
“What was that for,” he said when we stopped kissing and came up for air.
“Nothing. I just love you.”
“I’m so much older than you, Eleanor. Don’t you mind?”
I looked at the river, flowing faster these days and less green. Étienne and I had swum in it on hot evenings, splashing in from the bank, blissfully naked and consumed with carefree joy. I could have swum the same with a younger man, a boy even, like Luc. He could have been my French boyfriend, I know he wanted to be and had already said he would write to me when I got home but…I didn’t love him.
“No.”
“Even though I’m a murderer and a murder suspect?”
“No. Anyway, I’m a murder suspect too.”
He shook his head, slowly. “That’s ridiculous. If anyone had cause to kill Mathilde it was me and God knows I thought about doing it all the time. Even a couple of weeks before she died I was determined to get rid of her. I went in the early morning with my shot gun up to the grape barn where I knew she’d be. Often she entertained her clients through the night, or if she didn’t have one of them around, Jean Paul would be with her.” His face twisted with disgust. “She totally corrupted that boy and I didn’t know how to rescue him. All I could do was shout at him and he grew to hate me just as much as I hated her and d’you know, now I’m ashamed of myself. I should have tried harder.”
“I saw you,” I interrupted. “Coming back with your gun.”
“Did you? Did you see the coward who hadn’t the guts to shoot a sleeping woman who was curled up beside her son? Oh, if she’d woken up and poured out more of her filthy bile at me, taunted me with what she’d done and to whom, I could have shot her. I could have blown her evil head off. But she didn’t wake up.
“I’m glad,” I said. “And you weren’t a coward.”
That evening after supper I sat with Grandmère in her parlour. Étienne had gone to a meeting of the wine co-op to arrange harvesting times. “I’ll tell them mine are ready and get an early date,” he’d said as he went out. Then, “I won’t be late,” so I went to the parlour and sat with Grandmère.
Lisette had wandered in with me but within a few minutes had dropped off to sleep on one of Grandmère’s soft armchairs. She had started school this week, a little bit scared on the first day but after that perfectly happy and full of excited chatter when she came home.
On that first day, I’d offered to walk her down the lane to the village school and Lisette was keen for me to do it but Grandmère had said ‘no’. “There might be questions the school master needs to ask about date of birth and general health. Things like that. It’s better for me to go.”
But surprisingly, Étienne vetoed both our plans. “I shall take her.” he said. “Starting school is an important occasion and Lisette’s father should be the one to take her. Is that good, mon petit lapin?”
“Yes Papa,” she whispered, perhaps as astonished as Grandmère and me that not only was he walking her to school but that he’d called her his little rabbit.
“I wanted to,” he’d told me later. “I have accepted her as my daughter and the truth is, she has been more in my heart these last weeks. Perhaps my taking her will help with the talk and rumours that she’ll have to put up with when she gets older.”
So Lisette was taken into the classroom, her little hand held firmly in Étienne’s large one and had been given a desk next to her best friend, Claudine. The head teacher had shaken hands with Étienne in front of all the other children and kindly welcomed the little girl to the school. “It was well done,” said Étienne, contentedly. “They will look after her.”
“Are you going to read the cards tonight,” I asked, sitting opposite Grandmère at the table.
She had the pack in her hands and was absently shuffling them but l
ooking towards the window, her mind elsewhere. I thought she looked tired and her strong face was etched with worry lines.
“Grandmère,” I said, concerned because she hadn’t answered me, “are you feeling ill?”
“What?” She turned away from the window and gazed at me. “What? Oh, no. I’m alright. A little tired that’s all.”
She placed the pack on the table and with a sweep of her hand drew them into a half moon. “Take your nine.” Her voice was weary and her hand shook a little as she turned over my chosen cards. This was the first time she done them since that night when she’d told me that the cards were very bad for me. The time before that she had told me of a future that was bleak but which held out a very small window of promise. “It will be up to you, Eleanor. The cards only point the way. You have to find your own path.”
Of course, I didn’t know what she meant and I didn’t really believe in her fortune telling anyway, but she did and because it mattered to her, when I was with her, it mattered to me.
This time my cards weren’t all black and I heard Grandmère give a small sigh of relief. She tapped her finger on the ten of spades which I’d seen last time. “This is a bad card,” she said. “It forecasts imprisonment. Not necessarily the sort that means you are behind bars but a loss of freedom in some way. And here and here, “she pointed to the Ace of Spades and the ten of clubs, “these are difficult to read; they mean loss and disappointment, perhaps a journey and most of the others tell me that times ahead will not be easy. But, my dear, you do have this.” She picked up the nine of hearts and stroked her strong fingers over it. “This is the wish card. It means that what you wish for will come true.”
“That is good, surely.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “The bad cards won’t mean anything.”
“Maybe.” Grandmère reached out and took my hand. “Have courage, Eleanor. Whatever happens.”
Despite not believing in Grandmère’s predictions I felt stupidly anxious and couldn’t wait for Étienne’s return. I was in the yard when he drove in and as soon as he stepped out of the van I threw myself into his arms.
When I Was Young Page 26