A Period of Adjustment (31 page)

‘I'll be dead!' he said and went into the Long Room. From somewhere in the gloom he called out in a fractured voice, ‘You
promised
me!' I sat perfectly still.

Helen had said, ‘Fine. Tell the taxi-whatever, anyone will direct him to the villa, it's right at the end of the village. Friday, eleven-thirty, I'll be ready and waiting.
Ciao!
' And hung up.

I replaced the receiver, rubbed my shin, took up the teapot and went into the kitchen. What a time to call. Tea. Kettles to boil. Her voice, strangely, had unnerved me slightly. It was an intrusion. Apart from with Lulu, and now and then Giles, I spoke only French. Apart, of course, from Dottie and Arthur, but theirs were familiar voices, I was attuned to them. Helen suddenly sounded abrasive, angular, sharp. I was irritated, uneasy, and all at once anxious.

The kettle boiled, I filled the teapot. Somewhere up the garden calls of pleasure and excitement from a blur of voices. On the terrace, Florence, cool, smiling, hands clasped on her lap.

‘You get the job?' I set the teapot amidst the clutter of cups and plates.

‘She has the job!' Madame Prideaux nodded and answered for her daughter. ‘Isn't that splendid?'

Florence found a clean cup, poured her tea. ‘Is there lemon? Ah, yes! Yes. I got the job. Jouvet is a charming man, very serious, which I like, and I answered all his questions to his satisfaction, it would appear.' She stirred her tea.

Madame Prideaux took a custard cream biscuit. ‘It is
odd, to work for a veterinary surgeon and not like animals very much. Don't you think?'

Florence shook her head, as I sat down beside her. ‘Maman. Don't be silly! I
do
like animals. I am very compassionate.
Really.'

‘You never had an animal as a child.' Madame Prideaux spilt crumbs on her skirt, swiftly brushed them off. ‘I never saw you with a cat or a puppy, did I?'

Florence shrugged. ‘There was hardly ever time, was there? We never settled anywhere really long enough. A military life is not conducive to a child having pets. Then there was that school. Years of weary school – no pets there.'

The sound of laughter and Giles calling, ‘You liked that, Thomas? You did? You liked that adventure …'

And then we were suddenly engulfed in the chatter and cries and general reaching, the taking, kissing and stroking, as mother and child were reunited and a slightly breathless Clotilde and Céleste, brushing hair from foreheads, pulling down sleeves, bobbed and bowed and went off together to the kitchen.

‘Did you have a lovely time, Thomas? Where did you go?' said Florence.

Giles was standing, hands on his hips, legs astride. ‘We went to the dam. He liked it. I don't think he'd ever seen water before.'

Florence looked up with slightly amused eyebrows. ‘Gilles! Thomas sees water every evening! In his bath, be sure!' And she laughed and Giles said he hadn't meant that sort of water, but
real
water with rocks and all spilling down to the stream, and, because I had not spoken, or hardly at all, Florence suddenly said, ‘You look cross, William. Are we very distracting with all our adventures and cups of tea?' Thomas was wriggling and stretching on her lap. She put down her cup and held him with both hands. ‘Don't pull, what is it that you want?'

Giles took a ginger snap and held it aloft and the struggling, wrenching little buddha shrieked and bubbled, hands opening and closing like a pink sea anemone. ‘He wants this, hein? This, Thomas?'

‘Give it to him, Giles. Let him have it. I don't mean to look cross, sorry! Just flustered; rather unlike me but all is well. An unexpected telephone call, that's all.'

Madame Prideaux laughed a short, soft laugh. ‘I always tried to resist having one. They are terrible things. Usually bad news. Like telegrams. I used to hate those too. Never good news. I was sure you might come to regret having one installed. Sure.'

Thomas sat back against his mother's body, sucking his ginger snap, eyes wide, vacant in pleasure, seeing nothing, only turning slowly at a sudden movement, or the rasp of a chair dragged across the tiles.

‘It wasn't bad news, this time. Just unexpected really. And somehow I never quite get used to the telephone ringing here in Jericho. Especially on a blistering day, at this sort of time. People usually wait until evening. They have other things, or nothing, to do in this heat.'

‘As long as it wasn't bad news,' said Florence, wiping dribble from her child's chin. ‘How many of these has he had? He'll never eat his supper.'

‘You must see the house before you go, Florence. The Arcadie anglaise which one has heard about. It is really very charming, very “cosy”. She may look?'

‘Of course, Madame.'

Florence indicated, with a nod of her head, a package on the table among the tea debris. ‘Gilles. That is for you. A present for the aquarium. I wanted a treasure chest, but this was all the shop had. Take it.'

Giles grabbed the package, ripped off the paper, and crowed with pleasure. ‘Look! A diver. It's an oxygenator! Oh, thank you, thank you, Florence.' With a cheerful lunge,
he threw his arms round her neck, knocking Thomas on the head, who beamed happily, and caused a mild ripple of laughter.

Madame Prideaux got up and took the child from his mother. ‘Florence, you go with M'sieur Colcott and he will take you to the Arcadie anglaise. I can sit with this one for ten minutes, I am quite strong and perfectly capable.'

I got up and moved across the terrace, waited at the open door. From down in the kitchen a burst of laughter. Florence came slowly across to join me, arms folded, a thin silver bracelet on her wrist.

‘Now where is Arcadia?' she said.

In the cool of the room she ran her finger across the polished surface of a small Regency card table. The light was soft, gentle after the glare on the terrace. She looked quietly, carefully, about her, stroked the faded striped fabric of the sofa, traced her finger round the frame of a small John Piper, looking intently all about, a light smile on her lips.

‘It's
very
changed. Very. This is all yours? And the pictures? From England?'

I nodded, leaning against the door on to the terrace, my shadow, like Madame Prideaux's before, striking hard across the red tiles of the floor. ‘Bits from there, some bits I bought here, in the market at Sainte-Brigitte and an anti-quaire in Draguignon.'

She laughed suddenly, a happy, relaxed laugh, without irony or any trace of bitterness as, sometimes, there had been before. ‘Oh là là! Are you a millionaire perhaps? Antiquaires in Draguignon! Next will it be Monte Carlo?'

‘Not a millionaire. No. And I bought modestly. This, the swan, you remember him?'

She shook her head and sat down in the sofa. ‘This is soft,
very
English, eh? What did you do with the few pieces I left? That disgusting old thing which was here, you covered
it with a terrible Indian cloth with bits of mirror in it? I can remember that, but not the swan …'

We laughed together, easily. I sat in the small chair by the door. ‘I had to cover it with something. But it was almost worse than your sofa, if you understand …'

We sat smiling easily at each other, not shy, in the soft, green-reflected light filtering through the vine. It was the first time, almost, that we had sat like that. Her smile had never been quite so open, so clear of apprehension and suspicion.

‘It is pleasant sitting here. The English are very good for “comfort”. We French are always more formal. It's a relic of the Court, did you know? The straight backs, thin legs, upright, brocaded, elegant. It suited the dress of the day. They did not wear jeans and trainers then, in the days of King Louis.' With feline suppleness and grace she changed course. ‘And Madame Louise de Terrehaute? How
is
Madame?' Her eyes were smiling, her face gently amused.

‘She is very well. I believe. I haven't seen her since … well … since the party for Giles. She leaves for Rome shortly. The boy has to stay with his father for some of the holiday – part of their deal.'

She stroked the arm of the sofa against which she sat. ‘And your son? Gilles. Does he stay with you? Does he not see
his
mama?'

‘She has been away on business, back now. Actually it was her who telephoned just now, she is back from Italy. In Valbonne. She comes to see Giles at the end of next week for lunch. But he will stay with me after the divorce. We have agreed that. The division of the spoils.'

Madame Prideaux's voice suddenly called authoritatively, ‘Céleste! Céleste! We shall go to see the aquarium. Come!'

Céleste came hurrying up from the kitchen and almost ran out on to the terrace. ‘Take Thomas, Céleste. Gilles will accompany me up to the studio.' She was on the threshold,
Giles behind her. For a moment she stood still, adjusting her eyes to the soft light. ‘We go to inspect the studio. You recall last time? I told you that it would make a splendid room? Come, Gilles, let us see.'

Together they started slowly up the stairs and I heard her heavy tread on the floor above. Florence smiled, sat forward, her hands lightly clasped together. ‘I think Mama is being tactful. Giving me time to look about in peace. It's very pleasant, William. So changed. And
you
are so changed! A yellow car! Where is the yellow canary?'

‘In the shed up at the top. It doesn't stand out in the sun. I treasure it. My symbol.'

‘Symbol?'

‘Of readjustment.'

‘Like your jeans, eh? And, what do they call it, “designer” shirts? You look so different. I imagine,' she said, looking at the tiles at her feet, ‘I imagine that perhaps Louise de Terrehaute has had an effect? Would that be right?'

‘The royal association! You linked her name just now automatically with Louis and the furniture. Louise de Terrehaute is a perfectly simple American girl from Louisiana, just married to the fag-end of a once aristocratic French family, that's all! You really mustn't be scornful of her! I know that you are. I can sense it.'

‘Boff!' she laughed really happily, leant back. ‘Boff! I do
not
scorn her at all, William. I am so
grateful
to Louise de Terrehaute! Shall I tell you why? It is curious and it will amuse you. Louise de Terrehaute actually made me aware that my emotions were not entirely frozen, as I thought that they were, like a mammoth in permafrost! At supper that evening at La Maison Blanche, I was suddenly, wonderfully, aware that I was not entirely dead. I was alive because I discovered that I was
jealous!'
She stretched her arms along the back of the sofa, nodding, her eyes filled with amusement. ‘Jealous! Can you imagine! Of you! And of her
effortless control and power over you, and the table in general. Even Mama! Madame Mazine, remember? They were almost fainting with reverence. Dottie Teeobald actually almost chic! Because of
her
influence … Your yellow car in the square, your elegant white trousers, the Laurent silk shirt! Mon Dieu! The changes since I went to Marseilles!' She laughed softly, amused, but lightly mocking. ‘What if I'd gone to Santiago! Or Peking!'

‘It is perfectly possible, Florence, that you are right. Even Dottie agrees. It is the usual cliché: a peacock lands in the hen-run and everyone becomes flustered, clucks around anxiously and rearranges their feathers. You know? She did a lot of good!'

‘I am most grateful to her personally. It is not very agreeable being frozen in permafrost. I was. For almost three years. Until that evening. Ouf! Will Gilles ever know just how important his birthday supper was, I wonder?'

‘Probably not. But I am very happy for you.'

She leant forward quickly. ‘Oh, that little spurt of envy or jealousy is over now. But it was proof to me that I was not entirely dead yet, that my reflexes still worked. She was being overtly possessive of something which I considered to be my property alone.'

‘You mean me?' I let my astonishment show deliberately.

She waved a calming hand. ‘My property as my “brother-in-law”, if you like.
Nothing
more, William. Just that. But I was released.' Briskly changing the subject, she got up and went to the stairs. ‘I must call to Mama. We must all start to go. It is late and Thomas has his bath to get, and Céleste must be weary. Ordinary life must continue.'

She called up the stairs that they had to move homeward, and I walked out on to the terrace where Céleste was glumly trying to buckle the straining Thomas into his reins. I squatted down to assist her and Thomas clobbered me on the head, laughing, bubbling, dribbling, wrenching about,
the unseeing eyes flashing with furious joy. Florence was not released entirely.

Maurice gave his traditional two blasts on the horn. I saw the sun glittering on the bodywork of his car over the wall.

‘They are almost on time. Now, off you go. Greet Mum, be polite, affectionate, and remember it's
your
pad this. Make her feel very welcome. Okay?'

He nodded, shrugged hopelessly, ran off down the path through the rows of beans and spinach and reached the gate just as Maurice, cap in hand, bowed Helen through. She smiled and said something to him and then stood with open arms, packages hanging from her wrists. ‘Giles! My little Frenchman!' she cried, and engulfed him in an apparently joyous swoop.

Maurice called to me, in French, over the wall, that he'd return at three-thirty, d'accord? And I shouted back in agreement, as Helen started carefully up the path in her white stiletto heels. A short tight, expensive white lace dress, a wide gold belt, flash of gold bracelets, swinging earrings, hair high, secured with her usual velvet bow. This time white.

‘William! Long time no see! My word! Lean and brown we all are. Have you all been on a diet? Or do you only eat salads? Everyone just eats salads in this country.' She sat easily on a tin chair, discarding a giant Hermes crocodile bag, a straw hat with a bunch of cotton wisteria on its brim, a folded white cashmere cardigan, and handed Giles two gold-and-green-wrapped packages. ‘You
did
get my box from Hédiard, Giles, I hope?'