Page 15 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“Where is everyone?” Miss Smith-Humphries voiced Ellie’s concern.
“I don’t know. It’s not siesta time, is it? And they don’t go in for siestas this far north. Could it be early closing day? It’s almost as if—” Ellie broke off speaking and stopped the car.
“Oh no,” she said. There seemed to be some kind of barricade ahead of them. “It looks as if the road is closed.”
Miss Smith-Humphries had assigned herself the role of navigator. She studied the map. “It would be most inconvenient to go back. There doesn’t seem to be an easy way around this village.”
Ellie was thinking more of trying to reverse back up this narrow street. She wound down the window, hoping to find someone to ask for directions. They were immediately aware of the sounds behind that roadblock. People shouting, a baby crying.
“Is it a revolution going on, do you think?” Mavis asked, gripping the seat in front of her. “Are we going to be murdered?”
“Don’t be silly, Mavis. France is a civilized country,” Miss Smith-Humphries said, but she too sounded alarmed.
“I think we’d better ...,” Ellie began, but before she could put the car into reverse two men appeared. They saw the motor car and came towards it. Mavis gave a little whimper.
“Mille pardons, mesdames,” one man said. A thousand pardons. “You wish to pass. We will remove it instantly.” He stared at them with interest, noting the English car. “You are from England?”
“Yes, we are,” Ellie answered, also in French. “We are driving south to the Riviera.”
“Ah, how nice. A good way to spend the winter, I think.”
The other man called something to him. He turned back, then addressed the women again. “We are celebrating. The harvest is in. It’s the Feast of Saint Michael. My friend says you should join us for a glass of wine.”
“How very kind,” Ellie replied, “but I’m afraid we need to keep going. We must find a hotel before it gets dark.”
“But you can stay here, in our town,” the man said.
“Yes. Here is good.” The other man had joined him now, and several more were coming around the barricade. “See—just a small way along that street. Auberge de la Reine. Very good. Very clean. And then you come and join us, eh?”
“It will be dark soon,” Miss Smith-Humphries muttered, having understood the French. “It might be wise to stay here.”
“Come.” The first man motioned to the others. Two of the men picked up what had been the barricade but now turned out to be a trestle table on its side and moved it away. They beckoned the car through. Ellie edged forward as the men accompanied her, shouting to each other.
“What do they want?” Mavis asked. “Are they taking us somewhere?”
“It’s all right, Mavis, they are friendly,” Miss Smith-Humphries said. “They are inviting us to have a glass of wine with them. It’s a feast day.”
“But you’re never going to go drinking with them men, are you, missus?” Mavis sounded alarmed.
The street opened into a central square, lined with ornately half-timbered houses, each with a sloping tiled roof. At the far end of the square was an impressive grey stone church. More tables had been set up, covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths, and women were busy putting out bowls of food. Families were already seated at some of the tables. Most of the women were in some kind of local costume with flowing red skirts, white blouses and bright scarves tucked in at the waist. They wore white lace caps on their heads. So did the small children. Some of the men, Ellie noted, wore wooden shoes. It was all so delightfully different, so foreign.
Lionel would hate this.The thought passed through her head and made her smile.
“Look, there are plenty of women, too, and children. Whole families,” she said, turning back to Mavis. “It’s a festival. It would be rude not to join them for a few minutes.”
“If the hotel proves to be suitable,” Miss Smith-Humphries said. “I have no wish to catch fleas.”
Several of the men took it upon themselves to escort the Bentley down the street to the auberge and demanded that the landlady give these visitors from England the best rooms for the night. They insisted on carrying the small suitcases upstairs. Miss Smith-Humphries was given a tiny room to herself, Mavis and Ellie a twin. It was simple in the extreme—two narrow beds, each with a comforter, a washbasin with a mirror over it and a crucifix over the beds, but it seemed clean, and the price was more than reasonable. As Ellie worked out the francs in her head, she was pleasantly surprised. Was all of France going to be as cheap as this? In which case they could live quite well.
Two of the men were still waiting, lounging against a wall, smoking thin black cigarettes, when they came down again. “Now it’s time for a drink,” one of them said. “Leave your vehicle. It will be quite safe.”
“Are you sure?” Miss Smith-Humphries asked. “We have our large bags still in the boot.”
“Pierre will guard it, do not worry,” the man said. “And we are not thieves here. Everyone knows everyone else in this village. We respect the stranger. Do not worry.”
They allowed themselves to be escorted back to the square, where lights had now been turned on and sparkled festively. Bunting fluttered from the church. One of the men called out something, and immediately room was made for them at one of the tables. Wine bottles were passed down, and glasses were poured for them. These were followed by plates of bread, cheeses, pâté, sausages, tomatoes, various salads and bowls of grapes.
“Is it all right to eat this, do you think?” Mavis whispered. “I’m famished, but.”
