Page 33 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
Chapter 13
Henri was prepared for them at the bar that night. He served a lentil soup followed by small fried fish and a salad of tomatoes, red peppers and crumbled white cheese.
“Oh, whitebait, how lovely,” Dora said. “I used to be very fond of whitebait.”
“You are in luck, mesdames,” Henri said. “There was a good catch brought in today. The bigger fish go to the market in Marseille, but we keep the ones they can’t sell. The anchovies are good, no?”
Mavis looked down suspiciously at the fish, still with their heads on and eyes staring up at her. “I’ve had fish and chips,” she said, “but I ain’t seen anything like this.”
“They’re delicious, Mavis,” Dora said. “Try one.”
The fish were cooked perfectly in a light coating, crunchy on the outside, moist in the middle. Mavis had to be reassured it was all right to eat the bones and they wouldn’t get stuck in her throat and choke her. After this, Henri brought out small pots of crème brûlée and gave a shy smile when complimented.
“You are wasted here, Henri,” Dora said. “You said you were a chef at a hotel in one of the resorts. Why did you leave?”
Henri shrugged. “This suits me better,” he said. “I am my own chef here.” The word “chef” meant “boss” in French. “At the hotel I had to obey the whims of the owners and the customers. Don’t serve it with somuch cream. Serve it with more cream. No garlic. More garlic. Here I can create a dish, and if they don’t like it, tant pis. Too bad.”
“But do you have enough to do, to make a living?” Dora persisted.
“Now it is quiet. In the season there is plenty to do. The English come in January, February. The French in the summer. Then I hire people to help me. Nico’s mother comes to help cook.”
“Nico?” Ellie asked, attentive now. “The big man with the deep voice?”
“That’s the one.”
“His parents live here?”
“His father is dead. He takes care of his mother. But she does not like to be idle. She rents out a couple of rooms at her house, and she helps me cook.”
“And Nico fishes for a living?”
Henri shrugged. “Sometimes. When he feels like it. He does not need to work all the time like the rest of them.”
“What does everyone do here?” Ellie asked. “Is there enough work?”
“When the visitors come, of course. There is enough work for everyone in Saint-Benet.”
“And at the other times, what does everyone do?”
“The men fish,” he said. “Or they go to work in Marseille or Toulon for a while.”
They paid the bill and got up to leave.
“If you are here for a few days, I shall import supplies and cook you a proper meal.”
“I can’t tell how long we shall be here,” Ellie said. “It depends how soon Louis can mend my broken car.”
“He is a good man, Louis,” Henri said. “He will do his best.”
They parted company and went back to the pension. Ellie realized that Mavis and Yvette had been quite silent, Mavis because she didn’t understand and Yvette because she was probably too shy to join in. Her eyes followed Yvette as she went up the stairs. What was going to happen to her? She’d have to give up the child if the father could notbe located. And even if he was found, he could not leave his post with the army to come home and marry her. Perhaps he had not told her his location on purpose. Men were quite happy to deceive young girls, to promise them love to get them into bed. She shook her head. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. At least Yvette was safe. When they got to a bigger place, Ellie would try to get her settled.
They woke to another brilliantly sunny day, the water sparkling, the fishermen calling out to each other as they worked on their boats or put out to sea. They were in the middle of breakfast when they heard Mrs Adams speaking with someone.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t want to see the likes of you,” she said, her voice harsh.
Ellie assumed it was a beggar or other undesirable. But then she thought she heard what sounded like an English voice. Out of curiosity she stood up and went through to the foyer. A tall, fit-looking man was standing there. His grey hair was neatly parted, and he sported a thin Ronald Colman moustache. He was wearing a royal-blue open-necked shirt with a white silk cravat at the neck and white linen trousers. His tanned face broke into a smile when he saw her.
“A very good morning to you, dear lady,” he said in a smooth, educated English voice. “We heard that English guests had arrived, so we thought it only courteous to come and greet you and welcome you to Saint-Benet.”
