Page 35 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“Pleased to meet you,” Mavis said, eyeing him gingerly.
“Please call me Mr Tommy,” the man said. “That’s what everyone calls me around here.”
“As you can see we are only three,” Ellie said as they stepped into a flagstone front hall. “The French girl who accompanied us doesn’t speak English so stayed behind.”
“She’s your maid?”
“She’s a young woman we rescued from a bad situation,” Ellie said. “Now we have to decide what to do with her next.”
“Well, anyway, welcome to our humble abode. Come on in and have a glass of wine.” He went ahead down the hall and into a large room on their right. It proved to be a kitchen with blue and white tiles around an ancient stove and sink. A rack of copper pans hung above it, and to one side there was a string of onions and another of bright-red dried peppers. A large window was open, and a breeze stirred white net curtains. A window box was full of herbs. In front of the window there was a plain wooden table and ladder-backed chairs. The chairs had blue and yellow cushions on them. On the table were simple raffia mats and earthenware plates with a blue-and-yellow pattern. A carafe of rosé stood in the middle. On the walls were several bright and modern paintings of the harbour, the coast and ships. It was a simple room but had a welcoming feel to it. Ellie compared it mentally to her kitchen. It had been well appointed, efficient but certainly not welcoming. Nobody was allowed in her kitchen when she held dinner parties. It was a solitary haven where Lionel never ventured.
Mr Tommy turned at the sound of footsteps. “And let me introduce you to my friend Clive,” he said. “Clive Webster—three lovely English ladies. What more could you want?”
The second man came into the room. He was younger, good-looking with finely sculpted cheekbones and dark-blond hair that flopped boyishly across his forehead. He wore a blue peasant shirt overbaggy trousers, and his eyes darted nervously, as if he wasn’t sure of the reception he’d get.
“How do you do, Mr Webster.” It was Dora who extended a hand first. “It was so kind of you both to invite us.”
Clive’s face relaxed. He smiled, extending a slim and elegant hand. “Not at all. Our pleasure to meet fellow English people. One grows a little tired of having to speak French each and every day. I’ll pour the wine, shall I, Tommy, while you put out the hors d’oeuvres.” He indicated the table. “Do take a seat. Enjoy our view. We do.”
As they approached the table, they saw that the window looked out over the whole harbour area with the cliffs, jutting one after the other down the coastline until they faded into the blue distance.
“It’s lovely,” Ellie said.
“We can see everything that goes on from up here,” Mr Tommy said with a chuckle. “We can be really nosy.”
“We’d probably make a good living at blackmail if we wanted to.” Clive was pouring wine as they took their places. “This is a local rosé,” he said. “The region is known for it.”
Mr Tommy put small plates in front of them. They contained slices of a bright orange fruit with little mounds of white cheese.
“What are these?” Dora asked.
“Persimmons and goat cheese,” Mr Tommy replied. “Our persimmon tree. The cheese is from our own goats.”
“You keep goats?” Ellie asked.
“Two of them,” Mr Tommy replied. “Ursula and Hortense. Clive named them because they look like two dowagers with their haughty expressions. Absolutely affronted at the thought of us touching their lady parts to milk them. They rule the roost outside, along with our chickens, while the cat dominates our inside space.”
As if hearing its name, a white cat appeared, pausing to rub against Clive’s leg. Clive bent to pick it up. “This is Minou,” he said. “We rescued her. You’ve probably noticed all the stray cats around here. The local inhabitants are not exactly kind to their animals. We found her asa kitten when someone tried to drown her in the harbour.” He planted a kiss on Minou’s forehead, then placed her back on the floor. She walked a few steps away, then sat with her back to them and began washing herself.
“Standoffish,” Mr Tommy said. “Affectionate when she feels like it.”
They joined the women at the table, and Mr Tommy lifted a glass. “Cheers, then.”
“Cheers, and thank you for inviting us,” Ellie said.
“We weren’t sure you’d come. We thought that the witch at the pension would have gone out of her way to make our home sound like the house of the devil. The irony is that she and her husband never set foot inside a church, while we attend every week. Father André is remarkably broad-minded in his version of Catholicism. He happily baptizes babies of unwed mothers and makes people like us feel welcome.”
“So how long have you been here?” Dora asked.
Mr Tommy looked at Clive for confirmation. “Seventeen years, is it?”
“We came in twenty-two,” Clive said. “So almost seventeen.”
“Goodness. That’s quite a while,” Dora said. “What brought you here?”
“The question is rather what drove us away,” Clive said.
Mr Tommy nodded. “Clive and I met during the Great War. I registered as a conscientious objector. I thought it was quite wrong to kill other human beings. So I was sent straight to the front as a medical orderly. My job was to go out on to the battlefield and retrieve the dying and the bodies.”
