Page 41 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“Why, now,” he said. “This is why I was coming to find you. Let us take advantage of the fine weather. At this time of year, one never knows.”
“Thank you,” Ellie replied. “It is most kind of you to give up your time to do this.”
“Not at all.” He was now gracious and all smiles. “If you’ll follow me, we have a steep way ahead of us.”
Behind the row of buildings along the waterfront ran a narrow lane. Bougainvillea spilled over an ancient wall that butted on to the cream-coloured limestone cliff. In the middle of that wall they came to a flight of steps going up the cliffside. Monsieur Danton turned back to them. “I hope you are in fine form, ladies,” he said and started upward. The steps were uneven, steep and worn in places, making the going a challenge, but they were shaded with scrubby oaks and pine trees and the rich, piny smell was around them. At the top they paused, all breathing heavily. Another flight of steps rose before them.
“Is this the only way to the villa?” Ellie asked.
“No, madame,” he said. “There is a driveway leading up to the villa from outside the village. You can approach it in a motor car from there, and there is a garage and the formal entrance. But this is the quick way up.”
“Are you sure you can do this, Dora?” Ellie looked at her in concern. “Isn’t it bad for your heart? Mavis could take you down.”
“Absolutely not. I’m as keen to see this villa as you are,” Dora said. “Besides, it will give this old and failing heart a good workout.” And before anyone could answer her, she started up the second flight of stone steps. They emerged on to a path that wound its way around the cliff, until it was lost amongst the pines. As they went to follow it, Monsieur Danton said, “No, no, madame. That is the path that leads to the Calanques. This way if you please, ladies. Follow me.” And he started up a third set of steps, this one mercifully short and ending ina high wall covered in some kind of creeper. In the middle of the wall was a tall iron gate. Monsieur Danton took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. There was a click, and the gate opened with a protesting squeak.
“Please proceed with great care,” he said, standing to one side and assisting each of them up a final steep step into a garden. Ellie entered but then stood transfixed as she looked around her. It felt as if she were in the bookThe Secret Garden, or rather in the magic realm of Sleeping Beauty, fallen asleep for a hundred years. In front of them what had once been a lawn was now a dying mass of dried grass and weeds. The ubiquitous bougainvillea tumbled over the walls, in a riot of reds and oranges. At the far end of the lawn was an orchard of fruit trees: a pomegranate still bravely producing its brilliant red fruit after so many years of neglect, what might have been a persimmon and several citrus.
Ellie turned the other direction and saw the villa itself. Before it was a gravel forecourt in which stood a stone fountain, now long dry. And behind this was the Villa Gloriosa. Now no longer glorious. Ellie had expected a ruin but found she was looking at a perfect villa with a red tiled roof. The house was painted pink with pale-blue shutters. It took Ellie a moment to notice that the paint was now peeling and some of the shutters were hanging at crazy angles. Tiles had fallen from the roof. There had been some sort of veranda or trellised arbour along the entire back of the house, but this was completely overrun by what looked like wisteria, although the leaves were now dying and lying in a yellow carpet. Another vine with dark red and brown leaves—grapes this time?—climbed up the far side of the veranda and competed with the wisteria in a mad tangle.
“This way.” Monsieur Danton interrupted her reverie. He began to walk towards the house. The path was lined with an avenue of palm trees, now casting a neat row of shadows across the gravel. Ellie followed him around the side of the villa to an impressive pair of oak double doors carved with a pattern of vines. Monsieur Danton producedanother key and was about to lead them inside when Ellie looked past him, to her left, and gasped.
“Wait.” She broke into a run.
“Careful, madame. Watch your step,” he called, but she didn’t care if the flagstones were cracked and uneven. She ran past the house and came out to a terrace overlooking the sea. It was edged by an ornamental stone balustrade topped with carved pineapples, some of which were now missing, but Ellie didn’t notice this. She crossed the terrace and stood with the whole panorama unfolding before her. Directly below her Saint-Benet lay nestled in its little hollow, the village mainly in shadow, the cliffs on the far side glowing in the sun. Beyond were more promontories, more cliffs, fading into blue distance. On the horizon was a chain of rocky islands. As she watched, a boat with a red sail glided out from the harbour into a Mediterranean that went from shades of pure turquoise to deep, rich blue.
“Oh,” she said out loud. “This is heaven.”
Chapter 16
“Madame, do you not wish to see inside?” Monsieur Danton’s crisp voice brought Ellie back to reality.
Reluctantly she turned away from the view. “Oh yes, of course. Thank you.” She returned to the others and went to step in through the open door.
“Are you sure you wish to proceed with this?” He peered in as if he expected an attack. “Maybe just look from here. It could be dangerous. Who knows if the ceilings are about to come down? Nobody has touched this place for years, you know.”
“I’ll be careful,” Ellie said. “It seems a shame not to look around when we’ve come all this way.”
“Very well, if you insist.” He gave a curt nod. He stepped aside to let her enter but did not follow. Ellie looked back at the other women and saw the hesitancy on their faces. “I’ll take a look first, if you like,” she said. “Just to make sure it’s safe.”
Then she took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold into a marble entrance hall. An impressive white marble staircase curved up to a second floor. There was a green marble side table on which stood a huge vase containing some very old and faded silk flowers; otherwise the foyer was devoid of decoration. Ellie stood staring in surprise. She had expected devastation—crumbling ceilings, great cobwebs—but the place merely felt as if it was asleep. Monsieur Danton showed no desire to come into the villa, so she ventured into the room on herright through an open door. The green velvet curtains were closed, bathing the room in eerie darkness that felt like being in an aquarium. She looked for a light switch, then laughed at her own absurdity. Of course there would be no electricity turned on. As she took a step into the room, she recoiled almost immediately as something tall and thin loomed up beside her, draped in white. She remembered the inhabitants of Saint-Benet claiming that the villa was haunted, but then she realized that every object in the room was covered in a dustsheet, and this had to be ... She pulled off the cover, releasing impressive amounts of dust in the process, and found it to be a curio cabinet peopled with porcelain figures.
Feeling braver, she crossed the room and pulled open those tall curtains. The green velvet crumbled at her touch. French doors opened to the gravel forecourt and the garden beyond. Sunlight flooded into the room, making dust motes dance. She looked around her. The long oblong that took up the centre of the room had to be a huge dining table. She lifted one corner of the dustsheet cautiously, not wanting to breathe in more dust. It revealed a white painted wooden table, gilded, and the chairs that surrounded it were also decorated with gold with silk seat covers, now partially nibbled away by mice or moths or both. So this had been the dining room. A door at the far end led to a kitchen. As she entered it, the feeling of Sleeping Beauty’s castle returned. The kitchen looked as if it had been in use, not packed up to be forgotten. There was a pan on the old-fashioned wood stove, scales on the pine table, a tea caddy, a milk jug—all looking as if they expected the owners to return.
Ellie came back out to the foyer and opened a door leading to the back of the house. These were the rooms with the lovely view over the water. The first was a pleasant sitting room with a couple of sofas hidden under their dustsheets, a porcelain stove and some wicker rocking chairs. The walls were painted in a fresco of palm trees and beaches, echoing the real-life view. And next to it was a smaller room that made her heart beat faster again. That shape under the sheet inthe window had to be a grand piano. This had been a music room! Of course it had. Its occupant had been a famous opera singer.
“Oh, how lovely,” she muttered, and immediately she pictured herself sitting at that piano, looking out at the blue sea as she played. But as she stood there, she experienced the sadness that she had been sensing since she entered the house. The famous opera singer had made this place beautiful and then left, never to return. Why? She had not died until later if accounts were correct. If the duke had gifted her with this villa, why did she not come back, even after their relationship broke up? It had been hers, because they had been told that her next of kin now owned it. What had driven her away and made her leave all her lovely things under dustsheets?
“It’s not very big, is it?” Dora’s voice made her jump, realizing that she had been unaware of anyone else as she explored the house. “Suitable for one person. I’d expected grander.”
“I think it’s perfect,” Ellie said. “I can’t believe how well it’s been preserved. Almost as if it’s asleep.”
“I’d say the mice have done their share of damage,” Dora said. “And look at the stains on the wallpaper where the rain has come in.”
But Ellie had seen none of these faults. “Shall we take a look upstairs?” she said and headed towards the staircase.
“Proceed with great caution, madame,” Monsieur Danton called, still peering in from the doorway. “Who knows if the floors are still stable.”
But Ellie hardly heard. She went up the stairs, her hand feeling the cold smoothness of the marble banister. Upstairs doors opened on to a small square landing. As she stood there, she heard a noise that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. “Ooooh. Oooooh.” Just the sort of noise one would expect a ghost to make.
