Page 51 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
They ordered bread and pastries from the boulangerie, olives, cheese and cold meats from the charcuterie.
“Now we just have to see who comes,” Dora said. “We may have a lot of food left over.”
But everyone came. Louis, Tommy and Clive, Bruno and his mother, the priest, Monsieur Danton. Ellie was a little surprised that the Adamses came. Mrs Adams had ignored them since they moved out, hardly greeting them when they passed in the street, but clearly curiosity got the better of her, and Ellie noticed her snooping into every corner. “You got yourself a nice place here,” she said. “If I’d known it was as nice as this, I’d have snapped it up myself. We heard it was a ruin.”
“But it was,” Ellie said. “We’ve worked damned hard to repair and restore everything.”
“With lots of help,” Mrs Adams said. “Everyone in the village falling over backwards to help you.”
And Ellie realized she was jealous. She felt threatened. Ellie wanted to tell her she didn’t need to but couldn’t find the words.
Henri shut his bar, and two of the fishermen who had chatted with them came: François and Jacquot, but not the big man, Nico. Ellie suspected he did not approve of the English ladies and the amount of attention they got from Henri and the other men. He was a strange one, she decided. She remembered how rude he had been when they first met, but then he’d negotiated with Mrs Adams to get them a better rate at the pension. Since then he had been pleasant enough when they encountered him at the bar, but more aloof than the other men. Anyway, he had chosen not to come.
Father André, the priest, introduced himself and offered to bless the house for them. He knew that they were not of the faith, he said, but Anglicans, after all, were just misguided Catholics. They had the same doctrine, the same form of service, but they just had forgotten about the pope. Ellie had been rather alarmed about meeting a priest. The Catholic Church in England was viewed with much scepticism and even fear. But Father André had a twinkle in his eye and had brought a bottle of blackcurrant brandy made by a local monastery.
“I hope to see you at Mass one day,” he said. “We may make good Catholics of you yet.”
The doctor and his wife also came. She was quite distinguished-looking and fashionable; he was hearty and older than her. They brought the women a bottle of champagne and invited the ladies to the next musical soirée. Everyone brought some sort of gift—cheeses, wine, cognac, tomato plants and a lemon tree for the garden, candles for when the electricity went out in the next storm. Tommy and Clive had a special gift in a basket: a small orange striped kitten.
“Here is your mouser,” Tommy said.
Ellie picked him up and felt his purring as he lay quietly in her hands. She realized she’d always wanted a cat, but Lionel didn’t like them.
“How charming,” Dora said. “I’ve been missing my cat. And now we have our own little tiger.”
And so Tiger he was named.
Everyone stayed rather late. There was lots of toasting and wishes of good luck. Lots of laughter. Ellie stood watching, feeling her heart so full it might burst. All those years in her village at home and she had never felt this warmth or joy. She realized that she hadn’t felt much at all for years. She had loved being a mother and looking after her little sons. When they went away to school, there was no one to hug or care for, just Lionel and his damned three-and-a-half-minute eggs. Always worrying that she was failing him, not pleasing him, and never stopping for a moment to think that nobody was concerned about pleasing her.
Chapter 20
The next night Ellie undressed in darkness. Before she got into bed, she went over to the window and looked out. It was another clear, moonlit night. There was no breeze, and the garden lay still and peaceful. She looked forward to getting to work on the grounds, bringing back the lawn and the flowerbeds, growing vegetables. Then she froze. The figure was there. He’d come back. Definitely a man. This time he was coming out of the trees at the far end of the garden and walking towards the house. Hastily she put on her robe and slippers. Enough was enough. She was going to make sure this stopped now. They had a right to privacy, and intruders were not welcome. Not thinking of danger, she went downstairs and let herself out of the front door. The light from the foyer streamed out as she stepped into the cold air of the night.
He was coming up the path beside the overgrown lawn, wearing some kind of dark jumper and baggy trousers. A seaman’s cap was on his head. She stepped out in front of him. He came forward, head down, not seeing her. She was about to hail him when he looked up, gasped and froze. She expected him to turn tail and run away. Instead he stood staring at her, shocked.
“What do you think you are doing here?” she shouted. “This is private property.”
Then he said, “Oh, it’s you, English madame. You startled me.”
“I startled you? I looked out of my window to see a strange man crossing my garden. I was the one who was startled. Did you not know that this place is occupied, that we are living here now?”
“Oh yes, I heard.” He came slowly towards her. A shiver of fear shot through her. This had not been wise. If he was intent on mischief, she was now alone. She should have brought some kind of weapon to defend herself. Then she saw his white teeth. He was smiling. Or was that laughing?
As he came closer, she saw that it was Nico.
“If you’ve come for the party, you are a day too late,” she said, standing her ground and eyeing him defiantly.
“I am not one who enjoys parties,” he said. “But I heard it was a great success.”
“What are you doing here, then?” she demanded. “This is private property. Did you think you could come to spy on us? You find it amusing to stare at English ladies?”
He was still smiling. “I have no intention of spying on anyone, madame,” he said. “And if I wanted to ogle undressed women, I would choose ones younger and with the right sort of curves.” He paused. “I came to retrieve some fishing gear, that is all. I store things in the shed at the back of the garden, and I use the steps from the terrace to go down the cliff to the water, where I sometimes moor my boat. You have seen the little dock down there?”
“No,” she said. “I hadn’t noticed the steps.” She paused, thinking of what he had said. “You store things in the shed? Here? Who gave you permission to do that?” She still sounded haughty.
“The owner. He knows.”
“The owner?” She tried to outstare him. “You know the owner?”
