Life Goes On

21

Life Goes On

    Gilles and Linnet’s wedding day was fine and warm, with a tiny breeze and a few little high, white, puffy clouds. They were married quietly at the local mairie and then the wedding party adjourned to the garden at La Rance for a small reception. Smallish.

    The bride was exquisite in a very simple, pale silver-grey suit of watered silk, the skirt short enough to show off her very nice legs without being extreme. She carried a posy of tiny white orchids. Glasshouse. The younger of her two new step-daughters had asked her if they were genetically engineered and the bride had collapsed in sniggers—though fortunately not at the actual ceremony.

    Rose was matron of honour, in a pink satin suit of somewhat extreme cut and a striking matching hat. Georges Vaks didn’t appear to object to it: he came up and took her arm most uxoriously after the ceremony. Watched approvingly by the entire household of La Rance, not excluding the dowager Comtesse.

    It had been beyond human capacity to prevent Roma, Sidonie and Bernadette from tricking Fergie out as a bridesmaid but fortunately—or so some felt—she became so attached to her basket of petals that she refused to strew them under the feet of the mariée. The pale green frills were, it was felt by some, in particular the flowergirl’s Uncle Jimmy and her new step-cousin Annie, pretty well over the top and down the other side, especially the ones on the matching knickers, but Fergie thought she was Christmas.

    It had also been beyond human capacity to prevent Supermodel Buffy and Supermodel Marilu from tricking themselves out in matching bridesmaids’ outfits but at least it had been drummed home to them that as it was not a church ceremony evening gowns would not be appropriate. So they chose suits, too. Black satin. Excruciatingly short, tight skirts, and strange, chopped-off-looking open jackets that seemed too wide for them by about two sizes (six, according to Jimmy). These jackets were smothered with, nay encrusted in, gold lace and gold braid and gold sequins, but Buffy and Marilu thought they were Christmas. Each hat consisted of one large gold rose with a puff of gold veiling attached but you scarcely noticed these. No-one remarked on the fact that under the jackets they were wearing leopard-printed tee-shirts. Possibly because no-one found the strength to. Especially with the black fishnet tights and the huge, nay gigantic, black patent-leather platform-soled shoes.

    Marie-Claire turned up for the ceremony on a beaming Léon Blum’s arm, but no-one was particularly surprized by that.

    Perhaps rather more surprizingly, Annie’s friend Chantal Vallon turned up on Gégé Fleuriot du Hamel’s arm. Annie explained cheerfully that he’d decided that once the girls finished their course he’d give up banking and go into business with them. He’d manage the accounting side while the girls concentrated on the architectural design.

    Jimmy had come over for the wedding, and, contrary to his sisters’ expectations, had been very keen to give the bride away. He expressed great interest in the budding architects’ business plans, so pretty soon Annie and Chantal decided that the minute he finished his qualifications he’d better come over to France permanently: he could start looking round for suitable office premises for them.

    When this plan was revealed to the family Gilles rolled his eyes frantically at his soon-to-be wife but Linnet merely said placidly that she was glad they were getting on well together.

    Gilles then said something about Gérard Fleuriot du Hamel having always struck him as having as much backbone as a jellyfish; to which his intended replied that he probably did have, but Annie had said that Chantal was more than capable of managing him comfortably for the rest of his life. The Comte rolled his eyes again but said no more.

    The wedding feast of course vanished like the dew, and then it was time for the bride and groom to leave for their honeymoon. Just a short stay down in the south of France: Linnet was keeping very well but Gilles didn’t want her to be out of her doctor’s reach for too long. –Meaning not Georges Vaks, but the Paris gynaecologist he’d dragged her to. Linnet was also seeing Dr Vaks regularly and was quietly determined to have him for the birth, but Gilles wasn’t yet aware of this decision.

    They departed in a hail of good wishes, confetti—Jimmy, indeed, having providently brought some all the way from Australia, just in case it wasn’t a French custom—and tears from Roma, Bernadette, Estelle, Rose, Marie-Claire and old Cousin Wendy and Cousin Iris, who had come over for the occasion. Though not a hail of petals: Fergie was still hanging on to those.

    “Phew!” said Jimmy, mopping his brow, and grinning.

    “Come on, I’ll get the map and show you where that new development’s planned for, outside Tôq.” Annie scooped up Chantal and Gégé, liberated a bottle of champagne, and the architects retired to a conference in the bachelors’ room.

    Roma blew her nose.

    “Come along inside, Roma, dear, you need a sit-down and a nice cup of tea,” said Pauline firmly. She led her inside, ably seconded by the old cousins, Rose, and Marie-Claire.

    “Well,” said Roma in English with a shaky laugh, after she’d downed her first cup, “that’s it, then! ‘And they lived happily ever after.’ –Let’s hope.”

    “Of course, dear!” cried the old cousins, beaming, and whisking out their hankies again. “Of course they will!”

    Marie-Claire also whisked out her hanky. “Yes. Eet has all turned out for the goodest, no?” she said carefully in English.

    “For the ‘best’ dear: for the best!” cried the old cousins.

    “Oh, yes. Pardon me. For the best,” she said, smiling.

    Pauline had observed with a sort of frozen horror her two younger sons fawning—yes, positively fawning, there was no other word for it—on the two Australian model-girls. However, she gave a forced smile and said briskly in her excellent English: “Yes. Everything turns out for the best. The happy ending—yes?”

    “Oh, yes, dear: exactly!” cried old Cousin Wendy and old Cousin Iris. “The happy ending!”

    Old Cousin Wendy then began to make happy plans for the christening. Old Cousin Iris backed her up, nodding pleasedly.

    Rose got up and went over to the window, tea-cup in hand. Marie-Claire followed her quietly, looking anxious. “Ça va?”

    “Ouais: t’en fais pas.” Rose sighed. After a moment she said: “I think Sidonie and Jimmy between them must have taken five thousand photos today.”

    “At least! Five million!” said Marie-Claire with a relieved giggle. “Also Oncle Mathieu, he takes a million and Robert and Roger, they also take a million!”

    “They’ll be able to fill a few albums with those,” said Rose in an odd voice.

    Marie-Claire didn’t perceive it was an odd voice: she was very relieved to hear Rose introduce such a normal, happy topic. “Oui, oui: lots of albums! –Maman has the most dreadful one of her wedding: padded white satin!” she confided with a giggle.

    “Padded white satin, eh?” said Rose with a forced smile.

    “Yes, also Tante Pauline: and hers was a Mod wedding!” she gasped, this time going off in positive paroxysm of giggles. “You know: Courrèges! Mini-skirts!”

    Rose’s jaw dropped. She gaped at Pauline, sitting very upright, sipping tea, in a fawn silk suit of restrained cut from the House of Givenchy.

    Marie-Claire followed her gaze. She clapped her over her mouth, but more giggles escaped her.

    Rose grinned. “It’s unimaginable, actually!”

    “I know: you have to see it!” she hissed.

    Rose looked longingly over at Pauline. “I don’t suppose… No, it’d be no good, I’d laugh. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

    “No of course not. –But I tell you what!” she said eagerly. “One of my friends—I don’t think you’ve met her, she’s very into interior décor and fashion recycling and stuff—well, she’s found a boutique that specialises in Sixties fashions: we went a couple of weeks back and honestly, it’s just like the wedding pictures! Why not come back to Paris, and I’ll take you there!”

    Rose’s eyes shone but she said: “Um, didn’t you come with Léon, though? I mean, um, well,” she said pinkening, “where am I going to stay?”

    “With us, of course,” said Marie-Claire comfortably.

    “At Isabelle’s?”

    “Non, non, silly! With us, at Léon’s place!”

    The family hadn’t heard it had gone that far yet. “Really? Um, but won’t I be in the way?”

    “Non, non, of course not! We’ll have fun! Léon’s out at work all day and of course Paul’s at school. We can go to the boutique and have lunch, and then perhaps do a little shopping, before I pick him up from school! We usually walk home if the weather’s fine; he wasn’t getting nearly enough exercise, Léon was sending the car for him; and really, it’s no distance.”

    “Sounds good to me!” Rose decided, beaming at her.

    At the other side of the room, Roma sagged slightly. She'd been really afraid that the wedding might set Rose back for months. But that looked all right: thank God!

    Almost a year had passed since the wedding at the château, and the fields of flax and mustard were flourishing brightly green under another spring sky. Linnet’s baby, a boy, Guy for Gilles’s father, was now three months old and his mother was nowhere to be seen.

    “Where is she?” cried Gilles, having interrogated Jacques and Estelle without result.

    “Don’t shout, dear,” replied his mother placidly. “She’s over at Semences ULR, of course.”

    “What?”

    “Mm.” Roma peered at her knitting pattern. “Oh, dear,” she murmured in English. “I don’t remember this thing being so complicated…”

    “If you last used it when I was the baby’s age that isn’t surprising!”

    “What? No, I used it for the girls, I’m sure! –Or was that that modern one that the cousins sent me? From the English Woman’s Weekly. Bother, maybe it was.”

    Gilles gave in, and came and peered. “Bootees,” he discerned weakly. “How in God’s name can bootees be modern, Maman?”

    “It’s the specific pattern, dear. –Yes, Linnet said she’ll be over at Semences ULR today.”

    She hadn’t said any such thing to him! “When?”

    “All day, dear,” said Roma in abstracted tones, peering at her pattern.

    “No! When did she say it? –Maman, pay attention, please! This is important!”

    “What? I think it was after breakfast. Yes, it must have been. That’s right: she was in the hall wearing her anorak, and she said she was going in to work.”

    “What?”

    “Don’t shout, Gilles!”

    “Did she actually use the phrase going in to work?” he demanded tightly.

    “We were speaking English,” she said vaguely in French.

    “Then please tell me in English exactly what Linnet said.”

    Roma replied obediently: “She said: ‘Oh, hi, Roma. I’m going in to work. See ya!’ –It seems to have taken the place of ‘See you later’ in the Australian vernacular. Interesting, isn’t it? I’ve noticed that they say it even when they don’t specifically intend meeting later, too.”

    Gilles returned angrily in French: “She never told me she was starting work there seriously!”

    “I’m sure she said back when she was about six months and you were fussing over her that she wouldn’t drive over herself while she was still expecting if you didn’t like her to, but she’d get someone to drive her while she was doing a couple of half-days a week for them—”

    “Yes, but—”

    “But that once she was back on her feet she’d take the Renault every day, of course,” finished Roma calmly. “And I have to say it, Gilles, if you didn’t take her seriously you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

    “I—” He broke off, biting his lip.

    “You didn’t, did you?” spotted his mother.

    “Well, I— Look, after Guy was born she seemed perfectly happy to just stay home and work on her lovely little flower paintings!” he said crossly.

    “Yes, but that’s just a hobby, dear.”

    “Apparently,” he said tightly.

    Roma counted stitches carefully. “Bother,” she said in English.

    Gilles fidgeted. “Well, is she going to be there all day, or what?”

    She sighed. “My dear, yesterday you were out on the estate with the twins all day, and this morning you’d had your breakfast and gone out by the time Linnet and I came downstairs—I’m not even going to ask what time you got up.”

    “We’re having problems with the ditching and draining,” he said, frowning. “I think we’ll have to build a proper dyke over to the east, those fields have been under water since the thaw.”

    “I dare say. I’m sure Linnet understands that, but with you only putting in appearances for meals and not always then, and Sidonie in charge of the baby, there’s very little for her to occupy her time with. Given that she doesn’t knit,” she noted, casting a darkling glance at the offending pattern. “She’s been a working woman for years, and she enjoys her profession: you can’t expect her just to sit round at home twiddling her thumbs.”

    He frowned. “I’m not expecting that. I just thought— Well, there are clubs and so forth, and I know several charities have asked her to sit on their committees, and— What?” he said defensively.

    His mother said heavily in English: “If you’re expecting Linnet to swan round the neighbourhood graciously doing good works, you must need your head read.”

    “To swan— No! But there are lots of things— And I know Pauline would be only too happy to introduce her to some of the pleasant people from her committees.”

    Sighing, Roma reverted to French. “Darling boy, she’s the last person in the world to want to be a committee woman!”

    After a few frowning moments he admitted: “You’re right. But all day at Semences ULR?”

    “I think she’ll be much happier working, dear.” Roma looked at the embryo bootee. “Maybe if I don’t do the lacy bit… Only would that work out at the same number of stitches?”

    Gilles opened his mouth crossly.

    “But if you’d rather she didn’t work fulltime, Gilles, you’d better tell her so.”

    “Right,” he agreed bitterly. “So do I go over there and confront her, or wait until she comes home and then confront her?”

    “Don’t be silly, dear,” she murmured, holding the knitting up. “Oh, good heavens, I’ve dropped a stitch! No wonder—” She began to unravel it.

    Gilles took a deep breath and went out.

    Roma put the knitting down. “Oh, dear,” she said in English. “Well, it had to happen sooner or later. And if he doesn’t listen to a thing the poor girl says, he’s asking for it, isn’t he?”

    She waited a few moments and then went out to the hall. Jacques was there, looking extraordinarily neutral.

    “There you are, Jacques,” said Roma mildly. “Did you see where Monsieur Gilles went?”

    “He’s in his study, madame,” replied Jacques respectfully.

    “I see. Well,” she said on a bright note, “never mind what the time is, I really think I deserve a cup of tea!”

    “Yes, madame, of course,” he agreed. “Bernadette’s made some madeleines: shall I bring some?”

    “Yes, lovely, thank you, Jacques.” She went back into the sitting-room. There the clock informed her that it was only half-past two, rather than what it felt like, which was at least half-past four. Oh, well!

    Gilles stuck it out until five. Then he rang Semences ULR. The switchboard wasn’t sure where “Linnette” was, but they put him through to Annick Durand’s extension. After some time there was a series of clicking noises and then Jean-Louis Duvallier answered.

    Gilles had to take a deep breath. He asked politely if Linnet was there. No, she was in the lab, he was afraid. Could he take a message?

    Gilles was about to give him a message; then he frowned. “Would you put me through to her there, please?”

    “Is it urgent, Monsieur de Bellecourt? Because we do try not to ring the labs.”

    Was the man doing it on purpose? He took another deep breath and managed to say: “Then just let her know I rang, please.”

    It was nearly seven o’clock when Linnet came into his study, looking vague. “Jacques says you want to see me, Gilles. Is anything the matter?”

    “Not precisely. I just wondered why you didn’t bother to tell me you’re working fulltime at Semences ULR.”

    “It’s not fulltime, silly,” said Linnet placidly. “I’m just filling in for someone. Um, you don’t know him, I don’t think. He’s gone to America. They’ve got someone coming to replace him, but he had to give proper notice at his old job, of course. I mean, it is fulltime,” she added before her husband could recover his breath, “but just until he starts. The new man, I mean,” she added helpfully. “Then I’ll go in for three or four days a week, but not full days. I’ll be home before Guy’s bedtime.”

    Gilles refrained from looking pointedly at his watch, but it was a real effort. “I see, mignonne.”

    “Um, I’d better have a wash before dinner.”

    “Yes—no, wait! Linnet, why didn’t you tell me this was the plan?”

    “I did,” replied Linnet in mild surprise. “It was in here: I said Annick would like me to fill in for Raul at work and you said it was Raoul in French, not Raul. I was just explaining that he isn’t French, he’s Argentinean, when Louis came in looking agitated and said a fox had been seen near the coops, and you said you’d get your coat, and you were just going to when Robert came in and said the stuff the vet had prescribed for one of the horses was no good and now the man was saying it’d have to be put down, and you rushed off to get your coat. So I— Um, what did I do?” she asked herself. “Oh, yes: I went into the sitting-room to tell Roma, only she wasn't there, that’s right. Then Jacques rushed in to say that Estelle had broken something in the upstairs corridor when she was dusting it because whoever had been supposed to do it hadn’t done it properly—”

    “Stop,” said Gilles feebly, putting his hands over his ears.

    Linnet stopped and looked at him expectantly.

    “I’m sorry, ma mie,” he said feebly. “That was a terrible day: the new vet’s damned hopeless with horses, and the poor brute was suffering, so I put it down.”

    “I know,” his wife agreed, nodding sagely. “With a bolt.”

     Gilles goggled at her.

    “I asked Louis—Robert was too upset,” she explained. “Isn’t that the word?”

    “Oh, that’s the word,” he muttered.

    They had of course been speaking French. “I don’t know what it is in English,” she said.

    “No,” said Gilles weakly. “I see, darling: other things intervened.”

    “Yes. Life, really,” said Linnet in her vaguest voice, drifting out.

    It took a moment for him to realise that she’d actually gone. As he was “imprisoned” behind his desk, as she’d put it one day when they’d been having a disagreement—over what he was damned if he could remember, something trifling—it took him a moment to extricate himself and get over to the door.

    From the hall Linnet was to be seen rounding the bend in the stairs in the company of Estelle, who was saying something loudly about a better hairdresser she’d found for you, Madame Linnette…

    Gilles sighed and retreated to his study. Oh, well, it could have been worse. But he’d see to it once this new fellow arrived that she did only do four days a week at the very most—and got home in time to see her own child.

    Marie-Claire, Léon and Paul had come down for the weekend, and Annie and Chantal had also turned up—arriving not by train but driven by Gégé Fleuriot du Hamel. They thought they’d have a preliminary look round for possible sites for a project they were thinking of, and Annie would take some photos to send to Jimmy. It was never too soon to start planning! And there were some possible places for their office, too: they thought Tôq, if they could find something decent at a reasonable rent. Touques-les-Bains would be cheaper, but it was too out of the way. Anyway, there were several places advertised, so they’d check them out!

    The venture to Tôq on the Saturday was apparently successful: there were plenty of offices available and they all thought Jimmy was sure to like them. They’d spotted one or two possible sites for the project but they’d have another look on the Sunday.

    On the Sunday Annie suggested that perhaps Rose might like to come with them. What did Linnet think?

    “You could ask her. I don’t think she usually does much on a Sunday,” she replied. “But it’ll probably mean Fergie as well, you know.”

    “That’s okay!” said Gégé with his pleasant laugh.

    “She’s not much of a walker, Gégé, if you were planning to roam the countryside,” Linnet explained.

    “Not roam!” he protested. “We’ll take the car, of course.”

    “Yes, but you said yourself that yesterday you walked a long way over the hilly bit over towards Touques-les-Bains because someone told you there was a possible site there,” objected Marie-Claire.

    “Well, you come, too, Marie-Claire, and stop us roaming over hilly bits!” grinned Gégé.

    “Yes, do come,” said Chantal. “You know the neighbourhood, too.”

    “I know the neighbourhood!” cried Annie indignantly.

    “Yes, too well,” replied her friend firmly. “We’d have had to put in an immense infrastructure if we built over there—it wasn’t that near the town,” she informed the company. “You know: roads, drainage, electricity,” she explained kindly.

    “Help,” said Marie-Claire limply. “I’d better come, in that case! What about you, Linnet?”

    “I’d have to be home by four—no, half-past three, I suppose. Gilles and Roma have got a five o’clock lined up with some people who live on the other side of Tôq. I forget their names.”

    Marie-Claire here mouthed something at her sister.

    Annie shuddered. “Ugh, them? Don’t go, Linnet, it’ll be awful!”

    Linnet smiled serenely at her. “I know: Gilles said that, too! But it doesn’t seem fair to let him be the only one to suffer.”

    “No,” agreed Chantal, turning very pink as she said it, but nonetheless smiling at her. “But we can get you back by three-thirty, don’t worry.”

    “Okay. Only I don’t think we can all fit in your car, Gégé, can we?”

    “We can take the Renault, Linnet,” decided Marie-Claire, “and if Rose and Fergie want to come, we’ll take them!”

    “Good,” agreed Linnet happily. Gégé was nearest the bell so she asked him to ring it and when Jacques hurried in looking expectant, asked him to let M. le Comte know she was going out but would be back by three-thirty.

    “But Madame Linnette, what about lunch?’ he faltered.

    “T’en fais pas: we’ll grab something in Tôq or somewhere!” said Annie breezily. “Come on, it’s a lovely day, sunnier than yesterday!”

    And with that they all got up and hurried out.

    “Oh, dear,” said Jacques to himself. “M. le Comte won’t like that. And she was late home for dinner on Friday, too.” –He did not, of course, mean Annie.

    There was no answer at Rose’s front door, so Linnet headed round the back as a matter of course. Marie-Claire followed her somewhat limply. What if Rose was doing something private? Or maybe doing something with Georges? Um, well, that’d be great—only they wouldn’t want to be interrupted.

    Rose and Georges weren’t doing anything private, alas: she was in muddy jeans and a very grimy sweater, leading on a spade and glaring at something in her garden, and Georges was leaning over the broken-down stone wall that separated the two back gardens. Fergie, even muddier than her mother, was digging industriously with a trowel.

    “There aren’t any potatoes!” the little girl reported in shrill disappointment as they approached.

    “No, right. Sidonie was right all along,” agreed Rose glumly.

    “She always is,” said Georges with a laugh in his voice. “Hullo, there!”

    Rose turned round. “Oh, hi, it’s you,” she said without enthusiasm.

    “Us is better than Sidonie, surely?” ventured Linnet, her eyes twinkling. “Salut, Georges: ça va?”

    “Hullo, Aunty Linnet! Hullo, Marie Claire! Can you grow potatoes?” cried Fergie.

    “Absolutely not!” replied Marie-Claire cheerfully. “But your mummy can always buy some in the village, Fergie.”

    “I know how to grow them in theory,” Linnet admitted.

    Rose gave in and grinned. “Broken reed!” she said in English.

    “Hein?” asked Georges.

    “I thought ‘reed’ was a plant,” said Mare-Claire.

    “Yeah; well, I dunno why, but it just means someone who’s hopeless,” explained Rose cheerfully.

    Linnet laughed. “That’s me, all right!”

    “Want a coffee?” suggested Rose. “I was just gonna give it away and have one.”

    Hurriedly they explained why they’d come.

    “Hurray!” cried Fergie immediately. “Come on, Mummy!”

    “Just a word of warning,” said Georges over his wall as Rose agreed they might as well go, it’d take their minds off the rotten garden. “That place of old Poirier’s over towards Touques-les-Bains is under water most of the winter and bone-dry clay most of the summer.”’

    “That’ll be the place they liked!” gurgled Marie-Claire, breaking down in giggles.

    Linnet sniggered. “Ouais! Bound to be!”

    “Come in anyway, we’ll have to get changed,” said Rose, heading for the house.

    Marie-Claire hurried off to tell the others they’d only be a few minutes; Linnet was about to follow her but the doctor said: “Just a minute, Linnet.”

    “I’m blooming and Guy’s as fit as a flea, no child under Sidonie’s care would dare to be otherwise,” said Linnet drily.

    “I know that! Non, eugh… Well, it's none of my business, of course, but, uh, well, Annie’s always been a determined little thing… I just wondered if your brother might be, eugh, letting himself be dragged into this scheme of hers.”

    Linnet smiled at him. “It’s nice of you to care, Georges. Jimmy comes on as pretty meek, but he’s one of those rather quiet people who are actually very determined and always know their own minds. Don’t worry: he’d never agree to something he didn’t really want to do, especially when it’s a matter of his career.”

    “Oh, good,” said Georges in relief. “Uh—not even when he’s rather keen on the girl?”

    “Very keen,” Linnet corrected him. “No, I’m sure he’d make it quite clear to her that the one didn't necessarily entail the other, if he didn’t want to be part of their architectural partnership.”

    “Glad to hear it,” he said, reflecting involuntarily that Jimmy Muller wasn’t the only one of the family to be quietly determined, especially when it was a matter of their career, was he? Linnet herself was a prime example. Well, he didn’t know it of his own knowledge, but Sidonie’s reports were extremely full. “And how’s the supermodel these days?” he added kindly.

    “Flourishing,” replied Linnet on a dry note. “Actually that’s getting to be almost not a joke any more, Georges. Buffy and Marilu have both landed some really good contracts lately and next month they’re off to somewhere exotic, I forget where, to have their pictures taken for Vogue.”

    “Posh, is that?”

    “Very!” she said with a laugh.

    “Good for them,” he conceded.

    “Mm! –Why not come with us, Georges?”

    “Can’t, I’m afraid: got a longstanding date to play chess with some like-minded old codgers from the village. We’d be a club if we didn’t all loathe the idea of clubs!” he grinned.

    Linnet smiled a little but returned firmly: “You’re not an old codger.”

    “Getting in practice for it, then,” Georges Vaks replied mildly. “I’ll see you and Guy on Tuesday,” he reminded her.

    “Is it that soon? Okay, see ya!” she agreed, heading inside.

    The doctor went slowly into his own house. “Yes,” he said heavily to himself as he removed his muddy footwear. “So much practice, in fact, that, I’ve practically made it. Oh, well, keep plugging on.”

    “We’ll drop you off first, Linnet,” decided Marie-Claire, some hours later, “and then take Rose and Fergie home.”

    “No, that’s mad, you’ll be going back and forth to the château. Linnet can come with us,” said Annie firmly. “Hop in the back, Linnet.”

    Obediently Linnet hopped. Somewhere in Tôq Annie had collected a large basket which had to be dropped off to someone in the village, but that was pretty much par for the course. It didn’t leave all that much room in the back seat but fortunately both Linnet and Annie were slim.

    Gilles sagged slightly as she came into the sitting-room. “There you are, ma mie!”

    “Yes, don’t worry, you’ll have company in your misery!” replied Linnet cheerfully.

    “Misery?” cried Roma.

    “Maman, you know they’re the stiffest pair outside of Madame Tussaud’s,” he replied heavily.

    “Madame Who?” asked Linnet blankly.

    Gilles had to swallow, but Roma explained calmly about the famous waxworks museum.

    “I see,” sad Linnet. “Never mind, Gilles, last time the McEwans were over they said that one always gets ‘a jolly good tea’ there! Which I think translates into a good five o’clock!” she added with laugh.

    “Ouais! Eugh—non, attends: didn’t we take them over there in the morning? Did they mean elevenses?” he ask his mother in English.

    “No, dear, of course not: elevenses can’t be a jolly good tea,” she replied with her usual placidity.

    Abruptly Gilles and Linnet both went into spluttering hysterics.

    Roma smiled. “I’ll just run up and change,” she murmured, going out.

    “Come here!” gasped Gilles, wiping his eyes.

    Linnet came up to him looking puzzled. “What?”

    “This!” He swept her into his arms.

    “Ooh, bear-hug!” she said with a laugh.

    “Mmm… Absolutely!”

    After a few moments Linnet said in a dreamy voice in English: “This is very nice.”

    Gilles leaned his head on hers and sighed deeply. “Mieux que ça!”

    “Oui: extra,” said Linnet in French.

    “C’est ça,” he agreed. “Extra.”

    They were still standing entwined when Bernadette popped her head into the room. Smiling, the old cook withdrew silently. She waited in the hall for Madame la Comtesse and reported approvingly that it looked all right.

    “Good,” said Roma. “They’re still getting used to each other’s ways, of course. It’ll take a while. But for the moment, I think they are all right.”

    Bernadette nodded and beamed. She had been intending to warn Madame Linnette that the babas made by That Woman—the Bellecourts’ prospective hosts’ cook—would be no good, but she didn’t bother. She went happily back to the kitchen and astonished Jacques and Estelle by offering to make “les baisers anglais” for their five o’clock. These were delicious little biscuits which Roma had explained were called “kisses” in English, stuck together with sweetened cream or if one was very lucky a secret butter icing of Bernadette’s own. Sadly, neither of them stuck their necks out and asked if Louis was going to be allowed some: they just beamed and thanked her.

    Bernadette got out the flour and the big mixing bowl. “It looks all right between Monsieur Gilles and Madame Linnette,” she reported.

    “I see!” they chorused.

    Bernadette sniffed slightly.

    They waited, but to their astonishment she didn't say “Time will tell.” There was no doubt, however, that she’d be thinking it. Jacques and Estelle were of course also thinking it: neither of them was as simple-minded as Bernadette liked to claim.

    In the event Louis and young Rémy were both allowed to share the “kisses”—with the secret ingredient in the filling—and the old man remarked dreamily as he washed his down with coffee: “Life’s like that. Things come and go. You gotta learn to take the rough with the smooth.”

    Rémy eyed him tolerantly and didn’t bother to say anything: he was used to him by now; but the three old servants nodded sagely. They’d seen it all in their time, and then some.

    Marie-Claire had duly driven Rose and Fergie home and had come in for a cup of tea. Fergie had a glass of milk and then wanted to watch a video, so Rose settled her in front of the TV and the two ladies were able to chat.

    Marie-Claire would have liked to ask Rose how she was psychologically, but thought it better not to, if she wasn't volunteering. Besides, she seemed pretty much back to normal, she’d been very cheerful during their little expedition. She was also dying to ask her how she felt about Georges Vaks, but in the first place Léon had warned her not to do any such thing, and in the second place she rather thought it was too soon. She merely ventured: “You’re lucky to have Georges as a neighbour, Rose.”

    “Yes, he’s been, um, I don’t know the French expression!” Rose realised. “It’s ‘a tower of strength’ in English. Well, a great support.”

    “Yes, he's a very good man.”

    “Ouais…” she agreed, staring vaguely out of the front window at a straggling climbing rose on the joint houses’ tumbledown garden wall. “Sidonie reckons we should have clipped that thing back months ago.”

    “Hein? Oh! She would!”

    “Well, she's probably right, but who cares?”

    Marie-Claire gave her an anxious glance.

    Suddenly Rose grinned. “Besides, Georges reckons he's never cut it back as long as he’s lived here and it blooms every year regardless!”

    “Good!” she choked, going into a fit of the giggles.

    “Yeah: sucks,” Rose agreed. “Not that Sidonie’s not a decent old thing.”

    Marie-Claire blew her nose. “Of course. Just very hard to take!”

    “You said it. –Fancy a biscuit? They’re bought ones: just don’t mention it up at the château!”

    Hastily Marie-Claire agreed to these propositions.

    Over the biscuits she said cautiously: “I think that Papa and Linnet are all right; what do you think, Rose?”

    “Pretty much, yeah. Still adjusting to being a couple, I’d say. But yes, it’s working out very well. –The old Linnet would have found some way of getting out of that five o’clock with the Whatsernames, you know. Gone into her vague thing and pretended to’ve forgotten all about it, most probably.”

    “Really? Then that’s great progress!” beamed Marie-Claire.

    “Yes,” Rose agreed. “I don’t say she hasn’t been marvellous to me and Fergie—and dratted Buffy, actually—but she’s always been used to it being just her that she had to consider, if you take my meaning.”

    Marie-Claire nodded hard.

    “Yeah. But she’s definitely starting to realise you have to think of the other person when you’re married. –Me and Kyle were dreadful at first,” she admitted. “He’d make arrangements to go off with his mates fishing or something, and I’d agree to Sunday lunch or something with my friends without consulting him—well, you know what I mean! But by the time Fergie came along we were both much better. Well, he had to have his hobbies, of course: it’s a mistake to try and stop a bloke, they only resent you for it and it builds up into a life-long grudge—well, I was thinking of Aunty Mim, actually,” she admitted.

    “Ugh!” cried Marie-Claire with great sympathy.

    “Yeah,” Rose acknowledged drily. “No, me and Kyle were doing okay. And like I say, Linnet’s really improved. If they keep on working at it they’ll be all right.”

    Marie-Claire beamed at her. “Good! When you first arrived— Well, we were all very anxious about Papa, naturally.”

    “Mm, naturally…” Rose stared out of the window for a while and didn’t say anything else.

    Marie-Claire licked her lips uneasily. Finally she ventured: “Rose, you—you are all right here in France, are you? You feel settled, now?”

    “Ouais…” replied Rose vaguely, still staring out of the window. Then she said: “Yes. It has all turned out for the best, really—the tontine and so forth. We’d never have believed Gilles would be so decent about when it all started... Funny how things turn out, isn’t it? It hasn’t been at all like what I expected...”

    “What, Rose?” she said nervously. “France, you mean?”

    “Yes, France, I suppose.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Life, I suppose,” said Rose.

    “Eugh... oui. But life, it is still going on, Rose!” she said with a nervous laugh.

    “I think that’s what I mean,” admitted Rose. “It’s still going on.” She looked at Marie-Claire’s anxious face. “Don’t look like that. There was nothing left for us in Australia, you know. But here… Well, I feel me and Fergie can look forward to things, now. Life is going on: you’re right!” she smiled.

The Frazer Inheritance continues with Part 2: La Barbara’s Revenge:

https://frazerinheritance-labarbarasrevenge.blogspot.com/