Chapter Ten #2
‘Well, you didn’t give the best account of yourself,’ Odile replied. She wouldn’t look Mathilde in the eye, the livid birthmark splashed over one cheek no doubt making her self-conscious.
Mathilde dressed swiftly and ran down the back staircase to find Madame de Courcy and apologise again.
There was no sign of her in the kitchen or the salon so she slipped outside through the back door and stood there for a moment to get her bearings, shading her eyes from the sun.
The countess and the Patron were walking along the terrace, deep in conversation, with the dog at their heels.
They wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed and she hadn’t the courage to approach them together; she was hoping the Patron would have left before she had to see him again.
Turning the other way, she went down a flight of steps, past the kitchen garden and a man digging up potatoes to the orchard beyond.
Brambles grew between the trees, and the grass was knee-high, apart from a path that led to a cluster of beehives.
A gate at the far end led to a sight that made her feel instantly at home: rows of gnarled, twisted vines clinging to the hillside.
She climbed the slope, inspecting them with Monsieur Piquemal’s voice in her ear.
The time for major pruning had passed – she knew that – but the bushy leaves needed thinning and some of the tiny grapes should be removed or the vines would be overloaded.
At the top of the field, where cultivated land gave way to the mountains, she sat to look down on Chateau Albertine.
The house itself was square, solid and symmetrical under the terracotta-tiled roof; the terrace looked out on a formal garden with gravel paths, overgrown hedges and statues on plinths amid the greenery.
The kitchen garden and orchard lay to the left of the house, along with a barn, stables and several sheds.
An avenue of cypress trees had been planted in the middle, presumably to hide these outbuildings from the house and provide a more pleasant view from the terrace.
On the right-hand side stood a low white block with a tiled roof, arranged around a courtyard: accommodation for servants, perhaps.
It seemed extraordinary to Mathilde that she should have ended up here, blown by fate like a puff of thistledown into this orderly world.
She had no place here but perhaps they would let her stay for a few days while she got her bearings and decided what to do next.
The terrace was deserted now. After scrambling to her feet, she made her way downhill to find the mistress of the house.
Madame de Courcy was talking to Odile in the kitchen.
She wore slacks this morning and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her hair in a ponytail, but she still looked elegant.
She was as straight-backed as a dancer, head tilted on a graceful neck as she regarded the world through clever grey eyes.
Mathilde hovered in the doorway, rehearsing her apologies as she waited for the conversation to finish.
‘There you are.’ The countess addressed her at last. ‘Feeling better this morning?’
‘Madame, I’m so sorry about what happened last night,’ Mathilde began. ‘I can’t begin to apologise.’
‘Well, presumably you couldn’t have helped it,’ the countess replied. ‘No one chooses to be ill in such a spectacular fashion. Come to my study and let’s talk. Have you had anything to eat?’
‘I’m not hungry.’ This wasn’t true, but Mathilde wasn’t taking any risks. ‘Perhaps a drink of water?’
Odile filled a glass and handed it to her without a word. Mathilde gulped down the water, aware of their eyes upon her, and returned the glass. ‘Thank you.’
They walked down the corridor and across the hall to a smaller room leading off the salon, lined with bookshelves soaring up to the high ceiling and a sliding library ladder to reach them.
A leather-topped desk with a chair behind it stood by the French windows, but Madame de Courcy showed Mathilde to one of two high-backed armchairs by the fireplace and took the other.
‘So all I know from Yves,’ she began, ‘is that you’ve come from Paris and both your husband and cousin were recently killed. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you, Madame.’
‘And what do you propose to do now?’ the countess asked, scrutinising Mathilde as though she wanted to read her mind.
‘Find a job somewhere and a place to stay,’ Mathilde replied. ‘I was wondering if you might have heard of anyone looking for workers?’
‘Yves has suggested I might let you live here,’ Madame de Courcy told her. ‘But perhaps you know that already?’
Mathilde was so surprised, she couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘I had no idea. I wouldn’t have dared . . . Well, after last night, I mean.’
‘Yes, it wasn’t the ideal introduction,’ the countess said drily. ‘But Yves seems to have faith in you and he thinks you’d be a useful addition to our household. He assures me you’re no hardened criminal.’
‘Who is he?’ Mathilde couldn’t help asking. ‘And why do the others call him Patron?’
‘He is a friend of my son’s. I’ve known him since he was eight.
’ Madame de Courcy crossed one trousered leg over the other, letting an espadrille dangle from her foot.
‘That is the only reason I let him get away with such outrageous behaviour – apart from the fact he’s extremely charming, as you’ll have noticed.
I have no idea why the men call him Patron, presumably because he’s organising them in some capacity that I’d rather not know about.
His father is French and his mother English, and now he spends most of the time in London. ’
Mathilde’s ears pricked up. London: home of de Gaulle and the Free French army, and the BBC wireless broadcasts she listened to whenever she got the chance.
‘The war is over, as far as I’m concerned,’ Madame de Courcy went on. ‘I won’t have any trouble here.’
‘No, Madame,’ Mathilde said, adopting a respectful expression.
‘And what did you do in Paris before the occupation?’
‘I was an anthropologist,’ Mathilde replied, ‘a museum curator, and my husband ran a bookshop.’
‘Really? One would never have guessed from your appearance. Still, I suppose the war has thrown us all out of place.’
‘But of course, I’m ready to do any sort of work,’ Mathilde went on hastily.
‘As a matter of fact, I was employed at a vineyard in Avignon. This morning I took a walk among your vines and, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, they need some urgent attention.
’ Now the possibility of staying at Chateau Albertine had been raised, she was going to do her damnedest to make it happen.
‘I could work in the vineyard or the gardens, or in the kitchen with Odile – wherever you think I’d be most useful. ’
‘It’s true we’re desperately short-staffed, and it would certainly be useful to have another pair of hands in the vineyard.
’ The countess gave her a long, cool look.
‘I’m not sure about giving you a permanent home, though.
It’s one thing to have these boys here for a night or two and quite another to employ a fugitive. ’
‘I understand,’ Mathilde said. ‘But I’m a woman and small fry, really – nobody’s going to be looking for me.
’ And maybe that was actually true? ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Won’t you at least give me the chance to prove myself?
Let me stay for a month and see how we get on.
I’ll leave at any point, no questions asked, if you tell me to. ’
‘Well, you’re certainly persistent,’ the countess remarked. ‘I’d have to see what Georges thinks about the idea, though. He’s our gardener, and Odile’s husband, more to the point, so she’d have to agree as well – which is by no means a certainty.’
‘Of course.’ Mathilde folded her hands in her lap, hoping to look submissive and not troublesome in the slightest.
The countess clapped her hands against her thighs. ‘All right, then. If Georges and Odile are in favour, you have a month to show me what you can do. I can’t pay you much but you’ll have bed and board.’
‘Thank you, Madame!’ Mathilde exclaimed. ‘You won’t regret this, I promise.’
‘I hope not,’ Madame de Courcy said gravely. ‘I’m taking a risk, my dear, allowing you to stay. Don’t let me down.’