A Period of Adjustment by Dirk Bogarde Page B

Then Giles wandered in, his curly hair now seal-sleek with water, his tie squint and the top button of his shirt undone. He thudded into the chair, slumped opposite me as Eugène swiftly came to the table, said good morning and would the young man like fruit juice or, perhaps, some tinned grapefruit. Iced?
    Breakfast was eventually ordered. I told Giles to do up the button at his neck. The dining-room began to fill with a murmuring of new residents. The season had commenced with vigour. Giles watched everyone with intense interest, dropping crumbs and swinging his legs.
    â€˜Don’t swing your legs at table. You’re shaking everything.’
    â€˜I only do it when I’m thinking. I’m trying to understand what they all say. They talk so fast. Will you get me some more toothpaste today? If I have to clean my teeth
all
the time I use it up quickly. And this is my last clean shirt. Remember?’
    Eugène came hurrying through the kitchen door with atray of metal coffee pots. He called across to me, ‘M’sieur! Telephone! In the cabin.’
    Giles looked up at me quickly. ‘Mum? Maybe Mum?’
    â€˜It could be. You wait here.’
    Madame Mazine nodded good morning, indicated the cabin with a bob of her head, switched something on the board in front of her.
    â€˜Attendez, Madame. Il arrive!’
    In the quilted cabin, rioting with parrots in faded chintz, Helen sounded near, bright and quite unapologetic.
    â€˜Didn’t
I give you the number here? At the airport? Oh silly me! We only got in a couple of days ago. Just flaked out. God! It’s a brutal job, but huge fun really. Are you both well?’
    I filled her in with the barest detail. All that she really had to know and nothing more. She was kind, sorry about James (whom she had never met), and glad that eventually he’d been discovered, even though it was what she called a ‘sad discovery’. I agreed.
    â€˜Well, anyway, William, now you know. I was beginning to think he’d just evaporated or something. Really! Pneumonia. People don’t die of pneumonia now. They give them shots and things.’
    I explained (avoiding all the true facts) that James had let things go too far, had been very run down and had become a recluse.
    She sighed. ‘Oh, God. I suppose because of the child? The Down’s Syndrome business? Some people
can’t
come to terms with that. You haven’t asked about Annie, your
own
child, if I might remind you? She is very well, thank you. Mummy is buying her a pony! Quite mad. Now then, when can we meet? It’s been absolutely ages. We must have a chin-wag. Lots to talk over. The house for one.
Me
for another. So when?’
    â€˜And where? I’m free, utterly free. Giles is at his tutor, Ican be with you when and where you like. Do you want to come over here?’
    I knew she’d rather die.
    â€˜Well, William, listen. Eric has to go into Monte Carlo today. Business. What about today? Lunch with me? So that we can talk things over alone. It really has been weeks …’
    â€˜Not terribly keen on coming to Valbonne, Helen. Can’t we find somewhere -’
    Her voice was over-willing, too hasty. False apology. ‘Oh I didn’t mean
here,
William! No. Eric can drop me off somewhere. What about Nice? Can you make Nice? I mean, I don’t know how far away you are. He’ll be back this evening, when we have to have a dinner at the Negresco for the American team. Lunch? Make lunch? Meet me in the Negresco bar half-twelve? All right by you?’
    â€˜I’m not far away. You seem pretty busy, so I’ll come to the Negresco.’
    â€˜Super! Terrific! Explain to Giles, will you? That this is “grown-up time”. I’ll be in London in a couple of weeks anyway; we can all be together then. You’ll be there too, won’t you? Now that your “mission” is over and you’ve discovered where your little ewe lamb got