hungry (though I suppose he must have been) but was grateful that the girl seemed so concerned for his welfare.
I poured the water for Bouncer and then hung about for some time waiting for Maurice to re-emerge, which he eventually did: still in her arms, and looking placidly satisfied and more than a little sticky around the gills. ‘ Je lui ai donné aussi des grosses sardines ,’ she announced happily, ‘ et maintenant il va dor-dor! ’ Go ‘dor-dor’, would he? I thought gloomily. More likely be sick in my lap. However, I thanked her profusely, settled the bill, and retrieving a mellowed Maurice joined the others. It struck me as odd how cat and waitress had so transformed each other’s demeanour, and wondered what Sartre would make of it.
We were just preparing to leave, when there was the sound of a low engine and swishing tyres, and moving at absurd speed there flashed past a silver-grey sports car. The dozing lurcher leapt up and started to howl, and from the barber’s shop next door came the protest, ‘ Merde – les foux Anglais! ’
We looked at one another. ‘That was that Austin-Healey 100,’ announced Nicholas.
‘Not the one on the boat again!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, your sister’s friends, Climp and Mullion.’
‘Or Mullion and Climp,’ I giggled, clearly having drunk my Pernod too quickly.
‘They weren’t my friends,’ said Primrose indignantly. ‘They merely engaged me in conversation – passing the time of day.’
‘Well, at that rate they are certainly passing the time of day all right – they’ll be into dusk by now!’ replied Nicholas, adding as an afterthought, ‘Quite a lot of these Fangio fellows about, it would seem.’
We returned to the car, and I asked helpfully if Nicholas would like me to drive for a while.
‘No fear,’ he said.
Thus we pushed on. And other than Nicholas treating us to an embarrassingly awful travesty of Charles Trenet singing ‘La Mer’, all went peaceably. But despite the novelty of the landscape with its changing scenery I was glad when Primrose announced that it was high time we started looking for somewhere to lodge for the night.
‘I know it’s still only late afternoon but if we leave it much longer our choice will be limited, and I for one do not propose sleeping in some third-rate B&B with dodgy plumbing and cackling geese.’
‘Such negative thoughts,’ replied Nicholas lightly. ‘One’s in France, you know, not England. We’re bound to find something perfectly adequate that even you will approve. I’ve marked a number of places listed in the Michelin, they can’t all be full this late in the season. And who knows, we might even bump into the Episcopal Progress.’
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ I said. ‘Besides, they left days before us and are bound to be settled in their friends’ house by now.’ Gloom fell as I had a momentary vision of Clinker with rod and waders suddenly bearing down on me from some mountain tarn in the vicinity of Berceau-Lamont …
We had made good progress and were now about fifty miles north of Clermont-Ferrand, and began to look seriously for somewhere to stay. We passed and discounted a couple of nondescript places at the roadside, and were just wondering about a third, equally indifferent, when Nicholas suddenly slammed on the brakes and made a sharp turn into a winding lane. Primrose emitted a shriek of protest and the dog barked reproachfully.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I only just saw the sign.’
‘What sign?’ she asked indignantly.
‘The one to L’Auberge du Cheval Blanc. It’s listed in the book and is supposed to be pretty good. Might as well have one night of civilized living at least. Don’t think we can expect much from Berceau so we had better make the most of it while we can. It says they do a wonderful civet de lièvre for which people travel miles, and the wine list is supposed to be superb.’
‘Yes, and probably jolly expensive,’ I said
I poured the water for Bouncer and then hung about for some time waiting for Maurice to re-emerge, which he eventually did: still in her arms, and looking placidly satisfied and more than a little sticky around the gills. ‘ Je lui ai donné aussi des grosses sardines ,’ she announced happily, ‘ et maintenant il va dor-dor! ’ Go ‘dor-dor’, would he? I thought gloomily. More likely be sick in my lap. However, I thanked her profusely, settled the bill, and retrieving a mellowed Maurice joined the others. It struck me as odd how cat and waitress had so transformed each other’s demeanour, and wondered what Sartre would make of it.
We were just preparing to leave, when there was the sound of a low engine and swishing tyres, and moving at absurd speed there flashed past a silver-grey sports car. The dozing lurcher leapt up and started to howl, and from the barber’s shop next door came the protest, ‘ Merde – les foux Anglais! ’
We looked at one another. ‘That was that Austin-Healey 100,’ announced Nicholas.
‘Not the one on the boat again!’ I exclaimed.
‘Yes, your sister’s friends, Climp and Mullion.’
‘Or Mullion and Climp,’ I giggled, clearly having drunk my Pernod too quickly.
‘They weren’t my friends,’ said Primrose indignantly. ‘They merely engaged me in conversation – passing the time of day.’
‘Well, at that rate they are certainly passing the time of day all right – they’ll be into dusk by now!’ replied Nicholas, adding as an afterthought, ‘Quite a lot of these Fangio fellows about, it would seem.’
We returned to the car, and I asked helpfully if Nicholas would like me to drive for a while.
‘No fear,’ he said.
Thus we pushed on. And other than Nicholas treating us to an embarrassingly awful travesty of Charles Trenet singing ‘La Mer’, all went peaceably. But despite the novelty of the landscape with its changing scenery I was glad when Primrose announced that it was high time we started looking for somewhere to lodge for the night.
‘I know it’s still only late afternoon but if we leave it much longer our choice will be limited, and I for one do not propose sleeping in some third-rate B&B with dodgy plumbing and cackling geese.’
‘Such negative thoughts,’ replied Nicholas lightly. ‘One’s in France, you know, not England. We’re bound to find something perfectly adequate that even you will approve. I’ve marked a number of places listed in the Michelin, they can’t all be full this late in the season. And who knows, we might even bump into the Episcopal Progress.’
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ I said. ‘Besides, they left days before us and are bound to be settled in their friends’ house by now.’ Gloom fell as I had a momentary vision of Clinker with rod and waders suddenly bearing down on me from some mountain tarn in the vicinity of Berceau-Lamont …
We had made good progress and were now about fifty miles north of Clermont-Ferrand, and began to look seriously for somewhere to stay. We passed and discounted a couple of nondescript places at the roadside, and were just wondering about a third, equally indifferent, when Nicholas suddenly slammed on the brakes and made a sharp turn into a winding lane. Primrose emitted a shriek of protest and the dog barked reproachfully.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I only just saw the sign.’
‘What sign?’ she asked indignantly.
‘The one to L’Auberge du Cheval Blanc. It’s listed in the book and is supposed to be pretty good. Might as well have one night of civilized living at least. Don’t think we can expect much from Berceau so we had better make the most of it while we can. It says they do a wonderful civet de lièvre for which people travel miles, and the wine list is supposed to be superb.’
‘Yes, and probably jolly expensive,’ I said
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