was unthinkable not to be polite under these close circumstances.
“A beer, please,” the newcomer demanded and Jerome served him with a quiet disdain.
“What brings you to my door? It is an unexpected surprise,” Jerome remarked. All the while he was watching M. Demille and listening for the slight that he was sure would be forthcoming soon.
“I’ve things to tell you,” replied his neighbour, looking at the two young men who were leaning against the bar. “Later,” he added. “Let me drink this first. It’s been a long day and I’m thirsty.”
Jerome gave a French shrug. He turned to converse with Alexandre about his day’s work and the weather. This presented a shoulder to M. Demille, and a cold one at that.
The visitor became agitated with the waiting.
“There are things to discuss, as I said. I spoke to M. le Maire. We can talk here if you prefer?” he asked, looking again at the other two customers. With that, the boys decided the better part of valour would be to leave, rather than become involved in this village bickering.
After they had gone, and the draft from the heavy front door had left too, Jerome said “Well?” this time not disguising his dislike.
“As I said, I have spoken to le Maire and, as you well know, he represents the gendarme in this village. Your yard is a disgrace. It’s filthy dirty and I’m sure rats are everywhere. The chickens stray. They are a danger on the road. Get it cleaned up,” he finished in no uncertain terms.
“If you have spoken to the mayor then why isn’t he having this conversation with me?” Jerome asked, matching the belligerence with his own.
“He told me to go ahead and speak to you,” was the response.
“Oh right, so he doesn’t want to get involved in your foolish ramblings,” Jerome remarked.
“I’m warning you…,” said M. Demille. “It could go badly for you and this so called business of yours.” His red face increased its suffused colouration and his chin wobbled in rhythm to his agitation.
“Don’t you go threatening me,” said Jerome, becoming flustered.
It could have escalated but, at that moment, in ambled Éric. Jerome, turning to see who it was, became well aware that this discourse would upset Éric. He would end up shaking and frightened.
With great fortitude he took a deep breath and, turning back to M. Demille, said, “It’s time you left now.”
Heading for the door, his neighbour turned as he opened it, “Oh! By the way, the committee decide about the food for the ducasse tomorrow night. You may not get the contract this year!”
“What did he want?” asked Éric as the door closed behind M. Demille.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Éric. He said the chickens were out again. It was nothing serious,” Jerome answered.
“What did he mean about the food for the ducasse?” Éric persisted.
“Again, it’s not for you to worry. He was just being his usual nasty self.”
Jerome turned away with an anxious expression that he must hide from Éric at all costs.
*
The next morning, Madame Altier was heading for the post box when she passed M. Demille walking in the opposite direction. Jerome, watching the street, saw them greet each other with the customary set of kisses to each side.
“ Bonjour Madame Altier,” greeted M Demille. “ Ça va ?”
“ Oui , ça va ,” she responded in time honoured tradition. Even if she had not been well, she would not have said. Just as in England it is not the thing to go into lurid detail of ailments being suffered, so it is in France. She was struggling with her bed and breakfast business on her own, and now that she was older she was suffering with her joints. She would not share this with M Demille, even though they were friendly.
“How is business?” he asked.
“Oh not too bad for the next few weeks,” she responded. “I have had an English lady staying, a Miss Felicity Summers. Yes, I understand that she might move over here. She’s
“A beer, please,” the newcomer demanded and Jerome served him with a quiet disdain.
“What brings you to my door? It is an unexpected surprise,” Jerome remarked. All the while he was watching M. Demille and listening for the slight that he was sure would be forthcoming soon.
“I’ve things to tell you,” replied his neighbour, looking at the two young men who were leaning against the bar. “Later,” he added. “Let me drink this first. It’s been a long day and I’m thirsty.”
Jerome gave a French shrug. He turned to converse with Alexandre about his day’s work and the weather. This presented a shoulder to M. Demille, and a cold one at that.
The visitor became agitated with the waiting.
“There are things to discuss, as I said. I spoke to M. le Maire. We can talk here if you prefer?” he asked, looking again at the other two customers. With that, the boys decided the better part of valour would be to leave, rather than become involved in this village bickering.
After they had gone, and the draft from the heavy front door had left too, Jerome said “Well?” this time not disguising his dislike.
“As I said, I have spoken to le Maire and, as you well know, he represents the gendarme in this village. Your yard is a disgrace. It’s filthy dirty and I’m sure rats are everywhere. The chickens stray. They are a danger on the road. Get it cleaned up,” he finished in no uncertain terms.
“If you have spoken to the mayor then why isn’t he having this conversation with me?” Jerome asked, matching the belligerence with his own.
“He told me to go ahead and speak to you,” was the response.
“Oh right, so he doesn’t want to get involved in your foolish ramblings,” Jerome remarked.
“I’m warning you…,” said M. Demille. “It could go badly for you and this so called business of yours.” His red face increased its suffused colouration and his chin wobbled in rhythm to his agitation.
“Don’t you go threatening me,” said Jerome, becoming flustered.
It could have escalated but, at that moment, in ambled Éric. Jerome, turning to see who it was, became well aware that this discourse would upset Éric. He would end up shaking and frightened.
With great fortitude he took a deep breath and, turning back to M. Demille, said, “It’s time you left now.”
Heading for the door, his neighbour turned as he opened it, “Oh! By the way, the committee decide about the food for the ducasse tomorrow night. You may not get the contract this year!”
“What did he want?” asked Éric as the door closed behind M. Demille.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Éric. He said the chickens were out again. It was nothing serious,” Jerome answered.
“What did he mean about the food for the ducasse?” Éric persisted.
“Again, it’s not for you to worry. He was just being his usual nasty self.”
Jerome turned away with an anxious expression that he must hide from Éric at all costs.
*
The next morning, Madame Altier was heading for the post box when she passed M. Demille walking in the opposite direction. Jerome, watching the street, saw them greet each other with the customary set of kisses to each side.
“ Bonjour Madame Altier,” greeted M Demille. “ Ça va ?”
“ Oui , ça va ,” she responded in time honoured tradition. Even if she had not been well, she would not have said. Just as in England it is not the thing to go into lurid detail of ailments being suffered, so it is in France. She was struggling with her bed and breakfast business on her own, and now that she was older she was suffering with her joints. She would not share this with M Demille, even though they were friendly.
“How is business?” he asked.
“Oh not too bad for the next few weeks,” she responded. “I have had an English lady staying, a Miss Felicity Summers. Yes, I understand that she might move over here. She’s
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