The Numbered Account by Ann Bridge Page B

fraudulent. They passed along one side of a grassy open space, closedat the further end by the whitewashed bulk of a church with a tall bell-tower. ‘We think our church beautiful,’ Germaine de Ritter said; in fact, in its solid simplicity, beautiful it was.
    La Cure, the Pastor’s dwelling, was a very large eighteenth-century house with painted panelling in all the rooms, and gleaming parquet floors—everything spotlessly clean. Mme de Ritter drew the hand-cart into the small front garden, saying, ‘Jean-Pierre will bring your luggage up when he returns for
déjeuner
—is this sufficient for now?’ and as she spoke lifted Julia’s dressing-case off the cart. She carried it herself up the broad staircase with its wide shallow treads and polished beech planks, and showed her guest first her pretty bedroom—slightly defaced by a tall cylindrical black-iron stove for heating—and then, across a wide landing, a bathroom with basin and lavatory.
    â€˜It is a little inconvenient, only to have one bathroom, especially when the children are at home,’ she observed; ‘but you see this house is Church property, so it is not easy to have alterations made.’
    Julia asked about the children. There were eight, all grown-up except Marcel, aged 15, who went daily to a
Lycée
in Lausanne; five were married, and living near by; two others were in jobs in Geneva, but already
fiancés
. ‘Our children come to see us frequently—I hope you will meet them all while you are here,’ Mme de Ritter said, and then excused herself. ‘I have to see to the
déjeuner;
it will be at 1.30, as my husband is late today. When you are ready, do sit in the
salon
or the garden; make yourself at home.’ It was borne in on Julia that her pretty hostess, so girlish-looking that seven adult children seemed an impossibility, probably had to do the cooking—she learned later that she did the entire work of the house.
    Julia unpacked her dressing-case, installed herself, and then went down to the garden. Here she found a curious mixture of beauty and utility. Fine fruit-trees bordered a well-kept lawn, there were seats and wicker chairs on a flagged space under some pleached limes, and beyond these a kitchen-garden, well stocked with asparagus, lettuces,spinach and young beans, and new potatoes. But the flower-borders along the paths beside the kitchen-garden were rather neglected, and clothes-lines, from which hung an array of snowy sheets, ran down two sides of the lawn. Julia went across and felt these; they were perfectly dry. She went back to the house and found her way to the kitchen, where Mme de Ritter was busy with pots and pans on a huge stove.
    â€˜The sheets are quite dry—shall I bring them in?’ she asked.
    â€˜Oh, how kind you are! Yes, do. The linen-basket is in there’—she gestured with her head towards a door—‘and the bag for the pegs.’ Julia went into what had obviously once been a scullery, but now housed a vast white-enamelled washing-machine, some wooden towel-horses, and several old-fashioned wicker linen-baskets; she gathered up one of these and the peg-bag, and went out again to the garden, where in the warm sunshine she took down the sheets from the lines, folded them, and laid them in the basket. As she was carrying this load back into the house she encountered her host.
    â€˜Ah, Miss Probyn! You are very welcome. Please let me take that—Germaine has already set you to work, I see.’
    â€˜No, I set myself,’ Julia replied, surrendering the basket, which the Pastor carried through into the wash-house.
    â€˜Ma chère
, is luncheon ready?’ he asked. ‘I must be oft again rather soon.’
    â€˜In five minutes, Jean-Pierre. You said 1.30, and at 1.30 you will be served.’ His wife was perfectly tranquil, and equally firm. Laughing, the Pastor led Julia into the big cool
solon
, where the