France. Actually we have
a woman at Camille’s nursery – she was her nanny beforehand.
Camille loves her, and she’s familiar with our house – so she’s normally
our best bet – although we had decided anyway to bring Camille
here. It’s surprisingly hard to leave them behind at her age – you
feel if she were ill or something she’d really need us – and it would be
terrible not to be able to get to her quickly. And even the knowledge
that she’s missing you can take the gloss off a trip.’
‘I’m sure you’re absolutely
right. Where is she just now?’
‘We’ve got a babysitter in the
room – the girl from reception. I think she’s part of the family
that runs this place.’
‘That’s a sensible idea.
Peace of mind.’
Adam glances at his watch.
‘Yes – actually – if you’ll excuse me – we said we’d check
her every forty-five minutes or so – in case she’s playing up. It’s
past my shift – I’ll just be a jiffy – they don’t seem to be in a
great hurry with the food.’
He rises and makes his way along
the line of diners. He feels drawn to Monique, and wants to break into
her little circle. He’s more confident now, loosened by the alcohol,
displaying parity in his designer apparel. As he approaches he gathers
they’re engrossed in animated French conversation. The Dutchman is
telling a story, his upper body turned towards Monique, one hand lightly on her
bare shoulder as he shares the tale with the quartet; Monique is laughing,
sparkling, rewarding him with surely undeserved adulation. Adam pulls up
on her other side, at the end of the long trestle. He bends and whispers:
‘I thought I’d go and see if
Camille’s okay – you know how she can be with strangers – wrapping
them round her little finger.’
‘Sure, my darling.’
She seems only to have half an
ear for his words – she turns back to the group – but then translates,
her words partially unfamiliar. He wonders if he should have made the
announcement aloud – but they’d continued their dialogue as he’d
approached, admitting no interlopers. They chuckle at Monique’s
interpretation, and as Adam passes above the French President he catches Adam’s
eye and, still smiling, raises a faint but knowing eyebrow. As he steps
away into the darkness beyond the fairylit awning, there’s another burst of
laughter, and he’s sure they’re continuing to refer to him. Reaching the
illuminated stone staircase leading from the pool and restaurant he slowly
mounts, translating ponderously, but effectively enough – he realises
Monique said he was going to check up on not the baby, but the babysitter .
He rounds the top of the second angled flight and ducks under a
bougainvillea-clad portico into a dark courtyard – exchanging the lively
conversation for the hiss of cicadas, white noise that is black.
For a moment he hesitates,
disoriented, his balance unsteady – he’s more drunk than he’d appreciated
– but his eyes adjust to the gloom and he strides out towards the corner
of the main building, which is now gaining form. He crosses the small
paved square in front of the hotel reception, and quickly covers the
seventy-five yards or so of the rising driveway. On his right is a high
enclosing wall of weathered limestone, to his left a short series of
whitewashed igloo-like creations, each with its own mini front garden and path
of stepping stones, quaint detached residences embedded into the receding
contours to give spectacular views across the terraces, gardens and sea
beyond. There’s access front and rear – before leaving he’d checked
meticulously that the door to their sun-deck was firmly bolted, and all windows
secure. The girl had arrived on time – in fact he’d been pulling on
his shirt and Monique had marshalled her past him into Camille’s room,
suggesting a game of matching picture cards in order to get acquainted –
and that was how
a woman at Camille’s nursery – she was her nanny beforehand.
Camille loves her, and she’s familiar with our house – so she’s normally
our best bet – although we had decided anyway to bring Camille
here. It’s surprisingly hard to leave them behind at her age – you
feel if she were ill or something she’d really need us – and it would be
terrible not to be able to get to her quickly. And even the knowledge
that she’s missing you can take the gloss off a trip.’
‘I’m sure you’re absolutely
right. Where is she just now?’
‘We’ve got a babysitter in the
room – the girl from reception. I think she’s part of the family
that runs this place.’
‘That’s a sensible idea.
Peace of mind.’
Adam glances at his watch.
‘Yes – actually – if you’ll excuse me – we said we’d check
her every forty-five minutes or so – in case she’s playing up. It’s
past my shift – I’ll just be a jiffy – they don’t seem to be in a
great hurry with the food.’
He rises and makes his way along
the line of diners. He feels drawn to Monique, and wants to break into
her little circle. He’s more confident now, loosened by the alcohol,
displaying parity in his designer apparel. As he approaches he gathers
they’re engrossed in animated French conversation. The Dutchman is
telling a story, his upper body turned towards Monique, one hand lightly on her
bare shoulder as he shares the tale with the quartet; Monique is laughing,
sparkling, rewarding him with surely undeserved adulation. Adam pulls up
on her other side, at the end of the long trestle. He bends and whispers:
‘I thought I’d go and see if
Camille’s okay – you know how she can be with strangers – wrapping
them round her little finger.’
‘Sure, my darling.’
She seems only to have half an
ear for his words – she turns back to the group – but then translates,
her words partially unfamiliar. He wonders if he should have made the
announcement aloud – but they’d continued their dialogue as he’d
approached, admitting no interlopers. They chuckle at Monique’s
interpretation, and as Adam passes above the French President he catches Adam’s
eye and, still smiling, raises a faint but knowing eyebrow. As he steps
away into the darkness beyond the fairylit awning, there’s another burst of
laughter, and he’s sure they’re continuing to refer to him. Reaching the
illuminated stone staircase leading from the pool and restaurant he slowly
mounts, translating ponderously, but effectively enough – he realises
Monique said he was going to check up on not the baby, but the babysitter .
He rounds the top of the second angled flight and ducks under a
bougainvillea-clad portico into a dark courtyard – exchanging the lively
conversation for the hiss of cicadas, white noise that is black.
For a moment he hesitates,
disoriented, his balance unsteady – he’s more drunk than he’d appreciated
– but his eyes adjust to the gloom and he strides out towards the corner
of the main building, which is now gaining form. He crosses the small
paved square in front of the hotel reception, and quickly covers the
seventy-five yards or so of the rising driveway. On his right is a high
enclosing wall of weathered limestone, to his left a short series of
whitewashed igloo-like creations, each with its own mini front garden and path
of stepping stones, quaint detached residences embedded into the receding
contours to give spectacular views across the terraces, gardens and sea
beyond. There’s access front and rear – before leaving he’d checked
meticulously that the door to their sun-deck was firmly bolted, and all windows
secure. The girl had arrived on time – in fact he’d been pulling on
his shirt and Monique had marshalled her past him into Camille’s room,
suggesting a game of matching picture cards in order to get acquainted –
and that was how
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