Emergency in the Pyrenees by Ann Bridge

Author:Ann Bridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Emergency In The Pyrenees
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1965-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Colin‘s telegram only reached Philip after a certain delay. It came in time to be delivered at the Clinic soon after 8 p.m., but Professor Martin was then paying his evening visit to Julia, so it was only after he had left her that the old head sage-femme took it in. Julia read it with interest. The office of origin was given as Jaca, and the message, in French, read: ‘Not arrived but time probably still insufficient stop propose remain for present if you agree stop R.S.V.P. Colin.’

Julia was puzzled at first as to why Colin should be telegraphing from Jaca; then she realised that he could not have got to Pamplona by the time he wired—he would have rung up from Jaca on his way through, made his enquiries, and telegraphed from there. She asked for her despatch-case; she wanted to write a note to Philip, but the little old sage-femme, whose firmness was in inverse ratio to her size, said ‘Not at present!’ It was time that the child should be put to the breast again, and Madame must not exert herself, or it would be bad for the milk. So once more the swaddled infant was presented with the still milkless breast, sucked and tugged in vain, and wailing with rage and frustration was borne off to get his bottle. Only then did Julia address an envelope for the telegram, scribble a note explaining where Jaca was, and add some words of love. She rang her bell, and asked to have the note taken round to the Colonel Jimmison at the Victoire—‘It is to be given to Monsieur le Colonel personally,’ she insisted. ‘To no one else.’

Philip had finished his unexhilarating dinner in the equally unexhilarating salle-à-manger, and was sitting smoking under the acacias in the garden of the Victoire in the warm September night, when under the arc-lights he saw a nurse come trotting up the drive—he went over to her.

‘I am Colonel Jamieson’ he said. ‘Do you bring a letter from Madame my wife at the Clinique?’

The nurse was nervous and flustered.

‘You are surely le Colonel Jimmison? Madame said I was to give the letter to him personally.’

‘Certainly. How else should I know that Madame is at the Clinique? How is le petit? Has the milk come yet?’

That did it. With the agent hanging watchfully about Philip did not particularly want to take the young nurse into the hotel and get the patron to identify him; he was relieved when she replied, smiling, that they expected the milk in yet some hours; Madame’s breasts were swelling. Then she handed over the letter, and pattered off again down the drive. Philip returned to his chair; the light over the front door just enabled him to read the telegram and Julia’s covering note.

He sat for some time and digested these tidings. It would have been a relief to know that Bonnecourt was safely at Pamplona, but Colin knew the district and the distances, with which he himself was unfamiliar—it might be all right, but one couldn’t be sure.

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