Pied Piper by Shute Nevil & Nevil

Author:Shute, Nevil & Nevil [Shute, Nevil & Nevil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Classics, Historical, Adventure, Fiction, War
ISBN: 9780884113232
Google: DsSBySdNER8C
Amazon: 088411323X
Goodreads: 107306
Publisher: Amereon Limited
Published: 1942-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

He turned and motioned to the children. Then he glanced at the girl, and caught an expression of surprise, bewilderment, upon her face. ‘There are rather a lot of us, I’m afraid,’ he said apologetically.

She said: ‘But … I do not understand, Monsieur Howard. Are these your children?’

He smiled. ‘I’m looking after them. They aren’t really mine.’ He hesitated and then said: ‘I am in a position of some difficulty, mademoiselle.’

‘Oh …’

‘I wished to talk it over with your father.’ He wrinkled his brows in perplexity. ‘Did you think that it was something different?’

She said, hastily: ‘No, monsieur—not at all.’ And then she swung round and called: ‘Maman! Come quickly; here is Monsieur Howard, from Cidoton!’

The little woman that Howard remembered came bustling out; the old man greeted her ceremoniously. Then for a few minutes he stood with the children pressed close round him in the little salon of the flat, trying to make the two women understand his presence with them. It was not an easy task.

The mother gave it up. ‘Well, here they are,’ she said, content to let the why and wherefore pass. ‘Have they had déjeuner? Are they hungry?’

The children smiled shyly. Howard said: ‘Madame, they are always hungry. But do not derange yourself; we can get déjeuner in the town, perhaps?’

She said that that was not to be thought of. ‘Nicole, stay with m’sieur for a little, while I make arrangements.’ She bustled off into the kitchen.

The girl turned to the old man. ‘Will you sit down and rest a little,’ she said. ‘You seem to be very tired.’ She turned to the children. ‘And you, too, you sit down and stay quiet; déjeuner will be ready before long.’

The old man looked down at his hands, grimed with dirt. He had not washed properly, or shaved, since leaving Dijon. ‘I am desolated that I should appear so dirty,’ he said. ‘Presently, perhaps I could wash?’

She smiled at him and he found comfort in her smile. ‘It is not easy to keep clean in times like these,’ she said. ‘Tell me from the beginning, monsieur—how did you come to be in France at all?’

He lay back in the chair. It would be better to tell her the whole thing; indeed, he was aching to tell somebody, to talk over his position. ‘You must understand, mademoiselle,’ he began, ‘that I was in great trouble early in the year. My only son was killed. He was in the Royal Air Force, you know. He was killed on a bombing raid.’

She said: ‘I know, monsieur. I have the deepest sympathy for you.’

He hesitated, not quite sure if he had understood her correctly. Some idiom had probably misled him. He went on: ‘It was intolerable to stay in England. I wanted a change of scene, to see new faces.’

He plunged into his story. He told her about the Cavanaghs at Cidoton. He told her of Sheila’s illness, of their delay at Dijon. He told her about the chambermaid, about la petite Rose.

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