Singing Waters by Ann Bridge

Author:Ann Bridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1971-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The cold waked Gloire at half-past three. It was, or seemed, extreme, and after some time spent in hopeful snugglings, she got up to look for something more to put on her bed. Being up, she decided to take one of those little nocturnal walks; there were some bushes down on a slope beyond the grove to which she had walked with Miss Glanfield and Mrs. Robinson the night before.

Dawn was barely breaking as she stepped out of the tent—she could just make out a magpie group of huddled forms round the embers of the camp-fires. The grass was damp and cool under her bare feet; the nightingales were still singing like mad—she found time to wonder when they stopped to eat, for they seemed to sing the clock round. The bushes, in the dim light, loomed large and ghostly; as she returned, a movement at the top of the slope caught her eye. Their body-guard, the two gendarmes, were standing stiffly at the salute for the passage of the lady in her nightgown. Gloire giggled as she went back to bed.

Although Fran called them to time at 5.30, had breakfast ready sharp at six, and began taking down the tents the moment they were out of them, the start was late. The loads were recalcitrant, and though the men tugged and hauled, or stood, their fine bony faces puzzled, intent, and eager, load after load slipped lopsidedly. Gloire was in a frenzy. At length Colonel Robinson said resignedly that he would see to it, and the women had better start. Gloire’s hopes rose, though it was already twenty minutes past seven, but they were soon dashed again. As they started down the track towards the river it became clear that Mrs. Robinson, who insisted on walking because of the sick pony, was still tired, and she went very slowly indeed. If that was how she walked downhill, Gloire fumed to herself, what would she be like on the pull up which Colonel Robinson had foretold?

“We’re going to be late,” she murmured desperately to Miss Glanfield.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, I shall go on ahead,” said Gloire, determinedly.

“Yes, do; why not?” said Miss Glanfield tranquilly.

Gloire edged away from the party, and round a corner, bore ahead with her splendid stride. She looked at her watch again. It was 7.30. She would probably be late if High Mass was at 10.30; and supposing it was at 10? Well, she would make it, whatever the others did, she thought, setting her mouth; she didn’t know the way, but she would manage somehow. She swung on down to the bridge.

This was a charming erection, though Gloire did not pause to admire it. Two dry-stone ramps and a central pier carried the wooden superstructure high above the sparkling water, the floor was of wooden planking five feet wide; there were no handrails. Gloire’s hasty feet sounded hollow on the planks as she crossed, and strode off along the further bank.

But she had reckoned without the vigilance of the gendarmerie.

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