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That would make a first, he couldn’t help thinking, for one of the Clairmonts.
Elodie returned with a small, battered suitcase and a knitted doll under her arm. The neighbour squeezed her shoulders briefly then gently steered her towards the front door. ‘Let me know how you are doing, all right?’
The child simply frowned.
‘I’ll pass the message on – ask her grandmother to write, I have your details,’ Jacob offered.
‘Thank you,’ said Madame Gour.
‘My name is Jacob,’ he said, turning towards the child. ‘I’ll be taking you to your grandmother in the countryside. You’ll like it there, I’m sure.’
She stared at him, a look of confusion on her face.
‘Your father sent me,’ he explained, looking from Elodie to Madame Gour in hesitation.
Elodie still looked perplexed.
‘Can’t understand you,’ said the neighbour, finally putting out her cigarette in an ashtray on the marble table. ‘Hasn’t learned English yet,’ and she proceeded to translate for the child, who nodded when the word ‘father’ was mentioned.
The child held out her hand in a question. Madame Gour seemed to guess somehow what she wanted to know. ‘Ton Papa?’ she guessed. The child nodded and Madame Gour asked, ‘Will her father be there – wherever you are taking her?’
Jacob made his excuses.
‘Ah well,’ tutted the neighbour, imparting the news to the child. ‘I’m sure it can’t be helped,’ she said generously to Jacob. Then she turned to the child. ‘I didn’t know you had a grandmother still living.’ First in French, then English for his benefit.
The child shrugged; it appeared it was news to her as well. ‘Where is she living?’
‘Provence,’ he answered.
‘Ah, bon,’ she said. ‘It is a lovely part of the world.’
Jacob swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. Reminding himself that he was simply doing his job, and that meant not questioning the way his employer chose to fill his time.
‘Well, follow him, cherie,’ she said, giving the child a last squeeze. ‘To a new life, I hope it is happier.’
Jacob picked up the little girl’s suitcase and steered her down the stairs.
The child seemed to hesitate, giving one last look at the stairs, her eyes drifting up past Madame Gour, perhaps to her old home. She bit her lip, sighed, then followed.
The child looked surprised when he directed her to the car parked on the street, opposite a florist. A group of well-heeled Parisian ladies, with mid-length dresses and fashionable bobs, was lingering nearby, perhaps to see who owned the flashy motor car.
The child however, seemed a little afraid. He guessed she’d never been in one before.
‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he said as he opened the door and gestured for her to get inside.
She hesitated to get in, the knuckles on her small hands turning white as she clutched her suitcase to her chest.
He tried to take it from her but she shook her head. He shrugged, opened the door and after a pause, she climbed in and sat down. He shut the door behind her.
The first part of their journey passed in relative silence. Broken only by Jacob, every so often forgetting that she couldn’t understand him when he spoke.
They spent the night at a small establishment on the route, where the inn-keeper’s wife came to his rescue, and took Elodie under her wing, helping to get her settled for the evening, while he retired to a cold room near the stable yard.
They started early the next morning; Elodie took her familiar seat and rested her head against the window while Jacob drove on.
As the countryside began to change, the sun intensified, and Jacob had to roll up his shirtsleeves and loosen his collar. He kept pointing out how beautiful it was as they passed rolling vineyards and fields full of wild pink and white flowers, villages perched on hilltops made of honey-coloured stone, full of sheep and other animals. But of course she didn’t understand him at all, and she barely looked outside the window.
At last they arrived and he idled before pulling into the long sandy driveway. The house had blue shutters, like lidded eyes, and the crumbling stone walls appeared to be held together by the roots of lavender and roses which rambled all along the perimeter.
