"The Winter Ghosts" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mosse Kate)

Chez les Galy

I followed Madame Galy up the tiled staircase, twice catching the toes of my boots on the timber nose of the treads.

On the first landing, she held up the candle to illuminate a second flight of steps, and we stumbled on in Indian file, until she stopped in front of a panelled door and unlocked it.

‘I will have a fire made up.’

The room was bitterly cold, though it was clean and serviceable, with the same lingering smell of polish and dust as downstairs.

While Madame Galy lit the oil lamps from the candle, I looked around. A small writing table and cane-seated chair stood adjacent to the door. Straight ahead, two tall windows, floor to ceiling, filled one side of the room. Against the left-hand wall was an old-fashioned bed on wooden pallets. Brocade curtains, of the kind my grandmother used to have, sagged round the bed on brass rings. I tried the mattress with my hand. It was uneven and hard, with a hint of damp from lack of use, but it would do me well enough.

On the opposite side of the room was a heavy chest of drawers, a lace runner draped across the top, on which stood a large white china bowl and wash jug. Above it hung a gilt-framed mirror, its bevelled surface scratched around the sides.

The cut on my cheek had started to sting. I put my fingers up to the wound and felt the blood had congealed and hardened. I asked if I might have some ointment.

‘The smash,’ I said, feeling the need to explain. ‘Bumped my head on the dashboard.’

‘I will bring something up for it.’

‘It’s good of you. There is one more thing. I need to send a telegram to my friends in Ax-les-Thermes. ’

‘We have no telegraph office in Nulle, monsieur.’

‘Somewhere closer by, then? Is there perhaps someone with a telephone?’

Madame Galy shook her head. ‘In Tarascon, of course, but such conveniences have not yet come to the valley.’ She pointed at the table. ‘If you care to write a letter, I will send a boy to Ax in the morning. ’

‘Ax is closer?’

‘A little, yes.’

It still seemed an awfully long way to go, but if it was the only option, then so be it.

‘Thank you,’ I said, then shivered. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I was obliged to abandon my suitcase. In the car. So, if you had something I could borrow for the night, I’d be grateful.’

Madame Galy nodded. ‘I will find something for you to wear while your clothes are drying.’ She paused. ‘Should you wish to join us, monsieur, the celebration for la fête de Saint-Etienne will begin at ten o’clock. You would be most welcome.’

‘That’s kind of you, madame, but I would hate to intrude.’ Given the day I’d had, I thought it unlikely I’d even still be awake at ten o’clock.

‘You would not be intruding, not at all.’

Madame Galy was smiling at me now and, despite my tiredness and aching bones, I found myself warming to her. Her enthusiasm was engaging.

‘It is the one night the village comes together,’ she continued, as if she were reciting from a brochure issued by the local tourist office. ‘It is the custom to wear traditional dress – weavers, carders, soldiers, the good men even – whatever a person chooses.’

‘The good men?’ Les bons hommes. I’d heard the phrase before, but I couldn’t recall where or when.

‘It is the night we remember old friends and new. Those that are amongst us still, those that have gone.’ Her voice trembled a little. ‘Those who were lost.’

‘I see.’

This was a change from most of the other places I had visited, where I’d found a resolute determination to forget the recent past and move on. That Nulle honoured its history and clung to its traditions, even if for only one night a year, appealed to me.

‘You say la fête begins at ten o’clock?’

‘Ten o’clock, monsieur, in the Ostal. It is not easy to find, since many of the streets are unnamed in the oldest quartier and several alleyways are now dead ends. But I could provide you with a map, should you decide to join us.’

I had been looking forward to having something to eat and then the chance to turn in early. I was not at my best in strange company, too often shy or tongue-tied. But, against the odds, I found myself attracted by the idea of attending.

‘You are quite sure I would not be imposing?’

She shook her head. ‘You would be most welcome. ’ She paused. ‘Besides, I regret there will be no hot food here this evening. We are all commandeered to help at the Ostal from six o’clock.’

I laughed. ‘That settles it. I shall certainly accept the invitation. And your offer of a map, too.’

She smoothed her hands on her apron and beamed at me, evidently pleased things were settled, and at that moment reminded me of no one so much as the smiling, maternal face of Mrs Bun the Baker’s wife in my old card deck of Happy Families.

‘And will Monsieur Galy be attending?’

The smile slipped from her face. ‘The night air does not agree with him,’ she said quietly. ‘The cold gets into his bones.’

She placed the key on the table and, reverting to her brisk, matter-of-fact voice, added, ‘The bathroom is at the end of the corridor on the right-hand side. I will draw a bath for you, then see to a fire and your clothes.’

‘Thank you.’

‘If there is nothing more you need?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’

She nodded. ‘Alors, à ce soir.’

Once she had gone, I removed my boots and damp socks, which were starting to itch, then emptied the contents of my pockets on top of the chest of drawers. My keys, my cigarette case and matches, my pocket book. Then I sat down at the desk. There were several sheets of notepaper, as well as a rather antiquated pen with a scratchy nib. The inkwell, surprisingly, was full. The paper was not headed, so I cast my eyes around for some official notice that might reveal the actual address of the boarding house. There was a sign pinned to the back of the door about what guests should or should not do in case of an emergency or a fire, but nothing more. In the end, I simply put c/o M amp; MME GALY, LA PLACE DE L’ÉGLISE, NULLE, ARIÈGE, and left it at that. I had no doubt any reply would find me easily enough.

I scribbled a few lines to my friends, saying I’d be delighted to join them, if they’d still have me, and that, since I had no idea how long it would take to repair my motor car, I would be in touch again in a day or two to let them know when to expect me.

There was no blotting paper, so I waved the sheet about and blew on the ink until it was dry. There were no envelopes, either, so I folded the letter over on itself three times, printed the address of my friends’ hotel in Ax-les-Thermes on the outside and left it on the table to take down later.

I stripped down to my undergarments. Despite my exhaustion, I was in good spirits. As I took the clean towel from the end of the bed and went in search of the bathroom, I realised I was whistling.