Page 21 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure

The next morning they were woken by wind rattling the shutters.

When Ellie opened hers, she felt rain in her face and saw an angry dark sea.

So winter had come to the C?te d’Azur. This made her realize that staying in this small town might not be so desirable after all.

If they were stuck all day in the pension, what exactly would they do?

There were no cinemas, tea rooms or other delights to amuse them.

The so-called lounge was a rather dreary room with a couple of ancient leather sofas and a bookcase containing some board games and a few novels.

Ellie suspected they’d soon get sick of each other’s company.

But she was still determined to see the villa before the radiator was mended.

So after breakfast she paid a call on Monsieur Danton, the notaire.

The rain had intensified, so she left the others in the warmth of the hotel lounge and wished she had brought her stout English raincoat as she made her way down the village street.

Monsieur Danton had an impressive office in the same building as the police station, and Ellie realized that in a village this size he was the equivalent of a mayor, handling permits and fines and everybody’s business.

Monsieur Danton was a little man, immaculately dressed with a high starched collar and dark suit.

His thinning grey hair was parted in the middle, and he sported a thin moustache.

He wore wire spectacles and had a perpetually surprised expression.

This became even more pronounced when Ellie explained her mission.

“My dear madame,” he said, “this so-called villa is not what you think. It is not suitable to be occupied at this stage. It is a tumbledown ruin, untouched for many years.”

“Would it be too much trouble to enquire of the owners if we could at least see it?” she asked. “I find its history quite romantic. You do have an address for the current owner, do you?”

“I certainly do,” he replied. “But as to whether the owner will want you to see it? Who can say?”

Ellie left, not feeling too hopeful. They passed the rest of the day in reading or playing cards.

Mr Adams managed some ham sandwiches for lunch, and in the evening they bundled up and hurried across the harbour to Henri.

He apologized that the van with supplies had not arrived, due to a mudslide, but he would make them omelettes.

These proved to be amazingly light and stuffed with tiny shrimp and herbs.

With them were layered potatoes in a creamy sauce and a spinach salad.

“Who knew that ordinary old eggs could taste so nice,” Mavis summed up for all of them.

After an apple tart and coffee, they retreated to the pension, just in time, as another round of storms came in, buffeting the shutters. “If it’s going to be like this all winter, it hardly makes sense to stay here,” Dora said testily. “We’d do just as well in Bournemouth.”

“We’re not going home already, are we?” Mavis asked in alarm.

“Of course not,” Ellie said. “We’re not going to let one little rainstorm drive us away.”

After they went to bed, Ellie slept fitfully. What was she doing here? she asked herself. Was it really the right place for her? Where was a right place for her? She belonged nowhere. But she felt responsible for Dora and Mavis and Yvette. What was to become of them?

At last she fell asleep and awoke to blue skies, seagulls wheeling overhead and fishermen already busy bailing water from their drenched boats.

“So what do you want to do today?” Dora asked. “See if the radiator is fixed and we can move on?”

“I’d like to find out if Monsieur Danton has managed to contact the owner of the villa,” Ellie replied.

“That damned villa. You’ve become obsessed with it, haven’t you?” Dora replied.

“Maybe just a little.” Ellie managed a smile. “But it can’t hurt to take a look, can it? We go and visit old houses and castles in England. This is the same sort of thing. Historic value.”

“Hmph” was all that Dora replied. Ellie noted that she was not in a good mood today and suspected she might be in pain. The rain certainly would have made arthritis flare up in an older person.

“Do you want to come with me to see Monsieur Danton?” she asked.

“I’ll come,” Mavis said. “This place ain’t exactly cheerful, if you know what I mean.”

“I should like to meet this man who seems to rule the roost here,” Dora said. “Yvette, do you wish to come with us?” she asked in French.

Yvette shrugged. “This town is boring,” she said. “There are no good shops. No cinema.”

“I hardly think there were many good shops near your farm,” Dora replied archly.

Yvette nodded as if this was true. “I will come,” she said. “At least I can look at the pastries in the window of the boulangerie.”

They set out. Women were busy hanging out laundry after the wet day, righting outside furniture and plants that had blown over during the storm.

There was a line at the baker’s. The owner of the other food shop was putting out baskets of apples and peppers.

Before they could reach Monsieur Danton’s place of business, they saw him walking towards them.

His officious manner of walking echoed his dress and personality.

“Ah, the very person I was coming to see,” he said, beaming. “I have good news, mesdames. The owner, he says that I may escort you to see the villa. But he warns that you will not find it agreeable, and please be careful as it could be dangerous.”

“Oh, we’ll be very careful,” Ellie said. “Thank you so much. When might be convenient for you?”

“Why, now,” he said. “This is why I was coming to find you. Let us take advantage of the fine weather. At this time of year, one never knows.”

“Thank you,” Ellie replied. “It is most kind of you to give up your time to do this.”

“Not at all.” He was now gracious and all smiles. “If you’ll follow me, we have a steep way ahead of us.”

Behind the row of buildings along the waterfront ran a narrow lane.

Bougainvillea spilled over an ancient wall that butted on to the cream-coloured limestone cliff.

In the middle of that wall they came to a flight of steps going up the cliffside.

Monsieur Danton turned back to them. “I hope you are in fine form, ladies,” he said and started upward.

The steps were uneven, steep and worn in places, making the going a challenge, but they were shaded with scrubby oaks and pine trees and the rich, piny smell was around them.

At the top they paused, all breathing heavily.

Another flight of steps rose before them.

“Is this the only way to the villa?” Ellie asked.

“No, madame,” he said. “There is a driveway leading up to the villa from outside the village. You can approach it in a motor car from there, and there is a garage and the formal entrance. But this is the quick way up.”

“Are you sure you can do this, Dora?” Ellie looked at her in concern. “Isn’t it bad for your heart? Mavis could take you down.”

“Absolutely not. I’m as keen to see this villa as you are,” Dora said.

“Besides, it will give this old and failing heart a good workout.” And before anyone could answer her, she started up the second flight of stone steps.

They emerged on to a path that wound its way around the cliff, until it was lost amongst the pines.

As they went to follow it, Monsieur Danton said, “No, no, madame. That is the path that leads to the Calanques. This way if you please, ladies. Follow me.” And he started up a third set of steps, this one mercifully short and ending in a high wall covered in some kind of creeper.

In the middle of the wall was a tall iron gate.

Monsieur Danton took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock.

There was a click, and the gate opened with a protesting squeak.

“Please proceed with great care,” he said, standing to one side and assisting each of them up a final steep step into a garden.

Ellie entered but then stood transfixed as she looked around her.

It felt as if she were in the book The Secret Garden , or rather in the magic realm of Sleeping Beauty, fallen asleep for a hundred years.

In front of them what had once been a lawn was now a dying mass of dried grass and weeds.

The ubiquitous bougainvillea tumbled over the walls, in a riot of reds and oranges.

At the far end of the lawn was an orchard of fruit trees: a pomegranate still bravely producing its brilliant red fruit after so many years of neglect, what might have been a persimmon and several citrus.

Ellie turned the other direction and saw the villa itself.

Before it was a gravel forecourt in which stood a stone fountain, now long dry.

And behind this was the Villa Gloriosa. Now no longer glorious.

Ellie had expected a ruin but found she was looking at a perfect villa with a red tiled roof.

The house was painted pink with pale-blue shutters.

It took Ellie a moment to notice that the paint was now peeling and some of the shutters were hanging at crazy angles.

Tiles had fallen from the roof. There had been some sort of veranda or trellised arbour along the entire back of the house, but this was completely overrun by what looked like wisteria, although the leaves were now dying and lying in a yellow carpet.

Another vine with dark red and brown leaves—grapes this time?

—climbed up the far side of the veranda and competed with the wisteria in a mad tangle.

“This way.” Monsieur Danton interrupted her reverie.

He began to walk towards the house. The path was lined with an avenue of palm trees, now casting a neat row of shadows across the gravel.

Ellie followed him around the side of the villa to an impressive pair of oak double doors carved with a pattern of vines.

Monsieur Danton produced another key and was about to lead them inside when Ellie looked past him, to her left, and gasped.

“Wait.” She broke into a run.

“Careful, madame. Watch your step,” he called, but she didn’t care if the flagstones were cracked and uneven.

She ran past the house and came out to a terrace overlooking the sea.

It was edged by an ornamental stone balustrade topped with carved pineapples, some of which were now missing, but Ellie didn’t notice this.

She crossed the terrace and stood with the whole panorama unfolding before her.

Directly below her Saint-Benet lay nestled in its little hollow, the village mainly in shadow, the cliffs on the far side glowing in the sun.

Beyond were more promontories, more cliffs, fading into blue distance.

On the horizon was a chain of rocky islands.

As she watched, a boat with a red sail glided out from the harbour into a Mediterranean that went from shades of pure turquoise to deep, rich blue.

“Oh,” she said out loud. “This is heaven.”