Chapters (40)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Historical Note
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“And Maude shouldn’t fall behind in her lessons either,” Ducky said. “Not if she’s to get into a top school. We have her down for Roedean, you know.”
“Then I’m afraid I’d be hopeless,” I said. “I only know how to walk around with a book on my head.”
“You speak French,” Fig said. “You could teach the children that.”
She was determined that somehow I was going to earn my keep. I glanced down at her, thinking what an unpleasant person she was. I had observed several murders in my life. Hers, I believe, would be justified.
To show willingness to a point I gave both children a half hour’s drilling in French. I rather wished I knew more naughty words. I’d have taught them those—especially Maude. Lunch was even grimmer than dinner and breakfast had been. A small square of cheese was placed in the middle of the table with more bread, some tomatoes and olives.
“We like to eat lightly at lunchtime,” Ducky said. “Healthy for the digestion.”
After lunch they went for a siesta. I put on my least unfashionable frock, applied a touch of rouge and lipstick and set off for the Villa Marguerite. I had been told it was too far to walk, but there was no hope of finding a taxicab closer than the seafront. It was a delightfully warm afternoon, and the beach looked so inviting—with its gay changing cubicles, lines of wicker chaises, topped with bright blue cushions, and bright blue umbrellas. I was a little disappointed to find that the beach was made of stones, not sand, but nobody else seemed to mind. People in bathing suits were sunning themselves. I observed them, amazed at the daring nature of the bathing suits. Many of the women’s suits were absolutely backless and the men wore what could only be described as black underpants. Nanny would have swooned on the spot.
Not too many of the bathers dared to put more than a toe in the ocean, I noticed. The brave ones were nearly all children. There was one particular little boy with a mop of dark curls who ran fearlessly into the waves, then ran out again, screaming, as a bigger wave approached.