menace.’
Canari, the little yellow-headed son of Mignon the chemist, was Sigi’s friend. ‘M. l’Abbé is teaching me to pray. I prayed for a friend and I got Canari.’
Every afternoon, at the hottest time of the day, Sigi would race down to the vineyard to meet Canari and his band of maquisards . He was seen no more until Nanny rang the bell for Dick Barton, when he would race back up the hill. Nanny now had a powerful wireless installed, which turned the nursery into forever England with 6 o’clock news, 9 o’clock news, Music While you Work, and Twenty Questions. The Daily Mirror , too, had begun to arrive, bringing Garth in person, and so had Woman and Beauty , since when the nursery front had been distinctly calmer.
‘But we mustn’t worry too much, Nanny darling. Sigi is a little boy, growing up fast now, he’s bound to dash off, you know, that’s what little boys are like. I think it’s a lovely life for him here, I only wish we could stay for ever.’
‘You love M. l’Abbé, don’t you, Sigismond?’ said Grace, next morning. He always sat on her bed while she had her breakfast, a great bowl of coffee with fresh white bread, served on old Marseilles china. It was in many ways her favourite moment of the day; she drank her coffee looking at the hot early morning sky through muslin curtains; everything in the room was pretty, and the little boy on the end of her bed, in a white cotton jersey and red linen trousers, the prettiest object of all.
‘I love M. l’Abbé and I revere him, and I’ve got a new ambition now. I wish to be able to converse with him in Latin.’
‘French first, darling.’
‘No, Mummy, the Romans were civilized before the Gauls, M. l’Abbé says. He tells some smashing stories about these Romans, and I’ve a new idea for Nanny. Supposing we got her into an arena with a particularly fierce bear?’
‘Oh, poor Nanny. Where will you find the bear?’
‘One of our maquisards comes from the Pyrenees, and they’ve got three bears there, wild, to this day. I showed him a picture of Garth digging a cunning pit, covered with leaves and branches –’
‘Not Garth still?’ said Charles-Edouard, coming in with the morning’s letters. ‘Run along, Sigi,’ he said, holding the door and shooing him with a newspaper.
‘Why do you always say run along, Papa?’ He dragged through the door, looking crestfallen.
‘It’s what my mother used to say to me. “Run along, Charles-Edouard.” The whole of my childhood was spent running along. I did hate it, too. Off with you! That was another.’ He shut the door and gave Grace her letters.
‘If you didn’t like it,’ she said, ‘I can’t think why you inflict it on the poor little boy. I don’t think he sees enough of us, and he never sees us together.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is that we see quite enough of him,’ said Charles-Edouard. ‘There is nothing so dull as the conversation of small children.’
‘It amuses me.’
‘It does sometimes amuse women. They’ve got a childish side themselves, nature’s way of enabling them to bear the prattle. And while we are on the subject, M. l’Abbé tells me that Nanny won’t leave them alone at lesson time, she’s always fussing in with some excuse or other. It’s very annoying. Perhaps you’d speak to her about it?’
‘I do know. I was afraid you’d be cross.’
‘Well, speak.’
‘Yes, I’ll try. But you know what it is with Nanny, I’m dreadfully under her thumb. She thinks M. l’Abbé is taxing his little brain.’
‘But his little brain has got to be taxed, it’s there for that. Let Nanny wait till he’s reading for his bachot if she wants to see him taxed – going on to twelve and one at night – poor little green face – rings under his eyes – attempted suicide – breakdowns –’
‘Oh, Charles-Edouard, you are a brute,’ said Grace, quite horrified.
He laughed, and began kissing her arm and shoulder.
‘All this
Canari, the little yellow-headed son of Mignon the chemist, was Sigi’s friend. ‘M. l’Abbé is teaching me to pray. I prayed for a friend and I got Canari.’
Every afternoon, at the hottest time of the day, Sigi would race down to the vineyard to meet Canari and his band of maquisards . He was seen no more until Nanny rang the bell for Dick Barton, when he would race back up the hill. Nanny now had a powerful wireless installed, which turned the nursery into forever England with 6 o’clock news, 9 o’clock news, Music While you Work, and Twenty Questions. The Daily Mirror , too, had begun to arrive, bringing Garth in person, and so had Woman and Beauty , since when the nursery front had been distinctly calmer.
‘But we mustn’t worry too much, Nanny darling. Sigi is a little boy, growing up fast now, he’s bound to dash off, you know, that’s what little boys are like. I think it’s a lovely life for him here, I only wish we could stay for ever.’
‘You love M. l’Abbé, don’t you, Sigismond?’ said Grace, next morning. He always sat on her bed while she had her breakfast, a great bowl of coffee with fresh white bread, served on old Marseilles china. It was in many ways her favourite moment of the day; she drank her coffee looking at the hot early morning sky through muslin curtains; everything in the room was pretty, and the little boy on the end of her bed, in a white cotton jersey and red linen trousers, the prettiest object of all.
‘I love M. l’Abbé and I revere him, and I’ve got a new ambition now. I wish to be able to converse with him in Latin.’
‘French first, darling.’
‘No, Mummy, the Romans were civilized before the Gauls, M. l’Abbé says. He tells some smashing stories about these Romans, and I’ve a new idea for Nanny. Supposing we got her into an arena with a particularly fierce bear?’
‘Oh, poor Nanny. Where will you find the bear?’
‘One of our maquisards comes from the Pyrenees, and they’ve got three bears there, wild, to this day. I showed him a picture of Garth digging a cunning pit, covered with leaves and branches –’
‘Not Garth still?’ said Charles-Edouard, coming in with the morning’s letters. ‘Run along, Sigi,’ he said, holding the door and shooing him with a newspaper.
‘Why do you always say run along, Papa?’ He dragged through the door, looking crestfallen.
‘It’s what my mother used to say to me. “Run along, Charles-Edouard.” The whole of my childhood was spent running along. I did hate it, too. Off with you! That was another.’ He shut the door and gave Grace her letters.
‘If you didn’t like it,’ she said, ‘I can’t think why you inflict it on the poor little boy. I don’t think he sees enough of us, and he never sees us together.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is that we see quite enough of him,’ said Charles-Edouard. ‘There is nothing so dull as the conversation of small children.’
‘It amuses me.’
‘It does sometimes amuse women. They’ve got a childish side themselves, nature’s way of enabling them to bear the prattle. And while we are on the subject, M. l’Abbé tells me that Nanny won’t leave them alone at lesson time, she’s always fussing in with some excuse or other. It’s very annoying. Perhaps you’d speak to her about it?’
‘I do know. I was afraid you’d be cross.’
‘Well, speak.’
‘Yes, I’ll try. But you know what it is with Nanny, I’m dreadfully under her thumb. She thinks M. l’Abbé is taxing his little brain.’
‘But his little brain has got to be taxed, it’s there for that. Let Nanny wait till he’s reading for his bachot if she wants to see him taxed – going on to twelve and one at night – poor little green face – rings under his eyes – attempted suicide – breakdowns –’
‘Oh, Charles-Edouard, you are a brute,’ said Grace, quite horrified.
He laughed, and began kissing her arm and shoulder.
‘All this
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