Chapter six
Twenty minutes later, Darcy and Bertrand emerged from the front door of the school, returning into morning sunshine that promised a pleasant day.
Darcy, a little shell-shocked, blinked in the bright light. She couldn’t believe it –not only had she met the principal and enrolled Rosie in school but, after introducing Rosie to her new teacher, Madame Martin, who was both Bertrand’s wife and the new entrant teacher, they had left Rosie behind in the classroom with the other children. The last she’d seen of her daughter, she was sitting at a small desk beside another little girl who could speak a few words of English and looked pleased as punch to have someone to try out her limited vocabulary on. Darcy wasn’t quite sure if Rosie had gone along with all of this out of surprise or if she was actually happy to be meeting some potential new friends. She was hoping for the latter. Otherwise she knew she’d be hearing all about it at the end of the day.
She walked out into the school yard, a bemused expression on her face, wondering if she’d made the right decision. She was tempted to go back inside but Bertrand’s hand on her back encouraged her to move on across the yard.
Bertrand, who had done most of the talking during the interview, turned to her at the school gate, shook hands again saying, “Au revoir Madame. A demain,” before he moved towards his car, which was by now the only one left in the roadside parking bay. The car was so unlike the man that Darcy couldn’t hide a small smile. It was an older model wagon that would have been quite unremarkable except it was painted a garish shade of what could only be described as bright ‘Barbie’ pink. Bertrand, opening the driver’s door and noticing her expression, ran a work-roughened hand over the paintwork and fondly said, “Mes trois petites filles ont choisi le couleur,”as he spoke, he used his other hand to indicate the heights of his three daughters. He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling with pleasure, “C’est belle, n’est ce pas?” He hopped in the driver’s seat and started up the motor, giving Darcy a cherry wave as he drove away.
Seeing a large notice board at one end of the parking area Darcy walked over to have a look, thinking it might have some pertinent information about school events, timetables or term dates but the only notice pinned under the protective glass was a hand-written menu informing parents of the meals their offspring would be having for school lunches over the forthcoming week.
Wow, thought Darcy, scanning down the list …three courses for lunch. How on earth did the children stay awake after all that food to get any work done in the afternoon? The menu even went so far as to state what types of cheese they would be sampling each day. She had an idea …maybe she’d join them for lunch, -all she and Connor had were some ham and egg sandwiches that she’d hurriedly slapped together before they’d left the gîte that morning. Well, she thought, you knew you were in France when your child ate a three-course meal for a school lunch. It was a far cry from the school lunches Darcy remembered from her years at school.
Shaking her head in wonder, she retraced her steps to the cottage. Connor was sitting angled across the doorstep with his back resting against the door jamb, body in the shade and legs stretched out in the sunshine, his fingers moving at speed over the console of his Nintendo 3DS. He was so totally engrossed in the game he was playing that he didn’t even take time to look up at his mother, barely acknowledging her return with a waggle of his head. Much too busy shooting aliens, bad guys, killer tomatoes or whatever was currently invading his screen, Darcy thought resignedly.
She walked past him to the car, opening the trunk and removing the buckets, brooms and other cleaning equipment that Madame Guillot had lent her to start the cleaning. The gîte was pre-paid for the duration of their stay but Darcy had discussed with Madame Guillot that they might sleep here at the cottage if she could make it habitable by nightfall. Hopeful of making the cottage liveable, they’d packed the car with the bare necessities for an overnight camp-out.
Stepping over Connor’s outstretched legs she went back inside to the cottage kitchen.
The past two days of inactivity at the gîte had been more than Darcy could stand. After a day of resting up from travelling she’d been full of energy and rearing to get started on this new project. It had seemed like a good idea to get stuck in and clean the cottage herself. Huh, she thought. Looking around now all she could think was ‘be careful what you wish for…’ if she’d known the magnitude of the job she might have been a bit more inclined to play tourist for the week and go off to sightsee in Mont Saint-Michel or Bayeux instead. But here she was, bucket and mop in hand.
The crew that were contracted to work on the chateau, inclusive of opening up and cleaning the cottage weren’t due to start until the end of the week so Darcy had phoned her new employer’s assistant to inquire if she could make a start. The erstwhile Mademoiselle Clement, plainly not saying that she thought Darcy quite mad to offer, said that she could think of no reason why not, providing Darcy kept receipts for anything she needed to purchase. She was “absolument certainment” there would be a bricolage nearby where Darcy could buy anything she would require to expedite the cleaning and any painting she might want to do but if Madame would be a little patient the team hired to renovate the chateau would be there within a few more days and could do the work for her. “Mais oui,” of course Madame could make a start if she so wished. The assistant would keep Monsieur Dubois up to date with what Darcy was doing. Les Anglais were insane, (clearly intimated but unsaid), Merci and Goodbye (said).
So polite, Darcy mused, ending the call. And so very snooty. A right beatch, as Halley would have said had she been there … which, unfortunately, she wasn’t. She’d promised to visit, as soon as they were settled, she’d said when they parted company back in London … but since she was totally freaked by creepy crawlies of any kind and leaned heavily towards being a neat-freak it was probably just as well that they postponed any visiting until after the spiders were rehomed and the cleaning was done.
Darcy walked back through the rooms, undecided quite where to begin. They were all pretty horrible but the living room by far the grubbiest. She swore the last tenant must have chain-smoked for years to get that much tar on every surface … so she’d work top-down and start with the ceiling, which, although not high was still further than she could easily reach. She’d have to find a ladder to help her get up there.
Mademoiselle Personal Assistant-Beatch -now shortened to the PA-BA, had mentioned in their phone conversation that tools and equipment for the renovation should have been dropped off at the chateau in preparation for the start of work, but, and for this she was sorry, (not really), she did not know in which of the (many) outbuildings they had been deposited. The workmen knew this, so she hadn’t needed to be informed –a point she was sure Madame Thomas would appreciate. Undoubtedly, if Madame looked, she would most assuredly find what she required (eventually). Madame, by this stage, was becoming increasingly annoyed with the assistant’s prissy French attitude and cut the call short before she said something she’d regret.
Darcy pulled the ring of keys from her deep jacket pocket. They had been delivered to the gîte that morning …Mlle PA-BA was nothing if not efficient. There were rather a lot of them, some old and rusty, some so new and shiny that they looked freshly minted.
Staring at them she had a fleeting vision of what Harry Potter must have felt like in the Chamber of Secrets when confronted with all those keys –on the plus-side, at least these were just sitting quietly in her hand and not zooming around on wings attacking her. But which one? She held the ring up to her face on one finger and jangled the keys. Well, they weren’t telling so there was only one way to find out ….
Half an hour later she was about to give up. She’d unlocked and checked all five stables, to no avail, then the tack room and the two garages at the far end of the stable building. All had been empty save for some odds and ends of junk, a few musty bales of straw, too many cobwebs and chokingly dusty air.
She’d found zip in the old
burnt-out shells of the barrack buildings that she’d been told were relics from when the chateau had been occupied alternately by the allied and German forces during World War Two. The coach house right next to the chateau likewise –only that hadn’t been so hard to check out because she’d been able to peer through the glass windows. Masses of trestle tables and chairs covered in bird poop –no tools, no ladder.
She looked around for more buildings …hmmm, there was a roofless round pigeonnier among the trees to the far side of the main driveway … highly unlikely as a repository for anything of any value. Then the bulk of the chateau caught her eye …hardly an ‘outbuilding’, but bitchy Mademoiselle Efficiency could have got it wrong. Darcy thought of the helpful locals who were to have assisted her finding the gîte. Hmmm, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Irritated at wasting time hunting a ladder when she could have been making progress with the cleaning, Darcy stalked up the gravel lane to where it joined the main chateau entryway. There was an asphalted drive that curved sinuously away to her left through the trees and overgrown grass of the park from the main road gateway to arrive at the northern face of the chateau. That gate was, of course, a much grander affair than their little side gate, but like all the chateau’s entrances Darcy had discovered in the past days, locked against intruders with a heavy length of chain and an equally sturdy padlock.
She approached the closest turret, surprised to discover that it had a modern-looking metal door set a couple of steps below ground level. Several keys later, Darcy pushed the heavy door open and proceeded inside into a dimly lit octagonal-shaped vestibule.
She moved forwards into the space, discovering that the door must have had a self-closing mechanism as it suddenly clanged closed behind her, making her jump. She brushed a hand along the wall, feeling for a light switch but wasn’t surprised when nothing happened even when she found a panel and flicked the switch …understandably, the power was off. The interior was dark but it was not completely impossible to see. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light she could just make out steps leading down to the sub ground basement.
She began her search anew. The first door to her left opened onto a big industrial-looking kitchen with huge gas ovens and equipment that spoke of feeding small armies. No tools, no ladder. Darcy closed the door and carried on.
With all the exterior window shutters closed little light pierced the gloom and it was hard to see where she was going as she ventured further along the hall. She resorted to feeling her way along the cold clammy walls with one hand. The hall smelt of air gone stale and something else that made Darcy’s nose twitch…it put her in mind of long-dead mice but determined to find a ladder, she kept going, glad of her new water and rodent-proof footwear.
The next door on the opposite side of the hall led to a room with floor to ceiling cupboards and shelving; possibly a butler’s pantry, Darcy decided. The adjacent room to this was a scullery, full of huge stainless steel sinks and benches. Darcy wasn’t too surprised to see a lift in one corner, –not quite large enough for a person unless they sat but more of an oversized dumb-waiter.
Several rooms later, including a rather odd one with several power cables hanging from the ceiling and long tables that put her in mind of a manufacturing sweat-shop, she finally found what she’d come looking for …stacked neatly together where the hallway widened to one side and ended in large double doors that Darcy supposed might lead outside …in tidy piles was a large cache of tools, mops, brushes, rollers and trays and large paint pails labelled as white paint,… and the much searched-for extension ladder.
Okay, fine, she thought, a little disappointed at not having an excuse to venture upstairs, here was what she wanted at last …so no more exploring for today … she balanced the long ladder under one arm and popped a couple of paint brushes into her jacket pockets. Then, spying some new overalls still in their plastic bags she stuffed a pair of those under her arm as well. She couldn’t carry any more so she’d have to come back for the paint when she was ready for it once she’d finished cleaning.