nothing. Promise.”
“Did I see anything?” he asked.
Two parties were coming for lunch. “You must tidy your room,” Madame Corbet told me.
“Shall I make the bloodstain for you, as Paul isn’t here?” I asked. I had meant to be sarcastic, to show Madame Corbet we knew what frauds they were, but she only nodded. To
her it was normal hotel business and she said, “You could bury the skull as well, but first put Rita and Rex in the kennel or they will dig it up now.”
“Where are Rita and Rex?”
They were not on the house-step in their usual place, nor inside the house, nor in the garden; then I heard barks from the orchard, barking and whining. I remember that as I went to see what had
excited them I passed the box hedge, rubbing a leaf in my hands to catch the hot bruised smell, and dawdled in the orchard to see if any greengages were left. There were a few, on the trees,
overripe in the sun, but still firm under the leaves; I ate both kinds and they added to the chaotic feeling in my stomach. Then, with the dog leashes in my hand, I went down the first long
alley.
At the end of the alley there was a pit under the wall; it was filled with loose earth and rotting leaves, grass mowings and weeds; everything was thrown there to make a compost heap for
Robert’s beloved bedding plants in the top garden.
In this heap Rita was digging; her excited whines and barks sent quivers through Rex, who was sitting upright on the grass, his ears pricked. He was holding something in his mouth and his tail
thumped proudly at the sight of me; though Rita found it, it was always Rex who brought the skull and he got up now and came to me and put the thing into my hand.
It was an espadrille, grey-white and sodden, with the tapes still knotted. I flinched and dropped it on the ground while Rex looked up at my face and thumped his tail.
“Wait, boy,” I said. It was a sound like a croak and I took three steps to see what it was that Rita was digging.
In the brown-yellow of the leaves was something pale. I took another step and the whole orchard seemed to tilt and run into a blur as the kitchen had done when I saw Inspector Cailleux’s
picture, but now the orchard ran into the sky. The pale thing was a foot, a foot and ankle lying downwards; the rest was under the leaves. There was an edge of blue cotton trouser, but the ankle
was bare; its skin looked white and tender as the back of Vicky’s neck, a young skin. There was a leaf stuck to it, a little bright-yellow leaf; not knowing what I was doing, I bent down to
take it off.
It was stuck; almost absently I scraped it with my nail and my finger touched the skin, and it was cold.
I had been cold for two days, but this cold was different; it was a chill all its own. Shivers went over me and my lips began to shake. The foot was cold and stiff with a dreadful stiffness. The
smell of decay that rose up from the leaves and rotting weeds filled my mouth and nose and seemed to me the smell of death. There was no escape now. My head had come out of the sand and I had to
know. The foot had worn the espadrille, Paul’s espadrille . . . and this was Paul.
CHAPTER 16
“G REENGAGE INDIGESTION !” said Madame Corbet.
She had come upon me sick on the garden path. “Too many greengages,” she said, and her topknot shook not with pity but with indignation.
I did not contradict her. I could not, I could onlv gasp and moan; and she was right, it was as if I were trying to fling out Paul, Eliot, Les Oeillets, all of it; a sudden rising of my stomach
to my mouth in the same way that the orchard had run up into the sky.
“Too big a girl to eat so many,” scolded Madame Corbet.
“I’m not big. I’m little, too little,” I wanted to cry, but I could not speak; she had to help me, unwilling as she was, until at last I could lean against her and get my
breath. “Are . . . Rita and Rex shut up?”
“I put them in the kennel,” said Madame Corbet, annoyed. “I
“Did I see anything?” he asked.
Two parties were coming for lunch. “You must tidy your room,” Madame Corbet told me.
“Shall I make the bloodstain for you, as Paul isn’t here?” I asked. I had meant to be sarcastic, to show Madame Corbet we knew what frauds they were, but she only nodded. To
her it was normal hotel business and she said, “You could bury the skull as well, but first put Rita and Rex in the kennel or they will dig it up now.”
“Where are Rita and Rex?”
They were not on the house-step in their usual place, nor inside the house, nor in the garden; then I heard barks from the orchard, barking and whining. I remember that as I went to see what had
excited them I passed the box hedge, rubbing a leaf in my hands to catch the hot bruised smell, and dawdled in the orchard to see if any greengages were left. There were a few, on the trees,
overripe in the sun, but still firm under the leaves; I ate both kinds and they added to the chaotic feeling in my stomach. Then, with the dog leashes in my hand, I went down the first long
alley.
At the end of the alley there was a pit under the wall; it was filled with loose earth and rotting leaves, grass mowings and weeds; everything was thrown there to make a compost heap for
Robert’s beloved bedding plants in the top garden.
In this heap Rita was digging; her excited whines and barks sent quivers through Rex, who was sitting upright on the grass, his ears pricked. He was holding something in his mouth and his tail
thumped proudly at the sight of me; though Rita found it, it was always Rex who brought the skull and he got up now and came to me and put the thing into my hand.
It was an espadrille, grey-white and sodden, with the tapes still knotted. I flinched and dropped it on the ground while Rex looked up at my face and thumped his tail.
“Wait, boy,” I said. It was a sound like a croak and I took three steps to see what it was that Rita was digging.
In the brown-yellow of the leaves was something pale. I took another step and the whole orchard seemed to tilt and run into a blur as the kitchen had done when I saw Inspector Cailleux’s
picture, but now the orchard ran into the sky. The pale thing was a foot, a foot and ankle lying downwards; the rest was under the leaves. There was an edge of blue cotton trouser, but the ankle
was bare; its skin looked white and tender as the back of Vicky’s neck, a young skin. There was a leaf stuck to it, a little bright-yellow leaf; not knowing what I was doing, I bent down to
take it off.
It was stuck; almost absently I scraped it with my nail and my finger touched the skin, and it was cold.
I had been cold for two days, but this cold was different; it was a chill all its own. Shivers went over me and my lips began to shake. The foot was cold and stiff with a dreadful stiffness. The
smell of decay that rose up from the leaves and rotting weeds filled my mouth and nose and seemed to me the smell of death. There was no escape now. My head had come out of the sand and I had to
know. The foot had worn the espadrille, Paul’s espadrille . . . and this was Paul.
CHAPTER 16
“G REENGAGE INDIGESTION !” said Madame Corbet.
She had come upon me sick on the garden path. “Too many greengages,” she said, and her topknot shook not with pity but with indignation.
I did not contradict her. I could not, I could onlv gasp and moan; and she was right, it was as if I were trying to fling out Paul, Eliot, Les Oeillets, all of it; a sudden rising of my stomach
to my mouth in the same way that the orchard had run up into the sky.
“Too big a girl to eat so many,” scolded Madame Corbet.
“I’m not big. I’m little, too little,” I wanted to cry, but I could not speak; she had to help me, unwilling as she was, until at last I could lean against her and get my
breath. “Are . . . Rita and Rex shut up?”
“I put them in the kennel,” said Madame Corbet, annoyed. “I
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