A Period of Adjustment Read Online Free PDF Page A

crisp once more. In control. As I stepped down on to the white gravel path she said, very quietly, ‘Thank you, William. Forgive me.’
    I waved a dismissive hand, walked down to the gate. When I turned back the front door was closing. I wondered, as I set off for La Maison Blanche and Madame Mazine, if she knew that her mama had once tried to kill James? Tried to run him down in her car. Failed to, of course. She was a bad driver always. Florence didn’t know about that little effort. Florence never would, either.

Chapter 2
    Madame Mazine turned the ledger on her desk so that it was facing towards me, pointed to the page headed MAY. It was filled. So were JUNE and JULY, and the bookings leaked into AUGUST. I pushed it gently back towards her.
    â€˜You run a very successful hotel, Madame. And with reason.’
    She nodded agreeably, closed the ledger. Giles was squirming uneasily beside me. I told him to go off to the lavatory by the bar.
    â€˜So after the twenty-sixth I am roomless? And the boy?’
    â€˜Hélas! Monsieur Forbin has your room every year, regular as the swallows, and the Doumer family always take your son’s room. They are all walkers. I did warn you, Monsieur. I am desolate.’
    So was I at that moment. Less than a week left of my booking, and far too much to do in the week. She was regarding me kindly. She knew the situation. I had told her my news from Cannes, and she was a close friend of Florence’s mama, Sidonie Prideaux. So she would be filled in with every detail from that source. No, she said sadly, there was no other hotel near. A Novotel in Sainte-Brigitte, and perhaps I might find a room at La Source? Or … andshe rubbed her forehead with the palm of a hand as an idea drifted towards her. Or, if I was prepared to be not very comfortable and share with my son, perhaps I would like to look at the Pavilion in the garden? It was empty, apart from the hotel linen which was stacked there after ironing. No one used it unless the hotel was absolutely full. There were two beds, a shower. Would I care to look? I would, and we did.
    Eugène led us into the courtyard at the back of the hotel and opened the door into a damp-smelling void. The Pavilion had, at some time in the past, been stuck on to the back of the hotel rather haphazardly to serve as a store and an emergency ‘room’. It was presently dark. The shutters let slits of light spill across piles of stacked sheets and pillowcases. There was a tumble of striped bolsters on one bed, a bundle of folded lace curtains on the other.
    â€˜Voilà!’ said Eugène, wrenching at the bolt on a shutter and flinging it wide. ‘Le Pavilion. We used to play ping-pong here – there was a table – in wet weather. We can clear it up for you in the next week, if you would like it? I am sure my aunt can make a suitable financial arrangement. The shower – you see? – is here. In the corner.
And
there is a toilet. But no bidet.’ He was smiling to himself.
    Giles prodded the bed with the lace curtains. There was a rusty squeeze of springs.
    â€˜I’ll take it,’ I said.
    Giles shot a swift look at me, looked away, thumped one of the bolsters.
    â€˜So I’ll move in here on the twenty-seventh? We neither of us use the bolsters, so can you change them for pillows. What about mosquitoes?’
    Eugène shook his head, closed the shutter, we walked out, locked the door. The smell of damp and incipient mildew lingered. I put that down, charitably, to the laundered sheets. ‘No mosquitoes at this height, perhaps one ortwo in August. How long does Monsieur intend to stay with us? A question of your table.’
    â€˜I don’t honestly know.’ As we pushed the door into the hotel lobby, paint flaked from the woodwork. ‘I think until I can get a telephone installed at Jericho.’
    Another look from Giles, this time eyebrows raised. I looked at him without