Le Temps des Cerises Read Online Free PDF Page B

sake.
    The fish swam in the juices of the pan, glistening with oil; and she added a few salt flakes, her mouth watering. ‘We won’t wait for Jacques,’ she announced decisively. ‘Please be so good as to sit yourself down, Monsieur Lafayette, and make sure Papa has his napkin on.’ It was like dealing with a child, dealing with her father but it was no longer embarrassing for either of them because she was quite used to it and her father, more often than not, was drunk as a lord. She ladled out the stew, took off her apron and said grace all in a matter of seconds.
    â€˜Maythelordmakeustrulythankfulamen.’
    She always said grace because, strangely enough, however drunk her father might be he never touched a particle of food until he’d heard it spoken once at least.
    â€˜Amen,’ intoned Monsieur Lafayette while Mistigris sat staring absent-mindedly at the statues in the corner.
    â€˜Forwhatweareabouttoreceivemaythelordmakeustrulythankfulamen.’
    â€˜Amen,’ Monsieur Lafayette intoned again with a wink while her father still sat staring at his statues.
    â€˜Please, Papa.’ Eveline spoke gently now, picking up her father’s spoon and placing it between his finger and thumb. ‘You can eat now. I’ve said grace. Monsieur Lafayette has brought some wonderful fish!’
    â€˜Fish?’ echoed Mistigris doubtfully, dabbling his spoon in the stew as if he were dipping his toes in a cold tub. ‘Who is responsible for the fish?’
    Monsieur Lafayette inclined his head. ‘Your servant, sir.’
    â€˜She must have seen fish like these,’ Mistigris went on dejectedly, ‘between the reeds and the water lilies.’
    Eveline sent a beseeching look to Monsieur Lafayette who smiled an acknowledgement and put down his spoon.
    â€˜Sea dwellers, my good man, not fresh water. Pike perhaps, rainbow trout indeed but not a sardine, dear fellow, never a sardine.’
    â€˜Green! Green, she was, and bloated when they fished her out of the Seine.’
    â€˜Yes, Papa.’
    It was going to be a long night. A long self-pitying night if her father didn’t fall asleep first. Thank goodness she had an escape route planned in the shape of a meeting at St Nicolas.
    â€˜You are a tragedy king tonight!’ Monsieur Lafayette tried to jolly along the old stonecutter. ‘You make the Emperor look positively cheery and he’s been exiled to England. Look at what you have here: a daughter dancing attendance upon you, your best friend at your side, a splendid stew to get your teeth into...’
    At that moment – as if on cue – Jacques burst through the door, catapulted out of the cold night air and into his chair to make the additional point, so it seemed, that Mistigris also had a son to be thankful for: a sturdy-limbed little urchin of thirteen or thereabouts with carrot-coloured hair, a freckled nose, a forcible chin for one so young and horridly dirty hands. After scolding him roundly for his tardiness, his hands, the state of his shoes and the unpalatable objects she’d found underneath his bed that morning, as well as anything else that came to mind, Eveline served him up his helping of stew and turned to her father.
    â€˜I wish you would support me, Papa. Dinner, what we have of it, is at six o’clock sharp. One day you will both come home and there will be nothing to eat because I will have eaten it.’
    Mistigris looked a little ashamed and Jacques hung his head, mumbled an apology and then began spooning the food into his mouth as if he feared she would prove true to her word. By this time a tortoiseshell cat had streaked out of nowhere onto his lap and was purring for all she was worth and poking her nose up over the table to see what her young master had been given for his supper. Jacques tried to work out what proportion of his stew he should be saving for her by applying the weight/balance principle he’d been