Page 80 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
“I should get back.” Ellie stood up. “Thank you for a lovely lunch. It almost makes one forget there is war raging in the rest of the world.”
“I intend to keep my own little corner of paradise for as long as I can,” Roland said. “I suppose the only good thing one can say about the damned Germans is that they are rounding up their Jews. If they insist on race purity, at least you and I are quite safe.” He laughed, then reached for a cigarette, placing it into his long ebony holder.
Ellie went to express disapproval at this sentiment, but Roland had already moved on easily to the next topic.
She found the return trip more arduous than the way there, with the effects of the wine and the heat of the sun later in the day. She let herself quietly into the house as Dora usually took an afternoon sleep in her bedroom. The house slumbered in delightful coolness. Ellie tiptoed up the stairs and peeped into Dora’s bedroom. The bed was empty. She went downstairs again, into the sitting room, and saw that Dora was still on the terrace, still looking out on to the view.
“Oh, there you are,” she said, opening the French doors and going out. “I hope you’ve had lunch.”
Dora did not reply. Ellie saw that she was asleep. She touched Dora’s arm gently and recoiled in surprise. The arm was cold. It took her a moment to realize that Dora was dead. Ellie dropped to her knees beside the old woman, stroking the veined hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have been here.” Then she understood, with utter clarity, that Dora had chosen her moment to die when Ellie did not have to witness it. She had slipped away without causing a fuss. So typical of her.
“Oh Dora.” She picked up the dead hand and held it against her cheek. “What am I going to do without you?” she whispered.
Chapter 32
Dora was buried in the small cemetery behind the church, beside fishermen who had drowned a hundred years ago, all surnames that Ellie recognized. Father André was kind enough to admit her to a Catholic burial ground because, as he said, “The good Lord loves us all.” He said a simple blessing over her. Tommy and Clive, the doctor and his wife, Henri and Monsieur Danton stood as witnesses as flowers were dropped on to her coffin. Mavis and Louis were still on their honeymoon, and Ellie didn’t want it spoiled by this news. Instead she watched as if she were observing a film, something not real. She couldn’t imagine life without the old lady. But she stood, stoic and proud, in her black dress and her black cotton gloves. Afterwards they had a drink and a simple snack at Henri’s, and she went home to an empty house.
How big it seemed. How echoing and empty. Ellie walked from room to room, finding traces of Dora in each of them. Tiger followed her, occasionally giving a plaintive meow as if he shared her mourning.
“I know,” she said. “She’s gone, Tiger. She’s not here.”
She went into Dora’s meticulously neat bedroom. Her journal lay on her bedside table, where Ellie had placed it. Feeling uneasy she opened it, looking at page after page of Dora’s perfect, copperplate handwriting. She saw a lot of the pages were poems, and the latest one:
I see the way ahead quite clear.
I take those steps. I have no fear.
For all ahead is good and gold,
And all my story has been told ...
Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes. She clutched the journal to her, carried it to her bedroom and placed it on her bedside table. She would read it when she felt she could handle it without breaking down.
“I’m all alone,” she said. No Mavis, no Jojo and now no Dora. Nobody. Bruno no longer came up so often, preferring to stay home with his mother, still fearful about news he didn’t really understand. Besides, Bruno, while sweet and lovable, would not understand her hopelessness. She could, of course, go to see Tommy and Clive. They’d ply her with food and drink and make her smile, but she wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t really ready to talk to anybody. Tiger jumped on to the bed and rubbed up against her, purring. She stroked him and he climbed on to her lap.
“At least I’ve got you,” she said. “You’re all I’ve got now.”
After a few days of silence and emptiness, she felt as if she had to talk to someone, and the face that swam into her consciousness was the abbot’s. But the next ferry was two weeks away, and last time she had not been able to get anywhere near him. She stood up, making a decision. She would take Nico’s boat if he wasn’t using it. She grabbed a headscarf and a jacket and marched down the steps. Nico was sitting on the waterfront, talking with some people she didn’t recognize. Her heart lurched—what if he was about to take them out in the boat? Ellie hung back, unwilling to interrupt a private conversation, but Nico saw her, waved.
“Where have you been?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Miss Smith-Humphries died,” she said. “I didn’t feel like being sociable.”
“And now you do?”
“Not really,” she said. “I was wondering if you need your boat this morning.”
“Not so far,” he said.
“I wanted to go over to the abbey.”
“The abbey? You are about to become a nun now that your friend is dead?” He gave one of his cheeky smiles.
“That would hardly be the place since they are all men,” she replied, giving him a stern look for making a joke. “But no. There is something I wanted to discuss with the abbot.”
“It must be important since it is not their usual visiting day.”
“It is,” she said. “So do you think I could have the boat? It shouldn’t take much more than an hour.”
