We rode on and very soon were taking a direction which was new to me.
We came to a stream.
“The mill is not far from here,” said Marie-Christine.
“The mill?”
“Moulin Carrefour. That’s the name of the house. It’s on the crossroads, really. That’s where it gets its name. It’s not a mill anymore. It was my great-grandfather who was the miller.”
“I’m finding all this a little hard to follow. It might be helpful if you explained a little to me about the place and the people you are taking me to.”
“I told you, I was taking you to see my Aunt Candice, and she lives at Moulin Carrefour, which was once a mill on the crossroads.”
“I have already gathered that, but …”
“Well, my great-grandfather was the miller, but my grandfather made a lot of money gambling or something, and he said he wasn’t going to be a miller all his life. So he closed the mill down and became one of the nobility. But he disgraced himself by marrying a gypsy girl from nowhere. She had two daughters, Candice and Marianne. Marianne was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. She went to Paris and became an artist’s model. She married my father and I was born … and when I was nine years old she died. Tante Candice lived on at Carrefour with Nounou.”
“With whom?”
“Their old nurse, of course. Nounou would never leave Candice. She will be there, too.”
“And Candice … she did not marry?”
“No. She and old Nounou just live together. I don’t think they will ever forget Marianne.”
“It is strange that they don’t visit the house.”
“It’s not strange at all … really. Not when you know them. Candice hasn’t been for three years.”
“Not since her sister died.”
“Yes, that’s right. Come on. I’ll show you the place where my mother fell. It’s an unlucky place. Someone’s horse threw him there at exactly the same spot where my mother died. It’s called the coin du diable. You know what that means?”
“Devil’s Corner. There must be a reason for these accidents.”
“They say it is because people come galloping across the field and forget they come out suddenly at the crossroads and have to pull up sharply. Look. It’s just here.”
She had drawn up suddenly. I did the same. We were looking across a stretch of grass. There were the crossroads by a stream which could have been the tributary of a river flowing nearby. And there was the mill house. The windmill dominated it, and behind the house were what I presumed to be barns.
On the gate opening onto a path which led to the house were the words “Moulin Carrefour.”
“Is your aunt expecting us?” I asked.
“Oh no. We are just paying a call.”
“She might not wish to see me.”
“Oh, she will. And she likes to see me. So does Nounou.”
She dismounted and I did the same. We tied our horses to the gatepost and went up the overgrown path.
Marie-Christine took the knocker and let it fall with a resounding bang. There was silence. I felt a little uneasy. We were unexpected. What had suddenly put the idea of visiting her aunt into Marie-Christine’s head?
I was thinking with relief that no one could be at home when the door opened and a face was peering round the edge of it. It belonged to a grey-haired woman who must have been in her late sixties.
“Oh, Nounou,” said Marie-Christine. “I’ve come to see you. And this is Mademoiselle Tremaston, who has come from England.”
“England?” The old woman was peering at me suspiciously, and Marie-Christine went on: “Grand-oncle Robert was a friend of her mother and she was a very famous actress.”
The door was opened wide and Marie-Christine and I stepped into a darkish hall.
“Is Tante Candice home?” asked Marie-Christine.
“No, she is out.”
“When will she be back?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Then we’ll talk to you, Nounou. How are you?”
“My rheumatism is troubling me. I think you’d better come up to my room.”
“Yes, let’s do that. Perhaps Tante Candice will not be long.”
We went up some stairs and along a corridor until we came to a door which Nounou opened. We entered the room and Nounou signed to us to sit down.
“Well, Marie-Christine,” she said. “It is a long time since you have come to see us. You should come more often. You know Mademoiselle Candice does not care to go up to La Maison Grise.”
“She would come if she wanted to see me.”
“She knows you’ll come here if you want to see her. Are you comfortable, Mademoiselle … ?”
“Tremaston,” said Marie-Christine.
I said I was very comfortable, thanks.
“I am showing Mademoiselle Tremaston our countryside … interesting places and people and all that. And you and Tante Candice are part of that.”
“How do you like it here, mademoiselle?”
“I am finding it all very interesting.”
“It’s a long way to come … from England. I haven’t been away from this place since before Marianne and Candice were born. That’s going back a bit.”
“Nounou came here when they were born, didn’t you, Nounou?”
“Their mother died having them, you see, and someone had to look after them.”
“They were like your own, weren’t they, Nounou?”
“Yes, like my own.” She was sitting there, staring into space, seeing herself, I imagined, arriving at this house all those years ago, come to look after the motherless twins.
She saw my eyes on her and said almost apologetically: “You get caught up with the children you care for. I was nurse to their father. He was a bright one, he was. I looked on him as mine. His mother didn’t care all that much for him. He was a good lad. He had a magic way of making money. It wasn’t going to be the mill for him. He always looked after me. ‘You’ll never want while I live,’ he used to say. Then he got married to that gypsy girl. Him, who’d been such a clever boy all his life … to go and do that! Then he was left with two baby girls. She wasn’t meant to bear children. Some are, some are not. He said to me, ‘Nounou, you’ve got to come back.’ So there I was.”
I said: “I expect that was where you wanted to be.”
Marie-Christine was smiling blandly. I could see she was rather pleased by the turn the conversation was taking. She was looking at me with pride because, I imagine, Nounou was finding me a sympathetic listener.
“Everything was left to me,” she was saying. “They were my girls. Marianne … she was a beauty right from the start. Born that way, she was. I said to myself, ‘We’ve got a handful here.’ Everyone was after her when she grew up a bit. If you’d seen her, you would have understood why. Mademoiselle Candice … she had looks, too, but there was no way she could hold a candle to Marianne. And then … she died like that.”
She was silent for a few moments and I saw the tears on her cheeks.
“How did you get me talking like this?” she asked. “Would you like a glass of wine? Marie-Christine, you know where I keep it. Pour out a glass for Mademoiselle. I’m not sure about you. Perhaps watered down.”
“I don’t want it watered down, Nounou. I will take it as it is,” said Marie-Christine with dignity.
She poured the wine into glasses and handed it round, taking one herself.
Nounou lifted her glass to me. “Welcome to France, mademoiselle,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I hope you will come again to see us.” She wiped her eyes, in which there were still tears. “You must forgive me,” she went on. “Sometimes I get carried away. It is sad to lose those who have meant so much to us.”
“I know,” I told her.