Free The Greengage Summer by Rumer Godden Page A

wore thick-soled shoes;
    they all seemed to show a great deal of gold watch-chain and cufflinks. Their wives had meticulously clean blouses, coats and skirts, and wore high-heeled shoes instead of their usual
    slippers.
    We watched from the stairs, not daring to risk going down until there were so many people that Mademoiselle Zizi or Madame Corbet would not notice us.
    “Is that Monsieur le Maire?” asked Hester. Everyone bowed politely as they greeted him, but though his beard was imposing he was wearing a plain black suit and had only a little
ribbon in his buttonhole to show he was important, no scarlet cloak, cocked hat or chain. The Sous-Préfet, more important than he, had not even a ribbon, but Monsieur Perrichaut was
impressive; we knew it must be Monsieur Perrichaut because he was receiving with his wife. He was taller than anyone else—“Except Eliot,” said Hester—white-haired, with an
important-looking paunch. “Let me look at him,” said Joss and gazed as if she were spying out the land. Monsieur Perrichaut seemed fitted to be the owner of the Brass Instruments
Factory; his voice was like a saxophone, and when he blew his nose the noise was like a trumpet. He had a young man at his elbow who made introductions in a reedy voice. “Like a
piccolo,” I whispered, but Joss did not laugh. She was very grave. “Tell me when the doctor comes,” she said.
    “Monsieur le Directeur?”
    “Yes.”
    “He is here,” said Vicky presently.
    “Go down,” Joss told us. “Go one by one, slip in among them and start shaking hands with everyone. Then they can’t send you away. And don’t tag on to me,” she
said severely.
    Hester and Vicky disappeared, but I hung back. Joss hummed a little tune—which told me she was nervous—twitched the skirt of her dress straight, frowned at it, shook her hair more
loosely on her shoulders, and went down. I watched her as she went straight to the doctor, holding out her hand; then I followed, keeping behind the crowd.
    The doctor kept Joss’s hand. “Mais . . . c’est la petite Anglaise!” he said. I edged round to see her better.
    She was making a comical face—a moue, I thought wisely. “Not so little,” she said, and appealed to Monsieur Perrichaut. “I am not very little, pas si petite, am I,
monsieur?” Hester had crept up beside me. “She sounds silly . . . like a lady ,” said Hester disapprovingly.
    Silly or no, Monsieur Perrichaut seemed to like it. Soon he was asking her, “Vous dînez avec nous, Mademoiselle?” “He is asking her to dinner,” I told
Hester.
    “I—I have not been invited,” said Joss. She sounded as if she were pretending to be shy and Hester and I both frowned.
    “Je vous invite,” and the piccolo was sent to tell Madame Corbet to set another place. “A côté de moi,” said the doctor gallantly.
    “Monsieur le Directeur s’y connaît,” said Monsieur Perrichaut. The most important people were standing round him and now Joss was in the centre of them. Everyone was
whispering about her. Mademoiselle Zizi had seen her, but she could not very well send her out.
    “Permettez-moi de vous faire mes compliments, Mademoiselle.” That was the Sous-Préfet.
    “Ah! La jeunesse! La jeunesse!” said Monsieur Perrichaut and they gazed at Joss.
    “Absolument ravissante,” said Monsieur le Maire. He was standing just in front of me and began to discuss Joss’s looks with the man beside him; I could not catch it all but I
heard, “Ce teint lumineux!”
    “What are they saying?” hissed Hester.
    “Compliments,” I hissed back.
    Eliot was by the bar talking to the young Town Clerk whom Mauricette pointed out to me because she admired him. The Town Clerk was dark and good-looking, but Eliot could look over his head and
the heads of most of the others. Joss must have seen him at once, but she appeared not to see him nor did he look at her. I did not like this any more than I liked her pretending to be shy. Things