Free Human Traces by Sebastian Faulks Page B

Sonia, gesturing with his head. "I suppose the young man is being prepared for the priesthood." "In Deauville?" said Thomas. "More likely to be prepared for the Turf here, isn't he? And somehow he doesn't have a devout look about him. He reminds me of a fellow I know in Trinity." Their waiter was a tall, mournful man with a bald head and a thick moustache that gave him a look of the late Prince Albert. His manner was also regal, as he endowed the table with the burgundy; to each diner he offered a half glass of wine, then bowed slightly, and moved off on flat feet. He returned a few minutes later with some plates of sole in a cream sauce and a china dish of petits pois. "Nothing wrong in drinking red wine with fish," said Richard, looking round for the bottle which Prince Albert had secreted. "Drink what you dash well like, that's what I always say." "The sole is good, isn't it?" said Sonia. "Yes," said Thomas. "Has my sister proved a satisfactory housekeeper, Richard?" "Adequate, thank you. We had to let the cook go at Christmas. Domestic economies, you see." "I enjoy it," said Sonia. "It's a pleasure for me to make a dinner for Richard's friends, then to manage the budget with some modest suppers." She did not look up from her plate as she spoke. In the garden after dinner, they found themselves seated at the table next to the Curé and his charge. "Here's a chance," said Richard. "Ask the young fellow what he's doing. Let's see what your French is made of." "Not much," said Thomas. "That's why I have come. Let me have a cognac, I need some courage. Sonia speaks better than I do. Papa once sent her for a summer to a family in Brittany, I believe." "That's enough excuses. Go on with you." Thomas shifted his chair against the paved courtyard and cleared his throat as he leaned across the neighbouring table. In an accent in which he himself could almost hear the roar of the Wash, he said, "Good evening. My sister and her husband and I, we were asking ourselves what was bringing you to Deauville this summer and if the boarding house pleases you." "Good evening, Monsieur," said the Curé. "My friend and I have come for a week's holiday. I promised him that if he was successful in his examinations I should reward him with a week at the seaside. Although his family lives near the sea, he has never had a holiday in all his twenty years. As to the boarding house ' "Me also," said Thomas, "I mean, I too, have am twenty years old. My name is Thomas Midwinter. I have come from England." "I thought perhaps you did. We are from Brittany. May I introduce my friend Jacques Rebière, a great doctor of the future." Jacques held out his hand to Thomas. "What did he say, Father?" "He is the same age as you and he comes from England." Thomas introduced Richard and Sonia. "Do you speak English?" Thomas asked Jacques. Jacques shook his head, looking startled. "Jacques's education was late in starting," Abbe Henri said, 'but every week he is making up the ground that he lost. And you yourself, sir, I presume you are studying at one of those fine old English universities." "Yes. It is very ancient and very fine. My sister thinks I do not work enough, but this is not true. Each morning I must do a lecture and a practical demonstration of the anatomy." "You speak very good French." "No, this too is not true. This is why I am come here in France. When I speak then about lecture and anatomy it is easy because the words are the same thing in English. Like this I have the air of a good French. But it is not true." Thomas noticed Jacques's tense expression resolve at last into a brief grin; it was an extraordinary expression, like a piece of fruit gashed by a cutlass. His mouth had a hundred shining teeth; then it was closed, the moustache realigned itself and the brows re-knitted in perplexity. Thomas felt his own lips twitch in amusement. It transpired that Abbe Henri spoke some English and was able to make himself pleasant to Richard, who looked