“The air is like wine,” he said, “which reminds me we are going to find that little auberge. Are you hungry?”
“Getting that way,” I said.
“It’ll be uphill for a while. Madame at my auberge told me that she can recommend La Pomme d’Or which we ought to find fairly easily. She says the damson pie is the best she ever tasted and has made me swear a solemn oath to try it. I dare not return and tell her I have not done so.”
“Then it is a matter of honour for us to find La Pomme d’Or. I wonder why it is so called. After the famous golden apple which Paris gave to Aphrodite, as the fairest of women, I suppose, but I wonder how it got here.”
“I fancy,” he said, “that that is one of the mysteries we shall never solve.”
The scenery was becoming awesome—mountains stretching as far as we could see; we passed gorges and silver waterfalls and streams trickling down the slopes.
“I hope the horses are sure-footed,” said Paul.
“I daresay they’ve been in the mountains before.”
“It must be getting quite late now.”
“Time for luncheon. We should find the golden apple soon.”
We came upon it unexpectedly. There it stood, white and glittering in the sunshine, built against the side of the mountain and facing a gap through which there was a glimpse of the sea.
We left our horses in the stable to be cared for and went into the dining salon.
We were welcomed warmly, especially when Paul mentioned that Madame at the auberge where he was staying had recommended La Pomme d’Or.
“She told us about the damson pie,” he said. “It is hoped that it is available.”
Madame was large and plump and I soon realized that she possessed in an even greater degree than usual that reverence for food which was characteristic of her nation. She put her hands on her hips, and shook with laughter.
“Believe it or not, Monsieur, Madame,” she said, “I cook the most wonderful dishes …” She put her fingers to her lips and threw a kiss to those revered objects. “My langoustines are magnificent. Crevettes … gigot of lamb … and such tarts as you never have seen … but always it is my damson pie.”
“It must be gratifying, Madame,” I said, “to be so famed for such an achievement.”
She lifted her shoulders and her eyes sparkled as she told us what she could give us.
Hot s6up was brought in. I had no idea what it contained, but it was delicious. But I was living in an exalted state and anything I imagine would have tasted like ambrosia.
It is the mountain air, I told myself. That … and Paul Landower.
I studied him intently. My mother had said he had dark looks … secret looks. Yes, there was an element of that. I did not know him. Not as I had known Jago … or Jeremy. But had I known Jeremy? I could not have been more surprised when I had received that letter jilting me.
No, I had not known Jeremy. I was gullible where people were concerned. But I was changing. Once I would have believed my mother wanted me to stay with her because she loved me. Now I saw clearly that she only wanted me to relieve the boredom a little. If someone else could do that, I might go out for the day and she would not mind in the least.
I would be more prepared now for people to act in an unexpected way; and there was something secret, mysterious about this man. I longed to know what it was and I was excited at the prospect of discovering.
After soup there was lamb served in a way I had never had it before; it was delicious; and the wine, which was proudly shown to Paul before it was poured out, was nectar.
I said: “I shall have no room for the famous damson pie.”
At last it came. Madame told us that during the season she set one of her maids doing nothing else but preserving damsons for several weeks.
She served it with her special garnishing and we both agreed that it came up to expectation.
Paul was amused to see me counting the stones.
“Ah,” he said, “that looks significant. Tell me, what is your fate?”
“There are eight stones. They indicate whom I shall marry. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief.”
“You have too many.”
“Oh no. I just start again. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief. Oh dear! I’m destined for the thief. I don’t like that at all. I think I’ll try something else.”
I began to quote:
“He loves me
He don’t
He’ll have me
He won’t.
He would if he could
But he can’t
So he won’t.”
Paul was laughing. “You’ve one left over.”
“So I start again. He loves me. Well, that’s a little more satisfactory. But if he is a thief I’m not very happy about my future.”
“You should be,” he said seriously. “I have an idea that you are the sort of person who will be happy and make others happy.”
“What a charming assessment of my character. I can’t imagine how you can be so knowledgeable in such a short time.”
“There are things one knows … instinctively.”
I thought: I am falling in love with him. What a fool I am. I have just been bitterly deceived. I have vowed I would never fall in love again, and here I am ready to begin it all once more. Oh, but I was never really in love with Jeremy. It was infatuation. This is different. Besides, wasn’t I always in love with Paul Landower?
He was watching me intently. “Your eyes are a brilliant green.”
“I know.”
“They glitter like emeralds.”
“I like the comparison. We had a cook once who used to say ‘Blue eyes for beauty, brown eyes for cherry pie’ (which I believe in her eyes was another way of saying beauty) ‘green eyes for greedy guts.’ That must have been because I had filched some titbit from the table which I believe, at an early age, I was inclined to do.”
“You are revealed as a green-eyed monster.”
“That means jealousy.”
“Are you jealous?”
“I think I might well be.”
“Well, it’s natural.”
“I think I should be a veritable fiend.”
“I can imagine how those eyes would flash. It would be rather like facing the gorgon.”
“We are getting very classical this afternoon. It all began with the golden apple, I suppose.”
“How do you feel?”
“Replete.”
“So do I. I hope they haven’t fed the horses as well as they have fed us or they’ll be too lethargic to move.”
“Is that how you feel?”
He nodded. “I should like to stay here for a long time.”
“It’s delightful in the mountains.”
“Awe-inspiring. I am glad I found you. I shall report my findings to Miss Tressidor. When can I tell her you will come to see her?”
“Soon. After Christmas … if I can get away.”
“Your mother will try to stop your going to Cornwall.”
“She is very frustrated here. She misses the old life. I suppose I help a bit.”
He smiled and continued to study me.
Our hostess came in and we told her that her damson pie was beyond our expectations and they had been very high. We would extoll its virtues to all those with whom we came into contact.
She looked well pleased and told us not to hurry but to take a look round. “The view’s well worth seeing half a mile on. That’s a regular beauty spot. You have a good view of the gorge there.”
We came out to the stables. “We must not forget,” said Paul, “that it gets dark early. Alas, I think we should be wending our way homewards. This delightful day is coming to an end.”