The café though, was just as she remembered it. The signage lifted her heart because it at least had stayed true although the lettering was a modern font. It welcomed them nonetheless with the words ‘Café des Amis’.
Maude went first, opening door and stepping inside. Nearly all of the tables were full apart from one in the corner by the window, so they made their way over and took a seat while they waited for someone to appear. It wouldn’t be Armand, maybe his grandson, how wonderful that would be. While reading the menu, Dottie took in the café.
Structurally nothing had changed, even the counter was in the same place, but the rest of the interior had been updated although it still had some quaint touches that reminded the diners of its heritage. Black-and-white reproduction photographs of the village, possibly in the 1800s adorned the walls; market day, the village square, the church and numerous scenic vistas that in truth could have been anywhere in France. The wooden bistro chairs had gone, and modern white replacements were arranged around Formica tables decorated with a single vase and plastic gerbera, along with the condiments and menu stand. It had a good ambience though, clean and cheerful as opposed to the dark, smoky den that had once been a favourite haunt of the villagers, a place to plot and whisper in corners.
From the back kitchen that Dottie knew well, appeared a young woman dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, an apron protecting her from the waist down, and on seeing them she smiled broadly and approached their table.
‘Hello, I’m sorry if I kept you waiting… I am alone today so doing the job of everyone. Would you like theplat du jour, we are serving rabbit? Or perhaps something lighter.’
Dottie spoke for herself, ‘I would love theplat du jour,’ and when Maude looked up from the menu and nodded, ‘and so would my granddaughter but may she have a soft drink instead of wine?’
Maude asked for Coke if they had it.
‘Yes, of course, I will bring your drinks in a moment. My name is Francine so if you need anything, just ask.’
With that, she scurried off into the back, leaving Dottie and Maude to listen to the hum of chatter from the curious diners who glanced occasionally in their direction.
‘Do you think they know we are English? I can feel them staring at us.’ Maude’s voice was a whisper accompanied by a roll of her eyes in the direction of the other tables.
Dottie chuckled. ‘They know we are strangers, that’s enough. Maybe they can detect a hint of an accent in my French. In the old days it could have got me killed so let’s be grateful for stares, not quite so dangerous.’
Maude’s eyes widened at Dottie’s comments before turning her head and gazing out of the window. The square was deserted as was the section of the hotel that looked as though it was having major reconstruction work. Dottie hoped it wasn’t all going to be demolished because she knew how long it had been there. Maybe she would ask Francine later, if not themairewould know.
Dottie’s mind then wandered to their upcoming meeting. What if it drew a blank and there were no living relatives of the Maquis members in the village? The next stop would have to be the priest at the church, surely he would know exactly where Vincent was buried? Failing that, Dottie would wander along every row in the cemetery until she found him. She was sure he’d be here. Please God let the Nazis have returned the bodies to their families.
Francine approaching with a tray of drinks and their starters interrupted Dottie’s train of thought. Seeing thecroquette de crabe, both accepted their drinks, bade goodbye to Francine and began tucking in to their food.
Dottie had been watching Francine closely. She was wiping the tabletops while they finished the last of their desserts. The bistro was empty, the farm workers had gone back to their labours and the other customers petered off slowly leaving the three of them alone.
Dottie thought Francine seemed distracted, constantly looking out through the window across the street to where the bulldozers had resumed work on the oldchamber d’hôte. Following her gaze, Dottie spotted a solitary figure, seated in his wheelchair, staring at the building site. When Francine approached the table to take their plates curiosity finally got the better of Dottie, her question causing Maude to look up from her phone.
‘Francine, I hope you don’t mind me asking but do you know the gentleman by the shrine? I noticed him last time we were here, and I can’t help wondering why he sits there. Did he used to own the hotel? It must be difficult to see where you lived being demolished.’
Maude sighed. ‘Gran, don’t be so nosey.’
Erring on the side of caution and knowing how private the French could be, Dottie took the hint from Maude. ‘Yes, forgive me, but I’m rather intrigued and it is rather hot out there.’ Dottie followed Francine’s gaze and noticed a smile playing on the waitress’s lips.
‘Ah yes, that is my great uncle. For some reason he has taken to sitting there each day to watch the workmen. My mother usually wheels him across and collects him later but today I must take him home.’
Dottie’s skin prickled and her heart beat a little faster so she pressed Francine further. ‘I remember the people who had it during the war, I lived just outside the village for a while, maybe he will remember them.’
Francine looked taken aback. ‘You were here, in France, during the war, Madame?’
‘Yes, it’s a long story really but I’m here to meet the mayor, we have an appointment at three. I’m hoping he can tell me if any of the villagers from that time are still around because I’d like to meet them.’ Dottie noticed that Francine appeared somewhat flustered, her hand rested at her throat as if containing shock.
‘Oh my goodness, this is wonderful news! You must come with me right now so I can introduce you to my uncle. He has always lived here, and the hotel was his home. I’m sure he would love to meet you. Perhaps he can help.’
With that Francine more or less gathered Dottie and Maude up and ushered them out of the café, not bothering to lock the door. As they hurried along the street, Francine talked quickly and filled them in a little on her great uncle.
‘Now, you must understand that he isn’t the chatty type and has suffered a stroke so has difficulty speaking sometimes, so don’t be offended if he seems a bit shy. He’s become even more peculiar since we told him about the renovations and insists we take him there every day. My mother is a bit concerned but we have got used to his odd ways now.’
They were approaching from the rear and as they neared the solitary figure, Dottie took in his shiny bald scalp and close-cropped, grey hair. He appeared tall and sat upright, motionless, his left hand gripping the arm of his wheelchair. Maude and Dottie lingered out of sight for a moment while Francine walked in front of her uncle, then bent and took his hand. As his head lifted to meet her eyes, she smiled kindly and brushed his forehead gently, as if to reassure him.
Dottie was touched by the affection Francine showed and averted her eyes which caught Maude’s briefly. Both then listened as Francine spoke.
‘Uncle Polo, I have a surprise for you. This lady has come all the way from England to visit our village and she is searching for people who might remember her, look, she would like to say hello.’
When Maude and Dottie heard Francine call her uncle by his name they gasped in unison and Dottie felt her body begin to tremble. Maude’s hand shot out and rested on Dottie’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Polo held his niece’s gaze for a second longer and then began to turn his head slowly.
