Assignment in Brittany by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online

fashioned and carved. The two doors flanking them occupied the last available corners of space on that long, well-filled wall. The one beside the backdoor entrance was the one which Albertine had used: downstairs store-room it must be. He moved across to it quickly, and glanced briefly inside. A bicycle, a bowl of milk, some wine-bottles, a cider-keg, some twisted rope, large iron cooking utensils, a few small barrels, a few large earthenware bowls neatly covered, all standing on the stone floor. There were two windows, both of them small and high in the wall and tightly shut. Hellish dark and smells of cheese, Hearne thought. Now for the upstairs part of the house.
    He took one last look at the kitchen. He would have to know it backwards. The windows here were also small. Two lay at the other end of the room with a dresser and its rows of dishes between them, while two higher windows flanked the fire-place. Under one of these was another dresser, and more dishes; under the other was a small table. Between them stood the enormous stone fire-place, with proportions and simplicity worthy of a castle hall. From the dark wood rafters overhead were suspended two hams and a long shelf containing a wooden rack. In the rack were numerous thin circular disks.
    “Now, what the hell—” began Hearne. Disks... Probably edible; they certainly weren’t ornamental. He strained his eyes, and then something clicked in his memory. Rennes, and a small inn outside the city, and a cheap student meal, and pancakes. That was it. Pancakes.
    Then he became aware that someone had entered the room, that someone was standing behind him. There had been nofootsteps on the flagged path outside; he was sure of that. He turned, slowly, casually he hoped. A man was standing in the corner of the kitchen, against the wooden partition which was the dividing line between the animals and the family. Behind him a narrow door was open, a door whose “edges fitted so neatly into the wall that Hearne had been unaware of its existence. Blind oaf, he said to himself in annoyance. He ought to have realised an opening would be there. There were plenty of dirty, wet nights in the winter, and what peasant was going to leave the warmth of his kitchen to visit his animals by way of a cold, dark farm-yard? Certainly not a peasant who had arranged his eating and sleeping so practically.
    The man stood silent, impassively, a small thin figure in a faded blue blouse hanging loosely over worn corduroy trousers. Behind him there was only a black smudge, and silence. The animals must have already been turned out into the fields. There was no mistaking the warm smell of straw and cows which filled the kitchen. Cosy little joint, thought Hearne; for those who liked it that way, he added hastily, as the smell strengthened. Well, now, what should he say or shouldn’t he say to Grandpa? He watched three white hens negotiate the old man’s wooden shoes, and jerk their way hesitatingly into the kitchen, picking spasmodically at nonexistent crumbs with a kind of I-really-don’t-have-to-do-this air. But he still hadn’t thought of anything to say. It was the old man who spoke first, as he closed the door carefully behind him and came slowly past the end of the trough into the kitchen.
    “She’s gone?” His French was heavy and slow, as if it were almost a foreign language.
    Hearne nodded, and said “Yes.” That seemed to be all that was expected of him.
    The old man moved more quickly. He picked up a bowl from the small table beside the fire-place and helped himself to some soup. He seated himself at the large table and began eating. He had seemingly identified Hearne in his mind, and, having accepted him, was now concentrating on his breakfast. Hearne stood, feeling rather futile, and watched the soup disappear. The old boy had quite a capacity, considering his dimensions. Then Hearne suddenly realised that he was the master of this house. He’d better stop acting like an