The handle of his white stick was curved like a shepherd's crook. Paula noticed it was flexible, moving in the hand which gripped it as the cane tapped. Immediately ahead of him was an ancient stone tower with an archway below it, high and wide enough to let a farm cart pass through. They watched the man raise his. stick to tap at a side wall of the archway, then make his way through it.
'Must be a local,' Paula mused. 'Probably knows his way about the place better than we ever shall.'
They waited while the man tapped his way carefully along the street beyond. He was some distance away when he paused with his back to them. Taking an old pipe out of his pocket he half-turned, used the side of a lighter to tamp the bowl, then lit it. He resumed his slow progress away from them.
'Let's get on with it,' said Tweed.
Walking through the archway, Paula noticed the street ahead had a plate on the side of a wall. Rue du 23 juin. Tweed had stopped by her side, looking to his left.
Steps led up to the Hotel La Couronne. The door at the top was closed.
'We might enquire here,' he suggested.
'I don't think so.'
Paula pointed to a small notice in the window near the door. It had a simple message. Ferme. Closed. Tweed shrugged. Paula was gazing down the main street, fascinated. On either side ancient houses, joined together, had tiled roofs at different heights. Like something out of a child's fairytale. The walls were covered with plaster, each house painted a contrasting muted colour – yellow, ochre, cream and other attractive tones.
'It's like Paradise,' she said. 'And so quiet. Apart from that blind man there's no one about anywhere. I wonder how we're going to find that street?'
'La Ruelle. Look at that plate on the wall over there. It's in this side street.' He peered down it. 'There's the Hotel d'Or. Not twenty yards away.'
They walked down the street and Paula followed Tweed up stone steps to a landing on the first floor. It had a door with a window masked by net curtains. Tweed pressed a bell by the door's side. The door opened and a tall attractive slim woman in her -fifties stood looking at them, as she quickly removed an apron.
'Do you speak English?' Tweed enquired.
'I do, Monsieur. How can I help you?'
'I have come from the late General Guisan, so to speak.'
'Please to come in.' She peered down the steps. Newman was, waiting with the others, not wishing to crowd the flight of steps. 'Those are your friends?' she asked.
'You are Juliette Leroy?'
'I am.'
'Yes, they are my friends, but there are rather a lot of us.'
'Please to ask your friends to join you.'
They walked into a large room which was obviously a dining room with a bar at the back and the kitchen in the rear. The walls and ceiling were covered with pinewood, which gave the place a cosy atmosphere. Extending close to the kitchen area paintings of scenes in the Jura hung from hooks and with very heavy-looking gilt frames. One long table was laid for a meal with ten places but the other tables were bare of cloths.
'I have waited for you,' said Leroy. 'I have something for you from Albert.'
'Albert?' The surprise showed in Tweed's voice. 'My friend is called Kurt.'
'Please to excuse me. That was a little test. I will get it for you now.'
She hurried to the kitchen, hauled out a drawer full of cutlery. Balancing it on a work surface, she detached an envelope taped to the underneath. She handed it to Tweed.
'There you are. You will see Kurt signed it on the back with his Christian name. You are hungry?'
'We can't impose on your hospitality…'
'I ask if you are hungry.' Her blue-grey eyes held his and he had the impression of a forceful personality. At the same time she gave him a radiant smile. 'You like Filets des Perches with the pomme frites? Most Englishmen do. The table is already laid, as you see.'
'For someone else, I suspect, Mademoiselle.'
'I am a widow. The table is laid for a group of farmers – they will not be here until this evening. I have plenty of food for them and for you and your friends.'
Tweed glanced at his watch. He suddenly felt terribly hungry. And what she had offered was one of his favourite dishes.
'We have to leave in an hour at the latest – to catch a train back to Basel.'
'Then please sit down, everyone. You have plenty of time.'
She was already' returning to the kitchen. She produced several pans, opened the large fridge-freezer. Everyone was sitting down when Paula noticed the entrance door had not been closed properly. She went to shut it and thought she caught sight of someone moving in the street.
Opening the door wider, she went out on to the landing. There was no sign of anyone. Nearby several narrow alleys led off the street. Must have been my imagination, she thought. She closed the door and sat next to Tweed at the table.
The plates of food, which smelt wonderful, were placed before them more quickly than Tweed had expected. Juliette sat down opposite him, noticing he had already broken some crusty bread. She smiled.
'You were hungry. You have started eating the bread.'
'It's some of the best bread I've ever tasted,' he answered honestly. 'This is very good of you, Madame Leroy.'
'I enjoy this.' She looked round the table at Newman, Nield, Butler and Marler, then at Paula. 'It gives me much pleasure to watch you eating. You are all most hungry.'
What a nice woman, Paula thought. She radiates good humour. She loves to see people having a good time. What a pity there aren't more like her in the world.
'I fear we must go now,' Tweed said a short while later. 'I don't want to but, as I said, we have to catch that train. Something important waits for us in Basel.'
They stood up from the table, their plates cleared of food. Then Tweed had a friendly argument when he insisted on paying. He became emphatic.
'You are running a business here. I must pay.'
'You come here for holiday with me. All who can. All, I hope.' She laughed. 'Then you pay through the nose. Is that correct?'
'Perfect English.' Tweed reluctantly put away his wallet. He could argue all night and she wouldn't give way. He made a gesture of resignation.
'Madame Leroy-'
'Juliette. Please.'
'Juliette, we will come here on holiday – to your beautiful village. To sample your superb cooking. You gave us a meal to remember.'
'Go and catch your train. And may God go with you.'
When they reached the archway under the ancient tower Paula paused and they waited for her. She was looking back at the beauty of St Ursanne. She wanted to be able to visualize the village later when they were gone. Then she forced herself to turn round and they started to hurry up the road which seemed steeper climbing it. They were halfway to the station when Newman stopped, swore under his breath.
'Something wrong?' asked Paula.
'I've left my gloves, my motoring gloves in the restaurant. I'm going back to get them. They're the ones you gave me for Christmas, Paula.'
'You'll miss the train,' Tweed warned.
'No, I won't. Remember, I came in the first ten in the London marathon'
He began to hare off down the hill. Paula paused briefly to take one last look at St Ursanne. Soon the sun would drop behind a nearby mountain and the village would be swallowed up in shadows. At the moment she could see every detail in the crystal-clear light.
'It's a dream village,' she said as she resumed climbing upwards alongside Tweed. 'I'm looking forward to a wonderful holiday.'
'So am I,' Tweed agreed.
