Maddy Again

by Pamela Brown

  At last the streets of shops and cafés gave place to rows of houses with gardens in front, and eventually the cab stopped in front of a neat-looking house behind a high hedge.

  At the windows it had shutters painted a cheerful pink.

  ‘What a lovely little house,’ cried Maddy. ‘Is this where we’re going to stay?’

  ‘Yes,’ Morgan Evans told her. ‘Hop out. We’re late already.’

  The front door opened and out came a man and woman with a girl and a boy in their teens. They advanced with welcoming smiles, and all shook hands with Morgan Evans, who talked to them in French, and then introduced Maddy and Sunny. Instantly the family switched from speaking French to speaking English, and the girl and boy shook hands and greeted them.

  The mother, who was very small and neat, with dark hair and shining eyes, urged them to come inside, as lunch was ready.

  Morgan Evans passed over a number of grubby notes to the driver, and asked him to return at three o’clock to take them into Paris again.

  Inside the house, which was light and airy and neat as a new pin, Madame Lefèvre showed Maddy and Sunny to their rooms, which were obviously the best, and had modern handbasins.

  Maddy washed, changed into her new print dress and went downstairs, where the most delicious meal was awaiting them in the dining-room. First came soup in an enormous tureen. This was so delicious that Maddy had two helpings, then regretted it when she realised how much more there was to follow. Next were tiny fish cooked in batter as a course by themselves, then succulent steak with very thin chips, and, as another separate course, green beans with butter on top. By this time Maddy had surreptitiously loosened her belt and hoped that no one had noticed.

  She could not do justice to the selection of cheeses and fruit that followed, but just nibbled at them and, almost for the first time, took stock of the Lefèvre girl and boy.

  Jacqueline was very like her mother, only rather thin, and Pierre looked grown-up for fifteen. The father was large and jovial and laughed a lot, and patted people on the shoulder and slapped them on the back.

  Sunny was a great success. They loved her American accent and her fruity laugh.

  Before they knew where they were there was a ringing at the door, and the rest of the unit had arrived, and it was time to start filming.

  ‘First of all,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘I want Maddy and Sunny getting out of the taxi, and being greeted by Pierre and Jacqueline.’

  And so they had to enact the whole arrival again, with the camera whirring and it needed four ‘takes’ before it was correct.

  Then they took some shots of the house and Maddy and Sunny being shown round, featuring the dovecot in the back garden where the Lefèvres kept pet doves.

  About half past four, when the other taxi had arrived and had been waiting over an hour, they were able to set off for some sightseeing in the centre of Paris. The unit filled two taxis, and the Lefèvres followed in their ancient little Citroen.

  By this time Maddy was quite sleepy after such an early start and enormous lunch. Morgan Evans, seeing her drowsing in the corner of the taxi said, ‘Wake up, Maddy. We’ve only just started work. We’ll have to get a move on before the light goes. Thank heavens the evenings are pretty long.’

  The excitement of seeing the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the long avenue of the Champs-Élysées roused her a bit, and they all tumbled out of the taxis to get shots of Maddy and Sunny being shown it by Pierre and Jacqueline.

  ‘It’s just like our Marble Arch,’ said Maddy, surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Morgan Evans, ‘but shown off to better advantage.’

  Quite a crowd gathered to watch the filming, and Guy and the secretary, and even Miss Tibbs, were kept busy trying to keep passers-by from walking in front of the cameras. Miss Tibbs gabbled away at them in very good French, waving the shooting stick that she had brought with her.

  Maddy soon wished that she too had brought a shooting stick, for her legs ached with standing about between shots. Morgan Evans was frantically trying to hurry everyone up, but the cameraman and his assistant could not be hurried. Every shot had to be just right, and they checked and rechecked the amount of light and the distance of the people from the camera.

  At last they moved on to the gardens of the Bois de Boulogne, where they all had glasses of lemonade, and took shots of Maddy, Sunny and the Lefèvre children drinking. Then they drove to the Louvre, and took shots of them walking up the steps.

  ‘Can’t we go in and look round?’ asked Maddy. ‘I want to see that Venus with no arms. She is here, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Jacqueline proudly, almost as though she had put her there herself.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Morgan Evans firmly. ‘There just isn’t time. We’ve got so much to get through, and only the rest of today and tomorrow to do it in. Now we must get down to the Quais…’

  Maddy was enthralled by the Seine. She could have stood by the parapet and looked down at the water, with the barges and the motorboats going by, for the rest of the evening, but they could only take a few shots before it was time to hurry off to the cathedral of Notre-Dame. Here Maddy remembered that she had not sent a postcard to her mother, so she bought one for her and one for Zillah, and wrote them while they were lining up the shots.

  ‘I’m here. It’s wonderful. I’m seeing absolutely everything, and eating loads. Love to all, Maddy.’

  While they were packing up the equipment, Maddy and Sunny managed to slip inside the cathedral, and tiptoed round in awe, trying not to disturb an evening service that was in progress.

  It was so soothing and so dim after the bright sunlight outside that it seemed like a different world.

  When they came out Morgan Evans was champing at the bit to be off.

  ‘Quick,’ he urged them. The light’s going—the light’s going.’

  ‘Where are we off to now?’ asked Maddy. ‘The Eiffel Tower? We haven’t been there yet.’

  ‘No—we’re doing the Eiffel Tower tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘But we must get shots of the Sacré-Coeur before we finish.’

  ‘What’s the Sacré-Coeur?’ demanded Maddy, as they tumbled into the taxis.

  ‘It is a—basilique,’ said Jacqueline. ‘I do not know how else to call it.’

  ‘It’s a church with a dome on top—we call it a basilica—right on top of Montmartre,’ explained Morgan Evans.

  They had to leave the cars at the bottom of one of the steep hills up to Montmartre, and climb up steep flights of steps, with a handrail to cling to, in order to reach the church of the Sacred Heart. The sun was beginning to set, throwing pink rays on to the gleaming white dome.

  They toiled up the steps, stopping every few minutes to admire the building in front of them. The Lefèvre family seemed as proud of it as they had been of all the other famous places in their city. Exhausted, the visitors leaned on the railings at the top of the steps and looked out over Paris, while the cameramen unpacked the equipment once more.

  ‘Oh, I’ve sure got “Paris Foot”,’ moaned Sunny, slipping off one high-heeled shoe after the other. ‘Mr Evans, do you mind a barefooted Southern gal in these shots?’

  ‘This is the last lap, everyone,’ Morgan Evans urged them on. ‘The sun will only last a few more minutes. Ready, Bill?’

  The cameramen had stopped on the terrace below the uppermost one, and were setting up the camera ready to take a shot of Maddy and Sunny walking up the last flight of steps.

  ‘Oh, gee, I can’t,’ moaned Sunny, but she did.

  Happily they got this shot in one take, and then were able to have a short rest while they took shots of the church from several angles.

  ‘Quickly, quickly,’ urged Morgan Evans. The sun’s nearly gone. Can you manage one more, Bill?’

  ‘Well, it’s pretty bad,’ said the cameraman gloomily, ‘but we’ll have a go.’

  ‘The four of them going in through the door—I know of some stock shots of the interior that we can
hire from a film library in London.’

  They managed to get a last shot before the sun went.

  ‘Right,’ cried Morgan Evans with satisfaction. ‘We can break now. Thank you, everyone. Do what you like for the rest of the evening, but don’t be too late—however tempting it is. I want to start at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.’

  Nobody had the energy to do anything but flop on to a seat on the steep grassy slopes, and ease their shoes off.

  ‘I should like to put my feet into a bath of ice-cream,’ said Maddy dreamily.

  ‘You would like to bath yourself?’ inquired Madame Lefèvre anxiously. ‘You wish to return to the home—and rest?’

  ‘Oh, no, no,’ cried Maddy, ‘not really. I was just joking. I don’t want to miss a moment of this glorious evening. Paris must be the most beautiful place in the world.’

  After they had sat there for a time they all felt thirsty, and so they descended the steep steps to a little café at the foot, and sat outside on the pavement under stripey awnings and drank their own particular favourite liquids. The Englishmen of the party drank beer, the entire Lefèvre family drank wine; Maddy remembered what her mother had said, and she and Sunny had lemonade made of real lemons squeezed at the table. The secretary and Miss Tibbs had crème-de-menthe, which made them even thirstier, and they washed it down with vast quantities of water. The camera crew, the secretary, Guy and Miss Tibbs then went back to the hotel to change and have dinner, but Morgan Evans remained with Maddy and Sunny and the Lefèvres.

  ‘I should be most pleased if you would dine with us, Monsieur Evans,’ said Monsieur Lefèvre.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘you and your family must dine with us.’

  ‘How can they?’ asked Maddy. ‘We don’t live here.’

  ‘At a restaurant, of course,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘Perhaps you could recommend somewhere, Monsieur.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. There is a most amusing one behind the basilique,’ said Monsieur Lefèvre. ‘The little ones would enjoy themselves well. But it is not cheap.’

  ‘It’s all on the firm,’ said Morgan Evans. ‘We are so grateful to you for co-operating with us like this.’

  ‘I wish,’ said Jacqueline wistfully, ‘that it was possible I might see these films, when they are finished.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a pity that you cannot see our television. But we will send you some stills—some photographs from them,’ promised Morgan Evans.

  ‘You are rested?’ asked Monsieur Lefèvre. ‘Then it is necessary to mount the steps again. I am so sorry.’

  By this time it was cooler and becoming dusk, and the climb did not seem so much of a hardship.

  Behind the Sacré-Coeur was a mass of little streets, full of restaurants and bars and cafés, bookshops, picture shops, handicraft shops—all still open, with lights and music blaring out. Crowds of tourists and Parisians thronged the narrow streets, and cars crawled at snail pace over the cobbles. Maddy walked as though in a dream. This was what she had always imagined Paris to be like.

  The restaurant to which Monsieur Lefèvre led them was decorated to look like a gypsies’ hideout, and there were female gypsies serving the food, and male gypsies playing violins. They came close up to the table and played ‘right bang in your ear’, as Maddy put it.

  Maddy and Sunny had used so much energy since lunch time that now they were ravenous again, and ate enormously despite the violins. On the rough wood tables candles stuck in bottles threw mysterious shadows over everybody’s face.

  ‘Don’t we all look much nicer by candlelight?’ Maddy observed.

  Towards the end of the meal she began to look back over the day and came to the conclusion that it had been the longest she had ever lived through. The plane flight of the morning seemed weeks ago.

  Madame Lefèvre noticed Maddy nodding, and tried to hurry the other grown-ups over the liqueurs they were drinking with their coffee.

  There was still one more journey down the steep steps to the road where the Lefèvres’ car was parked. By this time the Sacré-Coeur was floodlit, and looking more than ever like something out of the Arabian Nights. When they reached the car Morgan Evans said goodnight, and after reminding them of the rendezvous at the Eiffel Tower next morning he caught a taxi back to the hotel.

  It was such a squash in the car that Maddy got terrible giggles, and then Jacqueline and Pierre taught her and Sunny some French songs with loud choruses that they sang at the tops of their voices.

  ‘It’s a pity,’ said Maddy thoughtfully, just before they reached the Lefèvres’ house, ‘that the World of Youth viewers can’t see the real things that happen—I mean the Eiffel Tower doesn’t really make anyone feel any friendlier towards anyone else, does it? But if they could see us in this car, it would.’

  This was too complicated for the Lefèvres to understand, but Sunny knew what she meant.

  When they reached the house Madame Lefèvre insisted that they have baths, as there would not be time in the morning.

  ‘And I know how you English love your baths.’

  ‘Do we?’ said Maddy, surprised. ‘We don’t at Mrs Bosham’s.’

  The bathroom, all in primrose and green, with a shower over the bath, was very different from that at ‘The Boshery’.

  Maddy experimented with the shower and got her hair soaking wet. She was too tired to bother about drying it before she went to bed, and Madame Lefèvre was quite perturbed to see how wet it was when she came to see if Maddy was all right.

  ‘You will catch a rheum,’ she cried, and insisted on rubbing her hair with a towel. ‘So blonde,’ she observed, as she did so, ‘a real Angel-Saxon.’

  ‘She’s no angel,’ laughed Sunny, who had also come in to say goodnight.

  Maddy was asleep almost before they were out of the room.

  The very next minute, or so it seemed, Jacqueline was standing by the bed in broad daylight, holding out a cup of what looked like hot water, with a little bag floating in it.

  ‘What on earth…?’ inquired Maddy sleepily.

  ‘It is the English tea. I made it for you especially.’

  ‘How kind,’ said Maddy, astounded at the look of it. ‘Is this what you drink at breakfast?’

  ‘Oh, no. We drink café au lait. But you may have more tea if you like.’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Maddy hastily after tasting the liquid. ‘I’ll have coffee too, thank you. And I’m sure Sunny will—she’s American, you know.’

  Maddy got dressed quickly and threw the tea down the washbasin. The most delicious smell of coffee was pervading the house.

  In the dining-room the family were sitting in front of large handleless bowls of coffee, into which they were dipping croissant rolls. There was no butter, no plates or knives.

  As soon as Maddy came in Pierre and Monsieur Lefèvre rose, and bowed and held out their hands. Maddy had to shake hands all round the table, and so did Sunny when she entered.

  Maddy found such good manners rather a strain at half past six in the morning.

  The coffee was delicious and so were the rolls. They were so crisp and rich that Maddy soon found they did not need butter or marmalade, and after a while she plucked up courage to dip hers into the coffee too, and found it very good indeed.

  They had to hurry off, in order to reach the Eiffel Tower at the correct time, and then they got caught in the early-morning traffic jam, which seemed nearly as bad as in London.

  They were a little late and the rest of the party were waiting for them, Bill and his assistant with the camera all ready to start, but the Lefèvres insisted on shaking hands all round.

  ‘Maddy,’ cried Morgan Evans in dismay. ‘You’re wearing a different dress from the one you wore yesterday.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maddy innocently. ‘My new one’s looking a bit grubby, after yesterday, so I thought I’d put on my old one.’

  ‘But these shots are supposed to match up,’ moaned Morgan Evans. ‘They’re all supposed to be taken on one day.’
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  ‘But we’d never have had time to get all those shots in one day,’ Maddy objected.

  ‘The viewers won’t know that. They’ll think they were just taken—just like that—while you were actually arriving at places. Now, come on, where’s your other dress?’

  ‘In my case, in the car.’

  ‘Then change into it.’

  ‘You mean here?’

  There were not many people about yet, so Miss Tibbs, Jacqueline and Madame Lefèvre, and Sunny stood against the windows of the Citroën whilst Maddy changed inside. She emerged with her hair tousled and her buttons wrongly done up, but Morgan Evans heaved a sigh of relief.

  ‘Have we actually got to go up it?’ demanded Maddy, looking rather doubtfully at the tower which appeared to be swaying in the morning breeze.

  ‘No,’ said Morgan Evans, ‘not really. We’ll have a shot of you starting up the steps, then we’ve got some still photos of the view from the top.’

  ‘What a pity,’ said Maddy.

  ‘I sure am glad,’ declared Sunny. ‘My feet haven’t recovered from climbing them steps yesterday.’

  After they had finished the Eiffel Tower shots they went into the smartest shopping streets, and took some shots of Jacqueline, Sunny and Maddy window gazing. Their gestures of delight at what they saw were quite sincere, and unrehearsed. Morgan Evans was adamant that there was no time for going inside shops, but they did manage to slip inside the Galeries Lafayette for a moment while Morgan Evans was busy getting a shot of Pierre, walking along fed up with shopping, reading a newspaper.

  The morning seemed to rush by; there was no time for a coffee break, and it began to get hotter and hotter. The children bought ice-creams and licked at them between takes, but they melted in the hands of the kind people they were parked with when their owners were required in front of the camera.

  By one o’clock they were hungry and thirsty and very tired.

  ‘I must have some shots of the Luxembourg Gardens,’ cried Morgan Evans, ‘and the plane goes at five—there’s no time for lunch.’

  But it was impossible for them to go on without refreshment.