‘Yes, why not?’ she answered cheerfully. She was starting to believe, now, that Dave really did want to be with her and was not keeping her company just out of politeness.
The lounge was quite crowded. They found a seat near, but not too near, to the grand piano where a man in evening dress was playing a selection of nostalgic melodies.
‘Now, what would you like to drink?’ asked Dave. ‘Lager, shandy? Or are you more of a sherry or Martini lady?’
‘I usually like a sweet sherry,’ Jane replied, ‘but would you think I was awfully silly if I say I would like a coffee?’
Dave agreed at once. ‘Good idea,’ he said. They’re serving tea and coffee as well, and snacks. What about a bite to eat? It’s a long time since we had our lunch, and goodness knows what time we’ll get our evening meal in Calais.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking.’ Jane realized that she was quite hungry, but with all the excitement of the journey she had scarcely noticed.
‘Right. How about a ham sandwich or a buttered scone?’
‘Just a scone, please. That will be enough. And a cappuccino … is that all right?’
‘Of course it is.’ Dave laughed. ‘I’ll have the same.’
He went across to the bar, and Jane sat contentedly humming along to the tune of ‘Moon River’. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she was really there, that she would not suddenly wake up from a delightful dream. Could she be here, travelling to the Continent in the company of an attractive man who actually seemed to enjoy being with her? She looked around at her fellow passengers. A mixed crowd of people: a lot of elderly and middle-aged couples, families with children, ladies sitting quietly on their own, a group of lads laughing and making a heck of a din in the far corner. It seems that anything goes here, she thought to herself. The surroundings were elegant, but there were no restrictions, no first- or second-class lounges. Only the smokers, it seemed, were frowned upon. ‘No smoking’ notices were on all the tables. If you wished to indulge you had to go out into a draughty area near to the deck.
She remarked on it to Dave when he returned with a laden tray.
‘Do you smoke, Dave?’ she asked.
‘Not any more,’ he replied. There was a time when I did smoke quite a lot. When I … lost my wife, I found it helped to settle me down, to relieve the tension, you know? But I managed to kick the habit. Just as well in the present climate. But I must admit that I don’t approve of all the paranoia about smokers. We’re all lectured to far too much, in my opinion.
‘Now, here’s your coffee and scone. They’re a bit stingy with the butter, so I pinched an extra portion or two. I don’t think they noticed. And there’s a little pot of jam …’
‘Lovely,’ said Jane. She reached for her bag. ‘Let me settle up with you.’
‘What? For a cup of coffee?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t be silly! My treat.’
‘But you mustn’t. Not all the time …’ She felt embarrassed and confused. It looked as though they might be together for a lot of the time. Or was she wrong in assuming that they might be? ‘Thank you, anyway,’ she added. ‘It’s very kind of you. But the next time …’
‘Forget it, Jane.’ He grinned at her. ‘I do know what you mean, but don’t worry. We’ll sort it out.’
They chatted easily for a while. Dave told her about the farm, at her request. She was interested to hear about something so remote from her everyday experience. She was definitely a town girl, although she loved the beauty of the countryside when she was able to escape, occasionally, from her urban surroundings. Dave looked pleased at her absorption in what he was telling her.
Far sooner than she expected – the time had flown by – there was an announcement on the loud speaker, first in French, then in English, that they were approaching Calais. Would passengers please assemble at the various exits.
‘Oh dear! Have I time to go to … to the ladies’ room?’ asked Jane in a fluster.
‘Yes, of course. There’s no immediate rush,’ said Dave. ‘It takes ages for everyone to embark. I’ll pay a visit myself, then we’ll make our way to our exit. Don’t worry. I know exactly which stairs we’re heading for …’
Jane was relieved to hear that. She was finding the ship very confusing, exits at every corner, people dashing hither and thither, and she did not know whether she was fore or aft. Goodness knows how she would have managed to get back to the coach on her own. It was pandemonium at the exit, crowds of folk jostling one another, anxious to get down the stairs to locate their vehicles.
‘Hang on to me if you like,’ Dave told her. ‘I’ll go first. Just be careful on the stairs, they’re rather steep.’
They negotiated their way down the three flights – Jane did not cling on to Dave, but made sure she was right behind his tweed jacket all the way – and then they were back on the red deck.
‘There’s our coach,’ said Dave. ‘We’re not the first back, but we certainly won’t be the last.’
Mike and Bill were already there, Mike on the driving seat.
‘Take your time,’ said Bill. ‘They’re not all back yet, but it’ll be about ten minutes or so, I reckon, before we’re ready to drive off.’
The passengers climbed aboard, mostly couples, husbands and wives, or friends, travelling together. Bill went down the coach, counting heads. ‘Two missing,’ he muttered. ‘Now, who are they? I don’t know everyone’s name yet.’
‘It’s the couple who sit there,’ Dave said to Jane, pointing to the seat across the aisle from them. An elderly couple, possibly in their late seventies. Dave had noticed them and had thought to himself that it was an adventurous trip for them, but the lady had seemed to be very much in charge.
Mike and Bill were consulting their list. ‘Mr and Mrs Johnson,’ said Mike. ‘Bloody hell! They’re cutting it fine. That’s the trouble,’ he grumbled. ‘You can’t stop folk from travelling, even if they’re getting on a bit. I bet they’re turned eighty, the pair of ’em. This blasted job is getting too much for me, I can tell you, Bill.’
‘Calm down, mate,’ said Bill. ‘Here they are, see …’ The missing couple arrived back, just in the nick of time.
‘Sorry, sorry …’ said the woman. ‘We got lost. Arthur insisted it was the other staircase. Go on, up you go.’ She shoved her husband, none too gently, up the coach steps.
‘Never mind, love,’ said Bill. ‘You’re here now. No harm done. Just settle yourselves down. We’ll be off in a minute or two.’
Mike breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, and he vowed every time that he would pack the job in. He put a smile on his face.
‘Right, ladies and gents, off we go. Welcome to France,’ he said as the coach drove off the gangway and Bill put on a tape which played ‘La Marseillaise’.
Four
It was only a short distance across the channel from Dover to Calais, twenty-one miles – just a bit further than it was from Preston to Blackpool, Jane thought to herself – but how different it all seemed now that they were on the Continent. The styles of the houses, many of them three-storied with shutters at the windows, the names of streets and the signs on the shops – which Jane was able to read and understand having enjoyed her French lessons at school and learnt a lot from them – and, above all, the traffic driving on the right-hand side of the road.
Their hotel was situated on a side street off the main boulevard. It was an unprepossessing sort of building from the outside, opening straight on to the street. They would be allowed to park there just long enough to unload the luggage.
‘Go inside and collect your keys,’ Mike told them. ‘Your cases will be brought up to your rooms. And dinner will be at eight o’clock this evening, so that should give you nice time to sort yourselves out. See you later, ladies and gents.’
They all trooped through the revolving door into the foyer, making an orderly queue at the reception desk. The hotel presented a more pleasing aspect inside. It was an old bu
ilding, partly modernized, with a boldly striped carpet and the walls adorned with large format posters of paintings by Monet and Degas. There were two display cabinets filled with souvenirs for sale and a revolving rack with postcards of Calais on the desk. A pretty dark-haired girl handed them their keys – ones that might well belong to the outer door of a castle, suspended from a brass ball and chain – repeating their names in a quaintly accented English.
They queued at the lift, an old-fashioned one with a gate as well as a door. It would hold only four at a time, so there was a wait of several minutes before everyone was taken up to their rooms. The single rooms were on the third floor – most of the passengers had been allocated double rooms on the lower floors – and Jane found that her room was next to Dave’s.
‘See you in a little while,’ he said, fitting his gigantic key into the lock and opening the door.
‘Yes … see you,’ she replied. She, too, opened her door, finding herself in a fair-sized room with a single bed, and a wardrobe and chest of drawers in a plain, functional design such as was found in thousands of hotels; adequate but by no means luxurious, but at least it was clean and it was only a stopping place for the night. She opened the shutters and found that the room was at the front of the hotel, overlooking the street. On the other side of the road there was a pharmacy, a boulangerie, and what seemed to be a shop selling ladies’ wear, judging by the sign above the window which read ‘Madame Yvette’. The shutters were closed on all the shops as it was now almost seven thirty. (They had been told to put their watches forward an hour on arriving in France.)
Jane flopped down on the bed feeling strangely disorientated. She was slightly dizzy and felt as though she might have a headache coming on. That was not surprising after such an unusually hectic day, but by no means an unpleasant one. She would take a couple of tablets in a minute when she had become acclimatized to her surroundings. She sat very still, gathering her thoughts together, a myriad of new scenes and experiences following one upon the other in a bewildering manner. And it was only the first day of the holiday!
She opened her bag and took out a couple of soluble headache tablets. They would need to dissolve in water. Now, hadn’t she heard that one shouldn’t drink the water from the tap when on the Continent? Just too bad, she decided. She had no choice and it wasn’t likely that it would kill her!
She opened the door leading off the bedroom. It was not a bathroom as she had hoped it might be, just a small cubicle with a toilet, washbasin and shower. Not a handheld shower like the one she had had installed at home, but one that came straight down from the ceiling, drenching your hair as well as the rest of your person if you were not wearing a shower cap. Fortunately Jane had brought one, although there was one on the shelf above the washbasin, in a tiny plastic bag.
She dissolved her tablets in water from the cold tap – she was able to read the words ‘chaud’ and ‘froid’ on the taps – in the glass that was provided. Just as she had finished using the other facility there was a tap at the bedroom door. She hurried to answer it and found the hotel porter standing there with her overnight case.
‘Oh … come in,’ she said, smiling at him.
He carried her case into the room, then he stood there, his head on one side smiling pleasantly – expectantly? – at her. Oh crikey! she thought. Is he waiting for a tip? That was the trouble of travelling alone, especially without a husband; she was not sure of the protocol.
‘Wait a minute … un moment,’ she said, reaching for her bag on the bed. She took out her purse and found a one euro piece. She had asked for some at the travel agency as well as the notes. She handed it to him and he bowed his head, smiling more broadly.
‘Merci, madame, merci beaucoup …’ He backed out of the room as though he were leaving a royal bedchamber.
Breathing a sigh of relief she glanced at her little travelling clock. Only about half an hour left in which to get ready for the evening meal. Her sponge bag was at the top of her case and she took out the requisites for overnight – toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, soap, flannel and spray cologne. It would have to be a quick wash, there was no time for a shower even though she felt rather grubby after the long journey.
She filled the washbasin and swilled her hands and face and underneath her arms. Now, where was the ‘thingy’ to let the water out? The stopper was a modern design and it wouldn’t budge. At last she found a little lever at the back of the taps; there was nothing to beat a plug on a chain in Jane’s opinion!
She put on a silky polyester top, pale green with embroidery at the lowish neckline – recently purchased from Marks and Spencer – as it was rather more dressy than the one she had worn earlier, but she decided to wear the same trousers. A quick comb of her hair which, luckily, was easy to manage, a touch of moisturizer, pressed powder and a smear of lipstick, then she slipped on a pair of sandals with a higher heel, and she was ready.
She picked up her bag and her giant-sized key and went out into the corridor. You couldn’t lock yourself out as you might do in some hotels as the door had to be locked from the outside. This she did, then she stood there unsurely. What should she do? Knock on Dave’s door, or would that seem presumptuous? As she stood there pondering, but only for a moment or two, his door opened.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. ‘I was going to knock and see if you were ready.’ Jane was relieved to hear that. ‘Let’s go and see what pleasures are in store for us at the evening meal …’
There was no one else in the lift when it finally arrived at the third floor. Dave pressed the button for the lower ground floor where the restaurant was situated but it stopped at the first floor and two more people joined them. It was the elderly couple who had sat opposite them in the coach, the ones who had been late back on the ferry. They all smiled at one another in recognition.
‘You were sitting across from us in the coach, weren’t you?’ said the woman. ‘Do you mind if we share a table with you in the dining room? I said to Arthur that you’re a nice young couple.’
‘Certainly,’ said Dave, looking at Jane who nodded her agreement. After all, what else could you say? You could hardly refuse and they seemed pleasant enough.
‘It all depends on the seating arrangements, though, doesn’t it?’ Dave remarked. ‘Sometimes they put a coach party all together on a long table, or two tables.’
‘Aye, like a Sunday school outing,’ said the older man. ‘I don’t care for that meself. Anyway, we’ll wait and see, won’t we?’
When they entered the dining room they saw that it was laid with tables for four, or for six; the ones reserved for the coach party had a notice on them saying ‘Galaxy Tours’. The woman led the way to a table in the corner. They sat down, smiling at one another again.
‘We’d better introduce ourselves, hadn’t we?’ said the woman. ‘I’m Mavis, and this is my hubby, Arthur. Arthur and Mavis Johnson.’
‘How do you do?’ The four of them nodded and smiled but did not shake hands.
‘I’m Dave, and this is Jane.’ He turned to her, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question, then he went on to say, ‘We’re not actually a couple, as you probably thought we might be. What I mean is … we only met today because we were given seats together. But we seem to be getting along very well, don’t we, Jane?’
She nodded and smiled, feeling a little embarrassed. ‘Yes, so we do.’
‘Well, fancy that!’ exclaimed Mavis. ‘I thought you’d been married for ages. Of course, you can never tell these days, can you? So many folk come away with what they call partners, even a partner of the same sex. Anything goes now, doesn’t it? Not that I’m bothered. Each to his own, that’s what I say. Anyway, I hope you have a happy time together, the pair of you.’ She beamed at them.
Jane and Dave exchanged amused glances. Jane decided to forget her embarrassment. This was bound to happen, the two of them being mistaken for a ‘couple’. She would just have to go with the flow.
The room was low
-ceilinged and rather stuffy. There was a faint aroma – by no means an unpleasant one – coming from the direction of the kitchen at the far end. Arthur sniffed once or twice before remarking, ‘It’ll be chicken tonight; it always is on t’first night. I’d’ve guessed that even if we couldn’t smell it. It’s what they always give to coach parties on t’first night.’
‘I’m sure it will be very nice, Arthur,’ said his wife. ‘Anyway, there’s your starter before that.’
‘A plate of lettuce, or else watery soup, that’s what it’ll be,’ rejoined Arthur.
His wife tutted good-humouredly, shaking her head at him in mock exasperation. No doubt she was used to all his funny little ways. He seemed like a bit of a know-all, and a grumbler, although not a cantankerous one. It was probably second nature to him to have his say about everything, rather like her own mother, thought Jane. Anyway, it was all part of the holiday, meeting different folk.
Jane guessed that Mavis and Arthur might be in their late seventies, possibly older than that, Arthur at any rate. He was a corpulent man and he seemed to have a little difficulty with his breathing. He was bald on top with a fringe of white hair at either side, and he wore dark-rimmed glasses. He was smartly dressed with a collar and tie and had his jacket on, whereas several of the men were in shirtsleeves.
His wife, Mavis, was smartly dressed as well, possibly a little overdressed in a purple satin blouse with a pattern of sequinned flowers. She obviously liked to ‘dress for dinner’ when on holiday. She was plumpish but by no means fat. Like her husband, she wore glasses; hers were designer ones with diamanté frames. She was grey-haired and the discreet mauve tint on her perfectly waved and styled coiffure complemented the top she was wearing. She had a lovely friendly smile which made up for her possibly too outspoken remarks. Neither of them, in fact, were afraid of saying what they thought. Jane guessed, however, that Mavis must have ‘a lot to put up with’ regarding her husband – as Jane’s mother might say – but that they were a very contented couple.
First Impressions Page 5
