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troubles , had written to the local
group then sat down for a late lunch
throttled to death by his wife , children and
informing them that he was on the point
paper and the superintendent of police ,
which again left his household goods
that the walls were porous and the
a few minutes later from a nearby village ,
actually reported in the next issue ) returned
apologising for the trouble , but explaining
surrounded by firemen and other officials ,
gas had escaped . General relief was
but there was no Monsieur V. He telephoned
Monsieur V's house was immediately
expressed , but Monsieur V ( this was
home and shot himself , leaving a note
an elderly farm labourer out for a shoot
same afternoon .
ended well , reported the paper , since the
labourer was able to return to work the
Some grim comic relief was provided by
labourer in the face . All , however ,
was after this very bird and shot the farm-
pellets were easily removed and the
a blackbird . Unfortunately a sporting taxi-driver
who hid himself in a bush and imitated
the hoe . Rising from the flecked sea are
valley with a sea of vines and olives
and beaches of earth pricked to blood by
towns , grey , rose-headed mariners clinging
islands tapering to shipwrecked castles and
You can free-wheel down a quarter of the
like limpets to the rock .
We travelled down to Nice on the Lambretta .
way . In the middle of the journey is a
a muffled bell taps the sky . Here we
heat and cold like the hands of
early smells , the dark bosoms of
friends or strangers , and a flurry of
beech and the thin pine fingers
kissed by the sun .
Cagnes , but between are pockets of
stopped . Down below is the village of
stopped , as in fine weather we always
There is a curd of morning smoke and
to the old sleeping port . This , and
prostitutes , edging past grubby grandeur
sea , blue as a new school exercise
vulgar , out of time , bitter-sweet with
book . The same old Nice , creamy ,
my tongue like spray .
the ghosts of dead monarchs and brilliant
Then here was Nice , and the old holiday
could catch the taste of dead dreams on
Paris , were my ruined pavilions , and I
disaster .
in our eyes . The sea boiled with waves ,
over the Promenade des Anglais . A huge
have a swim . Amazing bedlam rocked
crowd had collected . There were firemen
Negresco , and went to the beach to
they galloped to the walls and spumed
We parked the Lambretta opposite the
eyes of the spectators were hard with
and policemen and ambulances , and the
Mediterranean people to whom nothing
love house , the mad grandmother or the
They all had that neat look of
could ever happen , the chosen sane , the
the bell would ring for them - the gilded
bloody child at the crossroads .
the municipality . Yet , at any time now ,
uncuckolded , unrobbed , sheltered from
disease and accident by doctors , God and
The cool evening perfumes stood
crowd and drove back to Vence .
It was growing cold . We left the
I had to explain the low , sharp and
sweet signals in the air . When we
organs were impaired years ago ) , and
Mart is unable to smell ( her sense
London sickness ( a sense of guilt ,
got back home we felt exhausted .
mingled with the memory of sandwiches
beckoning at the corners of the roads .
opposite Pierre's , I read about the Nice
a woman's . It belonged to a Madame
sun . The next morning , in the square
neighbourhood , and it transpired that
Mart had been right , the body had been
arrangement with the dead lady's sister
N. Enquiries had been made in the
We went straight to bed and slept until
the turtle-doves drummed up the
Madame N's husband had made an
beach catastrophe in the Patriote .
reported her to the police , and then jumped
The sister , able to swim , had returned
off a cliff near Monte Carlo .
to her brother-in-law ( with whom