Caravan to Vaccares Read Online Free Page B

of rosé in one hand while with the other he directed the activities of a waiter who appeared to be transferring the contents of the dessert trolley on to the plate before him. Lila Delafont’s mouth had fallen slightly open.
    â€˜I don’t know. He says he’s a friend of her father.’ She looked away with some difficulty, saw and beckoned the passing restaurant manager. ‘Who’s the gentleman with my friend?’
    The Duc de Croytor, madam. A very famous winegrower.’
    â€˜A very famous wine-drinker, more like.’ Bowman ignored Cecile’s disapproving look. ‘Does he come here often?’
    â€˜For the past three years at this time.’
    â€˜The food is especially good at this time!’
    â€˜The food, sir, is superb here at any time.’ The Baumaniere’s manager wasn’t amused. ‘Monsieur le Duc comes for the annual gypsy festival at Saintes-Maries.’
    Bowman peered at the Duc de Croytor again. He was spooning down his dessert with a relish matched only by his speed of operation.
    â€˜You can see why he has to have an ice-bucket,’ Bowman observed. ‘To cool down his cutlery. Don’t see any signs of gypsy blood there.’
    â€˜Monsieur le Duc is one of the foremost folklorists in Europe,’ the manager said severely, adding with a suave side-swipe: ‘The study of ancient customs, Mr Bowman. For centuries, now, the gypsies have come from all over Europe, at the end of May, to worship and venerate the relics of Sara, their patron saint. Monsieur le Duc is writing a book about it.’
    â€˜This place,’ Bowman said, ‘is hotching with the most unlikely authors you ever saw.’
    â€˜I do not understand, sir.’
    I understand all right.’ The green eyes, Bowman observed, could also be very cool.
    â€˜There’s no need – what on earth is that?’
    The at first faint then gradually swelling sound of many engines in low gear sounded like a tank regiment on the move. They glanced down towards the forecourt as the first of many gypsy caravans came grinding up the steeply winding slope towards the hotel. Once in the forecourt the leading caravans began arranging themselves in neat rows round the perimeter while others passed through the archway in the hedge towards the parking lot beyond. The racket, and the stench of diesel and petrol fumes, while not exactly indescribable or unsupportable, were in marked contrast to the peaceful luxury of the hotel and disconcerting to a degree, this borne out by the fact that Le Grand Duc had momentarily stopped eating. Bowman looked at the restaurant manager, who was gazing up at the stars and obviously communing with himself.
    â€˜Monsieur le Duc’s raw material?’Bowman asked.
    â€˜Indeed, sir.’
    â€˜And now? Entertainment? Gypsy violin music? Street roulette? Shooting galleries? Candy stalls? Palm reading?’
    â€˜I’m afraid so, sir.’
    â€˜My God!’
    Cecile said distinctly: ‘Snob!’
    â€˜I fear, madam,’ the restaurant manager said distantly, ‘that my sympathies lie with Mr Bowman. But it is an ancient custom and we have no wish to offend either the gypsies or the local people.’ He looked down at the forecourt again and frowned. ‘Excuse me, please.’
    He hurried down the steps and made his way across the forecourt to where a group of gypsies appeared to be arguing heatedly. The main protagonists appeared to be a powerfully built hawkfaced gypsy in his middle forties and a clearly distraught and very voluble gypsy woman of the same age who seemed to be very close to tears.
    â€˜Coming?’ Bowman asked Cecile.
    â€˜What! Down there?’
    â€˜Snob!’
    â€˜But you said – ’
    â€˜Idle layabout I may be but I’m a profound student of human nature.’
    â€˜You mean you’re nosey?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    Bowman took her reluctant arm and made to move off,