Chapter 4
4
The hours flew past the next day.
A courier had arrived in the morning with the suitcase that Laura had dispatched and, not long after that, Mike the plumber had turned up. Having assumed that any tradesmen Noah might dispatch would be French, it was pleasantly astonishing to find that Mike was English. A huge, genial Londoner, he had made the daunting task of making this house more habitable suddenly seem a whole lot easier.
‘You’ll have hot water by tonight, love,’ he promised, after a quick tour of the issues in the house. ‘And we’ll get those pipes running a bit better. I don’t do glass, but I can get the bats out, put a board over that window and find you a glazier. We’ll need to get someone else to check the electrics, but I’ll see what I can do about that broken hinge on the shutter while I’m here.’
‘That’s great. Thank you so much.’
‘No worries. Any chance of a cuppa before I get started?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Mike looked around in the living area as Ellie busied herself in the kitchen making a pot of tea. When he touched a wall, shards of plaster crumbled and rained onto the floor. ‘This needs to be fixed as well. It will all need to be stripped off and replastered.’
‘I could probably do that,’ Ellie said. ‘If I can find where to go and get supplies.’
‘Any bricolage shop would have them.’
‘ Bricolage ?’
‘Hardware shop, love. DIY and house and garden supplies. Paint, tools, commercial cleaning stuff.’ Mike was smiling. ‘My favourite shops. Like Aladdin’s caves, they are. There’s a good one as you go into Vence from this direction.’
‘Good to know. Do you take milk?’
‘Yeah. And three sugars, ta.’
Ellie handed him the mug of tea. ‘I might go and have a look at the bricolage later. I probably need a special cleaner for the tiles on this floor.’
Mike looked down. He tapped a tile with the toe of his boot. ‘These are called tomettes ,’ he told Ellie. ‘Traditional but not so popular now. You could replace them. Or cover them with vinyl or laminated wood.’
‘ No! ’ Ellie was surprised at her vehemence. ‘I really like these tiles.’
‘But some of them are broken. And they’re old-fashioned and… so dirty. It’d be a lot of work to clean them.’
‘I can do it.’ Ellie felt suddenly protective of the floor covering. ‘I think they’d look amazing when they’re all cleaned up.’
‘It’s your house, love.’ Mike shook his head and drained his mug. ‘I’d better get my tool bag and get on with sorting out this water heating.’
Ellie watched him walk back out to his van. Yes. This was her house – for now, anyway. And she was going to make it as beautiful as she possibly could. She fetched a dustpan and brush and stooped to sweep up the plaster fragments Mike had loosened.
Had it been his criticism that had done it? The suggestion that La Maisonette was old-fashioned and in need of so much work?
She’d certainly felt the need to defend this poor, neglected little house despite her own misgivings. Maybe she was also defending herself for having taken up the challenge.
Whatever it was, it had given her exactly what had been missing when she’d come back to this house alone.
A feeling of connection.
Cleaning the bathroom after Mike had left a few hours later took a very long time. Long enough for the water in the reconnected tank to have heated and provide the most enjoyable bath Ellie had ever experienced. Having the prospect of fresh clothing to put on afterwards seemed like another luxury, and, wrapped in one of her new supermarket towels with another providing a turban to cover her wet hair, she started unpacking the suitcase.
Finding that some of the available space had been used to pack a selection of her old art supplies, like sketchbooks, pencils and paint, was a less than pleasant surprise. Who’d thought that was a good idea? After one attempt, months ago, nobody had tried again to suggest that reconnecting with an old passion might be therapeutic, and this seemed like an even less subtle push. They simply didn’t understand, did they? How could anyone have any inclination to be creative when their heart had been ripped out and their soul left to bleed to death? Ellie left the art supplies in the suitcase, zipping it shut firmly after pulling out the clothing.
There were, fortunately, also some nice surprises in what Laura had chosen to pack for her, probably because the last time Ellie had needed summer clothing she hadn’t been able to fit into anything she owned, thanks to her post-pregnancy shape. Maybe that was why she selected a pretty summer dress that she had forgotten she even owned, because it had been relegated to the back of her wardrobe for so long. The blue, daisy-spangled fabric of the calf-length skirt swirled around her bare legs as Ellie stepped out into the evening sunshine to comb the tangles from her damp hair, and it made her remember dressing up as a child in one of her mother’s old dresses – the way she had suddenly felt grown up and feminine.
The follow-on thought, that it was a shame she hadn’t been wearing this dress last night, made her pause for a moment, her comb only halfway down the length of her hair. She pulled a little harder through the next tangle, but the sharp tug didn’t quite erase the disturbing image of that angry Frenchman from her mind. Those dark eyes. The tousled hair.
Those gentle hands as he checked out his small son…
It was only then that Ellie remembered the glass she had stepped on and broken last night when her furious neighbour had been storming towards her.
She needed to pick up those pieces. Finding a container for the shards, she went through the lemon orchard towards the fence.
Had the donkeys been expecting her? They weren’t standing under the olive tree this time. They were standing right beside that droopy wire fence, their huge heads hanging over the top.
Ellie’s heart rate picked up, but her steps slowed and then stopped.
She stared at the donkeys. Tufts of grey hair stuck out at odd angles, making them look totally unkempt, especially where it hung over their eyes. She could see stripes of dark brown on their shoulders that matched the short manes and straggly tails, but it was their ears that really caught her attention. The dark rims made them look even bigger and they were filled with pale fluff that looked invitingly soft. Their muzzles were pale as well, as if they’d dipped those massive heads too far into a bucket of cream.
They didn’t seem to mind the attention they were receiving. They stood there silently, at peace with the world, and, oddly, Ellie could feel that sense of peace enclosing herself as well. Becoming part of the whole scene, with the solid stone retaining walls dividing the slope of the garden behind her, the scent of lemons and the soft evening light.
Tentatively, she reached out her hand.
‘Do you bite?’
A flick of one of those extraordinary ears was the only response.
She touched the closest donkey on its neck, just below its ear. The hair felt coarse as she stroked it, but she could feel the warmth of the skin beneath and it reminded her of the warmth of that little boy’s limbs in her arms last night. Warmth from another living creature.
The donkey’s eyes drifted shut as she stroked it, giving Ellie the impression that biting her wasn’t being considered as an option. The other donkey was still watching, but it was a patient look, as if it was waiting for its turn to get patted.
‘In a minute,’ Ellie promised. ‘I need to find that glass first. Someone might step on it.’
Like a small boy with bare feet, perhaps?
It wasn’t easy to find the broken glass in the long grass, and then she had to be sure she had collected all the pieces. As she carefully shifted the stems of grass and wildflowers, she kept glancing back at the donkeys.
‘You haven’t got much grass on your side of the fence, have you? And where’s your water? I’m sure you must need water.’
She could hear the echo of her neighbour’s parting words, telling her that now she could finally start caring for these creatures herself. But how was she supposed to do that? Apart from a tabby cat that had turned up on the doorstep and decided to stay, pets hadn’t been a part of the Gilchrist family’s lifestyle because there hadn’t been enough space. Or money. She’d toyed with the idea of having a dog, once, but a student lifestyle had made that impossible and then she was totally absorbed by starting her career and that morphed into falling in love with Liam which, of course, meant that she hadn’t needed anything else to make her life perfect.
Yeah… right…
Ellie’s breath came out in a huff. How na?ve had she been to believe that fairy tales like that happened in real life? Especially against the background of her own family history.
She dropped what appeared to be the last piece of broken glass into the container. Then she curled her fingers around a clump of grass and broke it free. She went back to the fence and held it out.
‘Are you hungry?’
It was the donkey that she hadn’t patted that stretched out its neck. This one had more pale hair around its eyes, as if someone had used a thicker brush to outline them. Its lips were pale as well and they wobbled as the donkey carefully explored and then accepted the few blades of grass. Ellie watched them disappear into its mouth, feeling the gentle tickle of the lips barely touching her fingers, and then she offered a handful to the other donkey. A minute later, she was picking more grass, trying to avoid the stems of the poppies and daisies sprinkled through it in case they were poisonous.
‘Do you need something else?’ she asked. ‘Like hay?’
Four dark eyes looked back at her. She was the one who was supposed to know, but she didn’t. She knew absolutely nothing about what these animals might need.
Ellie found her phone in the pocket of her dress. She sent a text message because her sister, Fiona, didn’t often answer her phone, but she was the person that Ellie needed advice from. Horse mad from her early teens, Fiona’s first job had been in a stables and she now worked as a farrier. Donkeys were just small horses, weren’t they?
To her surprise, her phone rang moments after she’d sent the text.
‘You’ve got what? Two donkeys ? What were you thinking?’
‘I didn’t buy them. They were just here. Abandoned, maybe. The neighbour’s been looking after them.’
‘What are you going to do with them?’
‘I have no idea. But, in the meantime, I need to take care of them. They don’t seem to have much grass. Do I need to give them hay or something?’
‘They don’t need much grass. They can founder easily if they get too much. You could give them some straw.’
‘Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘No. Straw is just stalks. Fun to eat but no nutritional value. Have they got water?’
Ellie looked along the fence line and then walked a short distance. ‘Yes… there’s a concrete tub thing.’
‘Is the water clean?’
‘I can’t tell. It’s getting darker and it’s in the shade of an olive tree.’
‘It’s probably full of leaves and old fruit, then. You’ll need to clean it out. What sort of condition are their feet in?’
‘What?’
‘Donkeys need their feet trimmed regularly, same as horses. If it doesn’t get done, they keep growing until they get crippled. Like… you know, how Turkish slippers curl up at the ends?’
Ellie walked back and peered over the fence. ‘I can’t tell. They look kind of like they’ve got their toes splayed a wee bit.’
‘They probably need trimming, then. You’ll need to find a farrier. And a vet. They’ll need worming as well.’
Ellie sighed. ‘I’ll add a vet to the list, then. Along with the glazier and handyman and everyone else I have to find and talk to in a language I don’t even speak.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘You okay, El? Did Laura get too bossy and push you into staying to clean that place up when you didn’t actually want to?’
‘No… no, it was my idea. She’s helping by paying for it all. She said she can wait till the house sells to get her money back. And it’s okay. Really. It’s… it’s a nice place to be. It’s just… well, I’m having to sort weird stuff out. Like what to do with these donkeys.’
‘There must be a donkey sanctuary in France, or at least an animal rescue society. I could have a look online for you, if you like.’
It sounded like a good plan. But the donkeys were staring at Ellie again. They didn’t look threatening any longer. They looked kind of sad. As if they knew she was planning to abandon them just like at least one other person already had. They weren’t really a big problem, were they? Not right now, anyway.
‘What do they like to eat?’ Ellie asked. ‘For treats?’
The silence felt surprised this time. ‘Carrots would be good.’ Fi’s voice had softened a little. ‘And I’ve heard that they really like ginger biscuits. You’re not getting attached to them, are you?’
‘Of course not. I was a bit scared of them at first, to be honest, but… they seem kind of nice. You know, kind of friendly.’
‘I guess it must be a bit lonely for you there.’
‘It’s… different. But it feels like a good place to be right now. I don’t know… Peaceful. And it’s so warm.’
‘Lucky you. It’s been pouring here today. Feels more like winter than anything close to summer.’
‘You should come over for a weekend or something.’
Fiona laughed. ‘And what… bring my hoof clippers and a file?’
‘That’s a grand idea. I bet you could find some cheap tickets. You’re good at that sort of thing. I’ll pay for them, if you like. It would probably be cheaper and a whole lot easier than trying to find a farrier here.’
‘I’ll think about it. I’m pretty busy at the moment.’
It felt like a warning not to push things too far. So did the way Fi suddenly needed to end the call. ‘Gotta go… things to do… Bye.’
Ellie stood there for a few moments after the call had ended, looking beyond the donkeys to the fence line at the other end of the olive grove. There were more trees in the distance that interrupted the view of another old, stone house but she could see that the shutters were still open. Was that why her skin prickled, as if she could sense someone watching her?
The same someone who had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she could finally start taking care of her donkeys, her self. The echo of his tone was enough to make Ellie raise her chin a little. To reach out and pat the donkeys again.
‘I’ve got this,’ she told them. ‘You’ll see. Tomorrow I’m going to clean out your water trough. And I might even go into town and buy you some carrots.’
He should have stepped away from the window the moment he’d spotted her, but it felt like his feet were caught in quicksand.
Even his breath had caught, long enough to make his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
Mon Dieu … She could have stepped straight out of the frame of some Pre-Raphaelite painting by someone like Rossetti.
That flowing dress, which an evening breeze was catching just enough to make it caress her legs. The same puffs of air were playing with the long, loose spirals of her hair, and the last true glimmers of sunshine were setting it on fire. This new neighbour of his was undeniably an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, and, for the first time in what felt like for ever, Julien Rousseau’s body was stirring with the ripple of a sensation he recognised only too well.
Attraction? No, it was stronger than mere sexual interest. This was more like desire…
She couldn’t see him, of course. Not that she was looking, because she seemed to be talking on her phone, but even if she did look this way, this upstairs window was partly screened by trees, was too far away and the room he was in was dark, apart from the soft light beside the bed in which his small son was now soundly asleep.
Julien had only come in to check on Theo, as he always did, but something had drawn him towards the window – possibly a remnant of remorse that he’d been so uncharacteristically rude to his new neighbour last night? He had, in fact, been contemplating going over there this evening, after Theo was asleep. He could have taken a bottle of wine, perhaps, and made an apology. He had no doubt that she would understand how upset he had been to find that his son had vanished from the house while he’d been caught by an emergency on the other end of his phone.
That embryonic intention had just evaporated. He didn’t want to go anywhere near this woman after the signals his body was giving him.
She was English , for God’s sake. Like his wife, Sarah, had been. Well, Scottish, but that was close enough. Too close for comfort, anyway, and more than enough to make this stranger completely off limits.
Bon Dieu… Sarah had cured him of ever wanting a committed relationship again, even with someone who didn’t have an English accent.
With an effort, Julien turned away from the window, his gaze automatically seeking that small face on the pillow with the sweep of dark lashes against perfect skin and a mouth that naturally curled up at the corners to make it look like Theo was smiling, even in his sleep.
His chest was tight again, now, but it had nothing to do with any woman. This child was so precious. He could feel an echo of the fear that had propelled him from the house last night when he realised that the toddler wasn’t where he’d last seen him, falling asleep in front of a favourite cartoon on television. The emergency call regarding a deterioration in the condition of one of his young patients had required his full attention, and he hadn’t noticed the minutes ticking past. He’d pretty much forgotten that his mother had gone out this evening and wasn’t providing the automatic back up in childcare for situations like this.
The horror of finding Theo’s blanket an empty puddle of fabric on the floor and the back door open had only been outdone in intensity by the jolt of relief when he’d spotted him across the olive grove in that woman’s arms.
But then that faint sound had carried in the stillness of the evening. His son’s voice uttering just a single word.
Maman .
It had broken his heart and made him snap. Had he tapped into his fear and let it morph into anger because he had an easy target? Was he already feeling the guilt of failing to look after his son well enough? Or had he subconsciously recognised a threat to the stability of the new life he had created here, and he knew he had far more to protect than simply himself?
Whatever. He wasn’t going to spend any time trying to analyse something that was already over and done with. What was more of a concern was Theo’s wellbeing.
Had he really thought his mother had miraculously returned from the dead?
It was only now that Julien remembered an impression he’d got when he’d first seen his son in the woman’s arms. It was only now that he realised what it was that had seemed obvious about the way she had been holding Theo. Cradling him against her body with the kind of protective intensity that Julien would automatically associate with a mother.
Had Theo felt that? Had it made him remember his own mother? Surely not. He’d been only a baby when Sarah had died.
It was possible, however, that such a young child could be aware of something missing from his life. Something that couldn’t be replaced by even the most loving father and grandmother.
Merde . Julien pushed his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a long moment. It didn’t matter whether he never saw the woman next door again.
Something had changed… and he didn’t like it.
Pas du tout.