Chapter 22
Although Castelnau-de-Montmiral was gorgeous, just as Cara described, Gaillac proved to be rather busier, traffic-wise, than I was prepared for, and I sighed with relief when I finally found a parking space where I could abandon the car and continue my exploration on foot.
I haven’t heard anything from Finn, but my stomach is growling with hunger so I’m currently trying to find a bistro that Cara said is one of her and Hugh’s favourites.
According to her, the Tartare de boeuf Limousin is to die for but, although I’d consider myself reasonably adventurous where food is concerned – you can’t be a wallflower about these things in Liv’s house – I’m unsure whether a plate of raw beef is going to do it for me today.
However, Cara assured me that they’ve tried a number of things there, and they’ve all been excellent, so I’m going to treat myself.
As I follow the instructions from the navigation app on my phone, I can’t help feeling a tinge of pride.
Here I am, finding my own way about in a foreign country and, so far, nothing has gone wrong.
The hire car is still the same shape as when I picked it up.
I’m definitely feeling more confident with it, and I’m now making my way through the narrow streets like a local, albeit one with a disembodied English voice shouting directions from her pocket.
The restaurant, when I get there, is exactly what I was hoping for.
The menu is written out on large blackboards leaning against the windows, and a number of diners are already seated at the outdoor tables.
I listen carefully and the only language I can hear is French, which is a plus, I reckon.
If the locals eat here, it must be good.
A waitress is bustling backwards and forwards with carafes of wine, baskets of fresh bread and plates piled high with all manner of delicious-looking food.
At the tables, the customers appear to be in no rush, savouring their lunches as they debate whatever the issue of the day is.
As if on cue, my stomach growls again, loudly this time.
Thankfully, my French extends just far enough for me to explain that I’d rather sit outside – à l’extérieur got the message across – and to navigate the menu.
I was initially tempted to try the Andouilette sausages and messaged Liv to ask about them, but her response that they could be challenging, aroma-wise, was enough to put me off so I’ve gone for a chicken dish instead.
As I wait for my food to arrive, I tilt my head up towards the sun and enjoy the hubbub of conversation around me, so I don’t immediately notice my phone pinging to tell me that I have a new message.
When I do pick it up, I’m excited to see that it’s from Finn.
Pitch went really well, thanks. The channel seem enthusiastic about the concept and they’re going to take it to the next stage. They absolutely loved the idea of the rogue item. I should hear more in a week or so. How are the Double-Doubles? Xx
I’m smiling as I type out my response.
There’s trouble in paradise. Suzie and Grace are pissed off with Gina, who seems to have dumped them like hot bricks in favour of Lynette, of all people! I’ve taken myself off for the day to leave them to it xx.
The ticks go blue straight away and I can see he’s typing a reply.
Uh-oh. Let’s hope nobody has poisoned anyone else when you get back. I wouldn’t put it past any of them… Enjoy your day out. How’s the book coming along?
What to say to that? I couldn’t concentrate because I was thinking about you? Honest, but I don’t want to spook him, so I opt for a more neutral reply.
OK. Darren still in the wall, but I’ll get him out later, and then there will be the inevitable autopsy.
Foul play suspected?
He couldn’t have bricked himself up in there.
Good point. This is why I’m not a crime novelist xx.
I’m trying not to read anything into the kisses on the end of his messages, but it’s hard not to.
Does he normally end all his texts like that, or is he flirting with me?
To be fair, I’ve been sending him kisses too; perhaps he’s just replying in the same way because he thinks that’s what I expect.
Thankfully, before I can go any further down this particular rabbit hole, my food arrives.
I take a quick snapshot and send it to him with a brief message.
Got to go – lunch has just arrived and it smells amazing. Really pleased the pitch went well. Hope you have celebrations planned – keep me posted xx.
His reply is immediate.
Looks fab. Can practically smell it from here – enjoy! No celebrations until it’s in the bag – don’t want to jinx it. Hopefully, we’ll be able to celebrate together once you’re back xx.
By the time I get back to L’Ancien Presbytère, late that afternoon, I’ve analysed Finn’s message from pretty much every conceivable angle.
On the one hand, he could just be inviting me to celebrate as a friend who helped him out of a hole, but I have to confess I prefer the narrative where he wants it to be something more.
After a delicious lunch, I had a happy time wandering round Gaillac before taking a circuitous route back to the house via Cordes-sur-Ciel.
It turned out to be exactly as Cara had described; rammed with tourists and not a parking spot to be seen, so I didn’t try to stop. It was pretty though.
As I pull up outside the house, I spot an unfamiliar car in the driveway.
My first, brief, thought is that maybe Finn has hotfooted it back for the rest of the retreat, before I realise that he’d need to be a time traveller to have got here that quickly.
The mystery only deepens when I walk out onto the terrace to be confronted by an apoplectic-looking Gina.
‘There you are!’ she exclaims furiously. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Good afternoon to you too, Gina,’ I say mildly. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Of course something’s the matter,’ she fumes. ‘Do I have to remind you that this is supposed to be a writers’ retreat, not a holiday park for all and sundry? It was bad enough with Finn and his silly TV show, but this is beyond the pale.’
So much for Lynette keeping that a secret as well, then. Still, at least Finn managed to escape the flak. I can’t for the life of me work out what it is I’m supposed to have done to upset her now, though.
‘Sorry, Gina,’ I say, trying to keep my voice level in the hope that it might calm her down a little. ‘I’m not following you.’
‘Oh, don’t play the innocent with me,’ she scoffs. ‘It’s obvious that you’re behind this. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you focus unless you have someone fawning at your feet, hm?’
The irony of that statement is evidently lost on her, but I’m still no closer to uncovering what’s going on, so I try again.
‘Gina,’ I say firmly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Him,’ she practically yells as another person joins us and my jaw drops. I’m momentarily incapable of speech. This can’t be happening, and I try blinking to see if maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me, but nope. The newcomer smiles warmly as he approaches.
‘Hello, Laura. Surprised?’
‘Angus,’ I hiss. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’
‘See?’ Gina interjects. ‘I knew you were behind this. Well, I’m going to be having a word with Hugh and Cara, you mark my words. You’ve caused nothing but trouble since you’ve arrived, and this is too much.’
She’s right. The combination of Angus being here and her having yet another go at me is too much, and my temper deserts me.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Gina! Just fuck off, would you?’ I yell, making her start. If I wasn’t so completely livid, it would actually be funny. Her mouth is working furiously, but no sounds are coming out.
‘In all my life, I have never…’ she eventually manages, before turning on her heel and fleeing.
‘She seems an absolute charmer,’ Angus observes drily. ‘You might want to work on your interpersonal skills a bit though. I’m not sure “just fuck off, would you” is in the top ten phrases of how to win friends and influence people.’
‘Shut up,’ I tell him furiously. ‘What are you doing here? How did you even find out where I was?’
He says nothing, but simply smiles enigmatically. Dear Lord, I’ve never wanted to punch someone so much.
‘Well?’ I demand after a few moments, when it’s become clear he’s not going to say anything.
‘I can’t shut up and tell you how I found you,’ he says. ‘You have to choose one.’
‘Now is really, really not the time to be a smart arse. Tell me why you’re here and how you found me. Did Liv tell you? I’ll bloody kill her if she did.’
‘No. I tried to get it out of her, but she wasn’t giving anything away.
I know she’s your best friend and everything, but she’s a bit of a Rottweiler sometimes, isn’t she?
Anyway, finding you was the easy part,’ he says as if discussing nothing more important than the weather.
‘Do you know how many writing retreats for English people are running in France at the moment? One. So it didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to work out where you might be.
As to why I’m here, I’d have thought that would be similarly obvious. I’ve come to win you back.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘Look, I know it was me that left and, at the time, I really thought it was the right thing. We seemed to be stuck in a rut and I wasn’t happy in my job. But the truth is that barely a day went by on that ship when I didn’t miss you, Laura.’ He grins. ‘Well, mainly Meg, of course, but also you.’
I stare at him, trying to take in what he’s saying. His joke about loving the dog more than me was a common one in the old days, but it’s just adding to my sense of disbelief now.
‘As soon as the cruise was over, I came straight back to Margate to try to put things right,’ he continues.
‘I bought flowers and everything. That was awkward, I can tell you. I’m not sure who was more surprised when I knocked on the door of our flat – me or the woman who answered.
It never occurred to me that you would have moved out. ’
‘What did you expect me to do?’ I ask incredulously. ‘Did you honestly think that I’d just gone into some form of suspended animation while you were away, like the fucking mice in Bagpuss?’
He stares at me blankly. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘It’s a children’s story. Bagpuss is a stuffed cloth cat who lives in a shop, and the mice are part of a mouse organ. They come to life when Bagpuss does and go to sleep when he does. There’s also a rag doll called Madeleine and a woodpecker called Professor Yaffle – what now?’
‘You’re not making any sense. Have you been spending too much time in the sun?’
‘If I’m not making any sense, it’s because nothing about you being here makes sense. I thought I made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want to see you again.’
‘You were very fierce,’ he admits. ‘But that’s what gave me hope, don’t you see?’
‘How?’
‘If you no longer cared about me, you wouldn’t have been so angry,’ he says, smiling so beatifically you’d think he’d just discovered the meaning of life.
Once again, I’m rendered speechless. There’s so much wrong with what he’s just said that I literally have no idea where to start unpicking it.
‘Let me get this straight,’ I try. I feel like I’m drowning and I need something, anything, firm to grasp on to. ‘You decided, all on your own, that I was no longer what you wanted, disappearing pretty much overnight.’
‘Bit dramatic, Laura. You make it sound like I ran away to join the circus or something.’
‘You did. Only you ran away to sea instead of the circus.’
‘We did talk about it.’
‘No. You told me the night before you left and abandoned me to deal with the fallout.’
‘OK, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that.’
‘No, we won’t. It’s what happened. Anyway. While you were playing Pirates of the Caribbean, or whatever the hell you were doing, you suddenly decided, equally out of the blue, that you wanted to come back home?’
‘I missed you.’
‘How many opportunities did you have to tell me that?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You could have called, messaged, emailed, whatever.’
‘There isn’t any reception at sea.’
‘It’s a cruise, Angus. I’m no expert, but don’t they stop at ports on a fairly regular basis? And don’t these ports have internet?’
‘It seemed too personal for a call. I wanted to talk to you face to face.’
‘Bullshit. You either didn’t miss me at all, or you were too cowardly to pick up the phone and call. Neither exactly shows you in a good light, does it?’
‘I did miss you,’ he repeats mutinously. ‘And you were the one who blocked my number.’
‘Not for two bloody months. You had plenty of opportunities to get in touch. Anyway, for whatever reason, after months of complete radio silence, you somehow thought everything would just magically go back to how it was if you rocked up at my door with a bunch of wilted petrol station carnations. Talk me through that plan.’
‘They were expensive, from that florist next to the bookshop, if you must know.’
‘Oh. Well, that changes everything!’ I exclaim sarcastically. ‘Still way too little, way too late.’
‘I thought, if we just had an opportunity to talk—’
‘We did talk, Angus. On the phone. And I told you to get lost. I think I was pretty clear.’
‘Yes, but like I said, you wouldn’t have been so angry if you didn’t care.
So I tracked you down and, when Hugh told me a room had come free, I knew it was meant to be.
Fate, you know? So I booked my tickets and here I am.
I’m sorry I hurt you, but I’m here now and I promise you I’m not going anywhere again.
I’ll do whatever it takes to win you back, Laura. ’
Dear God, he actually means it, I realise as I look into his face. How the hell am I going to get rid of him?