Chapter 21
NOW
As the alarm trilled to signal yet another day, she groaned and turned over.
Henri’s arms were still wrapped around her and he pulled her into a warm, soft embrace.
It would be so easy to allow sleep to overcome her again, but her phone’s beeping was insistent and eventually she tore herself away. ‘Sorry.’
Being a woman, and one ten years his senior, meant a lot more work to get to an acceptable standard to be seen in public.
There was shaving and plucking and exfoliating and moisturising and hairstyling and make-up application, and all with the hope of looking as if she’d barely bothered and was just naturally gorgeous.
It was exhausting.
Yesterday morning when she’d gone downstairs, she’d been nervous that she might see Brad.
After their embarrassing first encounter it was better for both of them to avoid each other for now, she’d reasoned.
But luckily, he seemed to keep a similar schedule to Henri, getting up late and going to bed late.
He’d been out when she’d returned from work and other than the odd burst of guitar music – which wasn’t unpleasant once she was sure it wasn’t being played by a ghost or an intruder – she’d barely been aware of his presence.
‘He comes from time to time,’ Henri had told her when they’d lain in bed together that night, she still thrumming with anger and embarrassment at the whole thing. ‘But usually he calls first and isn’t so—’
‘Rude?’
He’d laughed. ‘I was going to say drunk. But yes, I think rude too. What can I say, he is older and grumpy. Ignore him.’
It hadn’t been that reassuring.
Post-shower and clothed in a burgundy shift dress, she made her way down to the kitchen to grab a slice of toast to eat on the walk to the station. But opening the kitchen door she realised that, for once, she was not the only one up.
Brad was standing by the cupboard, holding a box of tea leaves, sniffing the contents. Next to him on the counter was a familiar-looking box, its lid open.
‘Oh,’ she said, involuntarily.
He turned and looked at her, and she realised for the first time that he was eating. A cookie. One of her cookies – the first batch she’d made since moving.
‘Hey, it’s Bella!’ he said, his mouth stretching wide into a chocolatey grin. ‘Wanna tea?’
‘Do I want one of my own teas?’ she said, wondering why she was being quite so arsey. She didn’t mind at all who used her tea ordinarily. It was something about the assumption of it. The fact he’d helped himself to her cookies and stuck his nose in her tin without so much as a by-your-leave.
His face fell. ‘Aw, shoot, is that your tea? Henri lets me help myself to his stuff, and I thought— But of course, he’s a coffee man. Sorry.’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I’m being— it’s fine, actually. And yes please to tea.’ Her gaze wandered again to the open box of cookies, Brad’s hovering hand.
His eyes followed the same direction. ‘Oh man. These are yours too, right?’
She nodded. ‘’Fraid so.’
‘Man. I hope you weren’t saving them for something important. I just thought—Well, Henri’s always got some fancy snacks with that father of his sending hampers and such. I just assumed—’
‘It’s fine. I can always make more.’
His eyes widened. ‘You made these?’
‘Yeah,’ she shrugged. ‘No big deal.’
‘Man alive. If I could bake like this, I’d weigh four hundred pounds! You’d have to winch me out of that attic with a frickin’ crane!’
Unexpectedly, she found herself laughing. ‘Well, I would offer to teach you, but it sounds like I wouldn’t be doing you any favours.’
‘You’d teach me?’
Oh shit. ‘Well, I guess. If you really want to learn.’ The last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with Brad.
Their first encounter had been less than great, sure.
But it was more than that. He was messy, his hair needed a cut, he hadn’t bothered to shave for a few days.
Forget hairnets, she’d practically have to wrap him from head to toe if they started cooking together.
He was probably an OK guy – Henri seemed to like him.
But there was something about him that really irritated her.
Only she was in it now, wasn’t she?
‘Yeah, yeah I do.’ He absent-mindedly helped himself to another cookie, closing his eyes as he bit through its crispy outer layer and into its soft centre. ‘Mmm mmm.’
‘Don’t you have, like, work to go to or something?’ she asked suddenly. Hadn’t Henri said he was some sort of businessman?
‘Not right now.’ He flapped his hand. ‘Let’s say I’m taking a bit of time out.’
She nodded. ‘OK.’
‘One of the perks of working for yourself,’ he added, turning towards her with a grin.
She snorted and his brow furrowed.
‘What?’
‘Sorry. Not you. But I have some… experience of being self-employed, and time out wasn’t really a thing I ever got around to taking.’ She leant against the counter, then realising that was actually really uncomfortable, went to perch on the kitchen table.
‘Oh?’ He was looking at her. ‘Really? Your own business? Aren’t you like at university or something? Or, no, hang on, doing a work placement, right?’
She didn’t enjoy this direct questioning. It was one thing having assumptions made about her life and neglecting to correct them. But lying directly felt doubly wrong. ‘It’s complicated,’ she tried.
To her surprise, he seemed to take this as an acceptable answer. ‘Gotcha,’ he said, nodding sagely.
‘So… tea?’ She glanced at her watch. She’d have to put it in her thermal mug, sip it on the train.
‘Oh. Yeah. Sure.’ He turned on the kettle which began to steam almost immediately, then spooned a rather generous serving of her tea into the pot and poured the water in.
The leaves swilled in the hot liquid, creating a delicious aroma.
They both stopped and simultaneously sniffed the air like animals tracking a scent.
Then caught each other’s eye and laughed.
‘Can’t beat that aroma in the mornings, right?’
She nodded.
Brad gestured towards the oak chairs at the small kitchen table. ‘Aren’t you going to sit?’
She shook her head, held up her thermos mug. ‘Got to caffeinate and run, I’m afraid. Work calls.’
‘And you can’t be late?’
‘Don’t want to be.’
‘Good for you.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘You know, in my line of work, it’s hard to get folks to turn up on time. Or at all, sometimes. They’re lucky to have you.’
She managed to avoid another snort, just. ‘Well, maybe.’
‘No maybes about it.’ He took the thermos mug from her hand, placed it on the counter then filled it with tea. ‘Not too strong I hope?’
‘No such thing.’
‘Well, Bella,’ he said after handing it back to her. ‘It’s nice to have some company in the mornings in this place.’
She smiled. ‘Yep.’
‘And sorry, you know, for—’ He waved his hand slightly as if to fill in the gap.
For burning my bed? For scaring me half to death? The whisky? The near-fire on my nightstand? Luckily, she managed not to say any of these things. Instead, she nodded and turned out of the kitchen.
* * *
In Peyrat, she’d used to love walking to the boulangerie early in the morning to buy viennoiseries for their guests. There had been a freshness in the air – tinged with the scent of pollen and grasses and the rich, earthy smell given off by stone houses after a night of rain.
So far, in Versailles, she hadn’t really enjoyed her walk to the station. She’d often been rushing, feeling hungover or tired. And the March and April weather hadn’t always been favourable.
But today, slowed by the tea that she sipped as she walked, she noticed for the first time that spring had finally come into itself.
The sky was a clear blue peppered with tiny, almost laughable clouds; people had filled their window boxes and hanging baskets with flowers that had started to bud and bloom.
Cars passed her on the road and people walked in various directions on the pavement, looking purposeful.
A woman jogged by dressed in running gear, a golden retriever on a lead bounding gleefully at her side.
Bella thought of Juliette and Jolie and felt a pang of nostalgia for her old life.
But soon, the walk, the tea, the freshness and newness of everything this morning moved her thoughts on to today, her journey to work, her job.
Since moving, she’d been just about hanging on. Worrying about keeping her job, about the house sale that seemed to be ticking along in the background but making very little progress. About Pete and the divorce and whether she was making a complete mess of things.
But she realised in that moment that she had managed to build a life – albeit with a few falsehoods at its foundation – that she was actually enjoying.
Experience or not, she was holding the job down with only a few moments of panic and doubt.
She had Henri who despite his youth made her feel safe and secure.
She got to go out with people who were young and fun and made her feel better about not having met most of the personal milestones she’d set for herself.
And she was living in Versailles, working in Paris.
Two places that many people in the world would kill to visit, and she was immersed in them every day.
She looked at the buildings lining her walk to the station – tall and ornate with stone features carved by hands hundreds of years ago.
She breathed in the air – tinged with fumes and the scents of the street and far dirtier and less life-affirming than that in Peyrat, but lovely in its own way.
It was the smell of life and movement and streets that had been walked on for centuries by people living vibrant, interesting lives.
As she pressed her ticket to the scanner and entered the station, a thought came into her head. Maybe this didn’t have to be a stopgap after all. If she could find a way to untangle the lies without ruining everything, maybe this could be her actual life.