Chapter 46
NOW
Brad had been waiting for her when she’d returned yesterday evening, glass of wine ready-poured at the table. ‘Drink?’
She’d sighed and sunk into a chair. ‘How did you know?’
‘Must be difficult living so far from her.’
‘Yeah,’ she’d said, taking a sip. ‘I mean, sometimes.’
‘Look, I’ve sorted my painting guy, and Yves is going to let him in. So I’m kind of at a loose end tomorrow. Thought you might like a bit of company on your trip?’
She really would. But ‘No, I’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘I’m going to hire a van. They’ve got some at Super U.’
‘Oh, come on. It’ll give me a chance to run the car. It’ll seize up soon. Don’t waste your money.’
‘You have a car?’
‘Sure.’
‘That’s so nice of you, but we’re hardly going to fit a couple of chests of drawers or bedside tables into a car.’
‘Ah, but I know a dude with a trailer,’ he said, as if he’d already thought it all out. ‘He owes me a favour.’
‘Brad?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Seriously? Another IOU?’ That said, it would be lovely not to have to hire a van. And the idea of company – especially company with strong arms – was more than welcome. But ‘No, honestly, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Bella?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you giving me the brush-off, or are you just being British and awkward and saying no because it feels impolite to impose?’
She’d flushed, looked at the table. ‘I guess, being British?’
‘Well, I’m an American,’ he’d said. ‘So I’m not buying it. Accept the help.’
She’d taken a sip of wine. ‘OK,’ she’d said, meeting his eye. ‘If you insist.’
Later, she’d emailed the notaire saying that she was driving down and that she’d pop into the Aubusson office to sign the papers at the end of the afternoon, after visiting the house.
Then she’d braced herself and written to Pete.
Hi Pete,
I’m popping over to the Peyrat house tomorrow. I need to pick up a couple of things. I hope that’s OK? Not sure if you’re still around, but thought I’d warn you so we can avoid any awkwardness. Talk soon.
Bella
She’d dug out her keys, feeling rather nostalgic at the sight of the enormous, old-fashioned set – so different from her current single house key.
Her small handbag felt heavy with the weight of them, and she hoped she’d be able to remember which of them actually opened the front door of the main building.
It had felt almost impossible to drag herself from bed at five o’clock that morning – only an hour earlier than her usual time, but far too early after a late and restless night.
To make sure she was alert enough for the drive, she’d downed two espressos in quick succession and while she now felt awake, she also felt vaguely sick.
The only advantage so far of her early start was the fact that she’d seen the sun rise over Versailles for the first time.
It had been dark when she’d woken, the first slivers of light breaking through the gloom just after five thirty.
The day had gradually come into itself as she’d dressed and readied herself.
Now, the street was in a rosy half-light, promising sunshine.
The early morning air had a fresh, crisp undertone and there was something energising about breathing in great gulps of it, despite the fact it still had the underlying scent of the city – the smell of car exhaust fumes, people, cigarettes, coffee, and the multiple lives that flowed together around its streets during daylight hours.
She watched one or two people make their way along the road – a jogger in professional-looking running gear; a woman dressed in a coat that looked far too thick for this time of year walking a reluctant-looking dog on a lead.
Then, before she could take in any more, she heard a throaty roar, and there was Brad behind the wheel of a rather rusty 4x4 in a muted green.
Attached to the back was a trailer with a handwritten number plate and rather dodgy-looking tyres.
He parked, bumping the kerb a little, and climbed out of the slightly sunken driver’s seat with some difficulty.
‘Voilà!’ he said and gave a little bow. Despite the stress of thinking about the hotel rooms and whether Claudine was going to return to work and discover their secret, it was hard not to laugh.
Then he held out the keys. ‘Your chariot awaits!’
‘And you’re sure the insurance is OK?’
‘All sorted.’
‘And you’re OK if I, like, bash it up or ruin the gears or something?’
He laughed. ‘That won’t happen.’
She looked at him.
‘But yes, if it does, I will forgive you,’ he added, smiling and shaking his head as if she were being ridiculous.
It was pretty clear he’d never seen her drive before.
‘OK.’ She took a breath and climbed into the worn, leather driver’s seat. Brad walked around the car and climbed in beside her.
Inside, the car smelled of oil and some sort of pine air freshener.
The plastic dashboard was sun-bleached and scratched.
This was probably the perfect car for driving garden waste to the déchetterie or bumping down muddy tracks.
But for someone wanting a reliable car for eight hours of driving in a day? She hoped it would be up to the job.
‘Fully serviced and checked a couple of months ago,’ Brad said, as if reading her mind.
She nodded and started the engine, pleased that it caught and roared into life first time.
‘See,’ he said confidently, as if starting was all the car needed to do to prove its worth.
It’s got 400 kilometres to go yet, she wanted to say – but didn’t.
She tried to think about the €200 of hire fees she’d saved by accepting his offer and put her foot on the accelerator. And they were off.
Navigating the city streets was unnerving – driving on the right side of the road had seemed difficult even when she’d lived in the quiet Creuse département.
But here with traffic lights, one-way systems and people who strolled casually in front of them deep in conversation, the stakes felt frighteningly high.
Bella found that she was gripping the wheel tightly, her leg hovering constantly over the brake, ready to slam it down if necessary. Her slow, careful driving earned a couple of angry beeps from other drivers. ‘I thought the French were meant to be laid back!’ she found herself saying to Brad.
‘You think this is bad? You should try driving in Chicago,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘If you don’t get blasted by someone’s horn on every trip, you wonder if you’re invisible.’
‘But still—’
‘Ah, you’ll be OK once we’re on the main road,’ he said, leaning back as if he weren’t in almost constant mortal danger.
The roads leading out of the city were busy, despite the early hour, and she made a couple of wrong turns, forced to travel miles out of their way in order to turn round. Once or twice Brad looked at her, and she sensed he was thinking about offering to take over. But he said nothing.
In reality she’d have loved someone to step in – just for this bit, the busy bit. But the last thing she wanted to do was surrender and ask.
Almost an hour later they were finally on the autoroute and things had started to feel more civilised. The road was long, straight, two-lane and virtually empty. As they headed towards Orléans, she began to feel her shoulders and stomach relax a little.
‘You OK?’ Brad asked after they’d been driving smoothly for a while.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re driving pretty good.’
‘What? Now? Yeah, it’s pretty easy now.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up. I thought you handled Versailles pretty well too. It’s a nightmare getting around that one-way system – and those idiots on their phones who step into the road. Terrifying.’
‘Are you saying that just to make me feel better?’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Maybe. But I mean it too. You handled it well. And I’m pretty sure Maureen approves.’
‘I’m sorry – Maureen?’
‘Yeah,’ he slapped the dashboard. ‘She’d an old bird, but she’s a fighter.’
‘You named your car?’
‘Sure, why not?’
‘Because it’s weird!’
‘How so? She’s got a character. The least she deserves is a name!’
‘Fair, I suppose.’
They lapsed into silence for a while, but it was comfortable, companionable. The roads were empty, the sun now fully risen, and driving had almost become a pleasure. She changed gear, leaving her hand on the gear stick and settling back into a more comfortable position now that she could relax.
Unexpectedly, Brad’s hand covered hers, squeezed gently, affectionately. Then, just as quickly, retreated.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t thinking.’
She gave him a sideways glance.
‘Just,’ he said, ‘I guess I’m proud of you.’
‘What are you, my dad?’ she joked, instantly regretting it.
‘No, I— I mean, you had this setback, but you picked yourself up. Not many people can do that.’
‘I had quite a bit of encouragement,’ she said, glancing at him again.
He was looking at her with his clear, honest eyes. ‘Sure. But still.’
‘I appreciate it, you know.’
‘What?’
‘The encouragement.’ She sighed, shifted gears into fourth as they neared a bend. ‘I’m sorry that I find it so difficult to… respond to it.’
‘Britishness?’
‘Yeah, a bit. But also… well, shit childhood.’
‘I get it. More than you know, probably.’ He fell silent.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ she said into the empty air.
‘Yeah. Anyway, though, I— I’m getting it all wrong. I’m trying to say I’m impressed, I guess.’
‘Impressed?’ There it was again, the incredulity, knocking back his compliment.
‘Yeah. And… I guess in more than just a business sense.’
Another glance and she was surprised to see Brad looking flushed. Was he actually embarrassed?
‘I guess—’ he continued. ‘I mean, what I want to say is that I like you. You know?’
‘Oh.’
‘I know. Stupid, right?’
‘Not at all!’ Something fluttered inside, as if a bird were beating its wings in her chest. As if something dormant had woken at his words. ‘I mean, it’s good. It’s fine.’
‘”It’s good, it’s fine”?’
‘Sorry. I’m crap at this stuff.’
‘You’re not the only one. Used to be quite the charmer back in the day. Before Naomi, my ex, and the money stuff. I guess I thought I had something to offer.’
‘You still do. Seriously.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I mean,’ she said, hardly knowing the words that were going to come. ‘I like you too. A lot, actually.’ Where had that come from? Not from her conscious mind. But it was right, wasn’t it. She did, didn’t she?
‘But?’ he said into the silence, sensing her hesitation.
‘But,’ she echoed, ‘I’ve been on a roller coaster. You know, with Pete. Then Henri. And all this stuff with work and Kitty and… my head is all over the place.’
‘OK.’
‘I’m just not—’
‘It’s OK. I get it.’
‘I need to sort myself out. I need to work out what I’m doing. And I just don’t think—’
‘I get it.’ His tone was slightly sharper. ‘Shall we just drop it?’
‘But you understand. It’s not a… it’s not a no. It’s a not now.’
There was a silence. Then he gave a deep sigh. ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘I do. And you know what, I’m good with being friends. Life can get crazy sometimes.’
‘I know, right?’
‘You know, that seems kind of a mature attitude for a kid in their twenties,’ he said, winking.
She looked at him wryly. ‘I’m the oldest twenty-year-old in the world.’