Chapter 4
4
Standing behind the counter, Adeline ran her hands over the worn wood, feeling the grooves left by years of customers and servers, passing goods, taking money. Monique had said that before she’d arrived, the shop had been a clothing store – and Adeline tried to imagine what it might have looked like. But it was impossible. Surrounded by books – almost bathing in their smell, texture and the colour radiating from their leather- or paper-bound spines, it was impossible to imagine that La Petite Librairie had had a life before Monique. Sometimes, too, only two days in, Adeline felt so divorced from her own life back in England that it was hard to picture what London was like without her. Her flat, sublet to a friend of her cousin. Her favourite cafe, missing a regular customer – although of course, with the constant stream of trade, she wouldn’t be missed.
Yesterday, she’d gone with Lili to the mairie to register her for school and had been surprised at the ease of the process. A small form to complete, information to provide – a copy of Lili’s passport and some health information – and she was told her daughter could start the next day. ‘Isn’t that wonderful!’ she’d said to Lili, feeling something inside her crack at the thought of their imminent separation, but displaying only a smile on the outside. It wouldn’t help Lili to show she was afraid for her.
In the end she needn’t have been, she thought now, looking out over the empty courtyard with its rather forlorn fountain, and beyond to the little Café des Sports where several locals moved beyond the glass. Lili had dropped her hand the minute they’d entered the playground and rushed ahead. Adeline had lingered at the edge of the tarmacked surface, not sure exactly what to do, until a woman in jeans with a wide smile had told her she’d take it from here. It was exactly what she’d hoped – Lili was unafraid, rushing towards the opportunity to lose herself with other youngsters. But it was a bit insulting, too, to be dumped so readily. One tear, or a small backward glance, would have been nice, she’d thought, shaking her head, amused.
The bell tinkling broke her train of thought and she stretched her lips into a smile as an old woman made her way into the store. ‘ Bonjour, Madame .’
‘ Bonjour .’ The woman looked at Adeline with interest, her brown eyes sharp and youthful within the walnut grooves of her face. She was wearing a scarf tied around her head, a little like women had worn in the fifties back in England, and a long navy raincoat. She carried an empty canvas bag, which sported a picture of oranges and apples. Adeline watched as the woman eyed the new releases on one of the front tables, before making her way to the counter. ‘You’re new,’ she said simply.
‘Yes.’
The woman nodded. ‘Madame Dupont,’ she said. ‘Monique has a book for me?’
‘Of course.’ Monique had given her a list before leaving, with scrawled names of customers who’d made orders in the preceding days. Adeline looked at the paper-wrapped parcels under the counter, each one inscribed in a looping hand. She found one labelled Dupont and picked it up, feeling the weight of the hard-covered volume inside.
The woman nodded and slipped the parcel into her bag. ‘So you are British,’ she said, more of a statement than a question.
‘Yes,’ Adeline replied, hoping that this was something Madame Dupont had learned from Monique rather than worked out from her ropey accent or very ‘British’ appearance. It wasn’t as if she were wearing union flag clothing or sporting a bowler hat, after all.
‘And you are here for…?’
‘Three months. Maybe more.’
Another nod and the ghost of a smile flickered across the woman’s face. ‘So you are Monique’s new project,’ she said.
‘A project?’ Perhaps she had misunderstood.
The woman barked a laugh. ‘Ah, don’t be offended. Monique likes to fix people. Situations. I expect she has plans for you!’
‘Really?’
The woman leaned forward, conspiratorially. ‘She has magic about her, Monique. Mark my words, she’ll have you married off within the year.’ She nodded, her eyes scanning Adeline’s face, perhaps looking for a flash of pleasure at the idea.
‘Married? Oh, no. I’m just… I’m here to improve my French. Get to know the country a little.’
Another laugh. ‘Ah, but you will see,’ the woman said delightedly. ‘I am sure Monique has more in store for you. I saw her with her pot of earth and knew that someone would be coming.’ She chuckled again. ‘Tell her I will pay her tomorrow,’ she added, turning from the counter, the book in the canvas bag knocking lightly against her leg.
Was that OK? Monique hadn’t mentioned that customers could delay payment, but Adeline didn’t feel comfortable asking. Madame Dupont seemed to be familiar with the shop, with Monique. So she simply smiled and nodded, hoping it was the right call.
The woman left and the shop settled into quietness again; it was a peaceful rather than an oppressive hush – outside she could still hear the growl of an odd passing car, the steps of people out walking, the noise of occasional snatched conversation. She wondered what Madame Dupont had meant by the pot of earth. Perhaps it was better not to know.
A man was next, browsing the shelves and refusing any assistance. He disappeared without making a purchase. Then a woman came in with a small child and chose one of the books from the wooden box of children’s titles. She paid her ten euros and said something about the weather. Her child – a boy of about three years – looked at Adeline with interest, his eyes brown pools of wonder. Perhaps it was rare to see new people in the village?
‘Don’t stare, Louis!’ his mother admonished him.
Adeline smiled at him as he peeped at her from behind his mother. When the woman wasn’t looking, she made a silly face and saw pleasure spread across his features at their shared joke.
When she’d first seen the shop, Adeline had worried a little that it might be a bit too quiet, a bit too tucked away – what would they do all day if just one or two customers came in? But La Petite Librairie seemed to have a steady stream of visitors. An older woman asked for Monique, but wouldn’t accept help from Adeline, saying it was personal. ‘I do know about books!’ Adeline found herself crying after her. But the woman raised a hand dismissively and continued her walk across the cobbled courtyard.
It was bound to be difficult at first, Adeline reasoned. People had known Monique and her shop for years – they weren’t expecting someone new. All the same, she hoped it wasn’t her accent, her ‘otherness’ that was putting them off.
Before she could think further, an older man entered the shop. He was dressed in a long, brown coat which hung misshapenly around his frame, and corduroy trousers in a khaki green, ending in a pair of slightly battered leather shoes. He stopped when he saw her, rather than Monique, behind the counter and Adeline prepared herself for another snub. Instead, he doffed an imaginary cap and wished her a good morning.
‘Good morning,’ she replied, smiling. ‘I’m Adeline. Monique’s new assistant.’
He nodded, his blue, slightly watery eyes taking her in. ‘Welcome,’ he said, at last.
‘Thank you. Can I help you?’
‘Perhaps.’
A silence settled around them.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked, slightly confused.
‘Maybe a book?’
She flushed. ‘Of course! But, um, what sort of book are you looking for?’
‘I think, Madame ,’ he replied, ‘the question should be, what book is waiting for me?’
‘Um,’ her eyes scanned the beige-wrapped packaging. ‘Have you ordered something?’
He laughed, softly. Once. ‘Ah, no matter,’ he said. ‘It will arrive when it arrives, non ?’
‘But your name?’
‘Claude,’ he said, simply.
He was right, she realised; none of the packages read Claude. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Monique will be back soon. ’
‘Tell her I will come again tomorrow. Tell her that Claude still has the heaviness.’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ She jotted it on the little notebook kept on the counter for that purpose. Claude. Heaviness.
The man nodded kindly, then turned towards the door. As he lifted his hand towards the handle he asked, ‘But for you… Did you find what you are looking for yet?’
‘Oh, no!’ she said, quickly. ‘I’m… well, I work here. I’m just serving.’
He shook his head, almost fondly. ‘But you are looking too. For something. We all are,’ he said. ‘Sometimes we don’t even know it. That’s what I learned from Monique over the years, and perhaps you will learn too.’
It was such a strange thing to say that she ended up simply smiling and nodding as if she understood. The shop bell tinkled his departure and she felt quite relieved, inspecting the packages once more for his name, but finding it absent.
There was something quite unsettling about the encounter, but by the time Monique returned from her errands, she’d served two further locals – quite pleased with herself that she’d been able to recommend a book she recognised in the new releases pile – and more or less forgotten about it. Her language, although perhaps a little rusty, had held up well and she’d begun to feel more at home already.
‘ Rebonjour ,’ her new boss said, breezing in with a basket of fruit. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine, thank you.’ She told Monique about Madame Dupont and the book she’d taken.
Monique nodded. ‘So all was good?’
‘Well, yes. Except…’
‘Except?’ Monique raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Something has happened? ’
‘Not exactly. Just… it’s a little odd, but a couple of people have suggested that you had plans to marry me off or fix me in some way!’ she said, half laughing, half serious. ‘I’m guessing it’s a joke of some sort?’
Monique laughed, throwing her head back with abandon. She set the basket down on the counter; the bright clementines and oranges smelt fresh and sweet; suddenly Adeline remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast. ‘They say this?’ Monique asked, amused.
Adeline nodded.
‘Well, yes. I mean, sometimes I have introduced people if I feel… you know, that they will get along. Perhaps they mean this? But it is rare, don’t worry!’ she chuckled affectionately, shaking her head at the idea.
‘Well,’ said Adeline, finding herself smiling. ‘Tell you what. If Mr Right walks in through the door, I’ll let you know.’
At that exact moment, André from the patisserie – this time without his apron or flour dust – pushed open the door and Monique gave her a pointed eyebrow raise.
‘You have to pluck the apple from the tree while it is ripe!’ she said, tipping her head slightly in André’s direction. Flushing, Adeline turned and busied herself with a pile of books that she’d already sorted, hoping Monique would deal with whatever he wanted and she could hide her embarrassment.
She’d have to be made of stone not to notice how gorgeous André was. But after Colin, she’d learned that whatever the exterior, it was better not to come to rely on a man. Better to look from afar but keep herself safe.
Moments later, they were alone again. ‘Do not worry,’ Monique said. ‘People like to talk, but…! I will tell my friend Cupid to fly off to somewhere else!’
Adeline grinned. ‘Thank you.’ She almost added that she’d make an exception for André, if Cupid asked very nicely, but wasn’t sure if Monique would get the joke. Instead, she moved the conversation on. ‘Oh, and a man, Claude, came in. He seemed to be looking for something but,’ she shrugged, ‘he said to tell you he’d be in tomorrow. That he still had… heaviness? I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite work out what he wanted.’
Monique shook her head. ‘Yes, he has some problems right now. It is hard to know what he needs. But we can only try.’ She nodded so earnestly, and seemed so sure that Adeline would understand, that Adeline felt compelled to nod along as if she did. In truth she was completely confused and for the first time since she’d arrived in St Vianne, she wondered whether Kev – recently so wrong about so many things – had had a point. What was she doing here?