Chapter 6
6
The next morning, the light streaming in through her uncurtained bedroom window woke Sasha early, and she lay there for several moments enjoying the dawn chorus. Last night she’d stood gazing out of the window, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the owls she could hear screeching in the nearby woods before giving up and climbing into her bed, where she’d drifted off to sleep within moments. As the dawn chorus died away, Sasha promised herself she’d learn to recognise the calls of the various birds who greeted the beginning of the day.
Once up, she wandered into the old-fashioned bathroom with its pink, faded tiles and the shower over the bath, and lifted the lever before tentatively holding her hand under the water. To her relief, the water came through the showerhead at a good pressure and within seconds, was hot enough to stand under.
Ten minutes later, Sasha was downstairs in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and making a list of the things she needed to do. Top of the list, food shopping. The question was, where? Last night, Ingrid had told them the nearest village, five hundred metres down the narrow lane that ran behind the cottages, had a small supermarket – ‘more of a local corner shop, really’ – a bar cum cafe, a boulangerie, a school, a doctor’s office with an attached pharmacy, and a mairie with a La Poste counter. The local town, twelve kilometres away, had several big supermarkets, builders’ merchants, garages, a large Poste , vets – everything you’d expect a large town to have.
Perhaps today she’d unpack a few boxes, wander down the lane to the village, pick up a few bits and pieces from the small supermarket and then tomorrow, she and Freddie could drive into town and stock up properly, as well as buy some paint and other stuff to make a start on decorating.
‘Morning, sis,’ Freddie called out as he opened the front door. ‘Any coffee going?’
‘Machine is on and the coffee is next to it,’ Sasha said, pointing to the cups. ‘There’s some cereal and a dribble of milk if you’re hungry. I thought I’d walk into the village via the back lane this morning and get a few things whilst you meet with Peter.’
Ingrid had explained last evening that the back lane was classified as a country ‘C’ road and although drivable most of the time, it was really just a dead-end lane leftover from bygone days. ‘Apparently it started life as a gallop for the racehorses that were bred and trained here back in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, when the estate was much larger. These days the route de galop peters out at a gate on the far end of the estate in one direction, but the other way you can drive or walk into the village, which saves going round by road.’
‘You could take the car,’ Freddie said.
Sasha hesitated. She’d passed her test years ago, but Bradley had persuaded her to sell her car and put the money towards a newer model that they could share. Fine in theory but in practice, a big mistake. Bradley had always insisted on driving them whenever they went out together, unless he decided he wanted a drink; then he insisted she was the designated driver because she didn’t mind not drinking. The drive home was always a nerve-wracking affair as he sat alongside her emitting deep sighs and criticising her driving. Whenever she asked to use the car to go and see her mum, it was never convenient for her to have it. And that meant she hadn’t driven any distance for several years while she was with Bradley, and once they split up, he kept it. Her confidence at the time had been at rock bottom and she hadn’t bothered buying another one. Not that she had the money then to do so, even if she’d wanted to.
‘I doubt there’s much traffic between here and the village,’ Freddie said. ‘Quiet roads to start to get your confidence back and learn to drive on the wrong side.’ He grinned at her.
Sasha nodded. She knew it was time to get back in the driving seat – either in Freddie’s car, or by buying one of her own. ‘I will definitely start driving again, but this morning, I’m walking.’
‘Okay, but I shall make sure you do drive again. Living here, it’s going to be necessary,’ Freddie warned her with a look. ‘Right, I’m off to talk to Peter. Fingers crossed I can help him.’
A quarter of an hour later, Sasha locked the door behind her and made her way through the cottage garden, opened the gate and stepped onto the route de galop . Haphazard hedges, a mixture of overgrown gorse bushes, hawthorn trees, the occasional small oak or beech tree, lined both sides of the track and grass was growing in the muddy centre. Lots of blackberry brambles were everywhere too, raising Sasha’s hopes for lots of fruit later in the year for blackberry and apple crumble. Her mum had made the best blackberry and apple jam, and her recipe was in the old cookbook Sasha had kept.
The verges had the occasional primrose plant flowering, and Sasha glimpsed a few delicate violets still hiding in the undergrowth as she walked towards the village. Briefly she wondered whether there would be bluebells later as spring edged its way into early summer.
Five minutes later, as the lane joined the village road proper at a T-junction, she was on the outskirts of the village. Sasha took a deep breath. The air was so pure and fresh. The church, whose spire she’d seen in the distance as she walked, was now in full sight in front of her, its cemetery spreading out to one side, standing at the head of the village square. On the opposite side of the square, she could see the bar, with a couple of small round tables and chairs on the pavement outside, and next to it, the small supermarket Ingrid had mentioned. She took a couple of appreciative sniffs as the enticing smell of freshly baked bread drifted towards her from the boulangerie farther along. It was all so different to the suburban street she’d lived on in the UK.
Sasha gave an involuntary gasp at the unexpected sound of the church clock booming out the hour and shattering the peace of the village, and she stopped and waited for the deep chimes to stop.
As the vibrations died away, Sasha began to wander farther through the village. Past the primary school where two teachers were organising a crocodile of excited children to walk the short distance to the sports field a few metres away. Past the village’s eighteenth-century mairie , the French flag flying over the door and the revolutionary motto ‘ Liberté, égalité, Fraternité’ chiselled into the stonework above. A double yellow postbox inserted in the wall with separate openings for local post and ‘ étranger ’ letters. Several new houses formed a small estate along the road that ran down the hill and out of the village into the countryside.
Sasha turned and made her way back to the village square and pushed open the door of the supermarket. A young woman scanning things through the till for an elderly lady glanced up and called out ‘ Bonjour ’ before returning her attention to her task.
‘ Bonjour ,’ Sasha said before quickly picking up a basket and making her way to the refrigerated section for butter, milk, cheese and ham. The shop might be small, but the variety of goods it sold didn’t stop at food. Conscious that she had to carry everything back to the cottage, Sasha decided to avoid the DIY section. Even so, the basket was heavy and full by the time she returned to the counter.
The girl on the till smiled and said something in rapid French. Sasha quickly shook her head before slowly and carefully saying the phrase she had practised and practised, knowing that it was probably going to be her most used phrase over the coming weeks.
‘ Je suis désolée, je ne parle qu’un peu fran?ais .’
‘ Anglaise? ’
Sasha smiled and nodded.
The girl – Chloé, according to her name badge – gave her another smile before speaking again, and this time Sasha heard the word she herself had used, ‘ désolée’, coupled with ‘ anglais’ this time, and smiled her understanding – Chloé was sorry but she didn’t speak English.
After a quick detour into the boulangerie for bread and croissants, Sasha turned to make her way home and saw Ingrid in front of the church, opening the door of her parked Land Rover.
‘Morning,’ Ingrid said. ‘Would you like a lift back?’
Sasha hesitated. It wasn’t a long walk, but the small amount of shopping was proving to be heavier and more awkward to carry than she’d anticipated. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry, I should have mentioned last night that I was coming into the village this morning,’ Ingrid said as she placed Sasha’s shopping in the back of the muddy vehicle alongside a bundle of dog towels, wellingtons and waterproof coats. ‘I could have given you a lift both ways.’
‘I enjoyed my first walk along the route de galop ,’ Sasha smiled. ‘I could almost smell and hear the ghosts of horses from long ago thundering along.’
It was a short drive back to the chateau and as she passed through the main gates, Ingrid glanced across at Sasha. ‘Time for a coffee? Or are you in a hurry?’
‘I’d love one,’ Sasha said and once Ingrid had parked, she grabbed her shopping and followed her into the kitchen.
Ingrid looked out of the window as she spooned coffee into a cafetière. ‘Peter seems to have got Freddie working already, by the look of it.’
‘I know Freddie was hoping to get some work here at the chateau, so hopefully Peter is giving him a trial,’ Sasha said. ‘He’s a good gardener and handy at maintenance too.’
‘Are you going to be looking for work as well?’
‘I want to get the cottage straight first, and I’d also like to do something myself rather than work for anyone, but we’ll see how long my savings last,’ Sasha said. ‘The biggest problem to getting a job is my lack of French. Did you speak French when you came?’
Ingrid handed her a coffee. ‘I have a lot of vocabulary but my grammar and accent leave a lot to be desired, I’m told. Peter, of course, is fluent, having been taught by his grandparents.’
Sasha smiled. ‘I’ve got a couple of books with written exercises and verbs that I’ve been going through, but I really need the opportunity to put my school French into practice.’
‘Do you read?’
Sasha nodded, surprised at the question. ‘Always got something on the go on my Kindle.’
‘Fancy joining the chateau book club? We’re a mixture of French and English members, so we read novels that are available in both languages. Discussions are in a mix of English and French. We get together once a month. You’ll meet people as well that way.’
‘What kind of things do you read?’ Sasha asked.
‘All sorts, nothing too intellectual. This month’s book is by the French author Antoine Laurain, The President’s Hat , which I’m really enjoying. It’s quite a short one, so you’ve probably still got time to read it. I’ll let you know when the next meeting is, nearer the time.’
‘Thanks,’ Sasha said, her thoughts lifting at the thought of there being English speakers living locally, but she knew if she was going to have any chance of making a life for herself in France, learning French and actually speaking it would have to be a top priority.
Ingrid’s phone rang at that moment and she gave Sasha an apologetic look as she picked it up. ‘Sorry, it’s Penny, my daughter. Help yourself to more coffee. Hi darling, how are things?’ and Ingrid moved over to stand by the window.
Sasha, feeling awkward, wondered if she should leave but didn’t want to appear rude by disappearing without saying goodbye. The conversation was very one-sided on Penny’s part for a moment or two, so she wasn’t exactly eavesdropping. She sipped her coffee and looked around the kitchen with its pale marble worktops, cream-coloured units and a wonderful tiled picture behind the large La Cornue cooking range. Last night with the lights on, Sasha had thought it looked wonderful and today in daylight, it was just as impressive. Perhaps the same colour scheme would work in the cottage? Obviously on a much smaller scale, both size-wise and budget-wise, with more utility furniture. Maybe there was an Ikea somewhere in Brittany?
Ingrid’s vehement voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Penny, you have to leave him. Thank goodness you’re not married. You can simply walk away. Come home to us.’
Sasha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The conversation between Ingrid and her daughter had definitely moved into the deeply personal now. There was a pause before Ingrid spoke again.
‘Rubbish. Of course you can. Do you want your father to come and collect you?’
Another longer pause before Ingrid finally said, ‘I’m certainly not going to keep this situation from your father, but I will spare him the exact details and endeavour to stop him from catching the next ferry over, providing you promise me one thing: you will end this toxic relationship asap.’
Sasha saw Ingrid’s shoulder slump in defeat at hearing Penny’s next words.
‘I’ll ring you later to make sure you’re okay. Love you.’
Ingrid’s eyes were swimming with tears when she turned to face Sasha.
‘I expect you gathered from that one-sided conversation that Penny is in a bad relationship.’
Sasha nodded. ‘I’m sorry. You must feel utterly helpless, being so far away.’
Ingrid tore a piece of kitchen paper off a nearby roll and wiped her eyes. ‘It definitely adds to my worry. Penny did talk a little to me when she was here on her own at Christmas, hinting that things between her and Rory had become difficult.’ Ingrid shook her head. ‘She didn’t say then just how difficult. Apparently, she thought she could handle it. Even change him.’
‘I can tell you from experience that that is impossible,’ Sasha said quietly.
Ingrid gave her a surprised look. ‘You too?’
Sasha nodded. ‘Only I was married to my abuser. In retrospect, though, I was lucky. After two years, he left me for another woman – but by then he’d milked my bank account and shredded my confidence to bits.’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘My mum was furious with me. She said it should have been me walking out, not him. She felt he’d got away on his own terms and scot-free. But I couldn’t walk out.’ Sasha paused. ‘I was too terrified of the consequences to take the first step. The relief when Bradley left me was overwhelming. But the knowledge that I could begin to reclaim my life took a while to sink in. My mum was my rock during those difficult times.’
‘I’m more than willing to be Penny’s rock, but she seems desperate for me not to interfere,’ Ingrid sighed. ‘I just want her to get away from him.’
‘Do you think she will find the strength to leave this Rory? Because unless she takes that first step – or he leaves her – you can’t really do anything,’ Sasha said gently.
Ingrid shrugged. ‘I think – and hope, after what she’s just told me – that she’s had enough and wants out.’
‘Once she’s done that, if she’s anything like me when Bradley left, she’ll turn to you. The only person I could talk to was my mum,’ Sasha said.
‘Fingers crossed then that she sees sense and kicks him out of her life. I know Peter will be happy, he’s never truly liked Rory – not that we’ve met him more than once.’ Ingrid wiped her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry, what must you think. We hardly know each other and here I am telling you my personal worries.’
Sasha smiled gently. ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure things will resolve themselves soon now that Penny has told you the truth about her relationship. Telling your mum you’ve cocked up and made a terrible mistake is not easy.’ Sasha stood up. ‘Thank you for the lift and the coffee. I’d better get home and do some more unpacking.’
Sasha walked back to the cottage deep in thought. Ingrid reminded her of her mum in so many ways, but especially the way she’d talked to Penny about what she should do. She was so friendly and down-to-earth. The fact that she was of a different generation didn’t seem to matter. Neither did the fact that she and Peter might have sold the cottages because they were currently strapped for cash, but they were clearly used to having more money than either Freddie or herself. But Sasha was happy to think she’d made a new friend already, although it would be nice if there were to be some people of her own age around. Perhaps joining the chateau book club like Ingrid had suggested would be a good start.
Once the shopping was safely stored in the old-fashioned larder and the fridge, Sasha went through to the sitting room and opened her Kindle. Before making a start on the rest of the unpacking, she’d download the book Ingrid had mentioned and see what it was like. It was only when the internet connection wouldn’t open that she remembered Freddie had promised to put their new Starlink satellite dish up later today, after he’d had his chat with Peter. Rather than read on her phone, which she hated, she’d wait until the internet was up and running. Right now, though, she’d enjoy a fresh croissant and another cup of coffee, and send positive vibes to Freddie for his job trial with Peter.