Chapter 6
Later, back in the flat, a late lunch of bread, hummus, olives and salad was just what Maxine needed.
The laptop was on the table, showing a map of Brittany.
She chewed thoughtfully as she clicked on Plouvannec-sur-Mer.
There it was, a little town on the coast, with a boulangerie, a small shop, a covered outdoor restaurant.
It looked lovely. There was a cluster of cottages opposite the beach, just set back from the road.
Clotilde’s Cottage must be one of those.
For a moment, Maxine wondered who Clotilde had been.
An artist’s muse? A poet? A resistance leader?
She examined photos of the vast open beach, the rolling waves, the rugged cliff tops.
There was a house on top of one of the cliffs, a beautiful old building that overlooked the sea.
Maxine imagined standing in the breeze there, looking down.
A little path wound along the cliffs; you might walk for miles, stunning views at each twist and turn across heather and gorse down to a private cove.
She saw herself rambling there, greeting other walkers.
‘Bonjour. ?a va?’
It would be an opportunity to polish her rusty French, to take a break from the city and enjoy a slower pace. She’d think about the past. About the future.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She opened her phone and copied the email address Gráinne had given her.
felicityabeaumont@…
There was a knock at the door. Maxine’s eyes went to the clock on the wall.
It was ten minutes to three. She wasn’t expecting anyone and it was too late for the post. She left the email and made her way to the door.
A courier stood outside in a blue shirt with a logo and a matching cap.
He held out an armful of red roses in a wooden container.
‘Maxine Sweet?’
‘That’s me.’ Maxine glanced at the roses suspiciously.
‘Delivery for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Maxine took the box and held the roses away from her.
‘Have a nice day.’ The man turned crisply and went back to the van parked by the kerb.
‘Thanks.’ Maxine didn’t sound too certain. She took the roses into the kitchen. The best-case scenario was that they were from someone at The Hopeful Group, wishing her a happy retirement. But she feared the worst.
She opened the little envelope and read the card.
Please give us another chance.
R. x
Maxine looked at the flowers with horror, as if they had shouted the message. It wasn’t their fault. She found a vase. They’d look nice on the table, but she wouldn’t reply to Russell. A thank-you text would be an encouragement. He’d be round to the flat before she could say ‘a dozen red roses’.
She plonked herself back at the table and thought about writing a simple email to Fliss Beaumont: was the cottage available? How much would it cost?
Her chin on her palm, Maxine decided Plouvannec-sur-Mer seemed ideal. Small enough to be friendly, but with good facilities. She’d go for walks, swim. She’d take her little Honda e on the ferry and drive through Brittany. It would be an adventure.
The email was written. Short, to the point, polite and yet friendly. She sent it and sat back. She wasn’t invested in going, not yet – if the place was booked up, she’d live. A cup of tea, then she’d research other activities to fill her time. Painting classes. Cookery. French conversation.
The teabag was steeping. Maxine gazed towards the laptop. An email had come in. From a distance, it looked as though Felicity Beaumont had replied straight away. Cup in hand, she read the message eagerly.
Hi Maxine, the cottage is free right now.
I’m currently in the UK selling my house.
It would be fabulous if you could stay at Clotilde’s.
It’s the most wonderful place – I’ve just finished renovations and you’ll be my first holiday renter.
You’ll simply adore Plouvannec. The place is gorgeous, the people too.
The email went on in the same vein – there was a stunning patisserie, a wonderful local chef, a friendly family who’d be only too happy to answer any questions.
The price was ridiculously low. There were several more photos of the cottage that made it look more appealing than ever. The email ended with the words,
Do get back to me if there’s any more information you need but if you like it, Clotilde’s can be yours for the whole of May.
Bonne chance,
Fliss.
Fliss sounded really nice, and the cottage was perfect. Without thinking about it, she replied straight away and booked to stay from 30 April to the end of May. A whole month of bliss!
Today was Monday, 27 April. She hoped she could organise a last-minute space on a ferry for herself and her little car.
The next two days were frantic. Maxine booked an overnight ferry and a two-berth cabin on Wednesday, the twenty-ninth.
She’d arrive at breakfast time and be fresh for the journey to the seaside.
It felt good to focus on herself; on a trip away where she wouldn’t have to think about anyone else.
By the time she came back, Russell would be used to her absence and Terry and Jo would be happy again. She crossed her fingers.
Lunch with Gráinne on Tuesday ended in a shopping spree for swimwear and she came home with far more clothes than she needed.
Gráinne’s enthusiasm was infectious and before Maxine knew what had happened she had bought a long sequined dress, a racy red swimsuit and had accepted a ten-pound bet that she would return with some French hunk in tow who looked exactly like Vincent Cassel.
Maxine wasn’t even sure who Vincent Cassel was.
On Wednesday morning, she rushed round the flat, washing up breakfast things, finishing packing.
It was a five-hour trip to Plymouth. If she allowed six hours for busy London traffic plus one for a break and had to be in the ferry port by six o’clock, she’d need to leave by eleven.
It was half nine. The Honda e was parked outside the flat and Maxine was doing a final check on passport, tickets, cards, money, phone. Her two cases were packed.
There was a loud ping from her phone. Yet another message from Russell. She’d had four texts a day since the flowers arrived. She’d relented and sent a single message.
I don’t want to meet. And please don’t send me flowers.
And that had encouraged him to persist. His latest message said,
Just dinner. And the chance to talk. Tonight? Please.
Tonight she’d be on a ferry on her way to a great adventure in Brittany. She was so glad she hadn’t told him she was going. She was toying with the idea of messaging him from the ferry port, to say that she’d be away for the whole of May.
He deserved to know that much, surely?
She poured a glass of water, sipping slowly, wondering if there was anything else she ought to take to Brittany.
She’d already stowed her driving licence in her wallet.
Her motor insurance certificate and V5 registration document were in a folder in the car with the obligatory warning triangle and reflective jacket.
She’d even tucked a little French dictionary into her suitcase. She’d thought of everything.
There was a sharp rap at the door, followed by a second.
Insistent. Male? Maxine’s stomach knotted – it could only be Russell.
But he had keys. She’d forgotten to ask for them back.
She listened to the silence, expecting to hear the sound of movement in the lock.
Instead, the knock came again. She hurried to the door and pulled it open.
‘Terry.’
Jo’s husband stood there in faded jeans and a light coat, a half-grin on his face. The breeze lifted his hair and rearranged it. It shone pale in the sunlight.
‘Max – can I come in?’
‘Well, OK.’ Maxine led him inside. Terry stared at the cases, the passport and tickets on the table.
‘Are you leaving?’
‘I’m going to Brittany.’
‘Oh?’ Terry looked surprised. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Plouvannec. On the Crozon peninsula. I’ve rented a cottage for a month. It’s called Clotilde’s. It sounds lovely.’
‘It does.’ Terry gazed towards the kettle. ‘I don’t suppose that you have time for a coffee?’
‘Of course – I’m so sorry – where are my manners?’ Maxine rushed towards the sink. ‘It’ll have to be a quick one though – I have to leave soon.’
‘I wondered why you’d parked your car outside.’ Terry took a nervous breath. ‘I came round to tell you that Jo and I have split up.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Maxine turned from spooning coffee in mugs. ‘I thought you’d be able to sort things out.’
‘No, not this time.’
‘But you have grown-up children. You’ve been together for ages.’
‘It’s not the first time she’s done this. There were two others.’ Terry took the cup Maxine gave him and settled himself at the table. ‘Once, when the kids were much younger, once when they were both at uni. Two different men, neither of them the sort of person I’d be flattered to be replaced by.’
‘I suspected as much about the second one from something Jo said years ago. But why does she do it?’
Terry sighed. ‘She wants the attention. I’ve forgiven her twice. I can’t do it again.’
Maxine sat opposite Terry and said again, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘She’s still infatuated with Russ. With his aftershave and suave manners. And in comparison, I’m a shambling academic who writes papers and reads books.’
‘I think that trumps aftershave every time.’
‘Thanks, Max.’ Terry looked grateful. ‘I was thinking of retiring. I’ve limited myself to just a couple of PhD students nowadays, but I’ll need to rethink now I need to move out.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘This is London. Rents are high. Property’s expensive. Even if we sell the house, we’ll struggle to buy two flats.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘I came round to tell you. I needed you to hear it from me. Neither Jo nor I want to lose your friendship, but I know women naturally gravitate to each other when there’s a rift. But you’ve been so supportive.’
‘Russell’s behaved badly.’
‘Jo led him on. She made the first move. I know you discovered them in flagrante delicto.’
Maxine laughed at the expression. ‘She was in my kimono.’ The image was still with her. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Terry – that’s just too much information.’
‘No, she told me that too – at least she’s been honest,’ Terry said. ‘How will you start again – you know, after Russ?’
‘It’s helped me realise that I didn’t love him. It’s different for you.’
‘It is. I’ll probably always love Jo. But when I asked her if she’d go back to Russ if he asked her, she admitted she would. I’m not up for being second best.’ Terry pressed his lips together. ‘I’m sorry, Max.’
‘Not at all.’
Terry sipped coffee. ‘It’s been nice to share all this with someone. With you.’
Maxine gazed at the clock. ‘I have to go soon – I have to drive to Plymouth.’
‘Of course. Make sure you have a lovely holiday—’
Maxine froze. An idea had come to her. ‘Terry – why don’t you move in here?’
Terry stared, a moment of disbelief. ‘What?’
‘While I’m away. Move in. The spare room’s free. The flat’s empty. Stay for a month. Give yourself breathing space – let the dust settle.’
‘I suppose I could.’ Terry allowed himself a smile. ‘It would be a relief, to be honest. I’m in the guest room at home and it’s awkward.’
‘Then stay here. I have a spare set of keys – and it’d be good to have someone looking after the flat while I’m away.’ Maxine was on her feet, searching through a dresser drawer. She held up two keys on a ring. ‘Here – borrow these, move in. When I’m back, who knows how the land will lie?’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘I am.’ Maxine gave him the keys. ‘Message me once in a while. Let me know everything’s OK.’
‘Thanks.’ Terry met her eyes. Behind the glasses, tears gleamed.
‘Bring books – make yourself at home,’ Maxine said.
‘I’d like that,’ Terry said and Maxine thought that he seemed happier than he had in ages.
‘I’ve been looking back at one of the classics I read for A level – and I want to read it again, just to remember.
I was a scruffy kid from a council estate who got into Cambridge.
I thought I’d conquered the world.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘I was never good enough for Jo.’
‘That’s not true.’ Maxine met his eyes, her own fierce. ‘You and I both know how hard we worked to get where we are. Let’s celebrate our journey. We don’t have to feel defined by where we came from.’
‘You’re right,’ Terry said. ‘I suppose it’s because Jo and Russell… you know… she likes the suave look.’
‘I always found him a bit smug, to tell the truth.’ Maxine finished her drink. ‘Terry – take the keys and stay. And I’ll write down my address in Brittany. Send me anything that looks important or urgent.’
‘OK.’
‘And, please, don’t tell Russell where I am.’
‘OK.’ Terry didn’t look confident.
‘Right, I really have to get going. I’ve got a ferry to catch, a holiday to enjoy. This is our chance to move forward, both of us. And once I get on that boat, I won’t give Russell another thought.’