Chapter 10
A wine bottle and a bottle of crémant were empty on the table. Maxine had tried to be moderate – two glasses would have been more than enough. But Béa had repeatedly topped up the wine, talking nineteen to the dozen, and her English had become better with every glass.
‘The thing is – and I agree with Fliss – a partner’s good for the bedroom.’ Béa burst out laughing. ‘But a woman’s like a sister – your best friend in the world. She understands you.’
‘I can’t wait to meet Fliss,’ Maxine reached for a piece of cheese.
‘She’ll be back soon. I’ve heard she must come here to say goodbye to a friend.’
‘Goodbye?’
‘A friend who lives in Plouvannec has died. Maurice Barron. We all liked him.’ Béa drank the dregs from her glass and reached for the crémant, pouring the last drizzle. ‘So you tell this Russell you don’t want to see him again?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Because he sleeps with your friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think she’s not a good friend, this Jo. How old is she?’
‘She’s sixty.’
‘Ah.’
‘What do you mean, ah?’
‘La ménopause.’ Béa pulled a face. ‘I know – I’m forty-eight.
I suffer badly. It has made me a little bit insane.
But this Joanna – her hormones are still bad, and Russell’s a weak, stupid merde so he sleeps with her.
Then she realises what she has done and you lose both a friend and a lover – the lover’s not important. You’ll find more.’
‘I don’t want more.’ Maxine couldn’t help but laugh. Béa had hit the nail on the head.
‘Try a French man.’ Béa waved an arm as if she had just thought of an idea. ‘There are single men in Plouvannec.’
‘What about Louis?’ Maxine asked, pressing her lips together. ‘Don’t you love him?’
‘Louis is a merde. He walks round as if he’s God’s gift – Fliss tells me these words – but he makes me stay indoors and – oh, yes, I still love him, Maxine.’ She flung an arm across the table, knocking over an empty bottle. ‘Can we open another?’
‘You’ve drunk quite a lot, Béa – you won’t be able to drive.’
Béa lifted her phone. ‘Louis can come here.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Oh, it’s late – he’ll want dinner. He can’t use the tin opener or work the four micro-onde.’
‘The microwave?’
‘Forget Louis – we get you a nice lover.’ Béa pushed a hand carelessly through her hair. ‘What do you like?’
‘Like?’
‘Tall? Muscles? A man who’s good in the bed?’
Maxine thought of Andy. ‘Good conversation. A good heart.’
‘Oh no, no.’ Béa shook her head. ‘This man does not exist.’
‘He did once.’
‘Tell me.’ Béa leaned forward and almost fell off her chair. She collapsed into giggles. ‘The last time I came here Fliss and I drank brandy. She’s like you, Fliss. Independent. Cool.’
Maxine wanted to avoid talking about Andy. Instead she said, ‘Someone came here last night. He’d had too much to drink. He stayed over.’
‘A man stayed here overnight?’ Bea hooted. ‘Oh, you’re a bad lady.’
‘He slept on the couch,’ Maxine said. ‘He was a friend of Fliss’s. J-F Kastell.’
‘Who?’ Béa sat back in her seat and inhaled sharply. ‘J-F? Oh no, no.’
‘He seemed OK,’ Maxine began.
‘He’s not good for you.’
‘Fliss said he was all right.’
‘Fliss can control him. No, Maxine. You’ll feel sorry for him and then – boum!’
‘Boum?’
‘You’ll fall into his bed.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Maxine said. ‘I’m too wise.’
‘Pay attention.’ Béa waved a finger. ‘He’s not good for any woman. He’s très déprimé.’
‘Depressed? Well, I probably won’t see him again.’ Maxine wondered if she should offer to make Béa some more food. She’d drunk far more than she had eaten.
‘But men like J-F are a danger. We cannot live with them and we cannot live without them.’ Béa was off on another tirade. ‘That’s why Fliss lets me come here, and now you’re my friend too, Maxine. You’re like Fliss. English women are cool.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Oh, I must introduce you to some nice people in Plouvannec. You’ll like Joel – he’s chef at Le Shack. And Shirl – she’s English too. And Bérnard is intelligent – but he’s too serious. Maybe we can go shopping and I can show you the sights.’
‘That would be nice,’ Maxine began. There was a sudden single knock on the front door. ‘I wonder who that can be?’
She was about to answer, when she heard the door open and a man walked into the kitchen.
He was slim with a thatch of brown hair, tight jeans, muscled arms, and a confidence to his stride.
He nodded briefly towards Maxine. ‘La porte était ouverte… The door was open and…’ Then he turned to speak to Béa.
His voice was soothing, full of concern.
Maxine assumed this was Louis, Béa’s husband, and he had come to take his tipsy wife home.
Béa stood up and began to argue. Maxine couldn’t understand what was being said, but it appeared that Louis was trying to persuade her to leave. He wrapped his arms around her and Béa relaxed.
Louis gave Maxine a look of apology. ‘Je vais la ramener chez nous.’
‘He wants me to sit quietly in our house.’ Béa turned wildly. ‘But I can stay here with Max as long as I want.’
Louis did not speak much English. ‘I’m sorry – my wife is difficile…’
‘I’m not difficult.’ Béa wriggled free. ‘Louis, drive me home. I’ll go to bed to sleep. He can make his own dinner tonight, Maxine.’
Louis looked confused as Béa stepped away, folding her arms determinedly.
‘I’ll see you soon, Maxine. I enjoyed drinking and eating with you. Women are like sisters. Goodnight.’
‘Yes, goodnight – bonne nuit,’ Maxine said, but Béa was already striding towards the door with Louis following. Outside, the discussion began again, Béa talking loudly, Louis trying to calm her.
‘Whatever was that about?’ Maxine smiled. It had been a busy day. But it had been fascinating.
Since she’d arrived at Plouvannec, she had met Béa and J-F. Both warm and kind-hearted, both troubled. And both drank too much.
Both were friends of Fliss.
She wondered what this said about Fliss – her friends were strong people with the world’s problems on their shoulders, so perhaps she was the same. She wondered if Fliss had any normal friends, but then – what was normal?
Besides, she couldn’t help but like Béa. And J-F.
Maxine closed the door and began to tidy the dishes away. Today had certainly been interesting. Tomorrow she’d find something else to do.
She had a holiday to enjoy.
Saturday morning brought in a flurry of texts from Russell, and as Maxine read them in bed, she felt herself come down to earth with a bang.
I made a mistake – I’m so sorry Max my love.
and
I miss you so badly – I can’t bear it any longer.
and
I’ll make it up to you – please please give me another chance.
and
Whereabouts are you in France? I’ll come over right away.
Maxine wasn’t sure whether to reply or to ignore him.
She chose the second option, showered, dressed and set out to the boulangerie in Plouvannec.
She recalled the young woman behind the counter had spoken to her in English.
She was sure she wasn’t French and her intention was to go in and find out.
There was a long queue in the boulangerie and, by the time Maxine reached the front, there was only one croissant left.
The young English assistant behind the counter was not there.
There was a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face and a shy manner who spoke French, and Maxine settled for a baguette and a croissant.
After breakfast, she drove to Chapellin, parking by a wide river that ran through the town centre beneath wide stone arched bridges, flanked by grassy banks.
Maxine stopped to buy vegetables, fruit and some artisane bread that apparently contained beetroot.
She loved discovering that she could make herself understood in French.
She wandered into a newsagent’s, glancing at postcards, examining souvenirs and making a mental note of what she might take home for friends. There was an Asian restaurant, a health food shop, a fashion shop called Le Phare with some very chic dresses in the window.
The roads were busy, cars, lorries and a few cyclists in Lycra.
Maxine followed the river, stopping to take photos of the bridges.
She walked away from the town, past pretty three-storey houses painted cream, pink, yellow, loving the symmetry of the reflections of houses and trees in the water.
Then she saw a sign that read Kastell Canoe-Kayak.
Without stopping to think, she found her feet taking her down the path towards an outbuilding, where there was a parked Renault Kangoo, a cluster of orange and yellow canoes moored at the edge of the water.
There was no one around. She glanced downstream.
Two canoes were gliding towards her, the rowers dipping paddles easily into the water, making perfect ripples, but J-F Kastell was nowhere to be seen.
She asked herself why she had come. Of course, it might be nice to try kayaking while she was on holiday; she imagined serenely gliding down the river in a flimsy boat, listening to the slap and dip of a paddle.
But that was not why she’d come, to try canoeing – who was she kidding?
The truth was, she needed company. Moreover, she’d enjoyed J-F’s company the night before last more than she’d realised.
She was actively seeking him out.
But what had Béa said about him? That he wasn’t good for any woman? Maxine certainly didn’t need any more man trouble in her life.
She turned around and walked back to where she had parked the car.
In her pocket, her phone buzzed. There were several unanswered messages from friends, but this one was from Russell.
Please answer me, Max. I need you.
She had no intention of replying. Hurrying now, she reached the Honda e in minutes and clambered in. Béa had said she was cool. Maxine wasn’t feeling very cool right now. She had no idea what to do with the rest of her day.
A coffee shop beckoned… she was desperate for caffeine.