Chapter 12
‘I think I can do better than bread and cheese.’ J-F handed Maxine tea, and she breathed in the comforting smell. ‘Drink – then come with me.’
‘Where?’
‘To lunch?’
‘Where?’ Maxine asked again. She’d pulled on jeans and a casual top – she was hardly dressed for somewhere special.
‘It’s a surprise. I want to show you the scenery.’
‘Where?’ Maxine was repeating herself, so she said, ‘Why?’
‘Why not? The other night you’re very kind to me – you let me sleep on the couch just like Fliss does.’
‘Fliss told me you were perfectly safe.’
‘In some things – in others, not.’ J-F smiled enigmatically.
‘Is Fliss back from England?’ she asked.
‘Soon, I think. She’ll stay with friends. But you’ll like Fliss. I think everyone’s a little bit in love with her. She’s very vivace – full of fun. She enjoys everything to the limit.’
Maxine wondered if J-F thought she was vivacious too, or if she came across as dull. She put the chamomile tea down. ‘Well – tell me about this surprise outing you have planned for me.’
‘A special lunch,’ J-F said, his eyes shining. ‘Since you can’t offer me any here, I’ll take you out.’
‘Oh?’ Maxine had to admit she felt hungry. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To a place on the headland, near Keroulien-sur-Mer, right on the coast.’ J-F held out a hand and she took it reluctantly. ‘Come – we’ll be just in time if we leave now.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I brought extra clothes for you.’
‘Extra clothes?’ Maxine was puzzled, then, as they reached the door, she realised why she’d need them. ‘Are we going on that?’
‘Why not?’ J-F said proudly. They both stared at his motorbike, a Harley-Davidson, gleaming blue and silver.
Maxine hesitated. ‘I’ve never been on a motorbike.’
J-F handed her a leather jacket and a red helmet. ‘These will fit.’
Maxine tried on the jacket – it was snug and comfortable. The helmet was just her size too. Perhaps J-F had several jackets at home in all different sizes, all from a string of ex-girlfriends.
She said, ‘What do I do?’
‘You climb on the bike and put your arms around me.’ J-F pulled on his helmet. ‘I won’t go too fast.’
Maxine did as she was told, pushing a leg over the motorcycle, sitting gingerly on the saddle, wondering where to put her hands.
Then suddenly the Harley came to life, a loud, deep, throaty repetitive sound, not unlike potato-potato-potato, and the bike began to vibrate.
They took off at a lurch; her hands instinctively clutched J-F’s waist as the bike accelerated, the ocean to the left, up the hill towards Plouvannec.
She couldn’t help smiling.
At first the Harley felt too fast. Strands of hair whipped from beneath Maxine’s helmet and she wondered if she’d secured it tightly enough. The breeze blew fiercely in her face as they rocketed along the open road that led to the coast.
But after a while, Maxine became accustomed to the chug of the engine and she leaned easily into the corners.
She called out, ‘This is great,’ but the wind took her words away and J-F didn’t seem to hear.
The bike made a sharp turn onto a wide road that dissected the peninsula.
To the left, the sea shone like a magic silver bowl, and Maxine felt something lift in her heart.
It amazed her how beautiful scenery had the ability to move something in your soul, to make you feel alive and yet at the same time you felt a tiny part of a big world.
She rested her head against J-F’s broad back. She felt safe there; he was solid, immovable; he rode confidently. From this position, she saw the world speed by, a green blur of trees and hedges, a rocky descent to the sea.
They dropped down to the coast road that skirted the west side of the peninsula, and she looked towards a desolate beach beyond a stone wall where a few gulls and guillemots swooped.
She craned her neck to watch them sweep over the vast expanse of beach and heard J-F call, ‘There are puffins around here. You will see falcons too, and kittiwakes.’
Maxine had no idea what a kittiwake was, but she would soon find out, she supposed. There was something magical about being on the Harley, travelling the wild rugged coastline, feeling the engine chugging powerfully beneath her as if it had a life of its own.
They followed the coastal road into Keroulien-sur-Mer; the town sign proclaimed it as a Cité d’Artistes, although it looked like a pretty fishing town with its pink, cream and yellow houses.
J-F took the bike up a steep path where the road became rougher, climbing slowly until they reached a sign that said Pointe de Pen Glas.
The Harley slowed to a chug outside a small café on the headland, looking down onto the beach below. Maxine realised that her legs had started to ache, due to the bike’s constant vibrations.
J-F was smiling as he climbed off. ‘Did you enjoy the ride?’
‘I did.’ Maxine took off her helmet and pushed a hand through her hair. ‘It’s beautiful up here.’
‘And much better on the Harley – you’re in the open air, breathing in the salt of the sea.’
Maxine couldn’t disagree. ‘It’s wonderful.’
‘Come,’ J-F said. ‘Let’s get some food.’
They sat outside at a wooden table and ate moules in white wine with crusty bread.
The café was clearly popular as there were many other people dining there; couples, families, enjoying the view of the cliffs and the sea crashing against the rocks below.
The owner of Café Pointe de Pen Glas was a young woman who gave Maxine a glass of light beer and told her it was the best in Brittany.
Music played gently through loudspeakers, a husky male voice, and J-F explained that Jacob Gurevitsch was a Danish guitar player who was popular in France.
As they drank coffee, Maxine thought she could linger for the whole afternoon. J-F asked if she was enjoying her meal, if their table was sheltered enough from the sea breeze. She realised with a jolt that Russell had never been attentive.
J-F pushed his cup away and said, ‘I think we could climb down the path to the beach and come back along the cliffs. The view is incredible.’
‘I’d like that,’ Maxine said.
‘We can leave the jackets and helmets with the bike – they’ll be safe.’
J-F led the way towards the path. The route was stony, surrounded by pretty wild flowers and scrubby grass.
Maxine picked her way carefully, glad that she had worn trainers.
J-F walked surefootedly in front. The track twisted and turned, then became steep, eventually becoming flatter and sandy, before passing through a short opening onto the beach.
Maxine stood, feeling the breeze rearrange her hair, taking the view in. The sand stretched for miles, the ocean sparkling in the sunlight, the deep blue of a lover’s eyes. Andy’s.
She quickly pushed the thought away.
There were a few surfers riding the rolling breakers; some distance away, on a concrete path, a few old camper vans had been parked. Maxine assumed the surf community partied by night and enjoyed catching the waves by day. It would be an idyllic way to spend the summer.
J-F was walking barefoot now, holding his trainers. Maxine did the same, enjoying the cool spongy dampness of the sand beneath her feet. They felt drawn down to the water – the tide seemed to pull them towards it. The wind ruffled J-F’s hair and he said, ‘I feel at peace here.’
‘Do you come here a lot?’ Maxine recalled the café owner had seemed to know J-F.
‘When I can.’
‘On the Harley?’
‘It’s my favourite way to travel. When I’m riding, I think about my life and when I’m on the beach, the wind blows my cares away.’
Maxine wondered if he was joking; he had a twinkle in his eye. She felt she had to ask. ‘Do you have a lot of cares, J-F?’
‘I can’t complain, I suppose.’ He paused, thinking. ‘I’m sixty years old but I’m fit and well. I have my canoeing business, I have family, a brother, a mother, both in good health, and nice friends. I count my blessings.’
Maxine wondered how to ask. ‘But you have no one special in your life?’
‘Once. Not now.’ J-F stared at his bare feet as he walked along. ‘I lost her. Since then, it hasn’t been easy.’
Maxine waited for J-F to tell her more, but he was busy rolling up his jeans to his knees. She said, ‘Your English is very good.’
‘So’s your French. For a while, when I was much younger, I lived in England. In Devon, a place called Salcombe. I worked with the canoes there for two years, before I came back here to buy the business in Chapellin.’ He indicated the rushing tide. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘In?’
‘To the sea. Paddling – like little children. It’ll be cold…’
Maxine had just finished rolling up her jeans when J-F grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the tide.
The water seemed to bite her ankles – it was freezing.
She squealed and J-F laughed, heaving her forward so that they both jumped over the white breaking waves, splashing, their jeans soaked.
They ran backwards for safety as the waves chased them and suddenly they were both yelling and shouting.
J-F had somehow managed to make his hair damp, his T-shirt too beneath the jacket.
‘Shall we walk at the water’s edge a little more? ’
They were back on sand, their legs wet, in step with each other when J-F said, ‘So you’re here for one month?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I’ll go back to London, get on with my life.’
‘What will that be like?’
‘It’ll be whatever I want it to be.’
‘Because you’re alone?’
Maxine heard herself sigh. ‘I’m not afraid of being by myself.’
‘I know it – you’re here on holiday. But in London you have many friends?’
‘Yes. Now I’m retired I’ll keep myself busy.’
‘And will you fall in love again – or has this Russell made you hate us all?’ J-F gave a small laugh.
‘All men aren’t like Russell,’ Maxine said. ‘I’m not looking for anything romantic though. I like things as they are.’
‘Being in love is very nice.’ J-F scuffed his toes in the sand. ‘Being without love isn’t so good. Sometimes I realise what I’ve lost and then I drink too much wine. Fliss has been kind.’
Maxine couldn’t help her next question. ‘Are you in love with her?’
‘With Fliss?’ J-F met her eyes. ‘Fliss is a good friend – she believes friends are more important than lovers, and perhaps she’s right.’
‘Perhaps she is,’ Maxine agreed. Fliss sounded marvellous – she couldn’t wait to meet her.
‘So…’ J-F reached for her hand. ‘We can be friends? No complications – but while you’re here, we can see each other?’
Maxine felt the light touch of his fingers against hers and she smiled. It was a lovely idea.
‘As friends. Yes – why not?’