Chapter 8
8
I drove on at a sedate pace. I was beginning to recognise things from my previous visits. A deserted barn at the side of the road, the doors hanging open, shreds of blue paint clinging to the hinges. Then a small town with a cute little church and a few shops. A woman in a floral apron was sweeping the pavement outside one of them. A man was walking past her, a newspaper under one arm and two French sticks wrapped in paper under the other. It was so classically French that it made me smile again.
There had been a café somewhere around here, I remembered, which had sold wonderful patisserie from what looked like the owner’s front room. My mouth watered at the thought of mille-feuilles and strawberry tartlets. Feather light éclairs filled with custard cream, little tartes tatins, crispy and rich with buttery apples. Actually, at that moment the thought of them made me feel a bit nauseous, perhaps that was the adrenalin too. I’d never had that sort of reaction to cake before. I must have been rattled.
I turned off into an even smaller lane, which led to Isabel’s house. There was an old sign and a large wooden arrow, propped against the hedge:
Ferme de Pommes de Terre
Potato Farm. She and Felix had built up a comfortable, slightly rackety life between them, Isabel running their g?tes and managing a barn filled with odds and ends of furniture and random knick-knacks which the French call brocante, Felix with his bookshop.
I reached the rutted driveway where the ironwork gates stood permanently rusted open, and I was there at last, with no further mishap. I let out a long sigh of relief.
Before the car had even stopped, Isabel’s two dogs came cannoning out of the house, yodelling their welcome and circling the car as though they were herding me. Hoping they were sensible enough to avoid getting run over, I stopped the car and turned the engine off. Then I waited a few moments for Isabel to come out of the kitchen door and shoo them away.
‘Marcel! Antoine! Arrêter maintenant! Stop it!’ she shouted. The dogs slunk away, and she shouted after them ‘ Dans ton lit . In your bed!’
‘Does that apply to me too?’ I called across as I opened the car door, ‘I wouldn’t mind.’
Isabel laughed and came over to hug me. She looked just the same as she ever had. Her curly brown hair a bit flecked with grey now, still trim and energetic, her fashion sense obviously as eclectic as it ever had been too. A pair of reading glasses were hanging around her neck on a bright red chain, and I remembered how she had always been losing them when she was younger but refused to use such a thing because she thought it was an ‘old lady’ thing to do. At sixty-one she had evidently got over that.
‘You’re here at last!’ she said. She leaned back and looked at me. ‘What on earth have you been doing? You look terrible!’
‘Well, thanks for that, dear sister, you always were very free with the compliments,’ I said. ‘You don’t look so hot yourself.’
She laughed and pushed her curls out of her eyes. Actually, she looked very happy, completely at ease with herself.
‘You look very stressed. Is this a result of the cosy family Christmas you’ve enjoyed?’
‘That and nearly having an accident on the way here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Really? Are you all right? What happened?’
‘I forgot about driving à droit . I nearly collided with a tractor, and then I had a very embarrassing encounter with a farmer. And then I nearly drove into the ditch, and I slammed my coat in the car door and broke my glasses. Apart from that…’
‘You twit,’ Isabel said, putting an arm around my shoulders. ‘Come on, leave your bags for now, you need some coffee.’
The dogs had not retreated obediently to their beds but had slunk out of the kitchen again and were circling us, tongues lolling.
‘Take no notice of them,’ Isabel said, ‘they’ll soon start ignoring you.’
I paused at the open kitchen door, remembering the last time I was there, when I had still been getting used to doing so many things on my own.
The first trip without Stephen, the first birthday, the first summer, the first Christmas. It felt very different this time, I supposed that the passing of the years had indeed made a difference. Looking back, the decades we had shared together felt as though they had been a long dream, or someone else’s life.
Standing there while Isabel bustled about, sweeping piles of newspaper off the table and looking without success for somewhere to dump them, putting dirty plates and mugs into the sink and then finding two clean ones, I felt quite sad and philosophical for a moment and then I was nearly knocked flying as one of the dogs leapt up to punch me in the back with its front paws.
‘Antoine! Non! ’ Isabel shouted, and the dog scurried off under the table where it had spotted something appealing. The other dog followed and there was a brief growling tussle before both of them scooted outside to have a further argument over a bone.
Isabel pulled me inside and closed the lower half of the stable door with a sigh of relief.
‘Worse than children,’ she said, ‘now how about that coffee?’
The kitchen was just as I remembered, a large room with a low, beamed ceiling. There were small windows along one side and the walls been painted a dull russet colour which made it seem smaller than it was. It was also filled with an assortment of mismatched chairs, the huge table I remembered, a painted wooden dresser filled with an assortment of mugs, plates, bols , wicker baskets filled with paperwork and a big stone pot containing pens and pencils. There were iron and copper cooking pans hanging from hooks on the walls and rather oddly a branched candelabra in the middle of the ceiling that someone had raised out of the way with a length of orange baler twine and a huge nail. Felix and the boys were all over six feet tall, and presumably at some point one – or all – of them had grown tired of bumping into it.
‘Gosh, this place is a mess,’ Isabel said, moving around, picking things up and putting them down again, ‘I meant to have a bit of a tidy up before you got here but then – well, I didn’t. Now take your coat off, sit down and tell me all your news.’
I did as I was told, brushing ineffectively at the muddy paw marks on the back of my coat and Isabel switched the kettle on, found a cafetière and spooned some coffee into it.
‘Tell me about this accident,’ she said, ‘was anyone hurt?’
I shook my head. ‘No, and it was all my fault. I was very lucky considering I could have been flattened by a tractor. But then some man in a red truck had to stop because I was blocking the road, and he made me feel like a complete fool.’
Isabel looked up, interested. ‘Red truck? Was he tall, about our age and rather attractive?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said.
Isabel passed me a large mug of proper coffee and I paused for a moment to savour the wonderful aroma. And enjoy the fact that someone else had made it for me.
‘Baseball cap?’
‘Yes. And he laughed at me, which was very unfair because I think I was in a state of shock.’
Isabel nodded. ‘That sounds like the professor.’
‘Professor?’
‘When he first came here someone said he looked like Harrison Ford, you know the archaeology professor in Indiana Jones, and the nickname stuck.’
I thought about it. Yes. I suppose there was a certain resemblance.
‘Jean-Luc Fournier. He’s retired, we started off calling him the professor but in fact I think he used to be a doctor. In Paris. He bought a terrible old cottage from us on the other side of the river some years ago. It’s a nice spot but we weren’t using it and heaven knows we needed the money. It would have cost us too much to restore and no one around here seemed to want it. He’s been renovating it for nearly three years. He’s a nice chap but not what you would call sociable. That’s Parisians for you. They are different.’
‘Never mind him, tell me about your lot. How is Felix?’
‘Back at work in the bookshop, although I think he reads the books more than he sells them. You must go and see the improvements he’s made since you were last here. There’s going to be a whole new section of books in English for the ex-pats. It’ll be very popular. Pierre and Sylveste are still doing the landscaping and gardening business. They get a lot of work with the ex-pats too. Only recently they were helping a pair of sisters clear out their garden and sort out a disused swimming pool. They’re always busy.’ Isabel jumped up and went into the cavernous pantry, returning with a battered tin in her hands. ‘I’ve just remembered, I made a cake in your honour. It’s a bit lopsided but still edible. Now, tell me about Christmas. Was it very awful? You sounded so stressed out whenever I rang you.’
I filled her in on the highlights and she was appropriately horrified, shocked, sympathetic, and amused. Telling her all about the endless squabbles, the noise and muddle somehow made me feel better about the whole thing. Saying it out loud made it almost sound funny rather than the exasperating trial it had seemed at the time.
I finished my coffee and Isabel topped it up again, and then she cut me a chunk of cake, which I think was apricot and honey. It looked as though it had been dropped on the floor, and possibly it had, but it was delicious.
‘And was Vanessa still as exhausted and limp as ever? How she will cope in New York is anyone’s guess.’
‘She did seem to need a lot of little naps,’ I said, ‘and she would spend hours in her bedroom doing her hair. Although she did always look lovely. You can tell John adores her, which is very sweet.’
‘And Sara? Still angry? Still drinking too much? I can understand why she wanted some space away from Martin.’
‘Marty, he’s called Marty now,’ I said with a grin.
‘Well, we know what that rhymes with,’ Isabel said, with a lift of one eyebrow.
‘Stop it, they may make up, despite everything. I can’t say anything too inflammatory just yet, in case they do, and after all he is the twins’ father. I need to tread a fine line between being supportive and sympathetic, and not going off on one about his selfishness and the way he made just about every woman he met feel slightly uncomfortable.’
‘That awful back stroking,’ Isabel agreed.
‘Stop it!’
‘So what would you like to do, now you’re here?’
I gave a sigh of contentment. ‘Nothing in particular. You said I could stay in one of the g?tes ? Shall I get my bags in and get settled?’
‘Ah, well there’s a slight problem there. Pierre and Sylveste have been doing some renovations over the winter, and as usual they got side-tracked and I ran out of money, so they haven’t finished yet. I thought you could stay here in the house for a few days. Just until they sort everything out, a few minor tweaks.’
‘Okay. What are they doing?’
‘There’s a leak in the roof of one, and the other has no running water at the moment. They are like their father, really good at getting on with a job, but not so good at finishing it off before they start something else. And they have been a bit preoccupied getting the hard standing ready for the shepherd’s hut, but we have had so much rain recently they couldn’t pour the concrete. It’s due to arrive in about two weeks. I can’t wait to see it. Perhaps you could stay in there and do a sort of test run before the paying guests arrive in March. At least I think it’s March. It might be April.’
‘That sounds fun. So, when exactly do bookings start?’
Isabel looked vague. ‘I don’t know. I think it’s all written down somewhere, or Felix might have updated the spreadsheet on the computer. He was messing about with it over Christmas and I’m not sure he got it finished. Perhaps?—’
Isabel went over to the dresser and pulled out a sheaf of papers from one of the drawers. A few fell on the floor and immediately one of the dogs raced over, claws clattering on the flagstone floor, to snatch them. There followed a brief tussle, and eventually Isabel retrieved the paper, by then a bit torn, and damp around the edges.
‘Yes, here we are. First bookings are the weekend of March 6 or is that 16? It’s a bit smudged.’
I shook my head. Yes, it had always been like this when we were growing up. While I had been the methodical, tidy one, Isabel had always been the exact opposite. Her room was permanently a shambles, homework was never done on time, it was a miracle she had managed to pass any exams at all. I remembered the parents’ evenings when teachers had all said much the same thing.
‘Mrs Cavendish, Joy is a pleasure to have in any class, but Isabel is very different.’
And they didn’t mean it in a good way.
‘I hope you are going to pitch in and help,’ she said, ‘you were always better at making a house look pretty than I was. To me all a bathroom needs is clean towels, a new loo roll, and some handwash, you were the one who did all the fussy stuff with flowers and roller blinds and stencils.’
‘I’d be happy to help,’ I said, ‘if I’m here long enough.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘You’re not supposed to ask guests that the moment they arrive,’ I said laughing, ‘give it a couple of days!’
At that moment, home felt a long way away. Here, in my sister’s chaotic house, I was already beginning to relax. I felt suddenly hopeful that here I could find a new strength, sort out a reason to be optimistic about the future. To finally have the time and space to decide what to do.
‘So how was your Christmas?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know, quiet. We had the Christmas Eve meal and then we tottered off down the road to Midnight Mass. And when we got back we had a few drinks with the neighbours. And Pierre and Sylveste and their girlfriends. And the local headmaster and his wife, and a couple of their friends who were staying with them, and Eugénie of course, we couldn’t leave her out. I think she watches this house with binoculars, and if she sees any signs of a gathering or visitors she’s up here like a shot.’
‘How old is she now?’
‘Eugénie? Eighty-four, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. Felix says his mother is a witch, and she’s done some immortality ritual. She still lives alone in the cottage at the end of the driveway. She will have spotted you arriving, so brace yourself, I expect her to turn up at any moment.’
‘That sounds a bit worrying,’ I murmured.
I remembered Isabel’s mother-in-law from my previous visits. She was quite a character, always immaculately dressed, with sharp eyes that missed nothing and a tongue to match. If she had been my mother-in-law, I don’t think I would ever have had a moment’s peace, but as I remembered, Isabel dealt extremely well with her.
‘And then on Christmas Day, we had a big meal, but I expect it was pretty much the same as yours. Smoked salmon to start with, some of our friends do their own, it’s absolutely delicious. Roast turkey, with chestnuts, then the famous b?che de no?l , we have to have that, or Pierre has a sulk. It’s supposed to celebrate the end of winter, but somehow, I doubt it’s over. And then that evening some of the neighbours came around for a drink and some nibbles, and we ended up playing charades, and I had a terrible hangover the next day because Bertrand from the village brought some chouchen – it’s a sort of apple mead, and I really shouldn’t drink it. And then on Boxing Day, we just hung around, and I did a big buffet and nothing special really happened, but a lot of people dropped in. It was great fun. The glass recycling bin wouldn’t close it was so full. I expect you did much the same.’
I gave an ironic laugh. ‘It doesn’t sound very quiet to me.’
‘No, it wasn’t, but at least the accordion didn’t come out this year, I’d hidden it in the barn.’
Actually, it sounded enormous fun to me, the sort of jolly, family time I had been hoping for over Christmas. It made me sad to think that we had missed out on such an opportunity, and the days had instead been punctuated by disagreements and sulking.
‘Have you had snow yet?’
‘Rain,’ I said, ‘plenty of rain.’
‘Same here. It’s a shame, isn’t it? I’m absolutely positive that we had snow every Christmas day when we were kids.’
Isabel stopped trying to clear up the kitchen table and stood with her hands on her hips, thinking.
‘Right, that’s better. Now then let’s take your bags upstairs and then we can think about what to do for dinner. There’s so much food in this house, and yet there never seems to be anything to eat. Or at least that’s what Sylveste tells me. And I keep telling him he doesn’t live here any more, but it makes no difference.’
Ten minutes later there was a perfunctory rap on the kitchen door frame.
‘ Bonjour , c’est moi.’
Isabel had been correct in her assumption, and her mother-in-law, Eugénie, was there, wrapped in a beautiful red coat, clutching a Hermès handbag in one hand and a pot of jam in the other. She didn’t seem to have aged a day since I last met her.
The dogs, who had been frisking around outside obviously recognised a worthy opponent and sat down at her feet.
Eugénie jerked her chin at them.
‘ S’en aller ,’ she said. Go away, and they did. I would have to remember that for next time they tried to bowl me over.
‘Ah,’ she said, sounding surprised to see me although I was sure she wasn’t, ‘Joy.’
We exchanged the obligatory cheek kisses, and she took her coat off and leaned back to look at me.
‘You are ill,’ she said, her voice gravelly with probably a lifetime of Gauloise cigarettes, ‘you look terrible. Your skin is gris … grey. Perhaps you need some of my Clarins. I have a spare pot of their restorative night cream. I will bring it for you on my next visit. If the Lord spares me. Now sit down before you fall down.’
I did as I was told, feeling as though I was the eighty-four-year-old and not her, and to be fair she didn’t look her age. She had that enviable look of some French women, perfect posture, a trim figure, a slick of scarlet lipstick and a certain sparkle in her eyes. Dressed in navy slacks, a striped Breton sweater and an artfully tied silk scarf around her throat, she made me feel as ungainly as an unmade bed. And she was probably right, I did look awful. Bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, travelling and worry, and no one would have said I looked the least bit chic.
‘I have brought you some of my home-made confiture de figue. Fig jam. It is the last jar, and by the looks of her, Joy needs some decent nourishment. English food is so dull and brown.’
Isabel sprang to my defence. ‘ Mamie , leave Joy alone. She has only just arrived, and she doesn’t need your opinions.’
I wondered how Eugénie would take this back chat, but she just shrugged and pouted, not at all offended and sat down at the kitchen table.
‘I will take coffee if some is offered. Black, no sugar. We all eat too much sugar.’ She darted a disapproving look at the cake next to me.
Isabel poured coffee into a porcelain coffee cup decorated with roses and pushed it with its matching saucer across the table towards her. Eugénie picked it up and pursed her lips towards the steaming drink.
‘So now then, tell me all your news,’ she said.
‘I saw you yesterday, Mamie , you know it all already.’
Eugénie pulled a moué of dissatisfaction. ‘Then make something up. Just to amuse me. Or perhaps Joy has more interesting things to tell me.’
She turned her piercing dark eyes towards me, and I wondered how much I should tell her. I didn’t really want to go into it all, it was a bit depressing, and I was beginning to wonder – with the benefit of distance – if I had overreacted in running away here.
‘I needed a break, after Christmas,’ I said, ‘and Isabel kindly invited me to stay.’
She nodded and gave me a sympathetic look, which made me feel a bit better.
‘So, I understand you had a difficult time, so often one cannot please everyone no matter how hard you try. People with foods they won’t eat, personalities clash where once there was friendship. Perhaps too much wine was drunk? Now your son and his family have gone to America, and you have left your daughter and granddaughters quarrelling in your house while her divorce is settled? Do you think that was wise?’
So, she knew just about everything anyway. I looked across at my sister and she gave me an apologetic grimace.
‘I did what I thought was best for them,’ I said, ‘under difficult circumstances.’
Eugénie finished her coffee and put the cup down with a tiny chinking noise on the saucer.
‘ La famille est l’un des chefs d’oevre de la nature. Family is nature’s masterpiece.’
I wasn’t sure if she approved or not. Or exactly what she was getting at so I decided to ignore it.
‘Joy had an accident on the road between here and the village, perhaps that is why she is rather stressed,’ Isabel said. ‘A tractor nearly ran her off the road.’
‘These farmers. Just because they are bigger than you, they drive like maniacs,’ Eugénie said.
‘Jean-Luc helped her out,’ Isabel added.
Eugénie’s eyes brightened. ‘Ah yes, Jean-Luc. A man like that is always helpful. Which I for one would enjoy. Les médecins sont fascinants. Doctors are fascinating. They know so many interesting things, and what they don’t know they can ask their friends. If I were ten years younger and didn’t need them quite so much in a professional capacity, I would not allow him to be so reclusive. You should invite him over for dinner, in fact that is a very good idea. I insist you do. It would be – de bon voisinage – neighbourly.’
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of this. I had come here for some peace and quiet, not to have Eugénie organising my time. But there was another part of me that realised that life here held different possibilities, and if I wanted things to change for the better, it might be a good idea to be a bit less rigid.