Chapter 13
13
Isabel suddenly remembered she had forgotten all about the Twelfth Night celebrations the previous week and she had promised to make a Galette du Roi ready for Felix’s return to make up for it. She waited until Eugénie was safely away so she couldn’t make some comment, and then pulled out some ready-made puff pastry from the fridge. Then she mixed up the frangipane filling with almonds, sugar, eggs and cognac.
‘And I mustn’t forget this,’ she said pulling a little china figure out from a drawer and putting it inside the galette, ‘the fève . Whoever gets this in their slice is king for the day, which the boys used to like when they were little. And the paper crown. Now we just say the winner gets a wish for the New Year.’
She shoved the galette into the oven and set a timer on her phone, then we went back out to the barn and watched as my nephews stopped squabbling and turned into two competent workmen, confidently moving bits of pipework and big bags full of tools. There was even a bit of welding going on as they restored the pipework that apparently had been leaking. I was well impressed.
After rescuing the galette from the oven, Isabel did a bit more sorting out in the storage shed, taking a few things out of crates and putting them into piles and then putting them back again. She said she was just reminding herself what was there. Marcel and Antoine ran about, seemingly inexhaustible, tussling with a shred of canvas. One of the feral cats watched us with a sour expression from its perch on top of the tractor. Perhaps it didn’t like having its personal space invaded.
As the sun set and the dark evening shadows lengthened across the fields, we locked up again and went back into the house. Pierre and Sylveste had declared themselves happy with what they had achieved and would return à bient?t , sometime soon, to finish off the last things that needed doing.
‘I suppose I should start thinking about the rest of the dinner,’ Isabel said. She held out her hands black with the dust and dirt from our afternoon’s work. ‘But first I think we should get cleaned up. I always get filthy working in the barn. And you have spiders’ webs in your hair.’
I looked down at my grimy clothes, which were bad enough. The possibility of webs in my hair were a different matter, one I hadn’t anticipated.
We went off to clean up and I enjoyed a scalding hot shower in the downstairs bathroom where the water pressure was reasonable but not exactly forceful.
Back up in my attic bedroom, I picked out some comfortable clothes for the evening. After all I wasn’t expecting to do much more than have dinner, drink wine and chat. A pair of joggers and an old but clean sweatshirt would do. I tied my wet hair back with a scrunchie and slipped my feet into my slippers, which were a joke pair of gorilla feet complete with claws that the twins had bought me for my last birthday.
Downstairs, my sister was sitting at the table leafing through the last of the catalogues and papers, and cheerfully consigning them into a large paper sack to be recycled. She looked very cheerful.
‘I’m beginning to see why you like throwing things away,’ she said as I came in, ‘it’s sort of cleansing, isn’t it? Getting rid of old rubbish.’
‘I remember what it was like when our parents died, having to sort through all the things they had kept. That’s when I found all our old school reports. I sent yours to you and I chucked mine away.’
‘Sacrilege!’ Isabel laughed, ‘I’ve probably still got mine. I bet yours all said the same thing. Works well, never late, a valuable member of the class. Mine on the other hand were terrible. The teachers must have hated me. “ Isabel should be ashamed of this exam result. Isabel has not worked to her full potential except to be disruptive. Isabel would do better to listen in class and not voice unfounded opinions on the Tudors.” I know what that was about. I said I thought Margaret Beaufort had an unhealthy and rather distasteful relationship with her son and asked Miss Betterson several times about the rumour that Anne Boleyn was actually Henry VIII’s daughter. I kept that one going for ages. Just out of sheer devilment because I know it annoyed her so much.’
I shook my head. ‘Troublemaker. The thought I had was that one day my kids would have to sort through all my collected stuff and decide what to keep, so I’ve been doing it for them. I’ve sent a lot of things to the charity shop and thrown a lot of things away. After all, you never know.’
Isabel pulled a face. ‘You sound like Eugénie, prophesying your imminent demise. You’re pretty fit and healthy, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am,’ I said, ‘I just don’t want to leave them the burden of sorting it all out.’
‘Very considerate.’
‘But it does make me wonder what I will leave behind. Who will remember me when I go? The house will be sold, and I can’t believe Sara or Vanessa would want any of my clothes.’
It was true, I could see the distinct possibility that like a lot of ordinary people, I would hardly leave a trace. My children would miss me, I supposed, but in the long run stuff didn’t matter, nor did exam results or my organisational skills. What mattered was the here and now. Kindness, support and positivity. I didn’t need to win a Nobel prize or invent something. The best thing I could do was live the best life I could, one day at a time. And in a way that was a good thing because it was achievable.
‘What do any of us leave behind?’ Isabel said gloomily, waving a sheaf of papers at me. ‘Bank statements back to 1980? Receipts for gadgets, which broke years ago? A few bits of jewellery? Even photographs aren’t as important as we once thought they were.’
‘Memories, I suppose,’ I said, feeling more optimistic, ‘people remembering us, things we said or did.’
Isabel laughed. ‘I hope people will forget all that sort of thing where I am concerned. And I’ve had some terrible photographs taken over the years. It’s okay for you, you never sneezed or blinked when pictures were taken. For heaven’s sake, Joy, this conversation is much too serious. Let’s have a glass of wine.’
She rummaged around in a cupboard under the stairs and came back with a bottle of red wine that she opened and poured into two glasses.
‘This feels naughty,’ I said, ‘it’s not even six o’clock yet.’
Isabel darted a look at the clock. ‘Damn. I forgot about dinner. Felix will be back soon. I’d better chuck something together. You’ll be seeing French cuisine at its best. Said no one ever.’
Eventually she found some chicken in the freezer, which she bashed with a meat hammer to separate some pieces and then defrosted in the microwave. Then she boiled up some penne pasta, cooked some garlic and mushrooms in butter, fried the chicken pieces, mixed everything together with a good slug of white wine and covered the whole lot in a jar of some sort of sauce. Then she hesitated and shredded some of the remaining brie from lunch over the top.
‘That’ll have to do,’ she said as she shoved it into the oven, ‘Felix will be glad to get anything, after all these years he knows what I’m like. And to be fair he’s not a fussy eater. No good marrying me if he was! I suppose we could have a salad too. I bought a load of fresh stuff at the market garden up the road, I’m sick of all the winter casseroles.’
‘I’ll do that,’ I said, keen to help.
She found a big platter decorated with radishes and passed it to me and I started to construct a salad with the ingredients she found in the fridge and the cavernous pantry. This was something I had always enjoyed doing, taking a pile of basically ordinary things and making them look good. I even spent some time turning the tomatoes into flowers and thin slices of cucumber into roses. I looked up at one point to see Isabel watching me with an incredulous look on her face.
‘Do you usually do that?’ she asked.
I grinned. ‘No. Well… sometimes, I just thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’
I’ve always thought the secret to a good salad was to add more things, so I did. Some grated carrot, a few halved green olives, little cubes of feta, a sliced apple, some toasted pine nuts, a few tiny, sweet peppers, and then I made some croutons. In the end I was pleased with the result, instead of a boring plate of green it looked colourful and appetising.
‘Marvellous,’ Isabel said, topping up my wine glass, ‘you’re an artist. I wonder where Felix has got to. It’s nearly seven o’clock and everything is ready once we set the table.’
There was a knock on the kitchen door at that moment, which set the dogs off barking, and Isabel pulled a face.
‘That can’t be Felix. It better not be Eugénie again; she normally doesn’t go out after dark.’
She wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to open the door.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘hello. What—? I mean— do come in.’
I looked up to see Luc standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.
‘I hope I am not too early. Felix did say seven,’ he said.
He was looking very cool that evening in a heavy wool coat, jeans, and a black sweater. And outrageously attractive. As we stood open-mouthed, he slowly unwound a soft red scarf from around his neck. He looked very uneasy, his eyes looking uncertainly at us, as though unsure of his welcome.
It was a good job I was sitting down because I think I felt a bit wobbly for a moment. I don’t think I had felt that way for years.
Isabel recovered her composure with remarkable speed, which was more than I did.
‘Not at all! Come in, make yourself at home. Let’s get this wine open, shall we? What is it? Not that it matters. Ah, a lovely Bordeaux! You are spoiling us.’
‘My favourite,’ I added hastily.
Luc and I stared at each other for another uncomfortable moment and then I busied myself tidying away the chopping board and knife I had been using. I think I was even blushing. Which at my age was absurd.
‘ Madame Chandler,’ he said.
‘Please call me Joy,’ I said.
‘Joy,’ he said, holding out a hand for me to shake.
I liked the way he said my name, his accent softening the hardness of the J.
At what point did the French go in for la bis, that cheek-kissing thing?
‘Luc,’ I said, my voice a bit shaky.
I then remembered I was in jogging bottoms, a sweatshirt, had wet hair, no make up and gorilla feet slippers.
He looked down at them and pressed his lips together, presumably to stop himself from smiling.
By then, Isabel had whipped the cork out of the bottle and poured him a glass of wine.
‘ Santé, ’ he said, raising it towards us, ‘your good health.’
There was an uncomfortable silence and then Isabel started finding things for a fourth place setting. I could see she was trying to be discreet, even stealthy but those weren’t qualities at which my sister was skilled.
Luc nodded as she slipped some extra cutlery onto the table. He wasn’t fooled for a moment.
‘Felix didn’t tell you I was coming this evening, did he?’
Isabel rose to the occasion. ‘Probably, but when you get to know me, you will understand I am a bit scatter-brained. I forget things. Perhaps it’s my age.’
She then placed a couple of plates and a water glass onto the table with the stealth of a rather unsuccessful pickpocket.
‘I wonder where he is?’ she said at last, ‘dinner is ready. Heat proof mats that’s what I need. I wonder where they are. We’ve been having a tidy up.’
‘On the dresser,’ I said and went to get them.
Luc hesitated. ‘I can leave, if it’s not?—’
‘Absolutely not!’ Isabel said cheerfully. ‘It’s lovely to have you here. I wanted to introduce Joy to the locals. People we know. Friends.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘Well, I am local. I am not sure I am a friend…’
‘Not yet perhaps, because you’ve been a bit— well?—’
‘Distant?’ he said.
I was feeling very uncomfortable at this point although Isabel seemed to be okay with the situation. Perhaps all her years of managing Eugénie had helped.
‘Private,’ she said at last, ‘although I am sure you have your reasons. It must be very different from life in Paris.’
‘I’ve never lived in Paris,’ he said frowning.
‘But everyone around here said you were from Paris. And when we sold you the house, I’m sure Felix said something about that?’
‘Then everyone is mistaken. Although my solicitor is in Paris.’
‘Ah, I see. I didn’t read all the paperwork, not properly I’m afraid. I do feel a fool. Honestly, Felix. He’s hopeless. Which reminds me, I wonder where he is.’
‘Look, perhaps I should go. I can see there has been a mix up,’ he said.
He actually was fidgeting and moving towards the door, and I realised he was feeling just as uncomfortable as we were. He was still holding the flowers and he hesitated for a few moments before he handed them to me.
We exchanged a glance, and I wasn’t sure who felt the more awkward. Which was a shame because I loved being given flowers and it hadn’t happened very often.
I went to put them in a glass vase and made some sort of attempt to arrange them.
‘Do sit down,’ I said, ‘and tell us about your progress with the renovations. It must be a lot of hard work.’ I took a sip of my wine. ‘This is delicious, I love red wine and Bordeaux is my absolute favourite.’
There were an uncomfortable few seconds when I don’t think either of us were sure if he was going to stay or not, and then the kitchen door crashed open and Felix came in, stamping his feet on the door mat and looking as though he might have stopped in the Sports Bar for a couple of apple brandies.
‘Ah! Mon ami !’ he said cheerfully, shaking Luc by the hand. ‘Good to see you. Excellent. My apologies, I am late. I met up with Gaston and you know how things are. Never mind, we are all here now. What a treat. And something smells wonderful. Did I tell you my wife is une cuisinère exceptionalle ? A wonderful cook.’
‘You might have told him that, but it would be a lie,’ Isabel murmured.
‘A drink, my friend. I see we are eating in the kitchen. What a fine idea. C’est plus convivial, plus intime, more friendly. Now then, a toast to what I am sure is going to be a wonderful evening. With two elegant ladies.’
I shuffled my feet nervously and the claws on my gorilla slippers scraped against the flagstone floor.
Not entertaining any sort of dissent, he urged Luc to sit opposite me at the kitchen table and went to the sink to wash his hands, while Isabel hissed something to him about his failure to tell her she should have been expecting a guest.
It might not have been an elegant meal, but it was delicious. The chicken pasta dish was brought to the table bubbling away like a dish of molten lava, the beauty of the salad was much praised, and the bread was, as is always the way in France, wonderful.
‘So tell us how you are getting on, Luc,’ Felix asked after people had finished helping themselves.
‘I would be getting on faster if Gaston came to finish off the plastering,’ Luc replied.
Felix slapped himself on the forehead. ‘I forgot to tell you, I saw him just an hour ago, he had just found a broken bicycle chain in the street, and he was taking it back for Mathilde. I expect she will make some earrings. I told him he must get to you tomorrow, or Friday at the latest, or I would publish the photograph I took of him in the bath when he was a baby on the village information page. He was such an ugly baby; you would not believe it. He thought I was joking, I assured him I wasn’t. I think you will find him on your doorstep tomorrow morning.’
Luc laughed, and his face relaxed out of his usual serious expression into something rather lovely. I took a large gulp of wine to settle my nerves. This was the sort of occasion I had been thinking about; meeting new people, taking opportunities to broaden my horizon. Not just sit there as I might have done in the past, dumb with discomfort.
‘When that is done, I can finish the painting and get the last of the electrics fitted. After that the worst will be over.’
‘How long has it taken you?’ I asked.
‘Two years, two and a half maybe. It was slow progress at first for many reasons. I was not then fully retired, I still had work to finish off.’
‘And do you miss it? Your patients I mean?’
Luc looked confused. ‘My patients?’
‘Yes, you know, the people you were treating, helping them through their various illnesses. I’m guessing you had to hand them over to someone, and that must take time. Their prescriptions, and their notes, and operations – that sort of thing. I know when the doctor at our local clinic retired, it took quite a while, and the receptionists were furious. Not that they weren’t usually because they seemed to think anyone wanting an appointment was deliberately annoying them…’
I realised I was babbling under his gaze and shut up.
‘I am not a medical doctor,’ Luc said.
Isabel chimed in. ‘Everyone around here had the impression you were a doctor.’
‘Well once again, everyone is mistaken,’ he said at last, slowly and very patiently.
We waited to see if he would elaborate, but he didn’t. Isabel broke the silence.
‘Now then, I have a special treat for you, Galette du Roi , for Twelfth Night. I know it’s late, but I forgot. I wonder who will get the Fève . It’s the Baby Jesus in the manger, one Eugénie passed on to me so don’t bite it in half. And it’s porcelain so you would break your teeth. Whoever gets it, make a wish.’
She cut some generous slices and passed them round.
‘I know you are supposed to serve it all at once, but I am saving some for Eugénie, although she will complain I didn’t make the puff pastry, and for the boys, who wouldn’t care if I’d bought it frozen from the supermarket.’
‘You did that on purpose,’ I said a few minutes later when I found the little china figurine in my slice.
‘No, I didn’t. Now make a wish,’ Isabel said, ‘but don’t tell us what it is.’
I closed my eyes and tried to think of something to wish for.
Good luck? Good health?
In the end I wished silently for happiness, and when I opened my eyes Luc was looking at me. I had the strange feeling he knew what I was thinking.