Chapter 20
20
We spent the next couple of hours clearing up after the storm, Luc and I moving all the trays of seedlings and plants out into the back of his truck and Isabel and Pierre cleaning up the broken glass. Eugénie meanwhile remained in her armchair, sipping camomile tea, dispensing advice and occasionally shouting at the dogs when they edged nearer to the back door.
At last, we stopped for coffee. Felix had returned briefly to tell us that Lisa had been exaggerating, only one window had been cracked by flying debris and would be mended in a day or so, but apart from that everything at the bookshop was okay.
‘So,’ Luc said as he finished fastening a tarpaulin over the plants in the back of his truck, ‘perhaps we should get these to my place, it won’t take long. And I can bring the glass panes back when I return.’
‘Oh, yes, you go,’ Isabel said perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, ‘don’t hang around here, we can manage, and don’t hurry, there’s no rush. Take as long as you need. I don’t have plans for lunch or dinner for that matter.’
I gave her another hard look behind Luc’s back and she responded with a sweet smile and some subtle, flapping hand gestures, encouraging me to go. What on earth was she playing at? This was getting embarrassing.
‘Stop it,’ I mouthed at her.
‘Go on,’ she mouthed back.
I was just baring my teeth at her in a snarl and making a slightly threatening gesture of my own when Luc turned and saw me.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
I composed myself. ‘Absolutely, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’
Behind him I could see Isabel putting one hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
There had been no sign of the author-on-a-deadline-Bill from one of the g?tes, but just before we left, Marcus and Cathy appeared from their front door, took one look at the weather, and waved at us before going back indoors.
‘I hope they have enough food and wine to keep their strength up,’ Isabel said, ‘perhaps I’ll pop over later with a cake. Make sure they are okay.’
‘You are horribly nosey; did you know that?’ I said.
Isabel grinned. ‘I’m a sucker for young love, or love of any sort really.’
‘I hope you don’t include me in that,’ I muttered.
‘No,’ she said, wiping the mud off her hands, ‘don’t be silly.’
Love. No, I, of course, didn’t need that at all. But what did I need? Companionship? Friendship? Someone to talk to?
I’d spent many long evenings on my own in the last few years. Not sure what I should be doing, still restricted by my old routines, which didn’t really have much meaning any more and then perhaps resenting the times, like Christmas when things were out of my control.
There was no doubt about it, I was getting set in my ways, and if I didn’t do something about it, I would miss out on whatever life still had to offer me.
We drove down the drive at a sedate pace a few minutes later and at the end Luc turned left instead of right towards the town.
‘Thank you for this,’ I said, ‘it’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s fine,’ he replied. ‘After all, as I said, I am local and maybe I have been keeping to myself too much. Perhaps sometimes I need more than my own company.’
‘Me too,’ I admitted, ‘in fact, I’m not sure I even enjoy my own company half the time. But it’s easier that way, I think.’
He didn’t look at me, he was busy negotiating the lane, which was strewn with small branches. He seemed to be keeping to the middle of the road.
‘Let’s hope there’s no one coming the other way,’ I said, and he grinned.
I’m sure we were both remembering our first meeting.
‘The road is not good,’ he said, ‘you can tell a local person round here, they always drive in the middle to avoid the potholes at the edges.’
We turned into his gateway, and up to his house. The skip had gone this time, and the place looked much better, less of a building site and more of a home.
The greenhouse was tucked away behind a high, stone wall in his garden, obviously new, the aluminium struts shining in the winter sunshine that was starting to come out as the last of the clouds blew away.
‘I’m no gardener,’ he said, ‘but I’m willing to try now I have the time. The house is nearly finished, I need things to occupy me.’
‘Gardening will certainly do that,’ I said, ‘there is always something to do.’
‘You like it?’ he said.
‘I have a very ordinary garden,’ I said, ‘mostly lawn with some flower beds. I suppose it’s quite boring really. But my ex-husband didn’t like…’
I stopped. What had I been about to say?
Stephen hadn’t liked disorder, clutter, muddle, or weeds in the garden, and he especially didn’t like going out there to do anything about it. But throughout our marriage he had been very critical if I didn’t. No, not critical exactly, more disappointed.
We got out of the car, Luc started to untie the rope which kept the tarpaulin down and I stood watching him, my mind elsewhere.
I should have said something to Stephen. At the time, and not just let his behaviour dictate mine. I’d had a mind and will of my own once, hadn’t I?
And for a moment I imagined it. Telling him to rake up the autumn leaves. Suggesting he should weed the path or deadhead the roses. Or mow the lawn. But he had always been busy with something else, strangely I couldn’t remember what that might have been. He’d been retired, fairly fit, but if I thought about it, most of his time had been spent in his study, reading obscure books about the Napoleonic wars or the state of the British economy. He had scoffed if he saw me reading one of the romance books I’d enjoyed, so I’d started to do even that in secret.
I’d only cooked the meals he liked, only worn the outfits of which he had approved. I hadn’t even put out all my Christmas decorations for years. Why had I done those things? Was it because of his disapproval, so the house always needed to be tidy, the damn worktops clear? Was that why we hadn’t had the grandchildren over very often? Because he didn’t like the noise or the disruption to his ordered life? I felt the stirrings of anger for a moment, that he had gradually, over the years, restricted me, perhaps preferring me to concentrate on him rather than our wider family? On what few friends I had. I wondered if he was still doing that with Gillian. I hoped she wasn’t putting up with it as I had.
Life here might be less ordered, but it was a darn sight more fun than I was used to.
As Luc coiled the rope up around his elbow, he turned to smile at me.
‘I don’t think these have come to any harm,’ he said, ‘our rescue mission will be a success, you’ll see.’
A rescue mission. Yes, perhaps that was what I had needed, too, to find out how to meet people, how to make new friends, how to be myself and not just Stephen’s reject.
It was one thing to be alone out of choice, and quite a different matter to be alone because I didn’t know how not to be.
It didn’t take us long to unload all Isabel’s plants and seedlings from his truck. The shiny new shelves in the greenhouse were soon filled with the trays and pots. It was pleasant in there, out of the last of the wind, with the sun shining more strongly then, warming up the air. Perhaps that was what I needed, a personal greenhouse to encourage me towards the light and warm me again.
I watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye. He was tall, handsome, intelligent, and somehow – what was it? – sad. Perhaps like me he was lonely? Men were famously unable to articulate their emotions, at least that was what I understood. They didn’t have the equivalent of girly evenings when they could confess their feelings of inadequacy over a glass of wine, of dissatisfaction with their relationships or their appearance. No one ever asked a man if he was beach-ready or worried about wrinkles. But presumably they still had private doubts and fears. How did men cope?
And, thinking about it, when did I last have the opportunity for a girly evening? When had I ever spoken frankly with friends about my marriage, the lack of intimacy, of spontaneity? Of actually being silly and having fun. I couldn’t remember.
‘There,’ he said at last, dusting the soil off his hands, ‘all safely tucked up in their new home. I could do with a drink of water, what about you? What would you like?’
I followed him outside and watched as he slid the metal bolt closed. The last of the clouds had gone now, and the sun overhead was heating up the afternoon. The sky was bright, washed blue and there were birds singing in the hedges. And I realised, very suddenly, that I was happy. And as long as I didn’t break any laws or upset anyone, I really could choose what I wanted. I could do what I liked. For too long I had been indecisive, and unsure and hesitant. I wasn’t even in my own country. If I made a fool of myself, no one would know.
So, what would I like? I closed my eyes and thought about it. This was the moment I had imagined, that I had waited for, when I would voice my wishes and not just dither about with the normal: oh, I don’t mind, it’s up to you.
‘I’d like you to take me into town and find a bar with a lovely view, and I’d like us to sit by the window and have a glass of wine. And perhaps a croque monsieur , one which is very hot with thick ham inside and a smear of mustard and with strings of melted cheese when I bite into it. And ideally there would be a red checked tablecloth, and a wicker basket of bread on the table.’
‘That sounds an excellent idea. I know exactly the place,’ he said, and he smiled at me, and I smiled back.
Goodness me, well that wasn’t too hard at all.
After we had packed his spare panes of greenhouse glass into sacks in the back of the truck, we didn’t go into the town, instead we went deeper into the countryside, which was looking green and washed after the rain. The sky was clear and bright, and on the narrow road there were puddles and water running down the edges. Earth banks on one side, and thick woodland on the other. Road signs to villages with unpronounceable names. Occasionally we passed a stone farmhouse, a horsebox left in a layby. Once or twice, we passed majestic houses, one with iron gates and sweeping lawns where there were two boys playing football. It felt very rural and French, even the light was different here; it couldn’t have been England.
‘That’s a lovely place,’ I said as we passed another one.
‘I’m guessing a weekend retreat for some Parisian industrialist,’ Luc said, ‘where he can drop in with his helicopter and host lavish, champagne parties for his friends.’
‘How marvellous, I wish he’d invite me too,’ I said.
‘Do you?’
I laughed. ‘No, not really. I’m happy doing what I’m doing at the moment.’
‘Me too,’ he said.
I was happy, and so was he.
How amazing, and we hadn’t really done anything particularly difficult. Just spent some time together, moved a few plants, even had a few laughs. But the big difference was that I had been relaxed, not worried, not fretting about doing the wrong thing or saying something daft. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel that awful, clenched knot in my stomach, waiting for criticism or sighing disapproval.
He drove more slowly, almost stopping so that I could have a better look. That house had turrets and towers and a sign on the gate:
Attention au Chien.
Beware of the dog, accompanied by a picture of a slavering Alsatian. Underneath it stood a white, miniature poodle with a blue collar, staring through the bars.
‘He might be fiercer than he looks,’ Luc said.
‘An attack poodle,’ I agreed, and he laughed.
I flicked him a glance. Wondering how I had come to this place, sitting in this truck with a man I hardly knew, but feeling unexpectedly comfortable in his company. And we were going out for lunch together, people seeing us might think we were an actual couple. Couples did that all the time, didn’t they? But I hadn’t, not for several years.
We reached a small town where he pulled the truck into the side of the road and we got out.
‘I can’t provide you with wonderful views, but I can vouch for the food,’ he said.
Inside was a low beamed room, quite small but wonderfully scented with garlic and herbs and woodsmoke from the open fire. And yes, there were couples sitting at tables, some of them chatting, others concentrating on their food and hardly speaking. We found a table next to a window, with a view over the garden and beyond that fields, which had been ploughed into orderly lines.
‘You prefer red wine I think, you like Bordeaux?’ he said, and I nodded rather touched that he had remembered.
He went to the bar returning with two glasses of wine and two menus.
‘By all means take a look, but I know they do a very fine croque monsieur . And you did say that’s what you wanted.’
‘Perfect,’ I said.
And it was. Although that lunch was so simple and some might say, unexciting, it was exactly what I had wanted. And as I sat there picking the strings of gruyère cheese off my face, the fledgeling feeling of happiness inside me increased.
‘This is marvellous, such a treat,’ I said.
He looked a little puzzled. ‘It’s just a modest meal, nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘It is to me,’ I said.
How could I tell him that asking for something simple and getting it was something I wasn’t really used to. Stephen would have said it was just posh Welsh rarebit and not worth the price. That as we were eating in a French restaurant, I would have been better off with steak frites , or duck à l’orange . And then he would probably have ordered for me, and fool that I was, I would have let him.
‘I wonder if the shepherd’s hut has arrived,’ I said after a few minutes, ‘I can’t wait to see it. I’d really love to have one.’
‘And what appeals to you about it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, just the thought of a small, private space like that, where everything is close to hand. Somewhere that doesn’t need a lot of work, or stuff. Where I can put the things that really matter to me, rather than clutter that I have collected. I’ve been trying to get rid of things in the last few years since my marriage ended. I’ve realised I have too much, too many things, that no one will want after I am gone. So, to get rid of things now is good, I’m sparing someone else a task.’
He took a sip of wine and shook his head. ‘You are very young to be thinking of that.’
I laughed at that, and he held up one hand.
‘No, don’t laugh as though you don’t believe me, you are young. You may live for another twenty or thirty years. Shouldn’t you be enjoying your life on your own terms, not worrying about making things easy for other people?’
Yes, perhaps I should. I sat up a bit straighter in my chair.
‘You’re right, I do that a lot,’ I said, ‘I worry about other people and what they will think of me. It’s just the way I am.’
‘I didn’t used to think like that,’ he said, ‘but now I do. Something happened which made me change.’
Aha, for the first time he was talking about himself, what had made him decide to be so isolated for so long in a sleepy little corner of France.
‘And what was that?’ I asked, amazed at my own boldness.
He hesitated.
‘Many years ago, I was lecturing in a university – English history as you know, and I met Sabrine. She was a research student. Oh, this was perhaps fifteen years ago, up until then I had not made the opportunity for finding a wife, but with her it felt right. Eventually we married, we were very happy, we had a little apartment in the middle of town near a park where we could walk and talk. She had her studies, and I had mine. She cooked, for me and for our friends. We made all sorts of plans for the future. Where we would travel, perhaps it wasn’t too late to have a family, she was some years younger than me, but then two years later she died. A car accident, icy roads just outside Lyons, no one else involved.’
I gasped. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘People were kind but eventually I couldn’t bear the sadness, or the sympathy. People thinking I could be mended, it just reminded me of what I had lost. So, I made my work into my life again. Until the time came when I could not continue, because I was being encouraged to retire. Money, it all came down to money, and I was expensive to employ at a time when budgets were being reduced. And then I realised that without my work, without Sabrine, I actually had nothing. Oh yes, I had a home, my books, a few good friends but nothing that defined me, as a person. It was like putting my head over the top of the trench where I had been hiding. And finding that everyone had gone, that I was alone. But then I had made my choices, and I had to live with them.’
‘You said you have a brother,’ I said, ‘other family members?’
‘Yes, and they were kind and supportive, but people have their own lives to lead, a family tree branches out over the years, and the shade underneath can be very dark. I am not looking for sympathy, I assure you. I am just trying to answer your question. Sometimes I think I was a coward. I didn’t take chances, opportunities that might have changed me.’
‘No, I think you are being unfair to yourself. Life is difficult. We deal with it in our own way.’
‘I, like you, also worried too much about what other people would think,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘Aren’t we a silly pair? Have you met other people ? Some of them are awful.’
He laughed, too, raised his wine glass towards me and we chinked them together in a toast.
‘Here is to the future,’ he said, ‘doing things because we want to, because we can.’
I liked the sound of that.
We were there for a long time, just chatting and enjoying watching other people come and go. It was not the sort of location that would have been mentioned in any good food guides or tourist brochures, but it was a pleasant place, calming and restful. Our waitress was a middle-aged woman in a pink overall, who didn’t seem bothered that we were spending a long time over our simple meal. Occasionally she went back to the kitchen, returning with someone’s main course or dessert. Once or twice, she asked if we needed anything, some tarte tatin perhaps or a crème brulée , and we said no, but in the end we had coffee which came with a madeleine in the saucer.
‘Right,’ Luc said at last, ‘I suppose we had better get back and hand over the glass panes, otherwise your sister will be worried about you.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘we both know she’s been pushing me to spend time with you ever since I met you.’
‘And,’ he said, ‘most importantly, I still haven’t taken you to find some spectacles to replace the ones you slammed in your car door.’
I spluttered with laughter. ‘I was so cross, wasn’t I? And so embarrassed. I’m sorry I shouted at you.’
‘ Tout va bien ,’ he said, with a grin.
And suddenly, it felt that yes, everything was okay.
Despite my previous concerns about spending time on my own with him and getting to know him. Even the fact that I definitely found him attractive, it had all been so ridiculously easy.
Was this a good thing? But then did change always have to be hard? Couldn’t it sometimes happen almost unnoticed?