Chapter 28
28
The following morning, I was woken at about eight thirty by the sun shining through a gap in the curtains. I pulled them back properly so I could see the view, made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed.
It was a beautiful day out there, and I felt very happy, with my situation at that moment, about life in general. So, what did I want to do with the day?
Isabel would perhaps need my help in the brocante barn. Maybe Felix could do with a hand in the bookshop? No, it was Sunday, wasn’t it, so the shop would be closed.
Yes, but what did I want to do?
My train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Marcel’s head, complete with wide, doggy grin appearing at the window and then disappearing again. Several times in quick succession. He was evidently outside, leaping up and down in an attempt to see me. Which meant Isabel was out there too.
A moment later she knocked on the door.
‘Are you decent?’
I opened it, and she sat in the doorway blocking Antoine and Marcel from getting in.
‘Just came to see how you were this morning,’ she said. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Excellent thanks.’
‘Not restless? No funny dreams?’
‘None at all.’
‘Good, hurry up and get dressed, it’s cold out here, and then come over for coffee and croissants.’
I consulted my personal preferences and decided yes, that would be an excellent idea . I closed my eyes and imagined it. A big, creamy, aromatic, glorious bol of coffee, I could almost imagine the steam swirling around my face, the buttery richness of the crackling croissant as I bit into it. The sharp sweetness of the apricot conserve. Good heavens where did that come from?
I shook myself back into the real world and did a quick rifle through my clothes and pulled out a black T-shirt, a rather bobbly black cardigan and some very unflattering black leggings and put them all into a bin liner. After all, how could I criticise my sister for needlessly hanging onto things when I did the same thing.
Then I pulled on some jeans, a blue shirt and a pink sweater, which I had always loved, but seldom wore because it had been quite expensive.
The first problem was my outfit from the previous evening, and the damage I had done to the trousers. I took a look. Actually, it wasn’t too bad, I had probably massively overreacted. All they needed was dry cleaning and a few stitches, the fabric was undamaged, what a relief.
Then I went over to Isabel’s kitchen which was filled with the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee and proper French croissants in all their buttery, shiny glory.
Sitting in her usual place at the end of the table was Eugénie, of course. She had obviously been raiding Paulette’s wardrobe again and was dressed in some very stylish striped trousers, a green jacket and a very cute maroon beret with a silver, bird shaped brooch pinned to the front. It reminded me of something. Had she ever been in the Parachute Regiment? It seemed unlikely but I thought it best not to ask.
‘Ah,’ she said as I came in, ‘there you are. What have you been doing?’
‘Just getting up. Nothing in particular,’ I said, ‘although I have been writing a bucket list.’
‘Bucket list? What is this bucket list? You are going to make a list of all your buckets? How many do you have?’
Isabel explained. ‘A list of all the things she wants to do before it’s too late.’
‘You are fortunate to have the time. For me, the buckets are all empty, so many dreams, so little time. And what do you want to do before your health gives out and you are left an invalid?’
‘Things I enjoy,’ I said accepting a bol of coffee from my sister. I paused for a moment, inhaling the wonderful smell. ‘Travel, do the things I want to do, buy more colourful clothes, like you. That’s a wonderful colour, a beautiful green. You are an inspiration.’
Eugénie preened a little. ‘Old women are easily missed and overlooked.’
‘Not you, Mamie ,’ Isabel said.
Eugénie was not one to be distracted. ‘And I understand you had dinner with the doctor last night?’
I gave Isabel one of my best, hard looks.
‘I didn’t say a word about it,’ she said.
‘I heard from Arnaud. He is an old friend. He said you were absorbée – engrossed.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ I said, dreading what was to come next.
‘He said you were absorbée in the car park,’ she said with a knowing drawl, ‘for quite some time.’
‘Mmm, is one of those croissants for me?’ I said, hoping to change the subject and trying not to laugh.
Not a chance. I began to look at the back door, wondering if I could somehow get out of this cross examination with my dignity intact.
‘And is there much damage to the trousers Paulette lent you? My friend’s daughter, Sophie, met with you in the ladies’ room, she said there was some incident.’
Ah, the young woman in the blue dress with the safety pins.
‘What damage?’ Isabel said, looking puzzled.
Honestly, did this town spend every moment of everyday on the phone to each other?
‘A minor problem, in fact, I need to go and return the lovely things Paulette leant me, and I think I will go now,’ I said.
‘But first, tell us about Jean-Luc,’ Eugénie said, grasping my wrist. She felt surprisingly strong for a woman her age, I certainly wouldn’t have liked to come up against her in an arm-wrestling challenge.
‘We had a lovely evening and a delicious meal,’ I said, ‘and then I came home.’
‘And what is this man to you?’
‘A friend,’ I said, ‘and that’s all. Like you and your friend, Charles.’
Eugénie looked a bit misty-eyed for a moment.
‘Charles is amoureux de moi , I told you. Men and women cannot be friends.’
‘Oh, I think they can,’ Isabel said.
Eugénie held up a commanding hand. ‘The sex gets in the way.’
‘ Mamie ! Really!’
‘Oh, I am right, as I am with all things. When you get to my age, you may know everything too. Men always think of sex. Bastien was the same, there is nothing wrong with it.’ She rested her elbows on the table and looked dreamily into the far distance. ‘Some days when we were first married we hardly planted any potatoes at all or dug them up for that matter. But then I was irresistible. He said I had the most beautiful legs in France, and heaven knows he spent enough time looking at them. He particularly liked my knees. He said I had the knees of a goddess.’
‘I think I’d better go,’ I said.
‘I’ll drop you off,’ Isabel murmured, ‘so you can pick up your car.’
I put my borrowed clothes into their protective bags and laid them carefully across the back seat of Isabel’s car, and then we set off. I needed to go into town, ask about a dry cleaning and repair service and then see Paulette, but instead we drove to Luc’s house.
As we pulled up outside his house, I spotted him. He was dressed in his workman’s blue overalls, scrubbing away with a wire brush at what looked like a stone font.
He looked up when he saw me and waved.
‘ Bonjour! How are you both this morning?’ he called.
Isabel wound down her window and shouted across. ‘I’m not staying I’m just dropping Joy off so she can get her car. And I’ll take your things back to Paulette and explain what happened. See you later.’
We watched her go, her car bumping off back down the lane, and then I went over to him, wondering what I was going to say.
‘That was a lovely evening,’ he said, dropping the wire brush on the ground and unfastening the top two buttons of his boiler suit.
I nodded; my gaze fixed on the small glimpse of his chest. Which was tanned. Perhaps when he was alone he sunbathed topless. Or even naked. Good heavens.
‘I hope you enjoyed it too?’ he added.
He undid another button. Was this deliberate? Was he flirting?
I nodded again, my throat tight with nerves. Think of the bucket list: I was going to do things I wanted to, not what people thought I should.
‘Look,’ I said, the words suddenly spilling out, ‘where are you going with this?’
He looked at the old font, confused.
‘I thought I might put it in the middle of the garden, perhaps planted up with something. You might be able to advise me. It could be converted into a fountain, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea.’
I closed my eyes partly in frustration, and also because it was easier not to look at him. He was looking very attractive that morning, despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that he was a bit sweaty, dishevelled and doing something physical. I’d always found that a bit of a turn on, which is why I’d always had a soft spot for the rather rugged man in the house renovation programs who seemed able to paint a room in five minutes and construct a wardrobe at the same time.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ I said at last, ‘I meant where are you going with me?’
He shrugged. ‘You could come inside and have a cup of tea? I wouldn’t mind a break.’
‘I mean us. Where are we going – no don’t answer that. I know you will say we are going into the kitchen. I mean after last night. What are we doing?’
‘Ah, last night, yes.’ He looked down at his feet, ‘That was a surprise, wasn’t it? I hope you were not offended?’
‘No, not at all,’ I said, ‘but I want to know?—’
What should I say? What your intentions are? I would sound like Eugénie.
What are you expecting of me? No, this involved both of us. I might have expectations too.
What are we going to do next?
Are we going to take this any further?
I took a deep breath.
‘I’ve been on my own for four years.’ I rubbed the place where my wedding ring had been. I could still feel a tiny groove there. ‘I am used to living on my own, not doing much that is different. I’ll admit I have been stuck in a rut, and coming here has made me – you have made me – realise that there is more that I could be doing. I’m tired of doing everything for other people, for taking the blame when things go wrong, for making excuses for other people. I want some life for me.’
He nodded. ‘I agree, I feel the same way.’
‘Oh. Okay. I hadn’t thought that there would be— that I could— that— that you would— I mean Stephen didn’t?—’
My voice faded as I struggled to find the right words.
His expression relaxed as he probably realised what I was trying to say.
‘That I might find you attractive? Think about you when you weren’t there?’ He took a step towards me. ‘Want to spend time with you? Find out more about you? Kiss you? Want perhaps more than just to kiss you?’
I suddenly understood. We were as bad as each other, hesitating and vacillating, being indecisive. One of us needed to take the first step and I wanted it to be me.
‘Yes, those things.’
‘But of course I do. I would have thought that was obvious. But now I see in you the same hesitation that is in me,’ he said, ‘the fear of failure, of rejection.’
How? How could a man like him have any doubts about himself? He was intelligent, kind, thoughtful, and handsome. No woman with a functioning brain cell would reject him. But then, of course, he hadn’t exactly been ‘out there’ any more than I had.
‘Can we start off with coffee?’ I asked.
‘Of course, come in.’
And so we had coffee. We even ate a couple of biscuits, and then we looked at each other, over the table. One of us had to say something, and again, it was going to be me.
‘I’ve come to pick up my car,’ I said at last.
‘I know, it’s been quite safe,’ he replied.
I finished the last of my biscuit. Under other circumstances I would have had another, because they really were quite delicious, but…
‘Show me the rest of the house?’ I said, ‘I’d love to see what you’ve done.’
‘I hope you like it,’ he said, and he stood up and held out a hand to me.
I took it. I didn’t need to, it wasn’t as though I needed his help, but this was different. It was one of those moments.
‘I will,’ I said, ‘I know I will.’
Another look passed between us, and I think both of us were aware of what I was saying. What we were doing. At least I hoped so otherwise I was going to look a complete fool.
We went upstairs together, our shoes echoing on the wooden steps, and I followed him, my free hand trailing on the smooth painted surface of the bannisters.
I followed him into the rooms, one after the other, and he explained his plans. This would be a guest room, look at the lovely view, perhaps this one would be a study. There was a tiny box room where he had stored his suitcases, and a battered leather briefcase he had used when he was working. The bathroom was beautiful, with shining tiles and a big shower cubicle.
Some of the rooms were still empty, waiting for furniture and curtains and the sort of things that make up a home. He said he needed to buy a few items, maybe Isabel might have a nightstand or a cupboard.
I didn’t want to think about Isabel, my family or anyone else at that moment. I didn’t want to consider anybody but him. And me. The tension between us was almost palpable, sizzling through the air between us.
I had never felt anything like it before. A sort of sick, trembling insecurity, mixed with anticipation. Was I, at my age, allowed to feel like this? What would my family think if they could see me?
No, I didn’t care.
At last, we reached his bedroom. There were white, wooden shutters at the window, which could be closed against the light. The walls had been painted pale blue; the carpet was slightly darker. There was a painting on the wall of a sparkling sea, framed by white voile curtains. The room felt fresh and clean, airy and filled with light.
The bed was honey-coloured wood and made up with white sheets and a soft, striped blanket. A wardrobe had been built into one of the alcoves around the chimney breast and there were shelves in the other one. I noticed a few books there, a glass vase, a leather writing case. There was a faint smell of lavender, perhaps from furniture polish and it made me feel suddenly wistful, thinking of him, doing that alone. Like me, making my place look immaculate but hardly ever sharing it with anyone who would appreciate it.
Being alone could have its benefits; being lonely didn’t.
The air in the room was quiet and warm, and I suddenly remembered my new, glamorous underwear underneath my clothes with satisfaction.
Si une femme porte quelque chose de beau sous se vêtements, elle s’envoie un message très puissant.
If a woman wears something beautiful under her clothes, she sends a powerful message to herself.
I was indeed sending a message to myself. My new bra – pale pink and decorated with tiny ribbon roses – was probably powerful enough to start an international incident. It was the first time I had worn it. I hoped I had remembered to take all the labels off.
I walked across the room and closed the shutters on the view out over the river and Potato Farm in the distance, and then I turned to him and took a deep, brave breath.
‘Luc—’
He came towards me and took me in his arms and kissed me.
He tasted of vanilla and warmth. And it wasn’t like last night when there had been a sort of hunger, a crazy need for each other. This was tender and lovely and had nothing to do with the past – his or mine.
Contrary to what younger people thought, there was no age limit to attraction, to desire, to welcoming the sense of another person. The simple touch of a hand, a kind word, a gentle look. To feeling accepted and wanted.
At that moment we were just two people who properly saw each other as we were. We had been lonely for long enough. We were living in the same moment, brought together by chance, and I knew we both wanted something important to change.
It was the first time I had felt that way for a very long time.
I was appreciated. That was the simple truth of it, and I was appreciated for myself. I was not giving anything except me into the situation. There was no familiarity between us, no knowledge of what the other person liked or wanted or expected. We were new to each other. Everything was different from what it had been, it was a journey for both of us, and it was such fun. I hadn’t expected that.
To be near to him, to respond and feel his responses was exciting and empowering. We were equals, we both had the same needs and hopes. There was an energising freshness to it all, memorable and in that moment not the same as it had been.
Perhaps it was the taste of him, the scent of his skin, his breath, my feelings. The place, the light, my awareness of him. It was a revelation to me in so many ways, each one more delicious than the last.
At last – not the five or ten minutes I had been used to, but something definitely more than that in every sense – we lay side by side in his big bed, the sunlight filtering through the shutters. Afternoon delight, I think it was called.
The rest of the world was doing a hundred different things in a thousand different places, but we lay there, slightly breathless.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed with the sheer happiness of being there, on that day in that place with him.
He looked over and grinned.
‘You are wonderful,’ he said.
‘We are wonderful,’ I replied, and I stretched out my arms above my head. I don’t think I had ever felt so sensual, so alive, so aware as I was then.
In that moment, life was a perfect thing. Fleeting, unpredictable and sometimes, just occasionally and unexpectedly, blooming marvellous.
I hadn’t put this on my bucket list, but perhaps I should have done. When I got home I would. Number twenty-two. Or was it twenty-one? And then I would cross it off. That counted, didn’t it?
‘Only one thing can make this even better,’ he said at last. He kissed me and then got out of bed, ‘stay there.’
I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. I rolled over in the rumpled sheets and lay on my side, looking at the light coming through the shutters. And then I closed my eyes and smiled to myself.
It didn’t matter what happened after this, I had made a choice for myself with which I was content.
I had almost dozed off when he returned, and he was carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
‘This feels like a celebration,’ he said.
I was grinning so much that I could hardly speak.
He poured out a glass for me and passed it over.
‘ C’est pour toi, ma belle dame .’
This is for you, my beautiful lady.
Well, I never, Paulette had been right. That underwear had really worked.
And so, I went back to my shepherd’s hut.
It was early the following morning, the air cold on my face as I walked to my car, Luc’s arm around my shoulders. I could have stayed for longer. He asked if I wanted to, and he promised me crusty bread, cheeses and local ham, cut thick. He had a bowl of tiny, sweet tomatoes, a quiche from the market, not to mention the other, unspoken delights on offer. But I said no. I needed time to think, to go over everything and remember.
He kissed me as we reached my car.
‘I would like to see you again?’ he said, a question again, not a statement.
I smiled up at him. ‘You will.’
He didn’t pressure me, asking for dates or times, suggesting places we might go or things we might do, and that pleased me. I wanted to make my own choices and plans. And yes, maybe they would include him, because even then I knew it would be easy to fall in love with him, really love him as I had always wanted to love. As an equal. Not as a grateful, confused and uncertain woman. But maybe those decisions would be separate, because first I had to learn to appreciate myself, and realise that I was – as the advert says – worth it.
We stood for a moment in the dawn light, which was brightening as the sun rose, and he held me against him for a moment, my hands on his warm, wool coat, and whatever happened, I knew I would always remember this moment.
What was it Isabel had said?
‘It’s time you started the next bit. The rest of your life.’
When I got back, Isabel was waiting for me, almost hopping up and down in excitement. I turned the car engine off and took a deep breath, waiting for all the questions to begin. Even Marcel and Antoine were there, sitting at her feet with inquisitive expressions on their faces. I half expected Eugénie to appear too just to get the party started, but for once I wasn’t the cause of all the excitement.
‘You’ll never guess!’ Isabel said. ‘We’ve got a virus!’
‘Is that a reason to be pleased?’ I said, rather confused.
‘You know those videos I put up on social media last weekend? It’s gone mad! Everyone has been looking at them.’
‘I think you mean we’ve gone viral?’
‘Since you left, I’ve had twenty-one customers. At one point I had to move my car to let people get in. And I’ve sold such a lot of stuff. There was a reporter from the local paper here, too, wondering what was going on. I’ve never known anything like it, and the phone has hardly stopped ringing.’
‘Really? That’s amazing. Hang on, you mean all those awful spoof things we did? I didn’t think you were going to use them? We were supposed to be doing them again, weren’t we? Proper, sensible ones.’
Isabel threw her arms around my neck with a joyful cry.
‘Yes, but in the end, it seemed too much of an effort, and they were really funny when I looked at them again, so I just went for it. And it worked. We must do some more. At this rate I’m going to have nothing left to sell.’
I was absolutely astonished. ‘That’s marvellous!’
‘And Mathilde phoned me up last night, about the cameo brooch. You were right! She asked a friend of hers in the museum to take a look at it and it’s worth a small fortune. Apparently its really old and unusual. Her friend thinks I should put it into a specialist auction and I had it marked at five euros!’ Isabel hugged me again. ‘I’ll be able to pay off the bank loan! And the electricity bill! You’re brilliant!’
‘Oh, Isabel, I’m so pleased!’
She released her grip on me. ‘And by the way, where have you been and what have you been doing? Scrub that, I know where you’ve been, and by the smile on your face, I know what you’ve been doing!’
I laughed at that and linked my arm through here.
‘Let’s go inside and have some coffee,’ I said, ‘before Eugénie gets here.’
‘I am here already,’ said a voice behind me, and yes, there was Eugénie, chic in a vintage Burberry trench coat and matching hat, hurrying towards us, not wanting to be left out.
‘Good morning,’ I said, and she took my arm as we went towards the house.
‘You have been to the doctor’s house,’ she said.
‘He really isn’t a doctor,’ I replied.
Eugénie flapped a dismissive hand at me.
‘Who cares? And I can tell you were not just discussing medical matters. What is he to you now?’
We got to the kitchen table and Eugénie took her usual place and removed her hat, patting down a few strands of her hair.
‘He’s a friend,’ I said, ‘a very good friend.’
Eugénie gave one of her classically French shrugs and pouted.
‘I can see just how good from your expression. Ah well, Il ne faut pas attendre d’être parfait pour commencer quelque chose de bien.’
You don’t have to wait to be perfect to start something good.
How true that was.
I felt a sudden burst of affection for her. She might be eighty-four, tetchy, plain speaking and a bit of a hypochondriac, but she was still firing on all cylinders, wanting to engage with the world, curious to find out everything. I had a lot to learn from her.