Chapter 24 #2
He heads for the corner of the lake, at the start of the worn footpath around the edge. Once he reaches the open canoe, he steps down into it, wobbling slightly, and holds out a hand to me.
‘You want me to get in there?’ I look at the weatherworn craft in the corner of the lake. Light droplets of rain sprinkle over the water, causing little ripples.
‘ Oui , it is the best way,’ he says. ‘Come.’
‘Oh, no … I’m not good on water. I love looking at it, but I’ve never been that good a swimmer.’
‘You’re not going to swim, you’re going to paddle, up there.’ He points to where the lake becomes more shaded under the boughs of the trees. ‘You can’t live in a watermill and not use the lake. It’s here to help you! It’s your friend!’
‘You’ve got to be joking!’ I laugh.
‘ Non ,’ he says, still holding out his hand.
I stare at it.
‘Come on, Juliet! You want to be warm, don’t you?’ He is standing in the gently swaying boat.
‘I really don’t think I can,’ I say. ‘Like I say, I’m not good on water.’
I never have been, not since I went on a fishing trip with Pete in our early dating days. The weather was so bad that I spent the whole time hanging over the side being ill. I haven’t been back on the water since.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he says, and I wish I could believe him. But isn’t this what we’re trying to do here, build trust? I look at his hand. ‘Really, it’s the way we do this around here.’
He holds my stare and I don’t know whether to trust him or not.
The last time I looked into a man’s eyes, I ended up letting him kiss me and making a complete fool of myself.
And, I remind myself, I’m doing this to prove I’m not a fool.
I’m doing this to get the mill running, and to make bread.
Yesterday’s Juliet would have stayed firmly on dry land, worried about what might happen.
Now that I have a second chance, I’m prepared to take the risk.
Slowly I reach out my hand, and he holds it.
He tugs encouragingly and a ripple of excitement runs through me, making me feel half my age, as if anything is possible.
I see a flash of blue from the kingfishers, like some sort of sign.
And suddenly, with a burst of courage, I take a huge stride, hoping I land in the canoe and not the lake.
As beautiful as it is, I do not want to end up in it.
I land, wobble, and reach out for something to hold on to.
I find myself right up against Laurent’s firm chest. I can smell him, cologne and wood from his work in the mill that morning.
I look up and he’s right there, looking down at me.
I glance away and try to take a step back, nearly toppling.
He catches my elbow. I don’t want him to think I’m attracted to him.
I’m not, I tell myself. I’m not going down that route again. I am not Shirley Valentine.
‘Now, take a seat here,’ he says, and I do as I’m told and sit facing him. ‘The other way round,’ he adds. ‘You’ll need to paddle.’
‘What? Oh, yes …’ I spin around on the small seat, making the boat wobble again. I grip the sides and shut my eyes, thinking this has been a terrible mistake. I feel the boat move as he lowers himself onto the seat behind me.
‘Now, take this,’ he says, and I open my eyes to feel a paddle being lifted from the floor and slid in beside me. I follow his instructions and balance it across the sides of the boat in front of me. My heart is racing.
I watch as Laurent expertly flips the rope from its mooring stake and tosses it into the boat. There’s a bit more wobbling, but then I hear and see, out of the corner of my eye, his paddle dipping into the water.
‘Put your paddle in and just keep paddling,’ he says.
‘I will steer from behind,’ he says. ‘Now, you take the left side, I’ll take the right.
You just have to keep paddling. It’s when you stop, that’s when boats become unsteady, especially in choppy waters; that’s when boats capsize.
You have to keep paddling.’ I’m not sure if he’s talking about the canoeing or life itself. Maybe both.
He pushes the boat away from the shore and I start to panic. ‘Just paddle. I will steer,’ he says.
Within seconds we’re away from the bank.
I dip my paddle into the water, and when I’ve pulled it as far back as it can go, I lift it, put it back into the water and pull again, like Laurent does.
I’m smiling as we move quietly through the lily pads, the dragonflies darting out of our way.
I wish Maddie and Jake could see me, Pete too!
He’d never believe it. This is beautiful.
If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d get out my phone to prove what I’m doing here.
But I just keep paddling. We glide across the water, rhythmically, knowing the fish are feeding below us.
The odd duck quacks from the bank as we pass the little waterfall just beyond the fisherwomen’s spot, and rivulets run from the main lake into the wooded area.
Laurent paddles behind me, and we’re travelling slowly through the water. I catch a flash of blue. The kingfishers are there and now I’m even closer to them, watching as they sit at the edge of the lake, waiting for the right moment to dive and come up with dinner.
Suddenly one plunges into the water. I hold my breath.
‘Keep paddling,’ I hear Laurent say softly as we float up the lake into a much more shaded area, where trees meet trees and their branches entwine.
I keep dipping the blade in the water and pulling it back in a gentle rhythm, when suddenly a kingfisher appears, a small fish in its beak, and I’m delighted.
‘Success,’ Laurent says. ‘You just have to keep trying.’
We carry on until he guides us to the shore and grasps an exposed root on the bank.
‘This is where we come for wood. You can only get to it by boat,’ he says, ‘so there’s always plenty.
’ The rain is dripping onto the leaves above us, which are creating a canopy.
‘Put your paddle into the boat,’ he instructs, and I do so, entranced by the beautiful woodland glade we’re in.
‘And this is where to swim.’ He points to a part of the lake just beyond, where the trees dip low into the water.
It’s like a natural swimming pool, with a waterfall over the rocks above it and more rocks as the water flows out on the other side.
‘There is nothing like it. This is where I come when I need to think, to be alone. When I need to take a moment, I come and swim.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.
‘You should try it. It’s very private.’
‘I’m not sure I’m confident enough in the water.’
‘Give it time,’ he says.
I draw my eyes from the swimming hole to where the weeping willows drape their long branches in the water. ‘Maybe I’ll get brave enough at some point,’ I respond. I would like that very much.
‘Now, take my hand,’ Laurent instructs, and suddenly all the fear has returned.
I slowly stand and the boat starts to wobble. In a panic, I launch myself at the lakeside bank, clinging to it for safety. The front end of the canoe shoots into the air.
‘Woah!’ he says, steadying the canoe and himself, then moving to the centre of the boat.
‘Sorry!’ I say, grimacing.
‘Slow and steady. That’s how we do it. Not in the heat of the moment.’ He passes me the rope.
When I offer a hand to him, he accepts it.
He pulls himself from the canoe and secures it.
‘Now,’ he says, ‘over here, this is where we manage the woodland space and help ourselves to wood from the piles when we need it.’ He starts walking, then bends over and hands a log to me.
We load ourselves with an armful each, then pack them into the canoe.
‘We should be quick. The weather isn’t good. ’
But I have to spend some time photographing the glade and the swimming hole to share it with my family and Annie, to give them an insight into what they can expect when they get here.
I make a video of the area and send it so they hear the sounds of the raindrops on the leaves.
I tell them I wish they could know how it smells here, so fresh.
The journey back to the mill is slower. The boat is lower in the water and I don’t want to make any waves.
Slow and steady. ‘One more run and that should do you for now,’ Laurent says, as we paddle back up the lake, the rain heavier than before and starting to soak through my clothes.
I put my paddle into the water and pull back hard, remembering what Laurent said: all the time we’re paddling, we’re stable. It’s when we stop, we’re not.
He steers the boat to the side, under a tree.
‘The rain’s heavier. Let’s wait here a bit,’ he says, and points for me to get out.
He follows and holds the rope as we stand under the boughs of the trees and wait.
The sky is getting darker and more threatening.
The wind whips up and the trees sway. Suddenly there is an almighty clap of thunder, and lightning illuminates the sky.
And then the heavens really open. Huge raindrops, like I’ve never seen before.
I stand looking at the lake as the rain hammers down on it.
And it keeps coming, raining harder and harder.
‘The lake is filling,’ Laurent shouts, over the noise of nature. ‘It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop. We need to head back, before the mill starts to—’ He pauses.
‘Starts to what?’
He seems hesitant.
‘Laurent, before the mill starts to what?’ I shout back.
‘Nobody mentioned it to you?’
‘Mentioned what?’ I’m getting jittery. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The mill, when it rains and the water level rises.’
The rain is pouring down his face, and his shirt is soaked.
‘What about the mill?’ I shout over the downpour, and I can feel the cold rain sticking my top to me, making me shiver. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth.
He throws up his hands. ‘This is why people shouldn’t be allowed to buy mills without knowing about them!’ he says, against the noise of the rain on the overhanging boughs and leaves.
And I suddenly understand what he’s talking about.