Chapter 30 #2
‘You made him happy,’ she said, with a watery smile, holding her hand to his cheek, as if he were a little boy. ‘And this, wherever he is,’ she points to the sky, ‘will make him happy. But love is something to be celebrated, wherever you find it. Hold on to it.’
Somehow I find myself staring at Laurent and him at me, and I don’t want to stop.
‘There was a moment, when I thought maybe something might happen – that Raoul might feel about me as I felt about him. But he never got over losing Jeanne to Claude’s grandfather. And I suppose, I never got over him.’
‘When I wasn’t hiding in the kitchen at the boulangerie , I would sit and watch life from my window, wait for market day when we still had a proper market.
I’d watch Raoul arrive in town proudly showing off his grandchild.
He loved you more than anything, Laurent.
Grief can do strange things to people, he told me, when he explained his wife had come back.
Losing their daughter, your mother, in that awful car accident.
Neither of them ever got over it. It turned their lives upside down.
But he carried on, pulling his grandson tighter to him. He just wanted to keep you safe.’
He kept on paddling , I think, tears pricking my eyes.
‘After she left, as I said, I thought there might be hope, but I don’t think he could ever let anyone else in.
I loved him. And I think he cared about me, but only as Little Bijounette.
A precious friendship. He was older than me, by fifteen years, and I think that mattered to him.
Besides, he was still married. But I couldn’t stop hoping that one day … ’
‘Well, I see the rumours are true! The old wheel is turning again!’ Claude is standing in the doorway, ruining the atmosphere, like pouring water onto a fire.
‘ Bonjour ,’ he says, ‘Madame,’ nodding to her.
She sniffs, wipes her nose with a tissue from her sleeve, sets her backbone and lifts her head. ‘Monsieur,’ she replies.
‘May I?’ he asks, and, without waiting for an answer, comes to stand next to the big grinding stones where we’re gathered.
I go cold, as if I can physically feel the frostiness from the two men at either side of me.
Laurent sighs. ‘You again. Like a bad smell, you keep turning up.’ He walks past him towards the door.
‘You leaving, Laurent? Not because of me, I hope! I came to see if the rumours were true that you were trying to get this place running again. But you must see it’s a lost cause. Like your grandparents. Your grandfather should have realised …’
Laurent’s usual easy-going manner disappears. In one or two huge strides he is standing in front of Claude. He leans in, face to face, and growls, ‘Say another word about my grandparents and I will rip that head of yours off your shoulders.’ He grips Claude’s shirt front.
For a split second I see a flash of fear in Claude’s eyes, but then his smug smile returns and he stands his ground.
‘I understand you were upset about your grandmother wanting to join our family,’ he says, with faux feeling, ‘but that, a bit like this place, was a silly dream. She was only ever a pastime for my grandfather. It’s sweet that you think this could be a fully working mill again.
Most people aren’t stuck in the past like you.
Times change, things move on. This mill will never be what you hope. It’s a fantasy.’
For a moment, Laurent stares at Claude, then suddenly releases him. ‘You’re not worth it,’ he mutters.
‘Laurent,’ I say quickly, ‘could you check if we have any more wood to come in? I may need more for the fire.’
With a curl of his lip towards Claude, he heads for the door.
Claude recovers himself, straightening his shirt. ‘That’s it, run along, Laurent, I have things to discuss …’
Laurent glares at him over his shoulder and, for a moment, I think he may turn and hit Claude. Instead, he gives a small shake of the head, then strides out into the fresh air.
We watch him go, and when I turn back, I see Madame B has brushed away any traces of the flour we’ve made, like a pro. Not a speck left behind.
‘Like I say, Julie …’
‘It’s Juliet,’ I hiss.
‘This place is a fantasy. It will never happen. The village doesn’t need any more bread. They have mine. It’s better you give this idea up.’
He looks at me and I feel my skin crawl. How could I have been so stupid as to find this man attractive when I first met him? I pull myself together. I haven’t come this far to be bullied.
‘I will do what I want with my building,’ I say firmly. ‘I don’t need your or anyone else’s permission. Now, I’d like you to leave, please.’
‘You heard her, Monsieur,’ says Madame B, and Bibi joins in with a bark, lunging forward. Claude backs away.
He stares at Madame B and I’m impressed by the respect she commands.
Then he turns to me. ‘Of course.’ He looks towards the open door, where Laurent is returning from the wood pile on the bank by the lake, carrying an armful of logs.
The canoe finally made its way to shore, as Laurent said it would, and is retied to the marker in the ground there.
‘On your way now, Monsieur,’ says Madame B.
He’s backing towards the door, Bibi escorting him out.
‘Remember to keep me in mind for supplying your bread. I don’t want anything to ruin your plans for the salon de thé .’ He looks up at the newly painted walls and trips as he backs up the stone steps towards the big front door.
I’m seething.
‘Still here?’ says Laurent.
‘Just leaving,’ he says, but this time he isn’t smirking and steps around Laurent, like a mouse – or in this case a rat. It’s a good job Laurent’s got an armful of logs to hold as Claude hurries out.
Suddenly I want to vent, but I can’t. I can’t tell them how much I’ve come to despise that man and why. It would make them despise me just as much.
‘What was he doing here?’ says Laurent. ‘Was he pushing you to use his bread at the salon de thé again?’
‘Yes. And I think he was curious about the water wheel. But I don’t want him to have any idea how close we are to getting the flour right for the bread. He’s the last person I want to know what we’re trying to make happen.’
Madame B gives one of her derisory sniffs and heads for the front door.
‘Bibi,’ she calls. ‘ Au revoir , you two. See you tomorrow, early, at the boulangerie ,’ she announces as she leaves. And as I watch her go, I barely have time to think about what she’s just said. She’s going to be at the boulangerie in the morning. This is going to happen!
Laurent, however, is still focused on Claude. ‘Well, you’re better off steering well clear of him. Like his grandfather, he takes what he can, when he can, without a thought for anyone. And discards what he doesn’t want any more.’
‘Did you hear what Madame B just said?’ I try to change the subject.
Laurent puts the logs by the fire, stands up straight and dusts his hands. ‘You had plenty of wood already … I nearly hit him.’
‘But you didn’t,’ I reply.
‘I could have.’
‘But you didn’t,’ I repeat.
‘No, I didn’t. He wanted me to. He wanted people to believe the stories about me are true.
That I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.
That I’m a man with nothing. But the truth is, there is nowhere I’d rather be than here.
And I have more than he will ever have, because I have a passion’ – he puts his fist to his chest, and my heart starts to pound – ‘to make this place special again. And,’ he laughs, ‘right now I can’t think of anyone I would rather share that passion with. ’
A flame roars up inside me. And all at once I have a purpose, something I’m here to do, something that will make a difference to this community. And Laurent sets in motion the mechanism for the grinding stone to turn.