Chapter Fifteen #2
She stared at me a moment, mulling this over.
‘Yes, I think that might be exactly it. How clever of you.’ Then she gave an impatient little grunt.
‘But as for sex, making love, I’m not sure I understand that anymore anyway.
Perhaps I never did, although I always found Johnny a great lover, not that I had much to measure him by,’ she amended.
‘You see, Alix, if you believed everything you read about these days, women your age and younger are rushing about seeking and finding multiple orgasms all over the shop. Well, I simply don’t believe that.
Are they simply trying to be fashionable, trying to stay in with the in-crowd as my generation used to call it?
Or have they convinced themselves that there is indeed a new dawn of female sexuality and now we all can enjoy as good and uncomplicated a fuck as a man? ’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Do you? Even though you’re young? So can you tell me then why the twenty-first century should have miraculously changed what we are essentially as women?
’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I suppose I’m a bit with that lovely old film Shirley Valentine.
You know, where she says sex is like supermarket shopping.
There’s a lot of pushing and shoving and in the end you still don’t come out with very much. ’
I smiled.
‘Anyway, the upshot is I don’t want another man – even if another man wanted me. I only want Johnny. I’ve only ever wanted Johnny.’ Her eyes became abstracted as she contemplated this. ‘I almost wish I were a lesbian. Then I could live with another woman.’
‘Er, I think that involves sex as well.’
‘Yeah, of course it does, which is no good, is it? Not given I’m indelibly straight. I know! I need what used to be known as a paid companion.’
‘Yuk.’
She focused on me. ‘Yes, maybe, but maybe there was something in that.’
We were silent for a moment. Then she sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Alix, really I am. I seem to do nothing but dump my troubles on you.
Ignore me. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.
There’s lots of people in my situation – squillions.
It’s the way of the world. I mean, take you, for instance, you live on your own, don’t you? ’
‘Not really.’ I told her about Carl.
‘Oh, you lucky cow,’ she said enviously. ‘But there you go. Having a child changes your whole life. You’re never really alone again, much as you might occasionally want to be,’ she added with a brave attempt at humour.
Quite where the conversation might have gone at this point I cannot say, as from under the table Alphonse, having consumed a large bowl of turkey leftovers, suddenly emitted the most tremendous fart.
‘It was the plumbing!’ Jess squeaked at the elderly English couple who could no longer pretend not to have heard anything. ‘Antique French plumbing!’
‘Oh my gosh,’ I muttered, trying to control my hysteria.
‘My gosh indeed. Alphonse?’ Jess leant forward to pat the dog’s head. ‘You nearly did for me,’ she croaked, wiping tears again from her eyes, but this time of mirth.
Then all at once, her face lit up. ‘You say Luc doesn’t want this dog?’
Puzzled, I nodded at her.
‘I wonder…’
***
‘I knew she was in a bad way, but I didn’t realise quite how bad.’ Luc looked troubled.
‘Look, I think she’ll be all right given time.
Although she’s vulnerable, she’s tough and she’s intelligent and she’s sensible.
What she needs is something to focus on, something to love and care for, and Alphonse could be the answer.
He’s a very affectionate little dog,’ I said.
‘And if nothing else he’ll provide a distraction. ’
‘With what you just told me about the fart, it certainly sounds as though he’s good at distractions.’ He smiled. ‘Actually, that is so bloody funny I’m tempted to keep him.’
‘Jess said you could have him straight back if you wanted.’
Luc waved a hand. ‘No, no, I’m joking. It’s a great idea. Jess could always come and live with me for a bit, but you said she doesn’t want to do that.’
‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Afraid not.’
‘It’s not practical anyway. I won’t be staying in France. Okay. It’s a done deal.’
‘What about Emma?’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be fine about it. I’m not presuming to second-guess my daughter – I never can – but apart from the fact that she’s extremely fond of Jess, I think it was the idea of Alphonse being cast off to someone strange that she didn’t like.
Actually, I wasn’t too enamoured of that idea myself.
’ Then he leant forward towards me across the table. ‘Listen – thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For what you’ve done – for Jess, for my family. I’m truly grateful.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Yes, you have. And listen,’ he said again, ‘there’s something I want to say to you.
’ With a shy little smile, he stretched out his hand as if about to take mine, but before he could, his phone, which had been peacefully lying on the table, flashed and emitted a loud beep.
‘Oh, hell.’ Glancing at it, his smile switched off like a blown light bulb.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘But I’m afraid I’ve got to answer this.
’ Phone clamped to his ear, he banged out through the swing door.
I got up and took my empty cup to the sink only to linger there, staring up out of the window at the winter evening sky.
What had he been going to say to me? A little tremor of anticipation ran over me.
I didn’t know what to think. I wondered who he was talking to on the phone.
I could just hear his voice, faintly in the distance, not the precise words but between long pauses sounding distinctly annoyed.
He came back in. ‘Oh, bugger, sod, damn.’ He sighed, throwing me a distracted look as I turned towards him.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Has something awful happened?’
‘Something awful? No, not awful, just bloody aggravating. That was my mother,’ he said flatly. ‘She’s decided she’s had quite enough of Nice and wants to go home as soon as possible.’
‘I see,’ I said carefully.
‘Of course it’s entirely up to her what she does, but she’s demanding that Emma travels back with her.’
‘I expect she doesn’t like flying on her own.’
‘What? No, it’s not that—’ He broke off as his eyes suddenly lighted on the present for me, still lying unopened on the kitchen table. ‘What’s that?’ He frowned, nodding at it.
‘Um… oh, a Christmas present – for me apparently. Nicole found it when she was hoovering under the tree.’ I lifted my shoulders. ‘But I’ve no idea who it’s from. Whoever is the giver hasn’t signed their name.’
Picking it up, Luc examined the tag. ‘Jules. That’s Jules Croisset’s handwriting,’ he said and put it back down.
I picked it up and frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ he snapped irritably. ‘I’ve known the man since university. He’s always prided himself on his poncy handwriting.’
Ouch, I thought, but said nothing.
‘However, I fail to imagine why on earth Jules Croisset would give you of all people a Christmas present.’
‘Can it possibly be that he likes me?’ I flashed back, nettled at his derisory tone.
‘He’s barely met you!’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ I said defiantly. ‘We’ve been out to lunch together, spent a whole day together, in fact.’
‘What? When?’
‘I can’t remember offhand,’ I said crossly. ‘Oh, last Sunday. Does it matter?’
‘You’re supposed to be working here.’
‘Yes, well, it was one of the many occasions when my services were not required.’
In the short silence that followed, we glared at each other. Then abruptly, he turned on his heel.
‘Well, they are now, so you can make me something to eat.’ He marched to the door. ‘Something light, a sandwich or something, on a tray. Bring it up to the gallery.’
‘Very well, but can I just explain about Jules—’
Holding up a hand as if stopping traffic, he cut me off mid-sentence. ‘Nothing to do with me. What you do in your own time is entirely your own affair.’ He turned away again.
‘Luc…’ I began to his back and then hesitated, all at once nervous about using his given name.
He swung round, his face wiped of expression. ‘What?’
‘You were going to say something to me, before your mother phoned. You said you had something you wanted to say to me.’
‘Did I?’ He yawned as if bored, but it was a false yawn, a pantomime yawn. ‘Well, I’ve forgotten. No matter. It would not have been anything important.’
And with that, he was gone.
Alone in the kitchen I stared at the door as it closed, slammed indeed, behind him.
What the hell had happened there? At a loss, my eyes shifted to the Christmas present still sitting on the table.
I felt a sudden powerful urge to chuck the wretched thing in the bin.
Instead, seizing it, I tore off the fussy wrapping and threw it aside.
Inside was a plain black rectangular box. I lifted the lid.
Lying on a bed of tissue paper was the brutalist necklace I had admired in the shop in Biot, the necklace I had admired last Sunday with Jules.