It Started With a Note

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘I’ll see you around,’ I say. I start walking back towards the hotel, and the words sit uncomfortably in my ears.

  ‘Cath. Wait.’ I hear footsteps running towards me. I turn to see Olivier standing there, shoulders sagging as he catches his breath, features crumpled. ‘Can I take you out to lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘Lunch?’ I say, once again confused. ‘Another French lesson?’

  He shakes his head and something like hope fills my chest. ‘To apologise for being such a grump.’

  My heart sinks. ‘Okay,’ I say, the rest of my vocabulary blocked by something.

  A wide smile breaks across his face and his body relaxes. ‘Good. Great. I’ll pick you up around ten.’

  Okay.’ I force a smile.

  He turns to leave and then spins back, almost colliding with me. ‘Would it be okay if we called it a date?’ A date? My heart flips and I try to smile but my mouth twitches nervously and I don’t think it quite happens.

  All I can manage is a nod.

  ‘Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He smiles. ‘I should go and apologise to Kevin. I’ve been a bit rude to him. Perhaps tomorrow at lunch we can work on some French vocabulary. The word for idiot perhaps? Spoiler alert: it’s idiot.’ I smile, glad to see him back to his usual, cheerier self.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say, managing to keep my cool as my insides do a Cirque du Soleil practice.

  Once he’s gone, I deflate until I’m just a blob of skin and innards that’s subsided on the bench. I can feel the onset of another argument with my subconscious. You got as much as you could have hoped for, she says. I assume my subconscious is a she because she’s me. I haven’t really thought about it before. ‘What if I got too much?’ I argue back.

  I spot a familiar plume of purple hair emerging from the hotel. If anyone’s going to take my maudlin mind away from my Olivier musing, it’s her. ‘Jackie!’ I yell across the square. She peers over her large sunglasses and waves when she spots me.

  She’s a bright vision in her geometric print dress, skipping across the grey square, and I wish I had my own sunglasses on just so I could look at her without risking my eyesight. ‘Good morning, Cath love. How are you feeling?’ she asks, plonking herself down on the bench beside me.

  ‘I’m not going to lie, I’ve felt better.’

  ‘I don’t think Arras was ready for us.’ She chuckles. ‘What are you up to today? I can’t remember whether we made plans or not?’

  I laugh. ‘I can’t remember either. I’m not quite sure. My priority was getting some breakfast and I’ve managed that. I suppose I’m at a bit of a loose end.’

  ‘Me too. I was just going to browse the shops. I was thinking of going to Lille but I really can’t be bothered. There are some nice little shops in Arras if you fancy joining me?’

  I check my watch. ‘Yes, that sounds perfect.’

  Jackie doesn’t have the same sense of urgency while shopping as the American women, so we meander at a steady pace, looking in all the clothes shops. I even treat myself to a new top. It’s all floaty chiffon and flowers and makes me feel like I can pull off boho chic. I think I’ll wear it to lunch tomorrow.

  ‘So, who are you meeting tomorrow?’ Jackie asks as she squeezes her feet into some soft leather sandals. I’d happened to mention I was going for lunch when I was browsing for a top.

  ‘Er … well …’ My stumbling causes her to look up. If I say his name I’m going to have to tell her the whole story. So I do.

  Her eyes widen when I say ‘Olivier’, and the anticipated questions come rolling in, so I fill her in completely.

  ‘Blimey,’ she says after. The shop assistant is looking at us impatiently as Jackie has been sitting wearing the sandals for so long he probably thinks she’s itching to do a runner. She hasn’t even looked in the mirror yet.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jackie says to the assistant eventually. ‘I’ll take them.’ She removes the shoes and hands them over to a visibly relieved assistant. ‘It all sounds so romantic, especially him taking you to Mametz Wood and swimming in the sea at Le Touquet.’

  ‘Well, that’s the part I’m having trouble with. We’ve built up a good friendship up to now, and I was going to ask him if he wanted to keep in touch when I left and then he asks me on a date, which I found myself getting excited about, but I’ll be going home soon and a holiday romance will just get messy and complicated and a friendship is much more manageable.’

  ‘Breathe,’ Jackie says, but it barely registers. If only I hadn’t got drunk that night, Kevin wouldn’t have caught me, Olivier wouldn’t have gone all weird and we could have both carried on as we were.

  She regards me with pursed lips and folded arms.

  ‘You need to pay.’ I nod towards the counter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My floaty new top goes beautifully with my blue jeans and tan sandals. I feel like I’ve made an unobvious effort, which is a balance I never quite manage to achieve at home. The bit of colour I’ve got from the sun sets the top off well and my hair has a shine to it that I haven’t noticed before. I feel more comfortable in my own skin than I have in a long time.

  The unfamiliar sound of the buzzer makes me jump as I’m doing my mascara; it smudges, and I realise it’s the first time I’ve heard it since living in the studio. It makes me wonder how often I’ll hear the doorbell when I’m home, now Kieran’s friends will no longer be calling for him. I wipe underneath my eye, grab my bag and keys, and head downstairs to meet Olivier.

  When I open the door, I gasp. He isn’t wearing his usual red T-shirt, as I’ve come to expect, but a crisp white shirt that clings to his arms in all the right places, and some cornflower blue chinos and tan loafers. The difference the outfit makes is quite staggering and I’m so glad I’ve worn my new top.

  ‘Bonjour, madame,’ he says.

  Nerves wash over me, inhibiting my facial muscles. ‘Bonjour,’ I manage.

  ‘Shall we?’ He holds an elbow out for me and I take it. We walk the short distance to his car and he unhooks his arm and holds the car door open for me. I look at him with a frown.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask, assuming we’d be walking to somewhere local.

  ‘I thought we’d try somewhere a little bit different.’

  He’s grinning, so I don’t ask where because I sense he’s enjoying the mystery. Instead, I take in the beautiful rolling hills and farmland as we zip along the country roads. I don’t know how much time passes, but I start to see signs for Reims and the intrigue becomes too much.

  ‘Okay, I have to ask – where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to a vineyard.’ He glances at me momentarily, before fixing his eyes back on the road.

  ‘A vineyard?’

  ‘Yes, the Calais region is not renowned for its wine, so we’re heading towards the Champagne region.’

  I think back to my fifteen-pound glass of champers on the ferry and get little twinges of excitement as I snuggle down into the car seat. I really am living the life of luxury. I feel my phone vibrate and a text comes in from Kaitlynn.

  How are things? Are you still alive? K x

  I smile; I’m sure it’s only been a day or two since I last texted her.

  All is good. I’ve been shopping and to the beach. It really is beautiful here and the weather has been fantastic. Heading to the champagne region today. Living the high life, I am! I don’t know how I’ll ever return to my normal existence again ;) x

  She replies straight away.

  Who with? x

  I tuck my phone away because I feel foolish talking about Olivier behind his back while he’s sitting right next to me, even though he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

  We turn up a long, golden-pebbled driveway and head towards a beautiful white chateau at the top of the hill. Fields of grapevines stretch as far as the eyes can see on either side of us.

  ‘This place is stunning,’ I say.

  ‘It belongs to an old friend of mine.
It’s a small family business – they don’t mass-produce their champagne so you probably won’t have seen it in the UK, but what they do make is exceptional.’

  His friend? That comment makes me realise how little I actually know about Olivier. ‘What an amazing place to live and work. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ My voice is all breathy with excitement and awe.

  ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’ He winks.

  He parks up and we walk across the crunchy gravel to the house. Before we reach the door, it swings open and a lady dressed in a black and white housekeeping uniform beckons us in with a smile. She speaks in French, but I’m impressed with myself when I’m able to pick up on a few words.

  ‘Michael is in the private garden,’ I say quietly to Olivier, ninety per cent certain that’s what the woman said.

  ‘Très bien.’ He smiles at me.

  ‘So, how do you and Michael know one another?’ I ask Olivier as we follow the housekeeper down the hallway and past a sign that says ‘privé’.

  ‘He and I went to school together. We remained friends, but with our work, we don’t get to see one another as often as we we’d like.’

  ‘Olivier!’ A tall, slim man with thinning black hair stands to greet us as we step outside some French doors (or are they just doors here?).

  ‘Michael, it has been too long,’ Olivier says in English, before grabbing Michael and pulling him in for a hug.

  ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Michael’s face is bright and happy as he regards his old friend. ‘And you must introduce us.’ He looks at me, stooping to shake my hand.

  ‘Michael, this is Cath, from England. I had to make friends with her when she expressed an interest in the Great War.’ His eyes dance with humour and I laugh nervously.

  ‘Ahh yes, you history types are a rare breed.’ Michael’s English is impeccable, but I suppose he has plenty of English guests here. ‘Let me get you both a drink.’ He doesn’t ask us what we’d like; instead, he pops into the house and returns a moment later empty-handed.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’ He gestures to the cast-iron patio set and Olivier pulls out a chair for me before sitting between me and Michael. The private garden is very pretty, with a small manicured lawn area and plenty of flowers and shrubs growing around the borders. A wooden love seat sits proudly at the top end and the patio furniture is positioned closer to the house. The sun falls directly on the patch of grass, but a gentle breeze blows in from the vineyards beyond.

  The housekeeper comes out not long after we’re seated. She’s carrying a tray of champagne flutes and a metal ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne, with condensation running down its sides. It’s one of those free-standing ice buckets that you see in fancy restaurants, the kind on a tall stand that sits beside the table.

  ‘Madame,’ she says, placing the glass down in front of me.

  ‘Is this champagne that you’ve produced here?’ I ask Michael, once the bubbles have been poured.

  ‘Of course! You don’t think I drink that mass-produced rubbish, do you?’ He winks then smiles, making me laugh a little. He has an air of boyish mischief about him and I already like him.

  I take a sip of the rich, creamy bubbles, which fizz gently on my tongue. ‘This is very good,’ I say, setting my flute down gently.

  ‘Thank you. My family have been perfecting our methods for generations,’ Michael replies.

  Olivier raises his glass in his hand to point at Michael. ‘Michael has been working at the vineyard since he was in kindergarten, back when his grandparents used to run it. That’s when we first met. I liked to play with toy trains and Michael liked to collect grapes.’ He laughs easily. ‘When we were a little bit older, I’d come over for the weekend sometimes and we’d earn pocket money grape-picking.’

  ‘But mostly it would end in a grape-fight,’ Michael adds wistfully.

  Olivier laughs. ‘Yes, until your grandmother caught us and then she’d shout at us and dock our pay. In fact, didn’t we have to pay her once because we’d wasted so many?’ They both burst out laughing.

  I smile, enjoying the little snippet of Olivier’s history, picturing the two of them.

  ‘Damn right we did. I’d do much worse nowadays. These grapes are more precious than my own children.’ We all tinkle with gentle laughter.

  The housekeeper comes back and puts a dish of green olives out before returning inside the house.

  ‘Now these you have to try.’ Michael holds the bowl out towards me and Olivier, and we both jab a cocktail stick in and take one dutifully.

  ‘Mmm. These are delicious,’ I say after cramming one into my mouth. I’d only ever tried the ones from work before, and to be honest they didn’t do much for me, all tough and salty. These, on the other hand, are to die for – they just melt in your mouth, bursting with flavour.

  ‘My wife is always after the perfect accompaniment for our champagne. This is her number one nibble,’ Michael says, jabbing a cocktail stick into one for himself.

  ‘Is your wife here today?’ I ask. I’d love to meet her. I find the whole idea of a family producing champagne fascinating. It isn’t the kind of career path our school advisers would ever have put us on back home.

  ‘Yes, you’ll meet her later on. She’s gone to the market.’

  When we finish our wine, Michael takes us to the front of the house, where a golf buggy awaits. ‘It’s time to see the vineyard,’ he says, jumping into the driver’s seat. I sit in the back, leaving Olivier to choose who to sit next to. He slides in next to me. We drive down the bumpy path while Michael explains about the vineyard, how it’s expanded over the years, what the different types of grapes are used for and how they absorb different flavours from the earth, depending upon what is growing nearby. Olivier doesn’t say much, but I’m guessing he’s seen and heard it all before, or, like me, he just enjoys listening. It is such a wonderful place to bring me to. It’s not somewhere I’d have ever thought to visit if it wasn’t for Olivier, but all my senses are suddenly alive with the peaceful sound of the birds, the bright leafy-green vines following the curve of the land and stretching into the distance, and the sight of the juicy, almost ripe fruit hanging from them in their abundance.

  After a while, Michael pulls the buggy to a stop. ‘Lunch is served,’ he says, gesturing to a red and white gingham tablecloth spread out in one of the fields. A wicker picnic basket has been set out next to it and there are plates and glasses there too.

  ‘Oh my goodness. This is wonderful.’ I clasp my hands to my mouth.

  ‘I’m glad you approve,’ Michael says.

  Olivier has already jumped out and has walked around to my side to help me out. I take his warm hand and climb out but Michael doesn’t move.

  ‘Aren’t you joining us?’ My smile wavers – the thought of just Olivier and I together in this beautiful setting suddenly sends tremors through me. I suppose that is what a date entails.

  ‘I’m afraid not. I have châteaux guests arriving at 3 p.m. and have an orientation to set up. You kids have fun.’ He drives off, waving a hand in the air as he does. I leave it as long as I can get away with before turning around to face Olivier.

  All I can crank out is a ‘Well.’ Which he echoes.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ He takes my hand and leads me over to the spread, and I sit down, crossing my legs. Olivier starts to unpack the picnic and shortly after, hands me another glass of champagne, which I’m incredibly grateful for.

  ‘Cheers,’ he says, clinking his glass against mine.

  ‘Cheers,’ I say quietly.

  There are cured meats, cheeses and more olives in the hamper, plus fresh bread, and strawberry tarts for after. The rich tastes explode in my mouth and while I’m in food heaven, I can ignore the tension of being in this romantic spot with such a handsome man.

  We chat through lunch, and I’m thrilled to be able to get part of the way through our conversation in French, with the odd minor correction or suggestion from Olivier. I can’t
believe how quickly I’m able to pick it up with him on hand.

  As I’m finishing off my strawberry tart, I’m acutely aware of Olivier’s eyes on me. I dust off my lips just in case any escaped crumbs are lingering there, though the thing was so delicious, I’d be disappointed in myself if I’d missed them. Once I’ve swallowed my last bite, I dare myself to look at him.

  His eyes are there, like I’d felt they would be.

  I swallow hard.

  ‘Cath, yesterday you asked me a question and I didn’t give you my full answer,’ he says.

  My mind goes blank. I don’t remember a question – not one he didn’t answer anyway.

  ‘You asked why I cared so much when I saw you and Kevin together.’

  I gulp as hope fills my chest cavity.

  ‘The truth is, I shouldn’t have really,’ he says, and the hope starts to leak out. ‘But, I’ve started to really enjoy your company and the thought of no longer being able to spend time with you disappointed me a little.’ Well, that was hardly an expansion on what he’d already said; in fact, it was less hopeful. ‘That’s why I asked you to lunch today.’ It still isn’t what I’m hoping for. His eyes bore into mine, as though he’s trying to say so much more, but I don’t speak eyes or glances – I need words.

  ‘Well, you don’t need to worry about that. I haven’t been with a man for a long time and I’m not about to start looking for one now, so I’m all yours, available for sightseeing, teaching French and taking on picturesque picnics.’ I give a tight smile. Something flickers across Olivier’s face – a shadow, a momentary relaxation of his muscles, which quickly reform.

  ‘Of course. Perfect,’ he says with a pinched smile. We both sip our champagne and I can tell by the thickness of the atmosphere that we both need it. The sound of birds tweeting breaks the tension a little, and I gaze up to see them soar overhead.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not really making much sense here and I talk for a living! The truth is …’ His words startle me a little and I lower my head to look at him. ‘The truth is: I do like you, Cath. A lot. You’re different, in a good way, and you don’t take life too seriously. You’re fun and always make me smile and I’ve enjoyed touring the battlefields with you so much. I love how you’re as passionate as I am about the history here and how easy it is to just talk to you. I love how you’re so easy to be around and how your face lights up when you smile. But most of all, I just like being with you, in a museum, or a vineyard or on a bench in Arras.’ He takes an uncertain breath, ‘So, I suppose, when I saw you with Kevin, I was perhaps a little jealous.’