by Janey Fraser
‘Jilly? It’s Matthew.’
Thank goodness for that!
‘Look, I’m sorry to ring at a bad time. I know you’re dashing off for this family party but I’ve got a problem.’
Jilly felt a sense of foreboding. Matthew had kindly ‘lent’ Marie-France to her for the weekend. Had he changed his mind?
‘Something rather unexpected has happened.’ His voice dropped again as though he was trying to speak without anyone hearing him. ‘Marie-France’s mother has just turned up on the doorstep.’
‘Her mother?’
‘Yes. Says she wanted to pay a surprise visit. Rather weird, don’t you think?’
‘Very.’ Jilly’s mind went back to when she’d spoken to Madame Dubonne on the phone a few weeks ago. Definitely the pushy type!
‘I don’t know what to do with her. The boyfriend’s gone off somewhere, thank goodness, but now I have this strange Frenchwoman.’
Jilly groaned. ‘I suppose we’d better take her with us. It’s going to put the tables out but we’ll manage somehow.’
‘Thanks.’ Matthew sounded hugely relieved.
It took longer than she’d anticipated to get to Matthew’s with the traffic, and she found it difficult to concentrate: a picture of those pants kept coming into her head. Maybe there was a simple explanation. But what?
Wow! Jilly stared at the very tall, pale, plump-faced woman (a bit like a hamster) with bright red hair and very high heels who was standing at Matthew’s gate with a suitcase by her side. The curtains on the other side of the road were twitching and it wasn’t surprising. The woman looked like a hooker.
‘Is she from the circus?’ demanded one of the twins. ‘She’s got really red lipstick.’
‘Sssh, Harry. That’s rude.’
‘It’s Alfie, Mum! Anyway, he’s right. Her hair’s weird!’
‘Madame Dubonne?’ asked Jilly, getting out of the car.
‘Hah! You arrive at last.’ The woman clipped her way to the car as though she was a taxi that was late. ‘I am waiting.’
Jilly drew in her breath. No apology for turning up like this without notice.
Marie-France’s mother handed her case to one of the boys in the back. ‘You will take this, yes?’ Then she slid into the front seat, showing more than just a flash of leg. ‘We go to see my daughter now, yes?’
Jilly nodded. ‘We’re actually going to a family party. It’s a bit of a drive. Er, are you sure you don’t want to ring her and say you are coming?’
‘Non.’ The woman shook her head emphatically. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’
‘Is that a good idea?’ began Jilly but the woman didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, she was looking around keenly as they drove through town.
‘Mon Dieu, c’est différent,’ she mumbled under her breath.
‘Of course! Marie-France said you were an au pair here some years ago. Quite a coincidence.’
The woman nodded. ‘I work near here. Down that road. There!’
She pointed to a large house on the corner with a holly tree in the front garden.
Jilly gasped. ‘That’s was Aunty Angela’s house until she moved! Well, actually, she’s not a real aunt. She’s a friend of Mum’s from school.’ She almost added the words ‘until they had some kind of an argument’ but then pulled herself up in time. ‘Actually, she’s going to be at the party.’
That reminded her. Mum still didn’t know about Angela although she probably suspected. Please don’t let there be a row …
‘She will be at the party?’ An amused look passed over Marie-France’s mother’s face. ‘Then it will be a very big surprise, I think. A very big one.’
‘Mum!’ This was Alfie from the back. ‘Where’s Fat Eema?’
Oh my God. She knew she’d forgotten something. The last time she’d seen Fatima, the girl had been in the bathroom. There was no way she could risk leaving her at home – she’d only have another false alarm!
Hastily she did an eight-point turn in the road. ‘I’ve forgotten someone. Sorry!’
JILLY’S AU PAIR AGENCY: GUIDELINES FOR FAMILIES
If you go out for the day, it is polite to ask your au pair if she would like to come with you.
Chapter 35
‘SO IF MY husband assumes that having a party is going to make up for everything, he’s got another think coming.’
What does ‘another think coming’ mean, wondered Marie-France, listening to this chic older Englishwoman in front. You’d never think she was Jilly’s mother! So confident. So put together. Her mother would definitely approve!
There was a jerk as the car went round the corner, pushing Marie-France, who was sitting in the back, towards Jilly’s teenage son, who blushed furiously as he texted madly next to her. So sweet!
‘He simply can’t resist any female who flutters her eyelashes!’ continued Jilly’s mother. ‘And now he’s chummed up again with Angela even though he knows I can’t stand her.’
Marie-France couldn’t resist butting in. ‘So why do you allow your husband to continue?’
The older woman turned round and glared. ‘Did anyone ask you your opinion?’
‘Sheila!’ David threw Marie-France an apologetic look in the mirror.
‘Don’t “Sheila” me, David. This is meant to be a private family conversation. But if you really want to know, young lady, when you get to my age, a blind eye is better than half a pension. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a little nap. I need to arrive bright and refreshed if that woman is going to be there.’
For the next hour or so, there was an uneasy peace in the car as Jilly’s mother lapsed into a deep sleep, her head nodding in loud snores. Plugging her iPod in, Marie-France pretended to watch the fields outside that had replaced the suburbs. It gave her a chance to mentally replay the scene with Thierry, as she’d been doing again and again ever since it happened.
After the swimming party, she and Thierry had finally got some time to themselves in the pub round the corner from Matthew’s. ‘What do you mean you have something to tell me about my father?’ she’d demanded, launching in without any small talk.
Thierry had taken a large gulp of red wine and tried to put his arm around her. Smartly, she pushed him away. He might have rescued Paula in the pool but she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d flirted with that barmaid in London.
‘Your mother confided in Maurice who then spoke to Henri at the bakery,’ he began. ‘He plays bowls with Pierre who is one of our regular customers at the garage. Your father isn’t called John Smith at all. She made up the name because she doesn’t want you to find him.’
Marie-France bit her lip. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? ‘Then what is he called?’
‘She wouldn’t say.’ He stretched out his arm again and this time she allowed it to rest on the back of her chair. ‘But it is true that he lived in Corrywood.’
That was something, at least. ‘But why did my mother tell me anything at all about my father, after all these years of refusing to discuss him?’
Something flickered in Thierry’s eyes. ‘I cannot tell you, Marie-France. Not yet. I made a promise.’
‘Who to? My mother?’
He looked away. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But you will know soon enough. Honestly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I cannot say. But I need to ask you something.’ He sounded sad. ‘Why did you break up with me without talking it over? I was so hurt.’
‘I didn’t break up with you! I told you! Tom, the boy I was looking after, ripped up our photograph. I was trying to mend it.’
He shook his head, smiling as though she was telling a lie. ‘I am not talking about the photograph. Or the texts which I sent.’
‘And which I never received.’ She was seized by a sudden thought. ‘You did get my text about changing my sim card last month, didn’t you? To get a better rate?’
He shrugged. ‘I forget.’
Marie-France could have screame
d. Thierry might be sexy and funny but he wasn’t the brightest spark. ‘So that’s why I didn’t get your messages, dumbo.’
He glared at her. ‘Then how do you explain your Facebook?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It says your status is single.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Marie-France tried to remember when she’d last checked her profile. Not for ages. Matthew’s internet connection had been down so she hadn’t even been able to look at her Wall since moving in.
‘See for yourself. Here.’
He pushed across his phone which was a smarter version of hers: the type that you could read your messages on. He was right!
‘But I didn’t change it.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I kept it as “In a relationship” just in case.’
Thierry shook his head. ‘I do not know whether to believe you, Marie-France. You have changed since you come here.’ He stood up, tossing back his hair and sending hot shivers of desire through her. ‘I’m going now.’
‘Back to your little garage?’ she snapped, furious that he wouldn’t believe her.
‘Non! To Ireland! And then wherever I feel like going.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I have you to thank for that, chérie. If you had not come here, I would not have followed you.’ He paused. ‘But now I’m moving on.’
His lips brushed the top of her head. ‘Au revoir, Marie-France. It was fun while it lasted. Yes?’
How could that have happened? How could her Facebook status suddenly say ‘Single’?
‘Maybe you were fraped, ja?’ Heidi had suggested when she’d confided in her friend. ‘You know. It’s when someone hacks into your settings and changes stuff. It’s Facebook rape.’
But who would have done that?
‘Antoinette!’ they both said to each other at the same time.
‘She was mad at me for telling Jilly about Immy,’ Marie-France remembered. ‘Just wait until I get her.’
Heidi had put a hand on her arm. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t make a fuss or she could do something else. Make up some horrible lie which would be far worse. The best thing to do with cyber bullies is ignore them.’
So she had. She’d cold-shouldered Antoinette, ignoring her as though she didn’t exist. After all, the damage had been done. Thierry had gone. And if he really loved her, he’d have believed her.
‘OK, everyone.’ David’s voice cut in on her thoughts. ‘We’re here.’
Marie-France looked out of the window as the car crunched down a horseshoe-shaped drive. Wow! What a beautiful house! Its white exterior was set off by that golden creeper climbing up the front. And just look at those huge bay windows in the front. Jilly’s parents must be very rich!
At the door, dressed in a navy-blue jacket, beige trousers and a scarlet cravat, was a rather good-looking man in his sixties. He was coming towards them now and opening the passenger door.
‘Darling, how lovely to have you home.’
‘Hello, Hugh!’
Marie-France watched entranced as Jilly’s mother coolly allowed her husband to help her out of the car. David was now shaking his father-in-law’s hand and Nick was morosely nodding from a distance.
‘This is Marie-France,’ said David, encouraging her to come forward. ‘She’s one of Jilly’s agency girls and she’s kindly helping us out this weekend.’
‘French, eh?’ The older man’s face lit up.
What a handsome man for his age! Very tall and athletic-looking with striking blue-green eyes and a charming smile.
‘Don’t even think about it, Hugh,’ said Sheila crisply. ‘She’s far too young for you. Now are we going inside or not?’ Her eyes glittered. ‘I’ve been looking forward to a quiet weekend. I do hope you don’t have anything planned.’
He laughed loudly. ‘Of course not.’ Marie-France watched Jilly’s handsome father put an arm around his wife. It made her wish now that she hadn’t thrown off Thierry’s arm when he’d tried to comfort her.
Feeling a little out of place (after all, it wasn’t as though she was family), she followed them through into a beautiful hall, with a table studded with silver photographs. There was a teenage Jilly along with a slightly younger boy. Then there was a picture of Jilly and David on their wedding day. Gosh, they looked happy! David was glancing at that too as though he hadn’t seen it for a while. And there was a black-and-white photograph of the much older couple – only just recognisable – on their wedding day.
‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ said Hugh as he flung open a pair of huge wooden doors. Inside were at least thirty people sitting round a beautiful oval table draped with a white tablecloth and fully laid with gleaming silver cutlery and pink napkins. Balloons hung from the ceiling and, as they went in, there was a burst of music from a group of cellists in the corner. She recognised one of them. Wasn’t that Jilly’s brother with the cool sports car? Mon Dieu! He had a priest’s collar round his neck! Was it a fancy dress party? If so, she was wearing the wrong thing!
‘Happy anniversary, Sheila and Hugh!’ called out someone and there was a huge wave of clapping. Jilly’s mother, noted Marie-France with amusement, was standing there almost regally with a slight bow.
‘How wonderful! I adore surprises!’
As she spoke, there was the sound of another car drawing up outside followed by a stampede of feet. The twins raced in and threw themselves at Jilly’s father.
‘Hi, Grandad.’
‘Did Granny tell you she knew all about your party?’
There was a roar of laughter from the table.
‘No.’ The older man’s eyes were twinkling. ‘But nothing about your grandmother would surprise me.’
‘And nothing about your grandfather would surprise me!’ retorted Sheila crisply. ‘Including the way he pretends to forget things.’
The old couple really cared for each other, realised Marie-France enviously. They might snipe like this but there was genuine affection there.
‘Where’s my daughter?’ demanded Hugh. ‘Ah, there you are, darling. Brought some more guests with you, I see! The more the merrier.’
All eyes swivelled to the large Turkish girl who waddled in before sinking on to the nearest chair as though she had just completed a marathon. ‘Tuvaletler nerededir?’ she gasped.
‘Fat Eema needs the loo,’ piped up Alfie.
‘Goodness me, you were right, Sheila,’ said Hugh, impressed. ‘His Turkish really is coming on, isn’t it?’
Just as he spoke, a very tall, round-faced woman with a mop of bright red curly hair strode into the room as though she owned it. ‘Bonjour,’ she said gaily. Then she gave a mock curtsey to Sheila and Hugh. ‘Joyeux anniversaire! What is it? Do you not recognise your friend’s old au pair?’
Old au pair? Quoi? Marie-France stared. This woman could be her mother’s sister! A plumper version of Maman with different hair. And heavy make-up that made her look like, as the English would say, rather tarty.
‘Maman,’ she started to say, ‘is that you?’
But even as she spoke, there was a groan. Jilly’s mother had gone quite pale and was clutching the back of a chair. ‘Collette? Collette?’ Then she glared at her husband. ‘For God’s sake, Hugh. What kind of sick joke is this?’
MORE CONFUSING ENGLISH IDIOMS FOR FOREIGNERS
Keep an eye on (To watch)
Half a tick (A short period of time. Not to be confused with fleas)
Not on your Nellie (No way. Not to be confused with elephants)
Bottoms up (An invitation to drink. Note: this is not a sexual invitation)
Egg on your face (Something that makes you look stupid)
Sixes and sevens (Confused? You will be)
Chapter 36
COLLETTE? COLLETTE?
‘I do not understand.’ Marie-France struggled to make herself heard over the indignant voices around them. ‘Maman! What is going on? Why are you here?’
Her mother held her arms out for a hug. ‘Chérie! I need to tell you something
that I should have done before.’
Marie-France’s chest thudded with apprehension. ‘Tell me what?’
At the same time, Jilly seemed to be having an equally heated discussion with her own mother. ‘I refuse to talk about this in front of everyone,’ Sheila spat. There were bright red spots on her cheeks. ‘I am humiliated. Utterly humiliated.’
Her husband made to take her arm but she threw it off angrily. Shooting her a concerned look, he picked up a glass from one of the tables and tapped a teaspoon on its side to get everyone’s attention.
‘We appear to have a slight family crisis on our hands,’ he announced without any of the confidence he had displayed just now. Someone tittered uncomfortably but everyone else sat still with shock.
‘If you don’t mind, we are going to retire to the library to sort it out. Jeremy, would you come too.’ It sounded like an order rather than a request. ‘And you too, Angela. In the meantime, everyone please top yourselves up with the bottles. We won’t be long.’
Marie-France found herself being swept up in the exodus led by Jilly’s father. She wanted to interrogate her mother (who had clearly put on weight during her absence) but Collette was striding on, her head tossed up defiantly as they trooped into a book-lined room with a leather-topped desk, a sofa and some easy chairs. Her mother immediately flopped into one, as though exhausted. Under any other circumstances, Marie-France would have examined the books, some of which were in French and Italian. She had never seen such a collection before in one room, apart from a public library!
‘Sweetheart.’ Jilly’s father was putting his arm around his wife. This time Sheila didn’t shake it off, noticed Marie-France. Instead, she seemed to be clutching her husband’s hand for support. ‘Do you want to explain the situation to our children or should I?’
‘Mum!’ Jilly’s voice rang out. ‘You’re frightening me. What’s going on?’ She turned to her brother. ‘Do you know, Jeremy?’
He bit his lip, went beetroot red and looked down at the ground. ‘I think I might.’
Jilly’s mother gave a short, hoarse laugh. ‘I wondered if this day would ever come. Well, now it has.’