Croissants and Jam

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Madame, you give me heart attack,’ she cries.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say looking down at my foot where the cat is purring lovingly and rasping its tongue over my toes. I shiver and attempt a smile.

  ‘What a lovely cat,’ I say stifling my gasp as it dribbles onto my foot. Oh Lord, don’t scream Bels.

  The woman runs into the house and returns with a wet cloth that smells disgustingly of disinfectant. She shoos the cat away and beckons me to use the cloth. Several minutes later and smelling of pine, I am ushered into the house followed by an eager cat who has decided I am his dinner. My shoes click on the kitchen flagstone flooring. There is banging coming from upstairs and I look up expectantly. I have no sodding idea what I will say to Claudine if she walks down the stairs. The cat sweeps its tongue round my ankle and I give it a discreet little kick.

  ‘Shoo, shoo.’ The woman boots it out onto the porch. I suppress my gasp and wonder if I should tell Christian that his housekeeper manhandles his cat when he is out.

  ‘It come from the fields, it here every day, I don’t know why he wants us to feed it. How can I help you?’

  I struggle to think of a reply and she beckons me to follow her. I clip-clop reluctantly into the shiny new kitchen where she waves her arm around with a satisfied sigh. The kitchen has been transformed from the building site that I remember from the day Christian showed me around. It looks as if it has been taken right out of Hello magazine with shiny dark granite worktops and oak cupboards complementing the flagstone flooring and dark beams. An oak table in the middle of the room sits under an impressive rack of copper saucepans. I look in envy at the large built-in hob with an equally large chimney hood.

  ‘Come, come,’ my enthusiastic hostess insists, pulling me by the arm to the kitchen window behind the double sink. She pulls up the Austrian blind to show the view. It is breathtaking, with rolling hills and, in the distance, the Alpine mountains.

  ‘And look,’ she continues, opening the cupboard doors to reveal the dishwasher and washing machine.

  ‘It is finished at last. Come this way.’

  I follow her outside where a marquee is being set up. My heart sinks at the sight of it. Any hopes I may have had that he wasn’t marrying Claudine are now dashed. I stare in awe at the magnificent preparations. Lights are being set up around the marquee and a small bandstand is being erected. She excuses herself to direct the men at the bandstand. I wander across to the marquee and peek inside to see rows of tables. At the far end a man is testing a mike and I visualise Christian making his speech. Oh bugger it all. I see the woman walking towards me and I step out of the marquee.

  ‘Sorry, as you can see we are preparing for a…how do you say?’

  ‘Petite reception, yes I know,’ I finish for her.

  She smiles.

  ‘It has been a long wait but worth it, are you coming?’

  Shit, shit.

  ‘Erm, actually I lost my invitation and it had Christian’s number. I am still not sure if I will make it, could you give me his phone number again?’

  She gives me an odd look and walks into the kitchen where I watch her write something on a piece of paper.

  ‘Here.’ She hands it to me. ‘I have put house phone number and time for Friday, I hope we see you.’

  So it is Friday, and that fits with Claudine’s ‘big day’. There is a noise upstairs and my heart thumps in unison with the footsteps.

  ‘Oh good Lord, is that the time?’ I ask, looking at the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘I must dash, thanks so much, see you Friday.’

  I fly from the house back to the car and miserably drive home.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After rifling the fridge I scoff half a trifle with hardly a minute’s thought. Well, that is not strictly true. I did hesitate when the talking cupcake shrilled ‘naughty pickers wear big knickers’. I really can’t imagine how many pounds I have gained in the past month, but big knickers it most definitely will be, soon. I console myself with great plans to start a diet as soon as I get home. In fact, I will sign up for the local gym as well as starting Weight Watchers. Mind you, the thought of counting all those points is enough to put you off dieting for life. Still, it will all be worth it in the end. Fired up with my good resolutions, I reward myself with half a bottle of chocolate milk that is sitting in the fridge and two éclairs. If I can’t eat when I am lovesick when can I? With this thought in mind I go back to the fridge and remove some strawberries and ice cream. I arrange my own little feast on the floor and turn on the TV to watch an episode of 24 on the Sky channel. By the time it ends, I am bloated and a little drunk after finishing some champagne, while watching Jack Bauer escape from his terrorist captors despite being drugged and tied to a chair. For two whole hours I manage to forget that Christian is getting married tomorrow. The realisation hits me again, and I wobble to the fridge. The crutches lie against it and I remind myself, I must return them. I yank back the door to the cries of ‘carrot cake is not one of your five-a-day’. Shaking my head at the talking cupcake I pull out a yogurt which I take upstairs with me. After climbing into bed and eating half of the yogurt, I lie down and stare at the ceiling. I feel my body shudder and then freeze. Above my head is the largest spider I have ever seen. It must be the size of a saucer at least. I stare in fascinated horror at it and feel all my muscles tighten. Oh shit, it’s moving. Oh please God, don’t let it fall on my head. I lie rigid, watching it crawl along the ceiling. I let out a small sigh of relief when it is no longer above me. I debate spraying it with some hairspray. I read somewhere that if you do that it freezes their legs. I shudder at the thought of the legs and want to turn away but know that I dare not in case it disappears. The hairspray idea is quickly abandoned in favour of keeping it on the ceiling. The thought of it dropping onto the bed has me shaking with terror. Oh God, what if it is poisonous? Who knows what kind of spiders they have in France. It could well have a killer sting. Oh shit, shit what am I going to do? I watch as it crawls to the end of the ceiling and only then do I feel it is safe to sit up. I realise that I have to plan some kind of a strategy. I try to imagine how Jack Bauer would handle it and wish to God I had a gun so I could blow the sodding thing’s brains out or shoot its kneecaps off. Mind you, I would never have enough bullets to shoot all those kneecaps. I feel sick and curse the damn thing. It sits unmoving above the door which means I now can’t escape. I grab the glass of water on the bedside cabinet and drain it. I watch with a shiver as the thing starts to walk down the wall towards the floor and let out a small shriek. I must get out. I move as quietly as I can, after all, the last thing I want to do is disturb it and make it run under something. The thought of losing it makes me shiver. I carefully pull the wicker chair that sits beside the bed, towards me and dive onto it where I can now see the spider better. It is now crawling behind the curtain, oh no. I jump back onto the bed and grab my Blackberry where I punch in Christian’s number. Oh what the hell. After all, he is the only person I know in France. I listen to the long tones and wonder why no one answers when I remember it is the early hours of the morning. I am about to put the phone down when the spider crawls out from behind the curtain and up the wall again. I scream just as the phone is answered. It’s Christian, thank God.

  ‘Christian?’ I squeal as the spider runs above the door.

  ‘Bels, is that you? Are you all right?’

  Is that concern in his voice? Oh God, I hope it is.

  ‘I need your help,’ I say hesitantly and quickly add, ‘I’m sorry I know you’re busy with things…’

  ‘Not at two in the morning I’m not.’

  Oh shit, two in the morning? What if they were… well, were? Oh hell and bugger it. How do I tell him I want him to remove a spider?

  ‘I’m at Olivia’s and…’

  ‘Olivia’s,’ he raises his voice disbelievingly and I think I detect excitement in it.

  ‘Oh God, I am so sorry to call you so late and everything but there is a spider in the b
edroom and it is huge and I am sure it is one of those poisonous ones.’

  Of course, I am not in the least bit sure but I don’t want him to think it is just a tiny thing.

  ‘A spider? You phoned me because you want me to come and kill a spider?’

  I sigh.

  ‘Well, I don’t want you to bloody photograph it with your Nikon do I?’

  Oh honestly, some people never change. He laughs.

  ‘It’s almost an hour’s drive and…’

  The spider seems to fall, wobble and then climb back to above the door.

  ‘Oh God, please come,’ I scream.

  I hear him sigh,

  ‘Okay, calm down. Take some Silent Life or something. I’ll be there in a bit.’

  He hangs up and I feel tears prick my eyelids. Oh please hurry, I beg. I spend the next forty minutes checking the time on my Blackberry. The spider is still above the door and I am bursting for the loo. Forty five minutes after I had phoned I hear the distinctive sound of the Lemon. I walk carefully to the window and see Christian. My hands tremble at the sight of him and I realise I look horrendous. I am wearing my nightie, and my hair is sticking up in places it shouldn’t stick up in. I try to pat it down but you know how it is, the more you try to pat it down the worse it sticks up. He knocks on the door and I lean out of the window.

  ‘I can’t get out,’ I call.

  He looks around to see where the voice is coming from. Oh God, he looks so gorgeous even with his hair tousled and flopping over his forehead. He is wearing a light green shirt which he had obviously thrown on quickly as it hangs out of his jeans.

  ‘I’m up here.’

  He tucks in the shirt as he looks up at me and I feel myself drown in his warm hazel eyes.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t get out?’ The familiar irritation in his voice somehow makes me feel all warm inside.

  ‘The spider is just above the door. Oh my God, oh my God, it’s moving,’ I cry and feel my body shudder.

  I hear him laugh.

  ‘You’re a sorry case. Throw me the keys so I can come up and slay the monster.’

  I snort and walk carefully to my bag where I quietly retrieve the keys and throw them from the window. As soon as he catches them I run back to the bed and wrap a cardigan around me. I hear the front door slam and desperately wish I could shower, blow dry my hair and apply a fresh layer of mascara before seeing him. The thought of mascara reminds me that I hadn’t removed it from yesterday. Oh, I must look atrocious. It is the first time I have seen him in weeks, and I look like something the cat has dragged in. I hear him mounting the stairs and I stare at the door.

  ‘Come in slowly,’ I yell in a trembling voice.

  But of course he doesn’t. The door is thrown open and he jumps in brandishing a toilet brush.

  ‘Where’s the beast, let me at it. Do you want it tortured first?’ he says, waving the brush.

  I fight back the urge to giggle and point to the monster above the door. Christian looks at me and I pull my cardigan tighter. He is even better looking than I remember and it feels like all my insides fall out when I think of him marrying Claudine in just over twenty-four hours. Would it really be so terrible of me to try and stop it?

  ‘That’s the spider? I thought you said it was huge?’ he says in amazement. I watch horror-stricken as he reaches up and scoops it into his hand.

  ‘Don’t drop it,’ I scream.

  He throws it out of the window and I rush to the loo. I take the opportunity to tidy my hair and wash my face. I study my reflection in the ornate gold-rimmed mirror. I actually look better than I had imagined and step back out feeling a bit more confident now that the spider has gone. He is waiting by the window and turns when I walk in.

  ‘So, how are you, apart from having a nervous breakdown that is?’ I detect a slight tremor to his voice. Oh my God, what does that mean?

  I pull the wicker chair towards me and sit with my legs curled underneath. This is just too awful. I should not have phoned him. I really must not spoil anything. Christian is not a man to do anything he does not want to do. If he is marrying Claudine it is only because he wants to. After all, didn’t he say I was not his type? I must not demean myself by thinking there is more to this than meets the eye. He is the type of man that would come out at two in the morning to kill a spider isn’t he? He does nice things for people.

  ‘I am so sorry for bothering you at this time of the morning. I mean, I know how busy you are, preparing for things…’

  Oh Lord, what am I rambling on about? I stop and attempt to give him a half-smile. He looks for a chair and not finding one, perches on the window sill. He runs a hand through his already tousled hair and looks at me thoughtfully.

  ‘I was wondering how you had my phone number here in France?’ he asks bluntly and I feel myself blush.

  ‘Olivia gave it to me,’ I say quickly. ‘I am only here for a few days to keep a check on the house. Olivia did a shoot for the magazine I work on and…’ I tail off. How stupid I have been. Of course he is not in the least interested in me and probably never has been. He must have women running after him all the time. Obviously, blonde bimbo types are for him, and hence the wedding to Claudine.

  ‘Anyway, I can’t be away too long, I have deadlines at the magazine and of course there is my boyfriend Jack Russell, who is so busy with his successful business that he couldn’t even take time off to come with me.’ I stop abruptly and pat at my hair nervously. This is just too awful for words. Why on earth did I phone him? Why didn’t I think to phone Claude for goodness sake? And most importantly of all, why the hell am I saying all this rubbish about Jack?

  ‘Jack Russell?’ he repeats looking into my eyes. ‘That’s interesting, because when I spoke to Simon the other day he said you weren’t going out with anyone, and anyway, isn’t that a breed of a dog?’

  He talked about me to Simon? What a bloody cheek.

  ‘Well, I don’t report my every move to Simon, and I’m certainly not going to tell him about a new boyfriend,’ I snap.

  He looks at me intently for a second and then stands up.

  ‘The monster is slain and I should get back.’

  I watch him walk to the door, a thousand words running through my brain but the only thing that comes out is.

  ‘I’m bloody surprised Simon is even speaking to you. He is obviously a bigger person than you. I think what you are doing is loathsome.’ I immediately bite my lip but it is too late. As my mother would say ‘It’s out there now.’

  He stops in the doorway and I see his shoulders and neck tense. He turns slowly and his expression is stony.

  ‘And what would that be?

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I actually don’t think you have any idea what you’re talking about.’

  What a bloody nerve, to patronise me. He is hateful. Kaz was right. I barely know the guy. I feel myself shaking and cannot speak. His face softens slightly.

  ‘By the way, I’ve done a lot to the house in the past few weeks and, if you are still here tomorrow night, there is…’ he pauses.

  ‘Your petite reception?’ I offer miserably. ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

  He looks quizzically at me, moves to the door and then turns back.

  ‘You don’t know any of it, you know,’ he says softly.

  God, I am so angry with him. I am so angry he deceived me. So damn angry he is a bad boy. Damn angry that he can make me feel this way. Why does he always manage to make me feel like this? How can I feel hateful towards him while at the same time wanting to put my arms around him? I won’t cry. I won’t.

  ‘You can’t even phone when you say you will.’

  What am I saying? He is getting married and I am making a fool of myself.

  ‘I did phone actually. Your friend thought I was your wonderful boyfriend Jack and gushed about the wonderful bouquet he’d bought you,’ he snaps, giving me a pained look.

  ‘Well, there was n
o need for you to. After all, you made it quite clear I wasn’t your type and…’ I shrug.

  I have never felt so foolish in my entire life. Why did I even imagine he was interested in me? He was being kind to me that was all. Helping me get to my wedding in Rome as any decent man would. This is probably the best thing that could happen. He is getting married tomorrow and I have no reason on earth to continue moping over a man who never wanted me in the first place. Of course, this doesn’t explain why he discussed me with Simon, unless of course, he just wanted to be sure he wasn’t the reason Simon and I split.

  ‘I made the right decision not marrying Simon, and I think Jack is the right man for me. He is honest and has integrity, which is more than can be said for you.’

  I can see from his face that I have hurt him and hate myself. He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. I fight the swoon that seems to engulf me and attempt to remain dignified.

  ‘All the same, the invitation is still there for tomorrow. It would be nice if you could come. We can remain friends can’t we?’

  Friends, oh Lord he can’t possibly be serious. After all the things I have just said, how can he even consider it? Besides he does not realise that, if we remain friends, Claudine does not remain alive.