by T A Williams
‘I’m so sorry. Was that in a naval battle?’
‘Yes, he was on board HMS Exeter when she was sunk in the Java Sea. I was eight at the time. I can still remember the moment the telegram arrived.’ Miss Beech gave a big sigh and Faye felt like going over and giving her a hug, but the old lady rallied. ‘So, so sad, but that’s war for you. What about your mother, Faye? You said she died when you were young?’
Faye nodded. ‘I was just three at the time. Sometimes, if I concentrate really hard, I think I can remember things about her, but it might just be imagination.’
‘How awful for you. And then, of course, you had to grow up without her. I grew up without a father and that was bad enough but, when all’s said and done, as a sailor he spent much of his time away from home, but to lose your mother like that is awful.’
Faye nodded again. ‘It was.’ She, too, reached for her wine glass.
‘At least we both had one parent left who loved us and for us to love. Your father did a great job of raising you by himself. You’ve turned out so well. I’m sure he must be very proud.’
Faye was far too embarrassed to reply.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a photograph of your parents, have you? I’d love to see what they look like.’
Faye reached for her phone. ‘I’ve got loads of my dad, but the only one I’ve got here of my mum is a holiday snap of the three of us on the beach at Torquay.’ She scrolled through her pictures. ‘It’s one of the only ones I’ve got of her. It’s a photo of a photo, so it’s not terribly clear, I’m afraid.’ Locating the picture, she passed the phone across the table to Miss Beech. ‘I was probably about two then, so not long before she died.’
Faye looked on as Miss Beech took the phone from her and studied the picture. She lavished considerable attention on it, even reaching forward with her fingers to enlarge the image so she could see more clearly. It was a while before she looked up, clearing her throat before speaking. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, Faye: you certainly look like your mother.’ She glanced back down again. ‘You really do.’
‘My dad’s always telling me that. I sort of see it, but, like I say, we’ve only got a very few photos of her and they’re all pretty small, so it’s hard to be sure.’
Miss Beech handed the phone back across the table. ‘Fascinating. Such a beautiful girl.’ Faye saw her glance across at Eddie. ‘Would you like to take a look?’
‘Definitely.’ Faye passed it over to him and saw him study it closely. Finally, he delivered his opinion. ‘Your father was a lucky man.’
‘At least until my mum died.’ Faye’s voice almost broke and she felt a movement at her feet. Worried by her tone, the Labrador stood up and laid his big heavy head on her knee. As she dropped her head, two baleful brown eyes looked up at her in support. She scratched his ear with one hand while reaching for a tissue with the other. Eddie got there first, handing her a clean napkin. ‘Here, Faye, take this. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ On the other side of the table, Miss Beech looked equally affected. Faye wiped her eyes on the napkin and then blew her nose on a tissue before replying.
‘Thank you, Eddie. I’m sorry. I always get a bit emotional when I see that photo. Sorry, Miss Beech, I seem to have got you crying in sympathy.’ She looked down at the dog. ‘Marlon, go and see if you can cheer your mistress up. Show us what a very good dog you are.’
It was a minute or two before Miss Beech decided to resume her story. ‘Thank you for showing me that, Faye. How very sad for your father, and for you.’ She cleared her throat again. ‘Anyway, my mother did her best for me and my sister, but it must have been a terrible struggle for her.’
This was the first Faye had heard of a sister. ‘And your sister, what did she do? Did she go into acting as well?’
Miss Beech shook her head and her eyes began to water once again. ‘No, I’m afraid she died when she was just fifteen. In a way, I think that was tougher for me than the death of my father. She was barely two years older than me and we were very close.’ She glanced across at Faye. ‘She caught meningitis. It was all over in a matter of days.’ Instead of reaching for her wine glass, Miss Beech picked up her napkin and wiped away the tears from her cheeks.
Faye felt so sorry for her – now beginning to understand why she had been so hesitant to talk about her early years. Fortunately, at that moment, the door to the dining room opened and Claudette appeared.
‘Confît de canard and fresh asparagus. I hope you like it.’ She pushed the trolley up to the table, collected the dirty plates, and replaced the soufflé with the duck.
‘Claudette, that soufflé was incredible. Really, really good!’ Faye was quick to give credit and pleased to change the subject for a moment, allowing Miss Beech time to get her emotions under control again.
‘I’m so glad you liked it.’ Claudette gave her a big smile and left. By this time, the dog had parked himself on the floor between Faye and Miss Beech. Avoiding looking at Miss Beech for now, Faye sliced into the duck in front of her. The skin was crispy and the whole thing smelt amazing. She took a mouthful and sat back, savouring the taste, and risked a glance across the table. She was pleased to see Miss Beech looking brighter, the emotions awakened by thoughts of her mother and her sister once again under control.
‘Claudette does the whole thing herself, you know.’ Faye could tell that Eddie was doing his best to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Literally everything from plucking, to cleaning, to jointing, slow cooking, and then preserving the meat in its own fat. The end result is wonderful, but it’s very labour intensive.’
‘She’s a real artist.’ Faye tried one of the asparagus tips. It, too, was delightful. She glanced across at Miss Beech and was pleased to see her also eating. She risked another personal question. ‘Can I ask you something, Miss Beech? It’s the one big question I’ve been dying to ask. How is it you had the idea and the courage to sail off to America when you were little more than a girl?’
Miss Beech set down her fork and smiled at Faye. ‘It’s a very good question, Faye, and one I still can’t really answer satisfactorily, even to myself. Legally, of course, I was still a girl back then. I was twenty when I set off for California and the age of majority was twenty-one in those days. I was still very wet behind the ears. Just imagine: I hadn’t even been as far as London before setting off on that journey. We didn’t have the money for me to go to drama school, so the only acting experience I had was in some little performances at school and a few productions with the local amateur dramatic society.’
‘But you always knew you wanted to be an actress?’
Miss Beech hesitated. ‘I suppose so. I liked acting, but I had no idea how I should go about making it a career. As you can imagine, in those post-war years, there weren’t many employment opportunities down in the West Country. Plymouth had been devastated in the Blitz and there were still burnt-out buildings and piles of rubble everywhere. I looked for jobs doing almost anything, but all I could get was waiting at table, like I told you. It was the director of the amateur dramatic company who suggested to my mother that I should head across the Atlantic.’
She looked over the table at Faye. ‘I was very beautiful. I’m sorry if that sounds terribly boastful, but it would appear to have been true. I realize that now, but at the time I really didn’t. It was the director, Reg Bolton, who said he thought I’d “got what it takes” to make it in Hollywood. I thought he was joking at first, but the idea gradually took root and grew.’
‘And your mum, what did she think? Surely, after losing first her husband, and then one daughter, it must have been awfully hard to see the other one disappear halfway across the world?’
‘It must have been appalling for her, but at the time she was so amazingly supportive. She was working full time in a factory making overalls all day and it must have been soul-destroying work. She knew how awful my prospects would be if I stayed in Plymouth, so she encouraged me to follow my dream and look for a better life in America.�
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‘And, once you were successful, did she come across to Hollywood to join you?’
Miss Beech shook her head. ‘No, she didn’t want to leave her friends and the city she loved. Of course I sent her money so she could give up that awful job and I offered to buy her a nice new house, but she told me she was happy where she was, especially when I arranged for her to get a new bathroom and toilet inside the house, rather than outside the back door.’
She gave Faye a little smile. ‘I told you we were really poor. Anyway, with the addition of a new bathroom, a new kitchen, and central heating, she lived in that same little house right up to the day she died.’ Miss Beech took another mouthful of wine and looked across at Faye again. ‘She was a remarkable woman. You will make sure that comes across in the book, won’t you? She deserves that.’
‘Of course I will.’ Faye was delighted to have got Miss Beech talking and resolved to return to the subject of her early years the next morning, this time armed with notebook and pen.
After somehow managing to find space for a slice of strawberry and blueberry tart with homemade ice cream, Faye announced that she was going to take the dog for a walk. She thanked Miss Beech and Eddie and then went through to the kitchen to repeat her compliments to the chef. As it was still damp underfoot, she went across to her flat and put on her old trainers before taking Marlon out, ensuring that he didn’t leave the flat with any souvenirs in his mouth.
By this time the clouds had completely disappeared, the wind had dropped and the sky was clear once more, the air cooler than of late. The moon was now full and she found she could see quite clearly as she and the dog wandered down through the trees and round in a big circle, just touching the top corner of Gavin’s lavender field that now bore the imprint of her behind.
The aroma as they passed it was quite delightful and Faye had to admit there were many far worse places to live than Provence. Should she seriously consider trying to stay on here at the end of her contract? On a night like this, it was an intriguing thought. Maybe, if Obelix’s teaching job went well and led to something more, she might be able to make it work.
Chapter Eight
‘Good evening, mademoiselle, do come in.’
Faye felt somebody pull the door open and she was ushered into what the sign on the door described as the General Purpose Room in the town hall. To her considerable surprise, she found about twenty people sitting there. The man who had called out to her stood up and vacated his seat at the top table, indicating she should take his place. As she came up to him, still a bit bemused, he shook her warmly by the hand and introduced himself.
‘Gaston Leclerc. I’m the president of the winemakers’ association of St-Jean. This is really good of you. We are so grateful.’
Faye gave him a little smile, shooting a sideways glance at the rows of people in the auditorium. ‘Um, good evening, Monsieur Leclerc. I must admit I wasn’t expecting to see so many people. Obelix told me I was going to meet the committee.’
Monsieur Leclerc nodded enthusiastically. ‘And they’re all here, along with a surprising number of our members. We mentioned these lessons in our most recent newsletter and the people you see are all very interested in improving their English. Thank you so much.’ He propelled her towards the chair he had recently vacated and took a seat in the front row alongside a beaming Obelix.
Faye took a couple of steps across to the desk and stopped there, preferring to stay on her feet. As she did so, she was reflecting that this was a pretty good example of why it had been the French who had invented the expression fait accompli.
‘Mesdames et messieurs, bonsoir.’ She decided it was best to start by speaking French to them, at least until she had a clearer idea of their levels of English. Apart from her brief conversation with Obelix the previous week and the subsequent invitation to come along to meet the committee, she knew nothing about them. For all she knew, they might be complete beginners.
She took a good look round the room and saw, to her surprise, that most of the audience were women. Somehow, she had always thought of farming as a male business. As the thought occurred to her, it was immediately followed by the realization that it would, in all probability, be the women who would be at home to sell the wine, while their husbands were out and about around the farms. She set her notebook down on the desk and felt herself slip seamlessly back into teacher mode. She rather enjoyed the sensation.
‘My name’s Faye Carter and I’m very pleased to meet you all here this evening. I would like to start with a word of warning. This isn’t going to happen again.’ She looked round the now rather apprehensive faces, rather enjoying the look of consternation that had appeared on the face of M. Leclerc. ‘This is just about the last time you’re going to hear me speaking French to you. After tonight, everything’s going to be in English from the very first lesson onwards. Okay? Right, I’d like to start tonight by having a very quick interview with each of you, so I can assess your levels.’
She glanced down to the front row. ‘M. Leclerc, is there maybe a side room I could use?’ He nodded and Obelix sprang to his feet.
‘Just over there, Faye.’ He pointed a massive finger towards a door on the other side of the room. ‘It’s only small, but it’s got a few chairs in it.’
‘That’s lovely, thank you.’ Faye returned her attention to the others in the room. ‘Is there anybody in a terrible hurry?’ Nobody raised a hand. ‘Fine, then, let’s start with the back row and work our way forward. Monsieur … the gentleman in the grey shirt, would you like to come with me, please? I’ll try to be as quick as possible, but if the rest of you want to slip across the road for a drink while you’re waiting, that’s fine by me.’
The man from the far back corner stood up hesitantly and accompanied Faye through the side door into the little room. He was a good-looking man with a few days’ growth of stubble on his chin. Faye reckoned he must be around her age, or maybe a year or two younger. He was clearly a little apprehensive and Faye did her best to calm his fears as they sat down. ‘So, what’s your name?’ She spoke slowly and clearly, using her best English accent and she spotted comprehension and relief in the man’s eyes.
‘My name is Alain Fournier.’ The reply was slow, but easily comprehensible.
‘Good.’ Faye wrote it down on her pad. ‘And where do you live, Alain?’
There was a pause as Alain prepared the answer in his head. ‘I am living in St-Jean-sur-Sarde.’ He smiled nervously.
‘Good.’ Faye wrote this down alongside his name and then spent a couple of minutes discovering that Alain had studied English for five years at school, but he freely admitted he hadn’t been particularly interested in languages, or indeed school, in those days. He worked on the family farm somewhere on the far side of the little town and he would be the person responsible for dealing with passing customers.
Gradually, in the course of the evening, Faye was to discover that this scenario applied to many of her future students. All of them, without exception, had done some English at school, but most were still pretty basic. This didn’t bother Faye. At least, by the end of the evening, she knew what her point of departure was going to be. Finally, after interviewing the last of the candidates, she returned to the room to find everybody still there. Apparently, nobody had been lured away by whatever else St-Jean could offer in the way of nightlife. Faye had a fair idea by now that the answer to that one was: very little.
There was a brief hiatus when the door opened and a tall, good-looking woman strode in. A frisson of something ran through the room, whether of surprise, disapproval, or something else, Faye was unable to tell, but there was a definite ripple of something. She shot an enquiring glance at Obelix and saw him wink back. The woman swept across the room towards Faye and gave her a beaming smile.
‘Good evening, mademoiselle. I’m Désirée Desherbes.’ She held out her hand and Faye shook it, wondering if she was expected to recognize the name.
‘Good evening. Are you her
e for the English lessons?’
‘Yes, indeed. I’m very sorry to be so late, but I was held up at work.’
‘Ah, right. Well, I’ve just been interviewing the other students. Would you like to come with me into the side room and I’ll just give you a quick interview?’
Désirée Desherbes looked momentarily apprehensive, but collected herself. ‘Of course.’
Faye and Désirée went into the little room and sat down. Faye, conscious of the time the others had been waiting, switched to English and launched into her stock questions at once.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Désirée Desherbes.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘I live in Grasse.’ That was a surprise. Grasse was well over an hour’s drive away.
‘You don’t live here?’
‘No.’ There was a pause as Désirée marshalled her thoughts. ‘My father has a holiday house here. I come here every summer.’
They had a brief conversation and Désirée turned out to be very pleasant and pretty fluent in English. It was clear that she would go into the higher of the two levels, so Faye hastened to conclude the interview and the two of them soon returned to the main room. After a quick chat to the president about the logistics of the lesson timetable, Faye returned to the front of the room. The noise level dropped to zero.
‘Thank you all for your patience.’ Faye spoke in French and she saw she had the attention of all of them, even the newcomer who had not taken a seat, but was resting against the back wall by the door. Faye smiled at Chantal, the very pretty but shy girl in the front row with a serious hearing problem, and received a smile in return. The interview with her had been challenging, but they had managed to communicate, and Faye found that the girl’s English was better than most, in spite of her hearing problem.
‘I’ve got some good news for you. You fall quite neatly into two levels with roughly ten of you in each class. The idea is to start this Thursday evening and to have lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays: level one from eight to nine and level two from nine to ten in the evening. I’ve given the lists of names for the different groups to Monsieur Leclerc and he’ll go through the details with you.’