That First French Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Bastard!’ Madeleine screamed.

  He closed his eyes, thinking about what to do. He would have to call his agent, minimise the damage somehow. Right now, having Emma back, he was prepared to wear whatever the consequences of their actions were. It was worth every bit of mud the world could sling at him and more.

  As that last thought rode around his mind he considered Keith’s threats. Would the man really go through with telling the press about what happened in La Baume? And if he did could Guy handle it? The shame. The loss of income Keith had predicted. The football world shunning him.

  It was then he realised the only real concern he had was what Emma would think of him. Her opinion was the only one that counted.

  ‘I’m sorry, Madeleine,’ he said, meaning it.

  ‘Sorry?! You’re sorry?! Do you know how much time and effort I wasted on you? You were barely anything when we met. A lesser-known footballer with bad clothes. I made you who you are! And now I have nothing!’

  Could he say something right here? Could he possibly make her feel better?

  ‘You were always the star. Now you will be a fashion designer in your own right. You can concentrate on that,’ he tried.

  ‘Pa! We have lost our manufacturer. Keith Crone called Gabriella this morning,’ she shouted.

  Guy gripped the luggage rack and sank against it, all energy leaving him.

  *

  She could just see Guy at the end of the carriage, still talking into his phone. She didn’t feel anything about Madeleine ringing. Everything was still so raw. It had probably been as much a bolt out of the blue as with Chris. What would she do if Chris rang? Would he ring? Was he still hurting? She swallowed the nostalgia. As kind and considerate as he had been, he hadn’t been her soul mate. Something that wasn’t right could never last. The flaws and cracks had shown, the proposals had been turned down-it had been ending for a long time. Guy returning had been the final jolt.

  She saw Guy sway with the motion of the train and sink against the metal luggage racks. Whatever Madeleine was saying it was hitting him hard. She looked away, took in the crusted, dry summer fields, through the train window. She couldn’t bear to watch.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  He lied and said that there had been a problem with the house. Madeleine needed the phone number of the company the football club employed to deal with matters like that. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. What good would it do to know her face was in the newspapers? That people were speculating over her identity. Right now he was pleased he had not travelled with the football team. No one knew they were arriving by train, that he was going to be staying in Fréjus. They could have some privacy. And that was all they wanted. Privacy and time to reconnect with each other again before sharing it with other people.

  *

  She didn’t believe what he’d told her. Ex-girlfriends didn’t phone their ex-boyfriends to get phone numbers. That was what the internet was for. Mentally, Madeleine would be in one of two places. She’d either hate his guts – she’d call anyone but him for help – or she was still in love with him – she’d be making up better excuses than dodgy water pipes or whatever it was in order to get him back.

  Whatever the phone call was about she knew the reason he was keeping it from her was to protect her from something. Half of her thought this was gallant and sweet, the other half was cross that he thought she couldn’t deal with the truth. She’d accepted the lame excuse for now because she didn’t want to spoil things. But later she would get him to tell her. They needed to start this relationship the right way and that meant putting the past behind them and dealing with whatever the future threw at them, together.

  A car met them at the small airport in Fréjus and took them the few kilometres further inland to the place where she had spent that unforgettable summer.

  Watching out of the window, Emma felt her whole body reconnect with both the situation and the place. A shiver ran over her as she saw so many familiar sites. The corn fields, the hue of the trees, the arable land, the cloudless sky. All of it evoking so many memories. Before she knew it, the tears were in her eyes.

  ‘The campsite,’ Guy remarked, pointing out of the window.

  And there was the back entrance to the campsite. The same gate, albeit newly painted, where she had met Guy so many times before, escaping to be together. She craned her neck as the car drove on by, trying to catch a glimpse of anything she remembered, needing to see it all.

  ‘We can go there… if you like,’ Guy offered as Emma turned her head back.

  ‘Oh, no, we don’t need to, I…’

  ‘It has changed. There are new things, two new swimming pools, archery, trampolines…’

  ‘No more Sumo suits or darts?’ she asked.

  ‘Darts still, I think,’ he responded. He laughed.

  The car travelled a few more minutes and then pulled off the road onto a dirt track. As the vehicle moved along at a leisurely pace, Emma saw a house coming into view up ahead.

  ‘Is this it?’ she asked, looking through the gap in the seats and through the windscreen.

  ‘Oui,’ he replied.

  The car swept up to an enormous two-storey farmhouse-style building. It looked made of traditional stone, had a tiled roof and bright, white, newly painted shutters adorned each window. Emma let out a gasp of pleasure. It was beautiful.

  The car stopped outside the entrance and a middle-aged woman in a floral dress, an apron tied around her, came hurrying from the house, her arms outstretched.

  Guy was up and out of the car and Emma watched as he gathered the woman up in his arms, swinging her off her feet. It was obvious this person meant something to him. Was it a relative? A friend? Why hadn’t he told her someone would be here?

  Her door opened and Guy was there, urging her to leave the car.

  ‘Emma, this is Colette. Colette, this is Emma,’ he introduced.

  She had little time to adjust to the bright sunlight or her surroundings before Colette was hugging her as if they were old friends.

  ‘Welcome back to Fréjus,’ Colette said, taking Emma’s hands and smiling warmly at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she answered.

  ‘Colette is an old friend. She looks after the house for me now I have moved to England,’ Guy explained.

  ‘I meet Guy when he sign for OGC Nice. I used to help the younger players back then. Teach them how to look after themselves. Washing machine… cooking… to shower…’ Colette began.

  ‘Hey! I always know how to shower,’ Guy interrupted, acting playfully shocked.

  Emma laughed, feeling a little more at ease.

  The driver deposited their cases on the driveway and Guy moved to speak with him.

  ‘You are hungry, yes? I have prepared something,’ Colette said, taking Emma’s arm and guiding her towards the front door of the house.

  Tiled floors and oak beams greeted her inside. The interior of the house reflected modern tastes but it had obviously been sympathetically updated because nothing looked out of place. White walls and light pouring in from every window somehow managed to create a warm, bright, cosy, yet open feel.

  The kitchen was state-of-the-art but the large table down the middle of it was rustic and old, a homely red and white checked tablecloth covered it. On the table was a French feast her stomach reacted to immediately. Bread, cheese, ham, grapes… the aromas were heaven sent.

  ‘You didn’t have to go to any trouble,’ Emma said.

  ‘It was no trouble. When Guy say he is returning I am pleased. I think it would be months before I see the boy again,’ Colette said, smiling. She pulled a seat out for Emma who sat straight into it.

  ‘This is such a beautiful house. I had no idea…’

  ‘He re-build. Tear down the old one and start again.’

  ‘Tear down?’ Emma questioned.

  ‘This is where he always live. With that wicked mother of his. He tell me all about her. So much pain and sadness in hi
s life… losing his brother…’ Colette commenced, clutching her chest as she spoke.

  Emma looked away from the woman, focused on the food on the table, anything to avoid connecting with the conversation.

  ‘Such a tragedy,’ Colette carried on. ‘I think that was the turning point for Guy. There was no hope for him here while she was still alive. It forced him to go, to make something of himself.’

  ‘Colette, you have made food. I said we could do this!’ Guy exclaimed, entering the kitchen.

  ‘It is nothing. You sit down and enjoy. I will finish making the beds and then I will be out of your way,’ she said. She pulled out a chair for Guy then bustled from the room.

  Emma let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding as Guy sat opposite.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, reaching across the table and taking her hands in his.

  ‘Yes. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone,’ she admitted.

  ‘Colette?’

  She nodded. What the woman said had brought a flood of unwelcome memories back to the surface. She should have known coming back to the place where everything had happened would do that, but she’d thought of it more as an expedition to banish the bad times, start afresh.

  ‘She saved me back then. She picked me up when I was so down. I lived with her… after Luc… when I left,’ he explained.

  Emma nodded. She picked up the cheese platter and offered it to him.

  ‘She won’t be here all weekend. She lives in a cottage just a mile away. I bought it for her to thank her. Although, nothing could ever be enough to repay her for what she did.’ He picked up a few grapes and put one in his mouth.

  The plate slid out of her hands and she struggled to balance it.

  ‘Are you OK with being here?’ Guy asked her.

  ‘What d’you mean? The house, it’s gorgeous from what I’ve seen so far and…’ She paused then let go of the plate, withdrawing her hands.

  ‘I meant Fréjus. There are a lot of memories, yes?’ he probed.

  ‘I suppose.’ She dropped her eyes to the table. This was what she’d been afraid of. Coming back to the place she’d left in 2005 was bound to highlight things. She could forgive Guy what had happened with Tasha, even though it gnawed at her. But she still couldn’t forgive herself for her reaction to it.

  ‘We’re starting again. Something new. We can pretend we know nothing of each other if you would like,’ he said.

  She raised her head, saw him smile.

  ‘I think we’re a long way past a first date,’ she responded.

  ‘Sorry? What did you say your name was?’ he replied, leaning across the table.

  ‘I knew you were a ladies’ man. I should never have accepted a weekend away with a stranger,’ Emma played along.

  ‘I think we have very much in common. Over there on the bookshelf you will see I have the complete works of Shakespeare and books by a rather strange but well-respected author called Chaucer.’ He indicated a bookcase just visible in what she assumed was the living room, partitioned from the kitchen-diner by a feature stone wall.

  ‘Chaucer? I’ve heard of him. Writes in old English. Virtually impossible to decipher unless you’re extremely clever or a thousand years old,’ she bated.

  ‘I had a good, patient and very beautiful teacher.’ His eyes kept hers.

  ‘How very fortunate. I hear that teachers these days get bullied into performing Barry Manilow musicals.’

  ‘Chaucer would turn in his grave.’

  ‘Græf.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  He’d given her the tour of the house but his mind was elsewhere. As she admired the simplicity of the furnishings and ran her hand over the brightly coloured woollen blanket Colette must have added to the master bed, all he could think of was getting a moment alone to call his agent. If he dealt with this matter now he could limit the damage. Not for him but for her. He knew her. She would hate to be in the spotlight. Would loathe for her life to be scrutinised like that. If she knew they’d been pictured in the press she would want to do something about it. Back out. Change her mind. End their relationship. He couldn’t let that happen. Not when they’d just got back together.

  He couldn’t leave her to disappear and make a phone call. His hand had been on his phone in the kitchen earlier when Emma had visited the bathroom, but Colette had appeared to say goodbye and the moment had passed.

  Now Emma was sat in the garden, a book open on the table, her body leaned back into the seat, embracing the warmth of the sun as it rained down on her skin. She looked so relaxed. He watched her until it seemed she sensed his presence and she turned her head towards him.

  He moved, being careful to hold the tray steady in his hands.

  ‘Should I be doing something?’ she asked as he put the tray on the table and then sat down beside her.

  ‘You want to do something?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just… it’s almost eight and I haven’t lifted a finger to do anything since I got here.’ She smiled at him, watched him pour them both a glass of red wine.

  ‘You are my guest. Why should you do anything?’

  ‘I like the idea of that,’ she answered, picking up the glass and putting it to her lips.

  ‘I have arranged a car to take us to the harbour for dinner. We have an hour,’ Guy informed.

  ‘What?! An hour? Guy, why didn’t you say? I have to shower and change. I can’t go anywhere like this, I…’ She put the wine down and moved to stand up. He caught her arm and held her still.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered.

  ‘We’ve travelled for hours, I could definitely look better,’ she responded.

  ‘Just give me a minute,’ he asked.

  *

  Emma shifted in her seat, making herself comfortable again. Guy took hold of her hand and began to massage the skin with his thumb.

  ‘Having you here, it means so much to me. When everything was happening back then, with my mother, I never thought that this place, this house, could be home for me. It was filled with bad, angry feelings, raised voices, harsh hands. But when I lost Luc, although I knew I still had to get away, I somehow always knew I’d come back. That it could be different. That making changes would set me free.’

  His words banged against her soul like a door being thrown open. What if she had reacted differently? What if she had stopped and let him explain? Even if there wasn’t an explanation she liked the sound of, she could have listened.

  ‘I’m sorry I ran,’ she said softly.

  ‘I understand. I didn’t understand it all back then, but I understand now,’ he answered, raising her head with a finger and exploring her face with his eyes.

  ‘I acted out of jealousy and spite and anger. I was a different person back then. I’d lost my mother and I’d put everything into loving you and you…’ She stopped herself. Couldn’t bring herself to say any more. ‘We’re doing it and we said we wouldn’t. This is a conversation we shouldn’t be having. I’m going to shower and change.’ She got to her feet.

  ‘Emma…’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she replied, letting go of his hands.

  *

  Along with the day of travelling, Emma tried hard to scrub off the anxiety. She should have known this would happen. It was just a question as to whether her resolve would last. And should it? Shouldn’t she stop it now? Confess? Explain? Ask for forgiveness?

  Towel-drying her hair she left the bathroom. As luxurious but understated as the master bedroom was, it was impersonal. There was nothing homely about it apart from the old-fashioned blanket lying across the bed that looked quite out of place. There were no photos, no pictures on the walls, just random funny-shaped ornaments in stone or wood speaking of wealth rather than taste.

  As she teased strands of hair with the towel her mobile phone began to ring. Turning the towel around her, she dug her hands down into her bag until she found it. The display told her it was her dad. Straight
away her chest heaved. It was going to be Dominic, something was wrong.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered, nerves in her tone.

  ‘Hello, love. How are you? Are you there yet?’ Her dad was shouting as if he had to throw his voice across the English Channel.

  ‘Is it Dominic? Is he OK?’ she breathed out quickly.

  ‘Dom? Yes, Dom’s fine, love.’ She exhaled with relief and sat down on the bed.

  ‘Is he there?’ she asked. She didn’t want to be one of those over-protective mothers who couldn’t be parted from their offspring but… she hadn’t been parted before now.

  ‘He is, but he’s teaching Marilyn some French. Brought his homework here. I’ll put him on in a bit. I want to know if you’re having a nice time.’

  She let out a sigh. ‘Marilyn told you about me and Chris, didn’t she?’

  ‘She’s just worried for you, love.’

  ‘I know. It’s OK.’ It was OK. She couldn’t expect Marilyn to keep things from her dad if she was any sort of girlfriend to him. And, as unsettling as it was, it was OK.

  ‘You haven’t told Dom though?’ Mike asked.

  ‘No. I just need this weekend, Dad. Then I’ll tell him,’ she replied.

  ‘So, how’s the weather? Is it sunny?’ Mike asked.

  Emma stood up and walked over to the window. The view was outstanding. Golden fields of corn shimmered and stretched out towards the horizon, the evening sun dwindling as night closed in.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, Ally told me to tell you to do everything she would do… on skis. Does that make any sense to you?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, laughing.

  ‘Listen, love. Is everything alright? Apart from Chris. Are you alright for money? Does Dom need anything? I don’t want you to think just because you’re grown up you can’t come to me anymore. You can come to me for anything, love.’

  The sentiment in her dad’s voice made her heart swell with joy and sorrow. Why hadn’t she told him the truth? If not at the time, then some while later. There had been opportunities but she’d ignored them, been too fearful of the can of worms it might open and the repercussions.