A French Affair

by Susan Lewis

  An hour later they were strolling between two soaring rows of almost fully ripened vines that rose up either side of them like huge glossy green walls, thick with rubbery leaves and cascading clusters of berries. There was no-one else in sight. It was as though the world was taking a pause, for nothing in the valley stirred except small colourful butterflies and sluggishly droning bees. Underfoot the ground was hard and stony and cracked with thirst, while overhead the sun was savage in its intensity, and the sky was as blue as it could ever be.

  ‘How often do you water?’ she asked, unable to detect any evidence of how it might be done.

  ‘In France the vignerons must rely on nature to provide,’ he told her.

  She glanced up at him in surprise.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said, stopping to test the pinot noir grapes with his fingers, ‘we are forced to cheat, but that is our secret. Now, you will taste,’ and after pulling a small bunch of fruit free from the vine, he broke off a single berry and put it into her mouth.

  As she took it from him her lips touched his fingers.

  ‘First you must suck at the pulp,’ he told her, removing his hand. ‘What you are looking for is a balance of sweetness and acidity. There will be an aroma too.’

  As she crushed the grape with her tongue she felt the juice trickle into her mouth, and as the flavour began to awaken her taste buds she watched him take a grape into his own mouth and roll it slowly, almost lovingly, around his tongue, drawing out the pulp, then removing the pips to hold in his hand.

  She did the same, and kept her eyes on his as he continued to chew. ‘Now we have only the skin,’ he said, ‘and here we must try to detect the astringency of the tannins. The longer this takes the better the grape – and if you never find it, you have an excellent grape.’

  ‘Is there any astringency in these?’ she asked, having no idea how to taste for a tannin.

  He nodded. ‘Can you feel the dryness in your mouth?’

  She tested it, then nodded.

  ‘These grapes are for a vin de table,’ he told her, ‘so you would expect it. Now look at the colour of the seeds. If they are green this is bad, but these are a very pale brown, which is not too bad. Now we taste them. If they are bitter like grass, this is no good, but if you can find a little taste of nut it is starting to get better.’

  As she chewed, crushing the seeds with her teeth, the taste of a mildly bitter grass began stealing across her tongue – then she became aware of him looking at her again, but in a slightly different way from before. It was as though his mind had moved away from what she was doing in order to see her in another, almost critical light that was putting an odd kind of distance between them, even as it drew them together.

  She stood in the focus of his scrutiny, watching his eyes move over her face, following every contour and plane, probing each shadow and curve. They lingered searchingly around her eyes, moved gently down over her nose seeming to trace the flare of each nostril, before lowering to her juice-moistened lips. Then he reached out to put his fingers under her chin, and the feel of him touching her sent a small shock of sensation rippling through her.

  Whether or not he noticed was impossible to tell, for he was still regarding her intently, objectively, tilting her face to the right, to the left, then up to the sky. She understood what was happening, and though she’d been waiting for it, she felt the pleasure of it starting to move through her.

  ‘Can I sculpt you?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, and knowing that there could be no more between them today, she turned to walk back through the vines.

  Chapter Fourteen

  AT THE SOUND of a car horn outside Jessica quickly grabbed her purse and phone and closing the door behind her, waved to Daniella as she went to join her. They were making an early morning trip to the market in a village a few miles away, which Jessica had never visited before but was keen to see, since Lilian had often waxed lyrical over it in a way that had almost got Jessica’s mouth watering.

  As they drove she called the children, the way she usually did first thing, then after ringing the office of the Médecin Légiste she found herself tempted to ask Luc to intervene, for there was still no news on the permission she needed. However, it hadn’t even been a week since she’d made her request, so it was probably too early to bother him, and besides, it wouldn’t be a good idea to start leaning too heavily on him. Not that he would mind, she felt sure, but she couldn’t not be aware of how attracted she was to him. Emotionally fragile and needy as she was right now, it would be all too easy to start misinterpreting his kindness and understanding in a way that could end up causing intense embarrassment to them both.

  When she and Daniella reached the riverside village, they parked in a field on the far bank, then strolled back across the humpback bridge into the bustling market square. After a while they split up, arranging to meet again in an hour, and as Jessica wandered amongst the stalls of fresh flowers and fruits, losing herself in the uniquely Gallic ambience of this centuries-old tradition, she could feel herself coming alive to a sense of freedom that she never had in London. It was making her almost recklessly happy, for she was able to move around unrecognised and unmolested here, to blend seamlessly into the background without even having to think about who might be watching or judging.

  She stopped to talk to the vendors, loving the feel of the French words as they vibrated softly in her throat and rolled off her tongue. She feasted her eyes on the colours all around her, inhaled the freshness of melons and raspberries, and tasted honey, tapenade and pungent salamis. She bought fresh herbs and flavoured oils, thick wedges of cheese and the ripest tomatoes. The textures and sensuousness of everything she encountered seemed to pull her into a new world of sensations that she’d hardly been aware of before.

  By the time she met up with Daniella again she’d become so entranced by it all that several of the tradesmen were recognising her now and smiling, while her basket was spilling over with all the produce Fernand had asked her to bring for lunch and so much more. Then she wandered over to a café to wait while Daniella went to buy a few last things for the children.

  After ordering two coffees, Jessica clicked on her mobile to call Charlie, feeling sad that she didn’t really want to, but knowing he’d be hurt if she didn’t, and besides, nothing had yet been resolved – either about her staying on here, or whether or not he and Harry would join her.

  ‘Hi, did I wake you?’ she asked when his voice came sleepily down the line.

  There was a moment of muffled movement before he said, ‘It’s half past nine in the morning, and I was in the studio till four, so what do you think?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll call later.’

  ‘No, no. You’ve woken me up now, so there’s no point ringing off. Where are you?’

  ‘In a café, waiting for Daniella. Have you called the Pettifers yet?’

  ‘No. I was hoping you might have a change of heart.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she told him. ‘I’m staying on here. I’d really like you to come, though. If you can get the time off.’

  ‘Well, as it happens I can’t, at least not until the last week of August, so I think you need to come home, whether you want to or not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Have you forgotten you have a son?’

  Ignoring the sarcasm, she said, ‘I told you yesterday, he can join me here.’

  ‘So are you suggesting he drive himself, or maybe he can qualify as a pilot?’

  ‘I’m suggesting either Nikki and Freddy bring him before they go to Norfolk, or you can put him on a plane at Heathrow and I’ll meet him at Lyon.’

  ‘Well, that might be fine for you . . .’

  ‘Charlie, it won’t be the first time he’s flown alone, so please don’t let’s argue. Book a flight for when he returns from Devon, and another for when you can come yourself, if you can’t make it at the same time.’

  ‘Since when did you get to make all the decis
ionsin this marriage?’ he snapped angrily. ‘In case you’d forgotten, there are two of us, and you know very well I don’t want to go back to that cottage.’

  ‘Why don’t you at least think about it?’

  ‘I don’t have to.’

  ‘I promise, it doesn’t feel anywhere near as bad as you think. If anything it’s making me feel closer to her.’

  ‘I can’t actually believe you’re saying this . . .’

  ‘OK, I’m doing a really bad job of putting it into words, but if you come, I’m sure you’ll see what I mean. And if you end up finding it too hard, I promise, we’ll leave. Now, instead of arguing any further, tell me, have you managed to get hold of my mother yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s running away,’ Jessica stated. ‘She knows I’m trying to track her down, so she’s making herself scarce. Doesn’t that prove she has something to hide?’ Then before he could answer, ‘OK, OK, only I would think that. So you go on giving her the benefit of the doubt, but I still want to speak to her.’

  ‘You’ve already made yourself abundantly plain about that,’ he informed her. ‘So if there’s nothing else, I need to use the bathroom.’

  As she rang off she sighed heavily, then looked up as Daniella plonked herself down in one of the basket-weave chairs and gave an earthy murmur of delight as the waiter turned up with two frothy cappuccinos topped with powdery chocolate.

  ‘Is everything OK, chérie?’ she asked, as the waiter went away. ‘You’re frowning, and you seemed so happy just now.’

  ‘It’s Charlie,’ Jessica confessed. ‘He’s woken up in a bad mood and now both of us are feeling bad.’

  Daniella’s exquisite sloe eyes regarded her sympathetically. ‘I know I can’t possibly fill Lilian’s shoes,’ she said gently, ‘but I do have a good ear and strong shoulder.’

  Jessica’s expression softened as she looked at her. ‘You’re all being far too kind and patient with me,’ she told her. ‘And actually, the current issue between me and Charlie is nothing more than he wants us to go to Majorca with some friends for the second half of August, and I . . .’ She took a breath. ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘So what would you like to do?’

  Jessica threw out her hands incredulously. ‘Look at all this,’ she said, meaning the bustling market square. ‘I know you’re used to it, you probably hardly even think about it because you live it, but for me it seems so vibrant and . . . Real.’

  ‘So you’d like to stay here all summer?’

  ‘Of course. Anyway I won’t leave until I manage to see the Médecin Légiste and the paramedics, but if I stayed even longer it would mean I could spend more time with Lilian. And with you and your family.’ Her eyes started to sparkle. ‘Luc has offered to do a sculpture of me, which I have to admit I find very intriguing. I’ve never been a sitter before.’

  Daniella’s expression turned comical. ‘Beware, he is not known for his patience when it comes to his muses.’

  Jessica laughed. ‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said, and picking up her coffee she closed her eyes as she savoured its rich, creamy taste.

  ‘Tell me,’ Daniella said after a while, ‘I know it is none of my business, and I have no right to ask, but what do you really think happened at the cottage that day? What are you hoping to find out?’

  Jessica inhaled deeply and felt a chill inside as she put down her cup. ‘What I’d really like,’ she said, ‘is to find out my mother is telling the truth, and there is nothing else to it. The trouble is, I know in my heart there’s more. And now she’s disappeared again, just when she knows I’m trying to get hold of her . . .’ Her eyes returned to Daniella’s. ‘I can’t let my mind go any further than that,’ she said, ‘because I’m too afraid of where it might end up, but I will tell you this, my mother hasn’t always chosen wisely in the men she’s become involved with.’

  After a moment’s confusion Daniella’s eyes registered understanding, and seeming every bit as reluctant as Jessica to go any further down that road, she let the subject drop.

  ‘Mr Moore? It’s Rufus Keane here. I got your message, but I can’t help you, I’m afraid. As far as I’m aware Veronica’s still on Capri.’

  ‘When did you last speak to her?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It must have been three or four days ago.’

  ‘And she didn’t say she was going off anywhere else, or intending to come back to England?’

  ‘No, but she and Maurice could have gone sailing. May I ask if there’s a problem? Perhaps it’s something I can help with.’

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Charlie responded. ‘My wife is keen to get hold of her, and we’re probably overly anxious after learning about Veronica’s collapse.’

  ‘Understandable. But if anything like that had happened again, I’m sure Maurice would have let one of us know.’

  ‘Of course,’ Charlie said, relieved to have his own thoughts confirmed. ‘But if you do hear anything . . .’

  ‘I’ll get in touch right away,’ Keane assured him.

  After ringing off Charlie tried the number in Capri again, but there was still no reply, and feeling irrationally furious with both Veronica and Jessica he slammed the phone down and went off to tackle Nikki about the appalling mess she’d left in the kitchen last night.

  Jessica was laughing so hard it hurt. The absurd thing was, she couldn’t even remember what had started her off now, apart from the hilarious dance Luc had performed a few minutes ago whilst trying to prevent a stack of empty boxes from falling. Ever since, his struggle to keep a straight face, added to his efforts to be serious again, were only making matters worse.

  ‘If you remember anything of this tour of the cave,’ he told her, trying to sound stern, ‘I think it will be my excellent juggling, rather than the way we make wine.’

  Though she tried to answer, the word juggling set her off again, and as she bent double, holding herself about the waist, he put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot waiting for her to finish.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘It’s just . . . Oh God, don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ he cried, throwing out his hands, though his eyes were brimful of laughter.

  ‘That!’

  His head fell back in despair, then a menacing gleam came into his eye as he began advancing on her.

  With a shriek she took off along the row of vats, looked around quickly for somewhere to hide, then slipped into a shadowy niche just outside a storeroom. As he came into view she gurgled with laughter again, and was just about to run off in another direction when his mobile started to ring.

  Though clearly exasperated, he took it from his shirt pocket and clicked on. ‘Ah oui, François,’ he answered. ‘Si, je t’entends, mais très mal, je sors avec le téléphone,’ and shooting a look at Jessica that told her he hadn’t finished with her yet, he started back through the cave towards the daylight.

  As he went Jessica stood watching him, still smiling all over her face and breathless from so much hilarity. She couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed like this, though guessed it would have been with one of the children. It would very probably have been with Natalie, since she’d had a genuine gift for making her mother laugh. Thinking of how much her daughter would have enjoyed this larking about with Luc sobered her a little, but she continued to smile, because right now she felt so happy that her heart simply wasn’t ready to let it go.

  Luc had been waiting when she and Daniella had returned from the market, pacing up and down outside the cave, looking at his watch and reminding her that they had made a rendezvous for ten thirty to begin her first lesson in wine-making.

  ‘Mais non!’ she’d cried, astounded that she could have forgotten.

  ‘OK, non,’ he’d agreed. ‘It was in my head, but I think I might not have remembered to tell you.’

  Grinning, Daniella had waltzed off into the house at that point, taking the groceries with her, while Luc whis
ked Jessica into the cave, informing her as they went that new pupils who were late usually had to pay a forfeit and he’d let her know later if there was one.

  Finding him in such a playful mood had been exactly what Jessica had needed to lift her spirits after her call to Charlie. Now, enjoying the cool mustiness of the cave, she wandered idly around the giant vats – or fûts as they were called here in Burgundy – wondering if naked men really did climb in to trample and hack at the chapeau – the debris of skins and pips – or if it was something Luc had made up to tease her. Actually, she’d heard that it did still happen, so she was at least half-willing to believe him, and now what she wanted to know was whether he was one of the naked men. The idea of him sloshing about in the wine with not a stitch on started her laughing again, though it was an image she didn’t allow to linger for fear of it taking her off in a wrong direction.

  As she walked on past giant pyramids of empty bottles and a row of settling tanks she could hear him talking in the distance, so eventually she turned round to wander back towards the mouth of the cave. He was standing beside the tasting counter, noting down whatever the person at the other end was telling him.

  ‘Oui, j’ai l’information,’ he said to the caller, looking up as she approached, ‘dès que tu as une date fais moi signé. D’accord. À bientôt.’ As he rang off he continued to look at her, thenas she started to turn away he said, ‘I wish I had my camera now. With the light coming in on you like this, you could be Meditrina herself.’

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘The Roman goddess of wine?’

  He nodded.

  She started to smile, flattered even though she knew he was teasing her, then becoming aware of the misty shafts of sunlight she was standing in, she stepped aside. ‘Have we reached the tasting bit now?’ she asked, looking at the bottles lined up on the counter.

  ‘I would think so,’ he replied. ‘Red or white?’

  ‘Red.’

  As he picked up an unlabelled bottle and uncorked it she watched how deftly his hands moved, and thought how their masculine elegance was so true of an artist. Then she looked at his face. His eyes were lowered, showing her the fullness of his lashes, and heavy lines of his brows. The whiteness of his shirt made his skin seem darker, and because it was open almost to the waist she could see the coarse hair on his chest.