‘I’m actually in the house – can’t we Skype?’ he said.
‘I don’t want you to see me if I burst into tears. I’m not pretty when I cry.’
I told him about the second cancellation, and he consoled me, but I was still feeling pretty beaten up when we said our goodbyes. One step forward, two steps back. I knew I was being too negative, but sometimes it felt as though my whole existence in France was at risk, and each little thing that went wrong pushed me closer to my non-life back in the UK.
9
When Madame Dupont arrived for her shift, she was so late that it was well after lunch, and she was all hot and bothered.
‘I am so sorry! Some of my chickens got out! I found a hole in the fence. I’ve been chasing them up and down the lane all morning!’
‘Did you find them all?’ I asked her, concerned.
‘I found five. I don’t know if more went missing. I didn’t have time to count them.’ She puffed out her wrinkled cheeks. ‘Have you ever tried to count that many chickens in a yard as big as mine when they’re all moving?’
‘I’ll help you later, if you like.’
She patted my hand. ‘You have enough to do here. If I’ve lost a few, then I have. That’s life.’
‘What will you do about the fence?’
‘I nailed some old wood over it for now.’ She mimed to help me out.
As we drank our lemon tea later, she asked me, ‘When is Alain due back?’
‘Sunday afternoon.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘You will be happy to see him again, Emie?’
‘Of course!’ I didn’t add that I was as nervous as an adolescent – not that I had that kind of vocabulary in my possession anyway.
‘Will he take you out to a restaurant? Or will you go to his house?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I told her, slightly puzzled by this avid curiosity.
‘Maybe you could cook for him?’
‘Oh, no. I don’t think so.’ I tried to hide my horror at the idea. I was loath to admit to the old woman that I couldn’t cook unless it involved a microwave and removing plastic packaging.
Madame Dupont tutted and wagged her finger at me. ‘Emie, you impress a man by pleasing his estomac.’ She rubbed hers as she spoke, to make sure I understood.
I doubted my cooking would impress him, but I didn’t want to go down in the old lady’s estimation. ‘Er, maybe. We’ll see.’
It was late afternoon and she was pulling on her old cardigan and getting ready to leave when the knock came at the door.
I opened it to find Alain standing there, as tall and handsome as ever in light cotton chinos and a polo shirt, with those soft brown eyes the colour of demerara sugar and that fabulous smile.
My mouth dropped open.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
His fingers were tapping agitatedly at his thigh, and I suspected he was as nervous as me. The realisation made me relax a fraction.
Madame Dupont shook her head at me. ‘Bonjour, Monsieur Granger. Come in, come in! You are several days early!’
‘Yes. I... I wanted to be back home.’ He stepped into the hall and kissed her cheeks, then smiled at me.
It was heart-melting, and I smiled back... until I realised I was wearing my cleaning cut-offs and a plain old T-shirt.
Rupert came through from the kitchen. ‘Alain! Good to see you!’
They shook hands, and the dog came over for her share of attention. While Alain fussed over her, Madame Dupont pulled me aside.
Her smile was broad. ‘You should cook for Alain on your first proper date together. Show him what you are capable of.’ When I still looked doubtful at the prospect, she patted my cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I will bring something for you tomorrow morning that he will like.’
‘But I don’t even know when we...’
‘Relax, Emie. He will want to see you. And I will bring something, okay?’
If it made her happy, where was the harm? Perhaps a nice country casserole that I could pass off as my own?
I smiled my thanks. ‘That’s very kind of you, Madame Dupont.’
When I’d waved her off, I stood in the hall for a moment, gathering my wits. Over the phone, Alain and I had been safe to chat, laugh, grumble, flirt – and I realised I was grateful for that time we’d had getting to know each other better without the pressure of being together. Now he was back, it was the real deal – something that excited me and terrified me at the same time.
Taking a deep breath, I followed Alain and Rupert into the kitchen.
‘Good trip?’ Rupert asked him.
‘Fine, thanks. As family visits go.’
Rupert nodded in sympathy, while Gloria ran around everybody’s legs, getting in the way, her tail battering our legs to death.
‘How many times have I told you, that dog shouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchen?’ I scolded.
Rupert gave an exaggerated look around him. ‘Unless my age is affecting my eyesight, I can’t spot any guests in here at the moment, can you?’
‘One dog hair found in the soup, Rupert. One. That’s all it takes.’
‘Fine. Gloria! Hall! Basket!’
She sat in slavish devotion at his feet.
I shook my head. ‘Hopeless.’
Alain was trying not to laugh. ‘You lot are made for each other, do you know that?’
Rupert grunted and tickled Gloria behind the ear. ‘Talking of being made for each other, are you two going to kiss or am I going to have to bang your heads together?’
Embarrassed, we politely kissed continental-style on each cheek.
‘Oh, for crying out loud. And I thought I was rubbish at that stuff! Bugger off, the pair of you. You’re making me depressed. Go out in the garden or something!’
We did. Out of range of the meddling matchmaker we knew and loved, I breathed in the scent from the lavender that lined the courtyard and willed myself to relax.
Alain stopped me on the patio. ‘You look beautiful, Emmy.’
‘Thank you. I... Why did you come back so early? I only spoke to you this morning!’
‘I decided that you and Rupert needed some moral support. And I couldn’t wait any longer to do this.’
He reached out and caught me in his arms, then touched his lips to mine, tentative at first... but not for long. Our lips fit together as perfectly as I remembered, only this time, there was nothing to hold us back. No sense of regret that I was returning to England; no reluctance to start something we couldn’t finish. This kiss was allowed to have promise and possibility... and oh, it was sweet.
‘That’s more like it!’ Rupert had come out to pry and cheer us on. Gloria barked her approval.
Alain shook his head in friendly despair. ‘Let’s go and get ourselves some privacy.’ Picking up a lounger and indicating for me to do the same, he dragged it right down to the bottom of the garden, where we set them side by side. We settled ourselves and he took my hand, twining his fingers in mine.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Tired. Happy that I came. Stressed. Wondering if I’m a bit insane.’ It was nice and private down here, hidden away from the house and almost enclosed by shrubs and trees, the gentle fussing of the chickens nearby a relaxing background accompaniment – no matter what Geoffrey Turner thought.
‘All understandable. You’ve had quite a time of it since you got here. It’ll settle down soon.’
‘God, I hope so.’
‘How did you get on with the jazz band?’
I made a face. ‘Two sounded awful – not that I’m any judge. So I’m down to five.’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘And you haven’t been totally honest with me.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘In what way?’
‘You said you liked jazz. You didn’t tell me you played.’
Was it my imagination or did he blush slightly? ‘I do like jazz. It was just a slight omission.’
I cocked my head to one side, studying his face. ‘Why didn’t you tell
me you played the sax?’
‘I... didn’t think it was particularly relevant.’
‘Liar.’
‘Okay. Well. It’s not something I shout about, that’s all. It’s for my own amusement.’
‘Okay.’ I touched my lips to his. ‘Tell me why you like jazz, and what you like about it.’
‘My dad loves it, so I was brought up with it. Oscar Peterson, Lionel Hampton. As for sax players, Stan Getz was the one who made me gravitate towards the saxophone. Andy Hamilton cemented it.’ He laughed when I looked at him blankly. ‘I mainly like the mellow stuff. I don’t like it when it gets too experimental and weird, and I find the traditional sets a bit stiff and... unyielding. I have CDs. If you come round, I’ll educate you.’
‘Talking of which,’ he said, cutting off the drift of my thoughts, ‘I don’t suppose you’re free tonight?’
I shook my head regretfully. ‘New arrivals. Guest meal.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I could be free tomorrow.’
‘Good. That’ll give me a chance to unpack and settle back in.’
‘You haven’t even unpacked yet?’
‘No. I came straight here to see you.’
Wow.
‘I don’t know what you had in mind, Emmy, but maybe we could go for a walk, then out for dinner? Or I could cook something at my place?’
My heart skipped a beat. If we were alone at his place, what would that mean? A civilised evening over pasta and a glass of wine? A teenaged snog and grope on the sofa? An adult foray into the bedroom?
‘Any of that sounds good,’ I told him, reminding myself to breathe.
Alain smiled. And you see, that was the problem right there. That smile. I might do anything when he smiled at me like that.
I remembered Madame Dupont. ‘Except I have to cook for you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Madame Dupont decreed it, and I’m too lily-livered to stand up to her. And she’ll quiz me about it afterwards. It’s a long story, and not all is clear yet.’
He laughed. ‘Okay. How about if I pick you up late afternoon? We can go to my place and I’ll let you cook.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I drive to you?’
‘No, I’ll pick you up. That way you can relax, not worry about getting lost, maybe have a glass of wine or two.’
‘Will you be plying me with alcohol so you can take advantage of me?’ I enquired innocently.
He gave me a look that shot straight to my lower portions and turned them into molten heat. ‘Will you need alcohol?’ He leaned across and planted a light kiss on my lips. ‘You look tired.’
‘Sorry. I’m knackered.’
‘We don’t have to make conversation,’ he pointed out, his hand straying from my shoulder to skim down the side of my rib cage to my hip.
My breathing stepped up a notch as he drew me closer to him. I melted into the kiss in a dreamlike state, not thinking, only feeling. His lips were so right on mine, his hands belonged on me...
‘Don’t mind me. Just thought I’d bring you some tea.’
Rupert. And his sidekick. She came bounding up, slobbered over Alain’s chest, then leapt up and plonked herself full stretch across both our laps.
‘Can’t you train this dog?’ I asked him.
‘She’s just being friendly.’
‘There’s friendly and there’s intimate, Rupert. Not all the guests like dogs to this extent.’
He placed the tray of tea on the ground next to us. ‘If you were guests, I wouldn’t let her do that. Then again, I wouldn’t expect the guests to set up a double lounger at the bottom of my garden to canoodle on. That’s what the rooms are for.’
‘We weren’t canoodling. We were...’
Alain laughed. ‘We were canoodling. There’s no other word for it.’
His laughter was infectious, and I had to join in. This delighted Gloria so much that she leapt off us and ran a full lap of the garden, barking excitedly.
Alain leaned in close. ‘My place tomorrow. No arguments.’
His eyes were intent on mine. Rupert, the garden, the dog all melted away as I lost myself in their cinnamon depths. He wasn’t getting any arguments from me.
‘Go fetch your laptop.’ He broke the spell. ‘We’ll try to find contact details for those bands you thought might be okay, and we’ll e-mail them.’
‘In French?’
His lips twitched. ‘If they’re French, I would imagine so.’
I smiled. ‘I knew you’d come in useful.’
* * *
The next morning, to my relief, I saw more reviews had started trickling in, all on the complimentary side. If the flow continued, it would be enough to make La Cour des Roses look respectable again. When I was sure things were going in the right direction, I showed Rupert.
‘Listen to this: “We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful place to stay. The garden was a vision, the food was superb, the bedroom everything we could have wished for, and the host couldn’t do enough for us.” Five stars. Someone who stayed back in May.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Rupert smiled sympathetically. ‘You’ve done a great job turning this around, Emmy.’
‘Hmmph. I haven’t stopped thousands of people from reading Geoffrey’s review.’
‘No, but it’s forced us into doing this. Anyone who looks will see all these now. That will work out in our favour, in the long run.’ He gave me an enquiring look. ‘Seeing Alain tonight?’
‘Yes. Is that okay?’
‘I’m not your keeper, Emmy. Of course it is.’
When Madame Dupont appeared mid-morning, she was bearing, as promised, her offering for my welcome home meal with Alain.
It was a dead chicken. Very dead – as in no head, but with feathers, feet and everything else unfortunately still attached.
I deserved an acting award, really I did. Firstly, for not vomiting on the spot. Then for managing to beam broadly, express sincere thanks for her kind gift and assure her that it would be a wonderful treat for Alain – the perfect way to impress him with my culinary skills.
My thanks were mostly genuine. Rupert had once told me that Madame Dupont kept chickens to feed her extended family. She didn’t dole them out lightly, so the fact that I’d been presented with one was very touching. Still, a nice cassoulet would have given out the same message.
Happy that her offering had been so well received, she pottered off to begin on her chores upstairs, while I wandered into the kitchen, holding the dead fowl at arm’s length.
Rupert stared. ‘What the... ?’
‘Madame Dupont gave me a chicken,’ I stated numbly.
‘So I see. You’re honoured.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘In theory, I’m going to cook it for Alain in order to impress him with my culinary expertise and please him by appealing to his stomach.’
‘And in practice?’
‘God knows. She... She said she chose a young one, so it can be cooked today. I think.’
Rupert nodded. ‘When they’re older, you have to leave them a while or they won’t be tender.’ He looked at me sternly. ‘You know you have no choice but to go ahead, Emmy, don’t you? What if Madame Dupont bumps into Alain and asks him whether he enjoyed it?’
‘I could bin this one and go to the supermarket for chicken breasts and you could make me a nice sauce to take with me and then Alain would tell her that the chicken was delicious, thank you – because it was – and she would be pleased and impressed with me and none the wiser?’
‘You can’t do that.’ He grinned. ‘You know how to pluck it? De-gut it?’
I swallowed back my breakfast, which was considering making a reappearance. ‘Do you?’
‘I do,’ he told me proudly. ‘I’ve been on the receiving end of several chickens over the years. The first time, I had to stop Gloria from running screaming from the house until after Madame Dupont left. Then she ran screaming
from the house, while I researched what the hell to do with it. It was a mess, but I got better at it.’ He indicated a far corner of the granite worktop. ‘Shove it over there and cover it with something. I’ll do it later this morning.’
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘Can’t see a way around it if we’re going to honour Madame Dupont’s gesture, appease your guilt and appeal to Alain’s stomach. And then there’s the chicken to consider. If you throw it away, it’s given its life for nothing, hasn’t it?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ I blanched. ‘How am I going to eat it, knowing that?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Emmy, where do you think supermarket chickens come from? Man up a bit, love.’
‘Urgh. Well. Thanks, Rupert.’
I went outside for fresh air, wandering mindlessly to the bottom of the garden, only to end up at the chicken run, where I had to tell myself that I was imagining the baleful looks they gave me.
* * *
After dealing with the new pâtisserie in town and leaving my leaflet with the printer Rupert had recommended, I grabbed a sandwich from the boulangerie, ate it on a bench near the fountain, enjoying the cool mist that drifted my way, then made my first visit to Jonathan’s. He lived in a small, pale blue terrace on the road leading out of the far side of Pierre-la-Fontaine. The paint was peeling on the windowsills – another sign that Jonathan was not too flush financially.
I knocked, opening the door when I heard a welcoming yell. It opened directly into the lounge, and my eyes widened in surprise. I’d expected small, poky rooms, but the place had been renovated to make one large, open-plan room with a kitchen area at the far end.
‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ Jonathan hoisted himself from his armchair. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘I’ll make it.’
‘No, I’ll do it. You have a look around, upstairs and down, so you know what’s what.’
I went upstairs first. Two smallish bedrooms, one Jonathan’s and the other piled with junk. A bathroom that could do with replacing but was nevertheless clean.
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