Sense and French Ability (13 page)

“I am so sorry. Perhaps she will rethink and return,” Fliss said. This sad side to him she had not seen before.

“Hmm!” He did not say more.

‘Perhaps he is more serious-minded than I took him for? Madame Marie has always said that.’

“I too had disappointments.” Fliss told him of her life with her mother. “I’ve had opportunities wasted. I don’t want this to be another such one,” she ended up confiding.

Jean Chri waited without speaking. He sensed more was to come and he did not want the opportunity to pass. He wanted to learn more about her.

“Twice I was seriously in love, I thought. In my mid-twenties Alan was the first one of those. We were together for eighteen months. I thought we might get married. Then he announced he was going to Kenya to grow peas and beans. He asked me to go and I wanted to be with him but I was looking after my mum. She was hopeless without Dad. I stayed and he went without me. Bad decision on my part, probably. I shall never know.”

“We can never be sure what might have been,” Jean Chri said. “You said ‘twice’. What else happened?”

“Ooh, that was a tale of stupidity and naivety in my late twenties.” She smirked at her remembered folly. “He, Freddy, was older than me by nearly ten years. Perhaps I was looking for the lost father figure… My dad died when I was seventeen. We had such fun. He taught me a lot and I was up for all of it. We had been together for almost a year. Then I received a letter. I don’t know how you say it wasn’t signed.”

“
Anonyme
.” He gave her the word.

She laughed. “Ah! It’s almost the same in English. I should have guessed. So many words are almost the same, or are the same and just pronounced differently.”

It was so easy to talk to him and tell him things she might not tell others.

“Yes, well, the letter was
anonyme
. It told me he was married. I was devastated. I couldn’t believe it and thought it was malicious but, no, it was true. That destroyed so much of my trust.”

“I see,” Jean Chri said and nodded thoughtfully.

The next day they were making excellent progress with the project. It seemed that they were making progress with each other, too. Jean Chri told Fliss how devastated he was not to have children of his own; that it was Maryl’s choice but he took immense delight in his niece, Melodie.

“She is so joyful,” he explained. “She is like a fresh new day; bright and full of light. She is always giggling. That is so infectious. Her hair is shining and she has such a dazzle in her eyes.” He talked at length and laughed at himself. “Listen to me going on.”

Fliss told him of her plans for the house and the business. Jean Chri thought she was crazy to be suggesting dogs indoors and understood the sense of converting the outhouse into a kennel facility.

“I need to get a website of my own created as a matter of urgency too, as soon as I have authority to do so,” she told him. “It amazes me that Madame Marie has the strength of business she does without the full use of the internet to make bookings. To date she has relied upon word of mouth, previous visitors and a tiny mention via another site; the one I found when I was researching to come to this region. A designated website that details the facilities and prices would help, I’m convinced, especially with photographs. I would link it to the main tourist web sites.”

Jean Chri smiled at her enthusiasm but said, “You have plenty of good ideas. You will make a great success of the business and things will be better for the village to have a thriving business. This would help Jerome and his restaurant too.”

As they neared finishing the construction work, the pair stood back and bumped into each other. It felt to Fliss the most natural thing when Jean Chri put out his arms, to stop her from falling over, and she leaned into him. Smelling his after-shave she gasped.

“Whoops, sorry,” Fliss tried to laugh.

Chapter 13

Jo stayed for two weeks. During that time Fliss could see a growing friendship between her friend and Harriet. She had been there for dinner and witnessed Jo’s ease at the house, almost as if it were her own. She fetched things from the kitchen, helped with the dishes and seemed comfortable.

There had been exchanges of looks that Fliss had interpreted during various conversations between Jo and Harriet; looks that suggested more than just a platonic friendship. If this was the case then Fliss would be very happy for her friend, and for Harriet too.

The announcement for the village brocante and barbecue arrived in the post box, at the bottom of the steps, about two weeks after Jo departed. Fliss skipped down the steps that morning when the post van stopped at their box and fetched it up with the rest of the post. All of the letters had Madame Marie’s name on and not hers. Fliss received all communications by email, and Madame Marie still opened all the bills. She showed them to Fliss who needed to see them to get a handle on the expenses of the business.

Fliss read the paper, with the village sign in the top corner. She realised that it explained that for the brocante the road would be closed off for the stalls. It commenced at 7am.

“I’m amazed it starts so early,” Fliss voiced her surprise. “I know all the other villages have a brocante at this time of year. Do they all start so early?”

“This is the normal course of events,” Madame Marie explained. “Anyone can man a stall and many of the villagers will use it as a good excuse to get money for unwanted items.

The family Charpentier, you know, the lady with the little twin boys? Well, she washes, irons and folds all their clothes when they’ve grown out of them. She keeps all the boxes their shoes come in and has a stall to sell them each year. She makes quite a tidy little sum. The next sets of clothes are funded that way.”

“That takes organisation,” Fliss commented

“If you have twins then to be organised is key, I imagine. Experienced dealers from further afield come, too. They are here early to buy and sometimes they sell interesting things.”

“Do you go and buy, or sell?” Fliss asked.

“Sometimes I’ve had a stall and sold things, but I don’t buy. I’ve enough rubbish of my own without buying someone else’s,” Madame said.

“I see there’s a barbecue, and a drinks tent too?” Fliss said having read the rest of the pamphlet.

“Sometimes it’s pleasant to sit in the shade and take a beer or a glass of wine.”

“This sounds like fun.” Fliss turned to Madame Marie.

“It’s relaxed and a time to meet up with friends and exchange news.” Madame Marie smiled at Fliss’s excitement benevolently.

“Do you know if we have guests that day, or shall I check the diary?” Fliss asked.

“We don’t at the moment,” Madame responded.

At six o’clock on the morning of the brocante, Fliss slowly became aware of a clattering in the street outside the house. When she looked at the time on her phone she was aghast at the early hour. She staggered out of bed, dragged her fingers through her hair and went through to the living room in her pyjamas. She peered down at the road. Sure enough Pierre, with his perennial roll-up,
une
clope
, hanging from his mouth stood watching the proceedings. As the village contonnier or the man, he looked after the verges and cut the grass at the Salle des Fêtes. Now he lifted metal barriers off of a trailer and placed them across to shut the road. Small stripes in white paint were placed at regular intervals all down the street, to mark the size of pitches, and people had arrived. They set up tables upon which to put their items for sale. People disgorged weird and wonderful things from the open doors of numerous white vans, and a few cars had their boot lids open.

As it turned out, there were to be guests at the house tonight after all. A couple were not due to arrive until late afternoon. They did not want an evening meal. Although Fliss needed to ensure that the room was ready, there was no other preparation to do. This freed her up to enjoy the day.

Climbing back into bed, she snuggled under the covers and tried to doze for a while but, after tossing about restlessly, she got up, showered and dressed. The weather was fair but still chilly at this hour so she wore a cardigan with her cut-off jeans and pink checked shirt. By mid-morning the living areas were tidy and beds made. She fastened her sandals and was ready to go exploring the stalls.

“I’ve done the room for the guests arriving,” she called to Madame Marie. “Do you want to come down with me?”

“No, you go ahead,” answered the old lady. “I might wander down in a bit. Have fun but don’t go bringing back any old junk, now,” she added with a chuckle.

Fliss wandered down the street and nodded a greeting to several people with whom she was now familiar. A waft of fried onions even at this early hour tickled the inside of her nose. Apart from this the air was fresh with a light breeze and Fliss felt content. She looked over all the stalls, but Madame Marie was right. Mainly other peoples’ rubbish graced the tables. A lot of sets of china or glasses were incomplete. Several wooden boxes that were chipped or scuffed sat and looked forlorn. Odd chairs and books in French were piled high. Fliss inspected a good copper kettle but she had no use for one at the moment so, although tempted, she resisted. One stall was selling old postcards and photographs, though. She looked in the section for Fleurus-le-Comte and to her surprise and glee she found a picture of her house. She grinned at the lady behind the stall.

“
Ma
maison
,” she said, waving the card. The picture showed the house in faded sepia and white and on the back Fliss read “
La
Poste
,
Fleurus
-
le
-
Comte
.”

“
Ma
maison
etait
la
poste
,”

The stall holder beamed at her and nodded.

‘She knows I’m English. She’s placating me without saying a word. Oh well, that’s fine.’

Fliss paid for the card. She had probably been fleeced, but she couldn’t get over the fact that her house had been the post office for the village and beyond.

Half way down the street, smiling to herself, she realised she referred to the picture as ‘
my
house’. This made Fliss feel pleased. She belonged here; this was to be her home. With these thoughts in her mind ,she bumped into Harriet.

“Hi,” she said leaning in to kiss both Harriet’s cool, soft cheeks. Fliss shared with Harriet her find and excitement, and the two of them wandered on lazily down the road past stalls.

“I gather you and Jo spent a good few days together,” Fliss said.

“We had great fun. She’s so lively and such easy company. We find more and more in common. Did she say she’s coming again soon?”

Fliss was surprised and said “No, she didn’t, but then she doesn’t need to check everything with me. She’s her own person. I’m sure we’ll talk soon. Haven’t you phoned her?”

“She rang me after she left so it’s my turn, but no, I don’t want to appear pushy. Do you think that would be alright?”

“Yes, of course. Though if you don’t she may be of the mind that you don’t care.”

“Yes, I can see that. I wanted to but, as I say, I didn’t want her to think I was being desperate.”

“Harriet!” Fliss picked up her insecurity about the relationship.

“It’s a while since I’ve been in the dating game,” Harriet explained.

“Just ring her. Take it from me, she will be pleased to be contacted by you.”

With that, they arrived outside the Salle des Fêtes and decided to go and sit for a drink. Several tables were set up with chairs and large umbrellas under which pools of cool, dark shade tempted tired people. The barbecue had started. Several people under the shelter of a canvas tent cut bread rolls, turned sausages or burgers and fried the onions Fliss had smelled earlier. It was tempting but too early.

“Oh look there’s Pascal and Amélie,” said Harriet as they arrived. “Madame Marie is sitting too. Shall we join them?”

“Madame Marie must have passed me while I looked at the stalls,” said Fliss. “Hello, everybody.”

The usual round of greetings took place and Harriet went to buy drinks.

“Where’s Melodie?” asked Fliss

“She’s just gone off to play with her friend, Thibault. Oh there she is,” Amélie pointed her out. Fliss looked across and saw Melodie giggling at some antic that her little friend was up to.

“It’s so safe here for children to go and have fun without the adults hovering over them every minute,” Fliss said.

“Oh yes, nothing will happen in this quiet place,” Amélie agreed.

“She always seems happy,” Fliss said to Amélie, who smiled and nodded.

Harriet returned with their refreshments and they spent a comfortable hour together. The weather warmed up, so Fliss took off her cardigan and rolled up her shirt sleeves. Whether it was the sun or the cool local French beer Fliss wasn’t sure, but she became increasingly peaceful.

“Where’s Jean Chri today?” she asked casually.

“He said he’ll be here later. He won’t miss this,” Amélie said. “It’s a chance to have a lazy day; spend time together. He loves Melodie.”

Then she said the strangest thing. “If anything ever happened to Pascal and me,” she crossed herself and smiled, “I would have the utmost confidence in letting Jean Chri look after her. It’s such a shame he never had children. He’s so good with them all, but with her in particular.” Amélie changed the subject. “I gather you had a successful few days? You are good for him. He’s coming out of his shell. He spoke in an animated way, telling us about your building experiences,” she followed.

“Really?” Fliss was surprised.

“Oh yes, he was full of it. Pascal and I noticed a difference in him,” she smiled.

Madame Marie talked to Harriet and Pascal throughout this exchange but Fliss was aware thst she had half an ear into what Amélie was saying. Just then the old lady turned to Fliss and...was that a wink? Surely not!

The group broke up and each headed home for lunch, agreeing that they would meet up later in the afternoon. Fliss also said that, after the guests had arrived and she had settled them, she would see Harriet for the evening. The Rochefort family made to gather Melodie and said they would be back then, too, when Jean Chri would be across after the milking session.

It wasn’t until about eight thirty in the evening that Fliss caught up with the others at the Salle again. By this time the barbecue was in full swing, music played, and beer and wine flowed. The atmosphere was very different to that of the ducasse. It was informal, noisy and much more mobile with people standing around and moving from table to table greeting friends and exchanging chatter. Straight away Fliss saw her group of friends and joined them.

“Is Madame Marie coming?” Harriet asked.

“No,” smiled Fliss. “This is too lively for her these days. She will be in bed soon.”

“What about your guests?”

“They’re here somewhere,” Fliss said. “They have a key so they can get in to their room when they want. So, I’m a free agent for a while,” Fliss answered.

“What can I get you to drink, Fliss?” Jean Chri asked.

“A white wine, thank you. I’ll come with you and help carry,” she said and headed to the bar with him.

As the evening wore on Fliss relaxed. Was it the wine? She wasn’t sure, but she started to feel reckless. When Jean Chri asked her to dance, as the light faded and the stars showed, she accepted. On the short dry grass the stomping turned to swaying as the music changed. Later, dancing became slower. His arms pressed firmly around her and his height made her safe and protected, while giving Fliss a frisson of excitement she had not experienced in a long time. Was that his lips on her hair? She couldn’t be sure at first. When she glanced up at him he smiled so gently and kindly but also with what Fliss became more certain was an underlying passion.

At this time she became aware of one or two people looking in her direction and talking together. M. Demille was there with his chunky wife, and Claudine who ran every event in the village including the church.

She was careless. She danced with Pascal, then as a group with several others.

‘That’ll show them. There’s nothing going on.’

Finally people drifted home. Few were left.

“Let me walk you up the road, Fliss,” Jean Chri said.

She shrugged and nodded. She convinved herself that could handle him, and that she was immune to any serious advances.

As they left the circle of light he took her hand and she let him. They reached the shadows of her driveway and Jean Chri pulled her with care to one side. Encircling her shoulders with his arms, he hugged her to him. He nuzzled her neck; he kissed her hairline and she heard a soft groan. Then, tilting her chin with a tender hand he leaned his head down and his warm lips touched hers and her lower tummy swooped.

Gentle at first, his mouth became harder and his tongue explored her lips, her teeth and her tongue. She didn’t pull away for several seconds and when she did she said “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t want this.”