Sense and French Ability (18 page)

“I suppose the agent does really know his stuff and I owe him an apology,” she said to Jo after the man had left. “I should like to think of it as a happy home for a growing family again after the years of infertility it has been through.”

Fliss was ready to go and she said
au
revoir
, literally ‘til we meet again’, to Jo, arranging to see her very soon in Fleurus-le-Comte. The car journey was reminiscent, in one way, of the first journey Fliss had made but so different in others. In her head, she played over and over the reunion she would have with Jean Chri. She imagined whole conversations, what they would do and where. It was heated, in her mind.

The air-conditioning in her car was struggling. Fliss knew the route so, as her mind wandered around that one subject, she bowled along merrily and the time passed quickly enough.

Coming down the steep hill into the village there was no tractor in the fields this time. That was disappointing, but she knew Jean Chri could not stop for anything. He would be out in a field somewhere else. The stubble was gleaming and on the other side of the road the uncut winter barley was lustrous as it rippled in the warm breeze.

Fliss cruised over the little bridge and passed all the familiar houses and landmarks but true to form there was not a soul to be seen. Wistfully, she was all set to pass Jean Chri’s house and head for Madame Marie’s, so sure he would need to be out working.

As she slowed down and peered over her shoulder into the farmyard there was the large green tractor. With a pounding heart and a tenseness born of need she swung the car round and drove through the entrance. Leaping out of the car and shoving the door shut with a bang behind her, she ran around the house to the kitchen door at the back. It stood open to allow the breeze to dispel the sultriness.

She stepped out of the searing heat into the cool interior and had a moment to take in all that was there. She loved this room. It could be the epitome of a loving family space, and needed to be that again. Beneath her feet the floor was of flagged slate and above her head were huge, dense oak beams.

At one end of the room was a massive fireplace in which sat a large wood burner. It was now swept empty, of course, but the smoky wooden lintel had large hooks that would have been for hanging hams. Either side of the fire were a couple of large chairs with wicker seats and cushions in bright colours. A cat was curled asleep on one.

There was a large, dark wooden dresser upon which were all the cups and plates. The sink was stone and there was a huge stove that looked like an AGA but had ‘GODIN’ written on the front. There was also a newer, electric cooker that was considerably more modern.

Apart from the two cushions there was little colour in the room and Fliss fleetingly had time to think that she could add a rug and some checked cotton curtains, when she heard footsteps approaching from the along hall way.

Her heart bumped extraordinarily and then he was there, framed in the doorway, his shoulders almost touching each side and his head stooping slightly to enter. His shirt was partly untucked from jeans that hung low and hugged his hips. She could see his chest, brown and broad. As he straightened up he saw her and their eyes locked. A bolt passed between them, fastening them forever together from that moment.

“Fliss!”

He strode forwards and enfolded her in his arms. Then he tilted her chin up and his lips met hers. After her first surprise at finding herself wrapped within him at last, she kissed him back. His tongue probed, gently at first and with a delicacy that nearly moved her to tears. It teased with sensitivity her lips, her teeth, and her own tongue, until she felt she would melt.

“At last,” he murmured against her ear, before nibbling her lobe.

She thought her knees would buckle but then he took her hand and led her through the doorway and into the hallway. In the close darkness he turned and kissed her again with none of the previous calmness.

“Fliss . . .” His voice was rasping and he was breathing quickly.

He fumbled with the poppers on her blouse and, pulling it open, he lifted the fullness of her breast from its enclosing cup and teased her over-sensitive nipple.

She managed the buttons of his shirt, pulling what was left tucked in, free from his jeans. She couldn’t see his tanned chest but she felt his muscles, and the fine hair of his torso.

The next couple of hours disappeared in a blur of warmth and arms, lips and legs. His lovemaking was profound, vigorous and consuming. The tidal wave she experienced was like nothing before. It was a speechless flood that engulfed her, and when the internal pulsation was over she realised it was a first time experience for her.

Afterward, he held her tight and let her regain herself.

“You are truly beautiful,” he said and in that moment she felt that she was.

Shortly they both suddenly realised the time.

“I have fifteen hectares of barley to cut, so I must go,” Jean Chri said reluctantly.

“And if Madame Marie has spotted my car, which is quite likely, she will be thinking I am never going to arrive at her house!” Fliss said, echoing his reluctance.

Chapter 18

After Fliss unpacked her things, her old room looked like home again. She put the extra photos and the ornaments she had brought out on the dressing table.

‘This feels like home again. I like that word ‘home’,’ she thought.

An hour had passed already, without her realising, as she had happily mooched about her task. Madame Marie had said to join her and her sister, Camille, for a glass of wine as an aperitif before dinner, and so Fliss finally headed for the living room.

They were seated at the familiar table and as Fliss entered they were both smiling and nodding at her like a pair of toy dogs on a shelf. They were very alike.

“I can tell you are sisters. You look so similar,” Fliss said.

Since she had not met Camille before, both old ladies staggered to their feet upon her arrival and they all went through the kissing regime.

Both had the same cool, lavender-smelling skin and their hair was the identically crimped grey. Madame Marie was wearing the flowery housecoat, thick stockings and slippers that all French women of a certain age and older seemed to wear, and Camille’s attire mirrored that of her sister.

‘I shall never look like that,’ Fliss swore silently ‘They are of a different generation. I think they will always have looked old.’

“Welcome home, Fliss,” Madame Marie says. “I’m afraid there is no time to rest. Remember, I said on the phone, tomorrow we have a French family of five staying and an English couple as well. They all want an evening meal.”

Fliss loved her greeting. That use of the word ‘home’.

She smiled at Madame. “
Bah
oui
! It is what I want,” she said simply, unconsciously shrugging my shoulders in a French way. “Nothing like getting straight on with things.” She smiled privately to herself when she realised what she had just done.

Fliss looked around at the now familiar scene with all of the ancient knick-knacks she had noticed upon her initial arrival. She wondered how many of these things Madame Marie would want to take. Presumably Camille would not have room for them all.

‘It would be a shame if they all went. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Surely she will not need to take all the furniture. Before, when we discussed me buying the business, Madame Marie indicated that she would leave everything. I hope that has not changed. It adds the charm and character that attracted me in the first place and guests love it,’ Fliss thought.

They chatted for a little while and then Madame Marie finally asked the question Fliss felt sure had been on her mind since she’d rung the bell.

“Was that your car I saw in the farmyard across the way? I said to Camille, I am sure that is your car.”

Fliss decided that she could no longer prevaricate. “Yes it was.” Out of mischievousness she said nothing more and waited.

“Is he well?” Madame asked.

Fliss decided to take pity upon her and responded, “I went to see him first because he has been telephoning me in England. We had much to talk about,” Fliss told her, a little vaguely.

All of a sudden she had become self-conscious and uncertain about how their relationship would be accepted. She certainly did not tell the two old ladies what they were up to when they met again. As Fliss remembered Jean Chri’s few words once they were out of the kitchen she felt herself going pink, so she rose quickly to find a glass of water at the sink.

“Oh, I see.” Madame Marie nodded. There was a pause and Fliss quaked. “Good luck to you both then. He deserves a little happiness.”

She let out her breath and relaxed her shoulders. She had not realised she was feeling so tense about Madame’s response.

“Some may be a little upset, though,” Camille added. “He is still married after all. You must be careful, Fliss. Some might take exception to an English woman taking the place of Maryl. I know from Marie she did not really have friends here, but some people may be unhappy with it all.”

Fliss turned and nodded humbly. She was sure that Camille was correct and older people like Madame Demille or Claudine may take exception to her as a result. They already packaged ‘the English’ together in their minds and they had not been backward in condemning Jo for her out-going behaviour. Time would surely tell what they thought about Jo moving in with Harriet.

*

The next few days were a whirl of activity, changing beds and cooking for visitors. Jean Chri and Fliss had a few snatched moments upstairs in his farmhouse, but they were both still working very long hours. Sometimes they had simply shared a comfortable coffee break together.

The children of the French family who came to stay at their B and B were delightful and the English couple, who were older, very appreciative, saying they would recommend them to their friends. Since Fliss had been away Madame Marie hadn’t accepted any visitors with dogs, despite the fact that the kennel Jean Chri and Fliss created was fully functioning. Fliss was not really surprised. However, Fliss had taken a call from a couple who would like to bring their animal.

“It’s extra income and I’m sure it will all be fine,” she had said to Madame Marie after she had made the booking. “There is nowhere else offering that service and I think it will be a good money earner.”

The real focus of her thoughts, though, was that of Jo’s imminent arrival. She would go to Harriet’s, but Fliss was sure they would meet up within the next few days. She had gathered from Madame Marie that Jo’s name was still a shade of dark grey – if not quite black – following the dance debacle of the Quatorze Juillet celebration.

“It really was a bit too much for some people,” Madame Marie said. “M. Demille was telling me all about it. I think he is not so keen on the English at the moment. So be careful Fliss,” she advised her. “He can be tetchy.”

The words pot and kettle sprang to mind but Fliss accepted her well-meant warning.

*

Fliss had not seen Jerome since she came back, but was conscious of the fact that he may think she was having nothing more to do with him, following the argument with Madame Marie. Although she did not know the details, Fliss knew that things had gone horribly wrong, and she felt responsible.

She did send him two postcards while she was away and she had thanked him profusely for his help. But she simply hadn’t seen him. Feeling guilty about this, she determined that she would call at his house.

“Pff!” This was all Madame Marie said when Fliss determinedly told her she was going to visit Jerome.

“I want to give him a little gift because I know it caused trouble but he was only trying to help me. I’m not sure what to give him though.”

After scouting around and thinking hard, she remembered she had a little store of English food that she had been saving for a special occasion. She arranged the pot of marmalade, the Stilton cheese, a bottle of Worcester sauce, (the French seemed to like it), some decorated cupcakes she had just made and one or two other bits in a little basket on top of some tissue paper. She tied a ribbon around to make a small gift. It wasn’t much, but she hoped Jerome would like it. His lifestyle was very frugal, and not at all elaborate, so she hoped he would be touched by the kind thought.

She marched down the road with determination to mend any broken fences but found that the door was locked. That was most unusual. As a bar and restaurant, it was normally always open for customers.

‘Perhaps he’s out? I hope he’s not ill, or anything worse,’ she thought.

When ringing the bell and knocking, out of the corner of her eye Fliss saw the drapes at the window twitch and was sure that it was Éric who had spotted her. As she waited, she wondered what was going on. She started to fret that he was not going to open the door to her. There was real agitation rising in her throat.

‘Perhaps I should turn and leave.’

After what seemed an age Fliss heard the sound of bolts being drawn on the inside of the door and then Jerome’s face peered round, looking pale and tired.

“Are you alright?” Fliss asked, not knowing what else to say. She didn’t like the silence.

“Please, come in.” He stood back sufficiently for her to squeeze around the door before he closed and re-locked it. He kissed her on both cheeks.

He said, “So, you are not like this with me?” He touched the tips of his two index fingers together. Fliss knew by now that this meant ‘at cross purposes, or angry’. She had seen him express this before and she’d had to reassure him then too.

“Jerome, I have brought you this.” She indicated the basket of goods that she had tried to make presentable. It looked a little measly now, although Fliss knew he would not expect anything sumptuous.

“That is so kind,” he said, giving her a hug and kissing the top of her head. “You have made it look so pretty and delicious. You do not need to buy me gifts, though. It is too much.”

“It is small. You are a good friend to me.” Then she rushed on. “Jerome, I heard that Madame Marie shouted at you, I am so sorry.”

It made her feel a little better for the hurt he must have felt, but what about Jerome?

‘Do we just apologise to ease our own guilt?’

“That? Oh that was a storm in a teacup. I have known her for more years than I care to remember. We were at school together, for goodness sake. She has a temper, I know that. I was shocked at the time, but that has passed.” He spoke with equanimity and Fliss believed him.

“You seem so upset. What has happened? What is the matter?”

He gave the most enormous sigh and glanced across at the door to the kitchen. Getting up from the seat into which he had slumped, he went and closed the door.

“I cannot have Éric hearing all this,” he explained. “I have had to close the bar and restaurant. People have been saying things, horrible things. None of it is true, but they do not want me here.” He paused. “I shall stay though,” he added with a steely stare.

“Can you tell me what?”

“It is not pleasant and so stupid. They also say I only have Éric here so I can have his money. It is so unfair. Merde! Sorry! What a mess.”

Fliss ignored the swearing. In the scheme of things it was mild, anyway. “Who is saying these things?” She asked, although she could guess.

“M. Demille, of course, and he has spoken to some of the gossipy old women. They spoke to le Maire and I had a warning letter from the Mairie. I think word has gotten around, and rumours spread so quickly. Customers have stopped coming in sufficient numbers, and all because of malicious lies.”

“This is crazy. Surely there is something we can do,” Fliss said

“If I deny it people will think I am protesting too much, and if I say nothing people will think it is all true. I cannot win. You must not get involved, Fliss. You have a business to guard, now, and you cannot afford to get on the wrong side of these small-minded people. I am happy that we can continue to be friends.”

Fliss knew there was sense in what he said but she was still angry for him.

*

Fliss finally got a text from Jo to say she was just pulling into Harriet’s driveway. She replied that she would see them both the next day.

The following morning Fliss trudged her way down the village and along the little lane by the river. On her way she passed one of the enormous willow trees with its branches sweeping the water. Underneath and within its fronds looked like a cool, dark little retreat in which, as a child, she would have loved to set up a play home. She was tempted to crawl into its green coolness. She had discovered all this on her first visit here and she surveyed it all with fondness. The water was bouncing and gurgling at quite a rate, despite the recent hot spell. There was so much rain before that it must still have been seeping through the rocks of the hills all around. Today it was still cracking hot even at this early hour.

At Harriet’s door, Fliss knocked on the wood and the upper middle section opened to reveal Jo’s face through the fancy wrought iron work covering it.

“I love these French front doors,” she said, grinning, “They are so practical and secure. Nothing can get at you that you don’t want. Come on in. In fact, I’m going to leave this open to let some air in. It’s so hot already.” She echoed Fliss’ thoughts.

Fliss heard the bolt unfastening and the whole door swung wide. Jo enveloped her in a hug. “Welcome to my new home.”

Harriet appeared too and kissed Fliss on both cheeks. Jo and she sat at the living room table while Harriet made tea.

“Nothing like a cup of tea. There’re loads of things I love about this place and the people,” Jo said, winking at Harriet conspiratorially, “but the French just do not know how to make a good cup of tea. Hot water just isn’t hot enough and the bags they use are so weak.”

“Just don’t be heard to criticise anything. Madame Marie has given me the ‘heads up’ that M. Demille is grumbling at the moment about us all being licentious!” Fliss made her warning.

“Is that still going on after the fun we had on 14th July?” Jo asked.

“I believe so, yes,” Fliss answered.

“M. Demille is an old grump,” Harriet voiced. “You get them in every village all over the world. He probably secretly wishes he’d had the courage to join in. I met a lot of resistance when I first came to live here with Valentine but when he realised we were not going to embarrass him he quietened down.”