Sense and French Ability (2 page)

“It was my sister who took me in hand,” Madame Altier said. “I’ve never married and my mother used to live here with me too after my sister moved away. When she died it felt so empty. My sister wanted me to go and live with her. She’s always lived on her own as well. She said I wasn’t eating properly. It seems so recent, but that was years ago now, and I do know how it’s been for you.”

“I’m sorry, I sound as if I’m self-centred, telling you my troubles.” Fliss, embarrassed at opening up so much and rambling on to this comparative stranger, decided it must be the wine.

“Well, now I’m thinking of making a major change. I might even end up living over here. There, that’s the other reason I’m here,” Fliss stated and, straightening her back, she smiled. “I’m to be positive. I’m going to use this visit to discover properties in the area and decide if it would be realistic or not.”

She stood as Madame Altier nodded.

Fliss started to clear the table. “I’d like to explore the village before having my evening meal.”

“Yes, there will be plenty of time. Have a good walk,” Madame Altier responded and left Fliss to her own devices.

Fliss collected her gilet, left the house, and strolled down the road on a mystery journey. She passed the farm with the large green tractor, but there was no-one in sight. In fact she saw almost nobody. It always amazed her that, in all her time coming to France on holidays, that French villages seemed so deserted. She wandered at will, passing long white houses with vegetable patches at the side, and brick houses with the traditional white pointing and ornate window arches and sills. There was a small field with a few sheep and a horse.

She saw the restaurant-cum-bar that she had passed earlier and made a mental note to visit one evening, perhaps even take a meal there. She guessed that the proprietor would have an ear to the ground about the locale.

Further on still she passed the church; an enormous edifice for such a small village. The cast iron gate was ajar and the door was open. Although tempted to look inside, Fliss decided to leave it. It was still too sunny to spend time in a gloomy, chilly interior. She would look in the graveyard another day to see all the family names of the village. The solid tombs with their many great plaques propped on each, telling their own history, were a bit too sombre.

It wasn’t long before she reached the river. It gushed wide but clear. Fliss could see the pebbles on the bed and tiny fish swimming into the current hanging in the water. The flower boxes on the bridge were not yet planted but ready to receive the array of geraniums and greenery she knew to be typical.

She stopped here and gazed down into the water. It was mesmeric. It looked cool and sounded cheerful. She was thinking deeply when someone approaching stopped. She swung round as she became aware of him, and he acknowledged her presence with a large grin.

“Madame,
bonsoir
, we meet again,” he said in French as he extended his hand to shake hers. The farmer was carrying a large bucket full of cabbages, and leeks.

“This is heavy,” he indicated the load, puffing out his cheeks and shaking his hand to re-generate blood flow. “You are one of the English who are staging a take-over of our beautiful region?” He laughed. “You are staying with Madame Altier for a couple of weeks?” He spoke in his native language but slowly for her.

“Yes,” Fliss responded.

‘How dare he?’ She was aware of plenty of blood flow in her cheeks to make up for that lacking in his hand. Her remembered thoughts concerning his good looks made her awkward. ‘He has no idea of my plans. Take-over indeed! How rude, and patronising too.’

She was happy to have the chance to use her French skills but not keen to be talking to this handsome but arrogant man. ‘Well, I’ll not give him ammunition,’ she thought.

“I’m exploring before dinner. It’s beautiful.” She indicated the river and surrounding countryside with a sweep of her arm.

“Indeed,” he agreed eyeing her up and down. “Welcome to our little village. I am Jean Christophe Rochefort. My wife, Maryl, and I live over there.”

‘A wife! Poor her.’

Despite herself she felt a mix of emotions. She managed a small smile.

“Have you lived here long?” Fliss enquired, to fill an awkward space.

“All my life.”

Fliss glimpsed his teeth again, just a little crooked but very white and strong, like the rest of him.

“My father farmed here before us and I was born in the town, over that way.” He pointed. “We are almost all local people. If you need any advice or information I don’t mind helping. Just ask.”

“Thank you,” Fliss answered whilst she thought, ‘Mmm. Probably not,’

“Well, I better get these home. Enjoy your walk and I’ll see you around, I expect. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

With that he hefted up his bucket and, half waving, left her following his progress with a pensive look on her face.

‘He is attractive with his dark eyes and his dimpled cheek as he smiles; but married! And so very self-important.’ Fliss’s uncontrolled thoughts ran fast. ‘Even if he was congenial I’d not cheat, not with a married man. That’s far too fraught, as I well know. Anyway, with that cheeky grin he has too much of an air of conceit. His comments about the English were far too presumptuous and overbearing.’

Fliss turned and gazed down into the rushing water, content just to stand and soak up the fresh clean atmosphere. She remained there for some time before turning to continue her walk.

Just across the bridge, more houses lined the narrow lane that ran parallel to the river. Their frontages were close to the little road with that, the grass verge and gardens dipping down between them and the water. It was idyllic. She looked at the wild primroses, yellow and pink, growing in the grass and the willow trees which stood with their branches weeping into the water. A bench stood next to one tree, and Fliss decided to sit for a while. Over the next few days, if the weather held, she could bring a book and sit there.

The geese behind the house, to her back, gave a raucous honk, making her jump and shiver as a small breeze stole across her shoulders. Her pleasant reverie ended. She hoped this was not a foretelling of anything to come, as the remembrance of geese and graves flitted through her mind.

She looked at her watch. Her tummy gave a loud gurgle. What might there be for her to eat? All her dark thoughts disappeared.

‘This is to be a positive experience.’ She shook herself as she wondered about dinner.

‘It’s going to be a treat for someone else to decide what to eat, and to cook it for me, too.’

*

Having finished her meal, Madame Altier asked “Fliss, would you like to take a coffee? You are the only guest. Would you prefer to sit alone or might I join you?”

They had a companionable chat and it wasn’t long before Madame Altier started on her favourite topic - the other villagers.

“Oh, beware,” she said. “The restaurant down the road,
oh
la
! His food is not good and I don’t know how clean his kitchen is. People around here do not trust him. I am warning you about that one.”

Fliss nodded and mumbled but had the measure of this conversation straight away.

“His wife left, you know,” she continued. “She couldn’t stand the chaos any longer. And …” she paused for ultimate effect, “he has that young cousin of his living there. Well, who knows what goes on?”

Fliss nodded but said nothing. She swallowed a multitude of questions that bubbled. In her mind she weighed up various possibilities.

“He has those young men visiting each evening too.”

No response was necessary but Fliss did say, “Well, I suppose it might be normal for young men to visit a bar for a beer after their work.”

Madame Altier was just enjoying the chance to spread gossip and rumour so after that Fliss sat and let it all wash over her, saying nothing more.

“I don’t think you will want to eat there,” the old lady continued.

This was the nub of the matter. Madame Altier would prefer to have all of Fliss’ custom. Fliss made a non-committed reply but thought to herself that she might well like to go there to eat and discover the truth of the matter. And who was the cousin? Like all villages, there were factions and gossip. Fliss did not wish to participate or take sides, that would be too hazardous as an ‘outsider’, but it would be useful to see how things were.

“I met the farmer who lives down the road earlier,” Fliss said when she got the opportunity to change the subject. However, that set Madame off on another tack. His marital situation was also a matter of further interest to her hostess.

“Jean Christophe is a man whose wife is a shrew and a foolish woman. It is not wise to be so critical always, as she is.”

‘Mmm, she seems to have a lot to put up with, though,’ Fliss thought. ‘This Jean-Christophe has worked his charm on the old lady to the extent that she has forgotten his arrogance and nastiness.’

“Do they have family?” Fliss was interested in those who might turn out to be her own neighbours if she decided to live here.

“No, they never had children but I don’t think Maryl ever wanted them. Who knows? It is impossible to say what goes on in another marriage! He has a brother and his family. They are close. They live at the other end of the village right beside the river. Since their parents died those two boys only have each other – and their families too, of course.”

There followed a diatribe on various other villagers. The mayor was now in his fourth year out of seven in his term of office. The lady who ran the AEP (which was the
Association
Education
Populaire)
, had an air of grandeur as the president of this social group, according to Madame Altier. The
contonnier
, or village handyman who cut the verges and cleared the weeds from the river’s edge was so lazy he wanted an assistant.

“One of these days his laziness will cause us real problems. You mark my words. M. Demille is always talking about it.”

She gave a shiver sounding a little too sinister and dramatic for reality, or so Fliss thought.

She realised that Madame Altier was a nosey old lady, but lonely, too, and welcomed the opportunity for gossip. It was interesting, even though somewhat slanted to criticism, but after a while Fliss had listened enough. She stifled a yawn of genuine fatigue.

“Well, Madame,” she interjected at the first opportunity. “It has been a long day for me. I must go to my bed.”

“Oh, listen to me going on.
Je
suis
trop
bavarde
,” said the old lady patting Fliss’ arm. “Of course you are tired.”

With that, taking her leave and heading down the long hallway to her room, Fliss had plenty to ponder. All the talk of the restaurant, and the farmer and his wife, Maryl, made her head buzz.

Chapter 2

The bed had lived up to its promise and Fliss had snuggled down under the duvet and was warm and cossetted the previous evening. However, her nose started to twitch and her tummy began to tumble the next morning. The smell of new bread drew her to the living room where she found the table waiting for her to take breakfast.

“Madame, this
croissant
is so good,” Fliss complimented her hostess. The traditional French fare with orange juice, hot chocolate, bread and home-made jam awaited her. A bowl of fruit looked fresh and inviting. She did not go hungry.

“I’m going on an adventure of exploration this morning,” she told Madame Altier.

“Do you want food to take for lunch?”

Her breakfast experience tempted Fliss to say yes but in the end she declined. She would find a
relais
where food would be cheap, or perhaps a small
estaminet
.

Fliss gathered her sun-glasses, book and a bottle of water and descended the steps at the front of the house to her car. She wound down the windows. The premature sun ensured that the day promised to be fine and warm, even though it was still early spring time. She left the village and passed the farm of the Rochefort family where she saw Jean Christophe in the yard. He waved as she drove past. She couldn’t help but respond to his wide smile, but with a small and tight one of her own and only a slight incline of her head.

As she climbed the steep hill, contentment started to soar around Fliss and she left the village and its company behind. She stopped the car in a farm track entrance at the top of the hill. Fliss retrieved the map she had bought on-line in England and perused the detail. Straight away she saw that the village lay in a valley not far from the confluence of three rivers, two major and one much smaller. Fliss looked around her, getting her bearings as best she could while the map rested on the steering wheel.

From her car window she could see farming crops were the main land use. Some empty fields had grass ready to receive cows. If this weather held up they would be turned out soon. Fliss couldn’t imagine a farmer feeding his cows indoors when free food was available in the fields. It meant they no longer had to turn the byre out and give the animals new straw.

Deciding on a course of action, Fliss folded the map with vigour and moved off to enjoy her day. She headed for the spot of the rivers’ confluence and hoped to find a place to stop and read for a while. Her paperback, a blanket and a grassy bank were all she needed. The road, no more than a farm track, wound back and forth before returning to the valley floor through woodland just breaking into leaf.

A million small wild daffodils were coming into flower. Where the sun slanted between the tree trunks it struck the floor like gold. She slowed to appreciate the view and breathed in the fresh scent of flowers, dampness of moss and woodland undergrowth. Every now and then, through the trees, the valley’s depth appeared. She continued her steep, meandering descent.

Two of the rivers joined in a tumble of noisy water that had surprising strength in the current, as it flowed on down the valley. The map showed that the third river joined just after this spot. The water here was green and white and on its surface floated twigs and catkin flowers that it had gathered along its way. Here reeds and spikes of brilliant green that would sport flag iris grew at the water’s edge. There a clump of ranunculus would soon have giant waxy buttercup flowers growing in abundance. The grass, soft and springy, looked as inviting as a cushion and with no other soul in sight.

Fliss spread her blanket. She lay with her eyes closed. The brightness of the sun pierced her eyelids. She very nearly dozed off with the warmth, the sound of the river and the fresh smells of the open countryside all around her.

She lay and read until the book drooped and she dozed. She read and dozed and read again for a while, until her phone buzzed in her pocket. It seemed miles from civilisation, but even here there was a phone signal. Retrieving it, Fliss looked at the screen. It was Edward. She gave a guilty sigh and took the call.

“Hello, Edward,” she answered.

“Fliss, thank God! You’re OK are you?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied quelling her tetchiness.

“When you didn’t call I began to wonder if you had arrived alright.”

“Well I did say I’d call you in a few days once I got settled,” she said.

“But you might have just messaged to say you were there and safe,” Edward said.

“Edward, we had this discussion before I left. OK, we’ve been seeing each other for a while, but you know I’m thinking of moving here for a time. You could move to the branch in Lille but you said you weren’t sure you wanted to, so I can’t see where this can go.”

‘Give me patience!’ Fliss said a silent prayer.

She sighed. She hadn’t told Madame Altier about Edward. This was why she needed to get right away, to see things more objectively and clearly.

“Sorry,” she conceded although she was resentful if she was honest with herself. “I’m fine. The journey was uneventful and I arrived in good time.” She went on to give him a brief interpretation of her accommodation and said enough about her hostess to keep him happy.

She said that she would telephone him with an update in a few days. “I’m not phoning every day. We don’t speak each day as a rule. You did say you would give me space,” she reminded him.

Fliss felt distinctly like blowing a fuse, the only person who would understand was Jo. Hadn’t she been saying in unceremonious manner for months that Fliss should dump Edward and move on?

Fliss thought back to that last outing with him...

*

That evening the door-bell rang at precisely 7.30pm. Heading for the door, Fliss viewed his outline against the glass. She greeted him and pasted on a smile. Edward stood there in his corduroy jacket and smart trousers. His smooth, short hairstyle with its receding hairline and his polished shoes were just too perfect. All of a sudden she could perceive him as others might, certainly as her friend Jo did.

It was a moment of deja-vu. Wasn’t this the same scene as the previous Saturday evening? Edward stood in this spot at the same time of evening and holding towards her the identical bunch of flowers from the local supermarket.

“Edward. They’re beautiful, as usual,” she said to him, accepting his offering. Not minding that they came from the supermarket at all, but realised it was the sameness that bothered her.

“And you look smart,” complimented Edward.

“Come in while I find my shoes and jacket.” She stood to one side, letting him in, and then followed him down the hallway to the sitting-room. As he turned, before he had the opportunity to speak, she volunteered, “Shall we have a glass of wine before we go?”

Was this the embryo of rebellion to come?

“We don’t have time for that,” he responded.

“Shall we go mad and forego the film; chill out here and get a take-away?” She suggested, spur of the moment.

“Well...,” he hesitated. “I’m not sure about the take-away! That’s a ‘plastic’ kind of alternative. If you don’t fancy the film we planned we could always go to the multiplex and watch something else.”

“No. It’s OK. Let’s do as we said.” She sighed.

“If you’re sure,” Edward responded. “Are you alright? You seem distracted,” he added.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, touching his arm. “I’m starting to think forwards again.”

“Right.” He hovered for a moment. “Shall we go?”

“Mmm.” She slipped on her heeled shoes, reached for her jacket and Edward took it to help her into it, inexorably polite.

Having watched ‘The Iron Lady’, Edward and Fliss emerged from the cinema into the early spring air. She was in a thoughtful mood. They usually talked about a film they had been to see, sharing views about the story and actors as they left the cinema. On this occasion, however, Fliss was quiet as Edward took her arm and linked it through his companionably. Or was it like her dad used to do when he was still alive and she was a teenager? They headed for the restaurant around the corner.

Once seated, Edward ventured, “I’m glad we got to see that at last, even though it’s a few years old. She’s such strong actress, Meryl Streep, isn’t she?”

“She’s been amazing in so many different roles,” Fliss responded.

“I can see why the content had mixed reviews,” he pursued. “There was very little about Thatcher’s policy decisions or politics.”

“It was meant to be the story of a particular time in her life, I guess. It was sympathetically done,” Fliss added, trying to act as normal. “Although some people would disagree.” She paused.

“Edward I – ”

“She – ,” he started at the same time.

“After you,” she’d said.

“No. You go first. I have a feeling there’s something you want to get out in the open.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Looking at his smooth face with its slightly pink cheeks, she avoided his eyes. “I….. Well, I need a change. After Mum and everything.”

“Oh!” He sighed and blew out his cheeks. “I’m wondering if this is going to be the big elbow speech. You know - the Dear John thing.” He continued in a hurry, “A holiday would do us both good. What do you fancy? Greece? Spain? What about Florida?”

“I don’t mean a holiday,” she said, looking at her hands, which were twisting in her lap.

Edward had looked puzzled, and then bemused, and then worried. “Well what then?”

“I need a big change, a life change.” Then a startled look and a large smile passed across his face. She realised, with a trace of panicky horror, he might have thought she was referring to their relationship, in the opposite direction to that which he was thinking a moment before. She rushed on.

“I need to sell the bungalow, maybe a change of work. A spell abroad might be the answer.”

“WHAT are you talking about?”

“I hardly know myself yet,” she answered. “I need to make a big change, for a while, until I know what I do want.”

“I don’t pretend to fathom what on earth you mean,” said Edward with a frown. “Perhaps we’ll discuss this when you’ve had time to think it through. I can’t be chasing around the world right now. I have clients to consider.”

“Yes, I understand,” Fliss said. “I’m sorry. Those last months with Mum were so awful and so peculiar at the same time. Edward please, I just need some space of my own for a while.”

He reached across the table and held out his hand to her. She took it, but the symbolism of this action was misplaced. It was not his helping hand that she needed.

*

Back in the present, on the riverbank, Fliss gathered a few of her things together and then rang Jo’s number but frustratingly it went to the message box. She spoke, hoping Jo would ring her back soon.

She headed back to the car and found the map again so that she might approach habitation and food. She was hungry. Sighing, she needed to do some serious thinking.

On leaving the idyll Fliss climbed a winding, very steep road that took her on top of the world, or so it seemed. In all directions, there was no sign of human movement at all. There were no houses, no cars, no electricity pylons, nothing but vast expanses of fields and thickets of trees across the undulating landscape. Stopping the car again, and switching off the engine, Fliss listened. Silence! Then, close by, a skylark rose and with its piercing voice it soared higher and higher. Its small body disappeared into the blue and only its voice remained on the still air.

After a very satisfying lunch in a restaurant, off a bar in a very tiny hamlet, Fliss followed a different route but headed back towards her own village. She smiled to herself. She had been here twenty-four hours and already she was at home. By the time she arrived it was the middle of the afternoon, and it seemed alright to go back to the B and B.

Madame Altier offered her coffee, but Fliss couldn’t cope with another denunciation of the neighbours. She took the remains of her bottled water and headed for the bench seat that she had spotted at the front of the house. The sun continued. Her book remained closed on her lap as she sat idly and looked across the village. Once or twice a tractor passed and the occupant nodded at her. An old man staggered along the road, Fliss supposed towards the churchyard. He had a pot plant in one shrivelled hand and a stick for support in the other. She heard chickens and a dog in the distance, but other than that all was quiet and still. Her eyes strayed to the farmhouse just down the road, but there was no sign of life there.

This brought thoughts of Edward creeping back into her mind. Part of her felt cruel and guilty, yet the rest of her was annoyed. Edward had broken into Fliss’s isolation when he knew that she needed time alone to sort herself out. After all, before she had left, he had finally, reluctantly agreed that she should have this breathing space. Was he going to cause trouble after all?

*

The days progressed. Sometimes Fliss wandered the lanes around the village, and other times she drove out to explore the region. She gathered bits of information during her stay relating to houses, banking and car registration. She was feeling increasingly in-tune with the village.