Sense and French Ability (8 page)

“He’s being so kind and sweet about it all, but it’s hard to tell him everything because deep down he’s hoping it will all just go away and that I’ll change my mind at the last minute. I want to get there so we can start a new phase.”

Jo grimaced. “Now, come on Jo,” Fliss said, seeing her face. “You think I could have done better? Well I agree with that now. Don’t you say I told you so either.”

Such close friends, they had often bantered in this way in the past. Each understood that they could say what they liked to the other in trust and familiarity.

“Changing the subject,” Fliss said with a smile, “Madame Marie phoned last night.” She gave Jo a run-down of their conversation.

“Ooh, I might run away into the night with this Jerome. Is he appetising?”

“Well-seasoned, but not appetising,” Fliss informed her.

“Well what about Jean Christophe then?”

Jo detected Fliss’s lack of eye contact.

“Ah-ha!” She rubbed her hands together and laughed. “I smell something tasty here. Spicy is he?”

“Hot, I suppose, if you like that kind of thing. A bit obvious, in my opinion.”

“We like sauce though, don’t we,” Jo stated with a wink, continuing the flavour of the conversation.

Fliss joined in her laughter and added, “Mmm, palatable and piquant!”

“You tart,” Jo said raucously.

Two women at the next table got up and left during this. Jo raised her eyebrows, winked and giggled.

“Some people have no sense of humour,” she whispered with a smirk.

Fliss shook her head and tutted at her friend with a smile. She was used to Jo’s outrageous remarks.

“Madame Marie has so got it in for Jerome,” Fliss said. “He’s not gay or interested in young men. Of course they visit his bar after work, given their home circumstances, and anyway it’s what young men do – prop up a bar! That’s more or less the rumour she’s spreading, though, and it is sticking in high places in the village, it seems.”

“She sounds a right tartar. Why on earth are you hitching your wagon to hers. She doesn’t sound nice at all.” Jo looked concerned.

“Her bark’s worse than her bite. She’s determined to undermine his business and get rid of the competition. I can stand up to her and she deflates quickly. Anyway, changing the subject, how about you?”

“You know me; easy come, easy go, always out for a laugh.” Jo responded. The smile seemed brittle rather than candid and Fliss wondered if her friend had a problem that she hadn’t shared.

“Is everything alright, Jo?” she asked. “It’s been all about me, but there’s something wrong isn’t there.”

“You’re too sharp for
my
own good,” Jo smiled. “I have to move out of my digs that’s all. I have to find somewhere else in a hurry. It’s all a pain.”

“You’re sharing a house with Amy from school. You’ve been together for years and an item for most of it. It’s been a good arrangement. Didn’t you say her flight routines fitted well with you working from home, too?”

“Yeah, didn’t quite go so smoothly the last couple of months. Amy and I’ve had some serious arguments. She’s started going out clubbing again. I’m through that phase. She says I’m too staid and getting old. Me! I ask you.”

“Like an old married couple,” Fliss ventured.

“You say that!” She received an odd look but before she questioned further Jo added “Oh well! Such is life. Look I’m going to have to make a move. I’m supposed to be viewing a flat in town.”

“Are you moving that soon?”

“Yes, needs must and all that,” she answered.

“Where is this flat?” Fliss asked.

“It’s above the shops in the High Street.”

“You have got to be joking. It’ll be poky and noisy and smelling of takeaways. There’s always doors banging and weird music. You’ll hate it.”

“I’ve got to have somewhere, though, and quickly. It will be cheap so there’s an up-side.”

“How about shacking up at mine for a few months until you’ve got yourself sorted? After all it will be empty,” Fliss offered.

“It would be a solution for me.” Jo sighed.

“And for me! If it all works out in France I shall sell but not just yet.”

“I’ll pay you rent,” Jo volunteered.

“OK. We can sort that out. Just a peppercorn rent would do. Every penny will help me but I wouldn’t expect you to pay a going rate, since you’d be helping me out.”

“Be assured I couldn’t afford your house on my own. Are you sure you’d be happy with an arrangement like that?”

“Of course I would. It would be helpful. It’s weird how things work out given time,” she added, staring ahead.

“I’ll call round tomorrow evening then, shall I?” Jo asked. “I better go now and kick this other thing into touch. Bless you, Fliss. You are such a good friend. By the way,” she added as she was leaving, “I should definitely visit and sort Madame out about this Jerome thing and rescue him, too, from the clutches of the village grandees.”

“Don’t you come and upset the apple cart.” Fliss laughed. “I do hope you will come over soon, though. I can show you around and introduce you to some of these people. I want to be able to talk to you once I’ve moved and it will be so much better if you have seen it all.”

*

Having come to an amicable arrangement with Jo, at last the time came for Fliss to close her front door and start the journey into her new life, or so she hoped. She had not the slightest inkling of all that would be involved or the major tragedy and changes that would take place but she was eager to get going at long last.

The journey was frustratingly slow again. Her car had everything she would, or might, need.

‘I’ve probably brought far too much,’

She bowled along the motorway, almost over-loaded. She drove with care, and not very fast.

‘I need to be as self-sufficient as possible, though,’ she justified.

She had her own little television; she had seen a socket for that. Her kettle to put in her room was a must, too. She had also packed a giant box of tea-bags. There were bound to be times when she would crave a little piece of familiarity, at first anyway. Fliss had bags full of clothing, her favourite spare pillow, photographs in frames for the top of the chest of drawers as well as those on her phone and one of her own paintings of which she was particularly proud.

The rest of the journey did not take long and she soon arrived in the little village of Fleurus-le-Comte once again. She was arriving home. This time the fields were dark green with maize or the electric cadmium yellow of the oil seed rape flowers.

A tractor was in the field as she passed the village sign. This time it was cruising across the terrain crop spraying and the driver, whom she at once recognised as Jean Christophe, waved at her from within the cab. Involuntarily Fliss became hot, and she tutted to herself. Her thoughts rambled unbidden.

‘I wonder what he’s up to now. He’s still married though, so.... His wife could return. She’s getting some space, that’s all. I’m sure she needs time apart from him every once in a while.’

Taking the correct turn and further descending the hill, Fliss passed other familiar landmarks. The little bridge – which now had its flower troughs showing bright colours of geraniums, fuchsia and begonias – over the burbling river came first; followed by Jerome’s restaurant and bar; the church with its massive, ancient tower; the Salle des Fêtes and the home of Madame Marie Altier, cut into the hillside – her home.

Despite sitting in the car for a time, Fliss almost sprang out of it and took the steps up to the front door with a few leaps and bounds. Upon reaching the top she turned to survey the village from this vantage point. She took in an immense breath, scenting the mix of farm yard, oil, seed, and flowers being carried on the breeze and clean country air. She let it out with a relaxing sigh, turned to the door and pulled the cord to sound the bell. Within seconds, or so it seemed, Madame Marie opened the heavy oak door and spread her arms wide to greet Fliss.

“Please, come in my child,” she said and gave Fliss an eager hug before the obligatory kisses of welcome. “How was your journey? Come and have a coffee before you unload your car.”

It wasn’t long before Fliss resisted no longer.

“I must fetch my things and get settled.”

As she was taking her second load Éric, Jerome’s cousin, appeared from down the road.

“Do you want help?” His accented French was hard to understand but Fliss got the gist of it.

Eric swayed from side to side as he walked, his legs were so thick. His build was massive and his arms were burly, though he was not tall and she was happy for his gentle offer.

He started chatting to Fliss, but she found it hard to understand any of what he was saying since his local Ch’ti accent was strong. She gathered, from catching a few words here, and there that his conversation veered between all manner of disconnected subjects making it almost impossible to follow. Fliss found herself nodding and smiling, taking her clues from the expressions on his face.

Éric spoke fast. Some of his words were patois as well. He referred frequently to his ‘
petit
pote’
. Fliss worked out that he was saying his ‘little mate’ but referring to his dog. This convoluted route took time to negotiate and both Éric and she were laughing a lot by the time she understood.

Madame Marie appeared at the door. “Éric, you must speak slowly for Fliss. She does not understand you. Come, come this way with those things and don’t drop anything.” She hustled him in.

Fliss marvelled that Éric was accepted by the old lady; she was sure that Jerome would never be allowed to cross the threshold.

Eventually the bed was piled high with all of her paraphernalia, and Fliss thanked Éric and said goodbye to him. She had no doubt that all of her posessions would be described in full and reported all around the neighbourhood before she could blink. Such was the nature of a small village.

Madame Marie said, “I’ll leave you to sort your things out and I’ll see you in the living room when you are ready.”

It could not have been a warmer reception. Fliss was reassured that she had made the correct decision to come and undertake this change. All of her nervous anxieties dispersed and floated away, and her shoulders relaxed.

Madame led the way into the kitchen. Fliss voiced pleasure at her arrival and Madame Marie returned the emotion with fervour. This short interchange set the scene for the uninhibited and comfortable relationship that was to follow, although it would not prevent the events that were to overtake all of them and change their lives, some for better some forever.

Chapter 8

As he drove his tractor and fertilised the field, Jean Christophe’s deep and dark thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Fliss in her little red car, driving down the hill towards the village. Waving, Jean Chri was pleased to have his attention diverted. He had heard that she was arriving that day. Madame Altier had passed him in the street as she headed for the graveyard with flowers a few days ago. and imparted the latest news. It would be good to have someone different in the village to bring fresh life and interests.

In the tractor, with its modern GPS system, it was boring trundling up and down. Jean Chri listened to the radio but he also had his thoughts.

‘Maryl’s departure surprised me, in one way, but she’s never been content. In another it’s a relief because things have become untenable. It’s been like that for such a long while. I’ve been learning to live with it, although her carping has got too much. I’ve been pushed into speaking sharply too many times.’

He understood that at certain times of the year it was lonely to be a farmer’s wife, but he tried so hard to please her, to be a good husband and to provide the things she craved. He could not give her a livelier lifestyle, and so he had failed.

‘Goodness knows what some people in the village are saying. I’ve pretended things are well for such a long time. People are surprised,’ he thought morosely

He returned to his house.

‘This is not a home anymore,’ he thought.

As he climbed down from the tractor cab he saw Éric helping Fliss carry her things up the steps to the house. They stopped half way up and seemed to be talking. They laughed as he watched. About what he did not catch. He felt a wave of envy at the friendly scene and chastised himself for being ungracious and egocentric. Self-absorption would not to endear him to anyone and certainly not to himself. Lifting his head he entered the house to wash his hands before going out to see to the cows.

‘Work is the best thing for me now.’

*

By the end of the first week Madame Marie and Fliss had agreed on the new décor for the bedroom. They visited the DIY shop and bought paint and rolls of paper. Looking on the internet, Fliss found the best way to strip off old paper. She sprayed it before scraping with a mix of water and fabric softener and it worked well, taking the back-break out of this horrid task.

“Madame Marie,” she called on entering the kitchen. “Oh! There you are. I need a hand moving the wardrobe. It’s too heavy for me on my own. It’ll be far too much for you too.”

“We’ll ask someone to come in and help, Fliss. Éric or Jean Christophe will help, I’m sure, if I make a phone call.”

Five minutes later she appeared in the bedroom with the news that Jean Christophe would come up to help once he finished milking the cows.

‘OK,’ Fliss thought. ‘Well I’m bound to bump into him from time to time. I can handle him and his conceit. No problem.’

She and Madame Marie sat at the table and had a coffee while they waited. This was how Jean Chri found them when he arrived. He took in a lungful of the rich aroma of the coffee. Something savoury cooking on the stove made him miss the comforts of a woman’s touch. Never mind companionship, conversation and closeness in bed; Maryl, for all her difficulties and short comings in those directions, was a good cook and home-maker. While capable of looking after the house and cooking, he did not have the time or patience to make a proper dinner for himself.

“Come in, come in,” Marie said. “Will you take a coffee?”

“Shall I do the job first? Then I’d love one,” he said. “Perhaps you would show me, Fliss?” he asked her. He pronounced her name as Madame Marie did, with that oh-so-attractive vowel sound. Fliss felt a swooping in her stomach.

‘Oops. No! This would not do,’ she thought as she led the way to the room being decorated.

Thoughts of Edward flitted through her mind; kind, safe Edward.

‘I’m in no rush to get involved elsewhere again so soon and certainly not with a married man! His wife might return at any time. Then where would I be in the village? The isolated centre of their gossip, that’s where.’

As Jean Christophe and Fliss struggled together with the large wardrobe she noticed his hands. Hands always appealed to Fliss. Edward’s were long fingered and slim but Jean Christophe’s were broad and brown, with a fine covering of dark hair showing below his cuffs; the hands of a farmer. His fingers, strong and square-ended had nails that were short and clean.

The heavy wooden armoire was a real struggle to move. Much involuntary giggling and laughing took place as they grappled and wrestled with the massive structure. Eventually, they moved it far enough away from the wall for Fliss to get behind so that she would be able to finish scraping off the old paper. By this time they were both breathless from expending energy and laughing, ready for a rest and a cup of coffee. Fliss would like to have tea, truth be told, but she wasn’t going to say as much right now and content to sit and get her breath back.

After, when Jean Christophe voiced his readiness to leave, Madame Marie suggested he come for dinner one evening.

“It’s a ‘thank you’ for your help,” Madame Marie said.

They settled for a few days hence.

Next she added mischievously, “Fliss show him to the door, why don’t you?”

“Thank you so much. I should not have been able to manage on my own.” She spoke formally as she pulled open the heavy front door.

“No problem at all,” he said. “I have only myself to please now and my time is available to help you should you wish,” he offered.

Fliss accepted the allusion to the fact that he lived alone now. She’d gathered many of the facts from Madame Marie and so did not question him about it. She did not know him well enough yet for that.

“Call me if you need anything else,” he added “and I’ll see you in a few days for dinner. I’ll look forward to that.” He, smiled revealing his white teeth, and it reached those dark brown eyes with a twinkle.

*

Fliss used lining paper when decorating because the walls were so uneven but she painted over it in a pale cream colour. The French did not seem to have curtains in the way the English did, as all of the windows had shutters. This room, at the end of the house, had a window that faced the garden. The old-fashioned external wooden shutters were replaced with more modern ones that operated by pulling a strong cord tape from inside. For the windows she chose fine voile in a shade of bright turquoise. Against the cream it looked fresh. Madame Marie had agreed to buy a new duvet cover and pillow cases, so Fliss chose the same colour for those. When the room was finished, although the furniture remained dark and heavy the overall effect was clean and fresh. Fliss was pleased with her work.

“What a splendid change.” Madame Marie voiced her pleasure, further encouraging Fliss in her satisfaction too. “We must ask Jean Christophe to help move the armoire back against the wall when he comes for dinner, then all will be complete.”

“Have we a booking for this room soon?” Fliss asked.

“Yes, at the end of next week. I will show you soon, my bookings diary and go through all that with you. We shall do that and if you take any calls you will know what to do and what information to gather.”

“I’d like to do that and become more involved,” Fliss said.

If she was to play a part in this business it was important for her to understand that side of things as well as providing accommodation and food. Fliss was gratified that Madame Marie was happy to include her in the com
merci
al operation. There would be book-keeping and taxes to learn about too, in the future. She had read more about French micro-enterprises on the internet and Harriet had offered her help if needed. There was so much information available, but to be doing things practically was useful. First, though, Fliss involved herself in changing beds, cleaning and cooking. She should not run before she walked with confidence.

She had run her own household for years, albeit with Dora’s help, and it was not so different. It was just on a larger scale. After years of having to fulfil targets, and meet deadlines, as well as being a carer for her mum in the evenings and weekends, it was all so stress-free.

The next day, Madame Marie showed Fliss where she kept her bookings diary, the forms she used and the general information she gathered from prospective guests when they rang. All the documents lay together in a drawer near the phone. Everything was straight-forward and Fliss waited keenly for her first enquiry.

*

A few days later Jean Christophe came to dinner and the preparation time passed quickly, with Fliss devising a menu with which Madame Marie was happy.

“This can be your practice for when we have the guest at the end of next week, staying in the new bedroom,” she said. It did not occur to Fliss to make enquiries about the guest.

“I shall cook Yorkshire puddings to go with the main course,” Fliss stated, “but other courses will be French-cum-English because many of the things we eat are the same, anyway. Also I need to use ingredients from the local supermarket and I don’t want to be spending a small fortune on things that are only available in the English section.”

“It will be pleasant not having to decide what to eat,” Madame Marie said. “I get so tired of having to make that decision. To have my meal provided will be excellent.” She smiled at Fliss.

Jean Christophe was due to arrive at about six thirty. By six forty-five Fliss wondered if he had forgotten. She was so used to the absolute punctuality of Edward that she had forgotten what she had read of the habits of the French where time-keeping was concerned. These people were not lax, or rude, but considered it good manners not to arrive on time. The bell at the door jangled, interrupting her reverie.

“Answer it, Fliss, please” Madame Marie shouted. “I am finishing my hair.”

Fliss wiped her hands and left the kitchen to open the door. “Bonsoir,” she said and smiled up at him.

“Fliss,” Jean Christophe greeted her and leant down to kiss her cheeks. She inhaled his fragrance, clean and elemental, like rain on the grass. The merest hint of lemon cologne caused Fliss to experience that plunging breathlessness once more.

Madame Marie joined them in the living room where she poured wine and offered little snacks saying “
L’heure de l’apéro
, Jean Chri,” using the diminutive form of his name that Fliss heard on her previous visit. “After we have relaxed here, Fliss has prepared a delicious meal for us.”

“I hope it’s delicious.” Fliss laughed a little nervously.

“Why would it not be?” Jean Chri asked seriously but he had a twinkle in his dark eyes and Fliss responded with more confidence and positivity. Thus the evening progressed. The Yorkshire puddings were a great success and Fliss even managed to make a trifle, having bought ordinary gelatine and flavoured it with fruit juice. This dessert was unfamiliar to the French but disappeared with speed.

“Fliss, that was good,” Madame Marie said. “Oh we must have that as a regular on our menu for the French and foreign people who stay here.”

“Indeed,” echoed Jean Christophe. “That was truly delicious.”

“We are hoping you have enjoyed your meal enough to help us move the wardrobe back, in a while,” Madame Marie cajoled, smiling across at Jean Chri. If Fliss didn’t know better she could have sworn that Marie was flirting with him.

‘With his easy attitude and provocative looks, he seems to bring that out in people. Why can’t they see how insincere and superficial that is?’

“Of course I shall,” he said comfortably.

“Well, sit first and take coffee. I shall go and prepare it. Fliss has done enough. Stay here, you two, and chat together,” she said as she disappeared, leaving them alone.

A few moments of silence later,conversation ensued. By the time Madame Marie returned, Fliss and Jean Christophe prattled and laughed together, muddling through the language barrier and differences with congeniality and warmth.

Much later after struggling to move the wardrobe back, and following more wine and further coffee, it was time for Jean Chri to leave. The latter part of the evening had waned and melted away in a haze of cosy gossip, laughter and warmth between the three of them.

As Jean Chri ambled down the road, hearing the thump of the old front door closing behind him, he gazed up into the depths of the countless stars. ‘As one door closes, another one sometimes opens,’ the sound caused him to think. ‘Was this another opening door?’ he wondered.

Considering her long glossy hair, her eyes, her slim waist, he was attracted to Fliss the first time they met although it did not cross his mind to take it any further. He was married and still living with his wife. Now it looked as if that period of his life was over. Maryl had made that very clear. The remembered mirth he had just experienced and the conversations, wine and good food they’d shared surrounded him as he walked slowly down the road. He liked Fliss’s wide smile, he realised. It was so long since he had been the cause of someone’s face lighting up in that way. Her green eyes pierced his psyche, and remained with him as he entered his own house.

Wearily, he climbed the stairs and he got ready for bed. Reality hit. He was still a married man even though his wife had departed with no inclination to return. Fliss had mentioned someone called ‘Edward’ in passing. She had not gone into details, but perhaps she had a man back in England and she might well leave this village after a while? Back where he started, Jean Christophe felt like a hopeless failure.