‘When you have a dream that you can’t let go of, trust your instincts and pursue it. But remember: Real dreams take work, they take patience, and sometimes they require you to dig down very deep. Be sure you’re willing to do that.’
Harvey Mackay
From [email protected]
Subject: Pete
So? When were you going to tell me? I had to find out from Michelle’s mother of all people because my own daughter hadn’t bothered to tell me. I bumped into her at the cheese counter at Waitrose as I was getting your dad his Brie.
It was highly embarrassing, Poppy. She assumed that I knew. I had to pretend I did to save face, but it was all very awkward.
There’s nothing for it now. You have to put that French house back up for sale and come straight home to us. I’m sure the dogs will get on with Colin if you train them properly. Lots of people have dogs and cats as pets. Maybe we could get one of those dog trainers in if you’re not up to it?
Anyway, I am sorry this happened, but I think maybe it is all for the best.
Love Mum
From [email protected]
Subject: Pete
I am home, Mum. This is my home now. I’m not coming back to England. I am sorry you had to hear about it third hand. I wanted to process everything in my head before I told people.
Love from Poppy.
From [email protected]
Subject: Pete
Hi Poppy love. You can’t be serious about what you said to Mum. She’s in a real state. We hate to think of you all alone in a foreign country. Have you considered how you can make this work financially? I thought Pete was going to put up the funding for the gîtes conversion. How are you going to manage without him? Also, without Pete’s flat to go back to, you may never be able to get back on the UK property ladder once England is out of the EU.
You know how worried we were about you moving to France post Brexit, but you wouldn’t listen to us. You kept saying it was your dream, but dreams aren’t real life Poppy. Dreams won’t pay for the upkeep of your property, will they?
Give us a ring and we’ll help you put that house back up for sale. You know you’re always welcome with us. Forget the damned cat. After a couple of sharp swipes to their muzzles, your dogs will stop chasing him. There’s no need for all this nonsense about getting a dog trainer in. They’ll sort themselves out.
Love Dad
My mood plummets as I read through my emails. There’s nothing from Pete. I wasn’t really expecting anything, but still … Will my heart ever stop lurching when I check my emails and texts? And as for the emails from Mum and Dad, well…
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and rub at my temples, trying to relieve the pain of a stress headache and to shut the world out, ostrich style. I need to summon up the fighting spirit I felt last night at the chateau, when I was thinking about the area’s heroic history. Okay, so, facing Mum on the warpath isn’t anything like facing a northern crusader or a gestapo interrogator, but it’s still not a very pleasant way to start the day.
However, the fact I’m not going to be burned alive or tortured does help me keep my modern problems in perspective. I’m going to halt my plummeting mood in its tracks. I pick my phone back up, find my favourites and phone Michelle. She answers on the second ring.
“Oh God, Poppy, I’m so sorry. She’s been onto you already, hasn’t she?” Michelle launches straight into an apology and doesn’t bother with a greeting.
“Hmm.” I chew my lip, unwilling to let her off the hook too easily. I take the phone out into the garden and watch Peanut, Treacle and Pickwick chasing each other in mad circles. Thankfully they’ve not been near the donkey fence yet.
“It’s just, when Mum came round she asked how you were getting on in France, so I told her.” Michelle sighs. “What were the chances they’d bump into each other? They haven’t spoken for years. Mum’s mortified. She said it was obvious your mum didn’t know, and she wants you to know she’s really sorry she dropped you in it.”
I exhale. “It’s okay, really. Please tell her not to worry. They had to know sometime. I was just delaying the inevitable fuss.”
“What did they say?”
“Oh, you can probably guess.” I rub at my temples again. I think I need some ibuprofen.
“Was it to tell you to come back to stay with them immediately and don’t let the dogs chase Colin the cat?” Michelle puts on a mock stern voice. “You’re clearly not training them properly, Poppy.”
“You must be psychic,” I reply dryly.
“I assume that’s not going to happen?” Michelle asks. I can hear a child crying in the background and hear her moving about attempting to sort things out while still trying to give me her full attention. “Hang on just a sec.”
She really is a top friend. I wish I could move her out to France. I know we’ve got the Internet and Skype and all that, but it’s not quite the same as being able to pop round. Although, as visiting her used to involve two changes on the Underground and a mainline rail journey, I could never exactly “pop.” I tended only to use the Mini for shopping or getting out of the city and into the countryside. I was never a great fan of driving in London. Given I can now fly back and get to her more cheaply and more quickly than my rail journey used to take, I really shouldn’t be feeling upset. Though I wouldn’t leave the dogs, not yet anyway, and she can’t leave the children, so in reality it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Okay, crisis averted, go on,” Michelle says. “Are you going to come back and stay with your parents like they want you to?”
“Fat chance,” I sigh again. “And anyway, the dogs are always going to chase Colin the cat. He’s frightened of Peanut for some reason, even though he’s five times her size. But that’s beside the point. My home is here now.”
I look around at the garden, at the beautiful wild poppies and the butterflies flitting from one flower to another. I take in the happy faces of the dogs after their game of chase. Then I turn back to my elegant French farmhouse. It’s a little shabby, but it has character. It just needs some TLC.
A bit like me, really.
A stubborn streak inside me makes me determined to dig my heels down deep into the rich red Languedoc Roussillon earth and refuse to move. I imagine what Gran’s advice would be to me, and I stand a little taller. I have to give this a chance, partly for her but mostly for me. I don’t want to get to the end of my life with regrets for the path not taken. I have to listen to my heart, to the tug I feel to this place.
I’m meant to be here, I know it.
“Maybe I could come out for a weekend on my own sometime,” Michelle suggests.
“Would that be okay with the great hunter gatherer?” I try not to sound too eager. She’ll worry if she thinks I’m falling apart.
“Tough cheese if it’s not okay with him. I have the kids on my own all week long. He thinks it’s dead easy and I make too much fuss about it. I’ve got a breast pump now so his excuse about not being able to breastfeed won’t hold. He gets to go away all the time with work and gets put up in hotels. It’ll do him good to have the little blighters for a few days. I mean the little angels, of course.” Michelle laughs grimly.
“Well, if you can, that would be wonderful. I’d love to see you, and I really want to show you everything. It’s so lovely here.” My throat is tight.
“Are the locals friendly?”
“Everyone’s very nice.” My cheeks heat up as I think about Leo, about the glint in his eye when I talked about “the French kissing thing.”
Arghh. I feel funny every time I replay that moment. As I’ve been replaying it a lot, I’ve been feeling funny pretty much since I said goodbye to him.
“Have you met someone?” Michelle perks up, her voice taking on a teasing tone.
How did she get that from “everyone’s very nice”? My tone must’ve given me away somehow. Either that or she really must be psychic. That’s the problem with people you’ve practically grown up with. They have that sixth-friend sense. You can’t hide things from them, even over the phone.
“I’ve met lots of people,” I reply primly.
“Poppy Kirkbride, you know exactly what I mean.” Michelle’s tone is stern. “Have you met a particular someone? Someone fit?”
“No … not really. Well, sort of, I suppose.” I scratch my nose. “My neighbour offered to show me around.”
“Ooh, and would this neighbour be male by any chance?”
“Mmm,” I mutter noncommittally.
“Ah, so he’s fit too, or you wouldn’t be doing all this umming and ahing.”
I think about Leo’s smouldering good looks, but also about his diffidence; the darkness I sense in him that makes me wary.
“I’ve only just split up with Pete.”
“And you clearly fancy this neighbour,” Michelle carries on, ignoring my mention of Pete. “I’m definitely coming out to see you now. I need to check this neighbour out.”
“Okay, he’s fit. I admit it. You know you’d have been burned as a witch if you’d lived a few centuries ago,” I relent. There’s no point lying to Michelle.
“I’ll pack my sunscreen so I don’t get burnt, don’t worry.”
“Ha, very funny. I’m going to maintain a dignified silence on the subject.”
“Good luck with that.” Michelle giggles. “Look, I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon, yeah?”
“Okay. Is everything okay with you? Sorry I’ve been hogging the conversations recently.”
“Yeah but you’ve also moved abroad and been dumped. You’ve got a lot going on. Me? I’ve got kids’ TV and the ironing to do. The big news here is that we’ve moved on from Shaun the Sheep. Sadly the DVD got lost, and the shops don’t have any more, so we’re onto Pixar now.”
“Are you lying to your poor children, Michelle?” I laugh. “I could order a replacement DVD from Amazon…”
“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “I know all the scripts by heart, and that can’t be healthy. I need a bit of variety. Have your French adventure, Poppy. Where’s the harm in living a little? I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.”
“Okay. I’ll try. Bye, love you,” I say, overcome by a surge of affection for her.
“Love you too, byeee.”
I feel a bit wobbly once we’ve ended the call. Then I realise I’ve taken my eyes off the dogs. I look around, my sixth sense prickling, telling me someone is watching me. I turn to see Leo in the distance, leaning against the wall of his barn, drinking from a mug.
He’s too far away to have heard my conversation, surely? I think rapidly back over the conversation and groan when I remember saying “my neighbour’s offered to show me around” and “he’s fit.” He didn’t hear me, please God he didn’t hear me.
I think about his sister and niece and feel like I’m intruding on his grief. How must it feel for him to see part of the family estate sold to an English woman? Even worse, the actual house and garden his sister used to live in.
The Duboises have made me very welcome, but I’ve no idea what Leo thinks of me being here. Am I a cuckoo he wants to push out of the nest?
I sigh deeply. Life is always more complicated than that. It’s never black and white, just many shades of grey; and no, I don’t mean sex. Contradictory feelings and thoughts co-exist side by side quite happily, aided by layers of self-deceit and a reluctance for self-examination.
He might like me but still want me gone. Or maybe I’m reading too much into those diffident, compelling stares that seem to both reel me in and simultaneously keep me at arm’s length.
I stare back, refusing to skulk behind a bush in my own garden. Leo doesn’t look away or seem remotely abashed at being caught spying. Well, I’m here and I’m staying, so he’s going to have to get used to it.
There is no way on earth I am leaving. I’m going to make this work. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. All those hours of day dreaming as I watched A Place in the Sun, desperate to find a place of my own. This feels right. The house itself feels welcoming. As soon as I stepped inside I felt a peace, a sense I belonged.
I am desperately sorry about the tragedy the Dubois family have been through.
I even gave Maxi a dog biscuit this morning when he came to wake me up. I am not a morning person really, certainly not a six a.m. person, but when I thought about Maxi waiting outside it kind of broke my heart. So, I suppose I’ll be getting up at six a.m. indefinitely. At least I don’t mind Maxi seeing me in my sleeping T-Shirt and can go back to bed afterwards.
I meet Leo’s intense gaze, and my stomach lurches like I’m in a lift that has suddenly plummeted. I’d like him to do more than merely accept my presence, but then I also want Pete to send a grovelling message saying he’s on the next plane to Carcassonne. At least, I think I do. I did yesterday. It’s an example of those contradictory emotions and complex desires I’m barely aware of, never mind in control of.
So I probably shouldn’t make any major decisions right now, or operate heavy machinery and so on. What I do know for sure is that I can’t cope with any more drama.
At that very moment Peanut decides to make a break for it and darts towards Leo’s barn conversion, doing the limbo beneath the fence despite the branches I’ve looped along the bottom in an attempt to prevent escapees.
She ignores my increasingly frantic calls and dashes at Maxi, who goes into a play bow stance and then rolls over onto his back while Peanut leaps deftly from side to side over his head. He’s so huge I do worry about him hurting her accidentally, but she’s so quick compared to him that she leaps clear each time. What Peanut lacks in height she makes up for in speed and acrobatic ability. The overall effect looks a little like Scottish sword dancing.
My cheeks are hot by the time I’ve jogged the long way round and through the gate.
From what I can see, the two dogs are still rolling about on the grass looking extremely pleased with themselves. Maxi is, thank God, still being unbelievably gentle with Peanut, and by the time I finally reach them Peanut is lying Sphinx-like between Maxi’s paws, and he’s licking her head. His tongue is much wider than her tiny head. Leo rolls his eyes but seems more entertained than irritated.
“I think our dogs want to be friends,” he says, humour dancing in his eyes and his lips widening into an amused smile. This side to him is so unexpected, and I’m thrown.
“Er, yes, looks like it,” I say, trying to hide how out of breath I am. I don’t do running. Hiking, bike rides and swimming, yes. Running? Not unless I’m late for a train.
Privately I think Peanut just wants another dog paying homage to her. She’s looking to expand her empire. Today Saint-Quentin-sur-Aude, tomorrow the rest of France. She’ll be running for village Mayor next year, I’m sure.
“I gave Maxi a treat this morning,” I blurt, still feeling awkward despite Leo’s better mood. Not only does close proximity to him does funny things to my body chemistry, but it seemingly reduces my IQ at the same time.
“I thought so,” Leo says. “He came back looking very pleased with himself.”
“You get up quite early.” I hope I don’t sound too accusatory. It might be reasonable to be irritated at being disturbed so early, but now I’ve heard the story I can’t be cross.
“I like to walk Maxi early in the day. It’s so peaceful just after dawn. It helps me start the day in the right frame of mind. We get all kinds of emergencies, and I never know what to expect, so having a relaxed start is important.”
“I can see that. I get that you need a quiet start to the day. I’m lucky that I have the kind of job where if I get something wrong I can start over again with no consequences. Except missing a deadline, maybe.” I hesitate. “I really don’t mind Maxi coming over. It’s okay. It was just that first day I’d only had an hour’s sleep. Now I get to see the sun rising over the Pyrenees. It’s wonderful to be able to see the skyline. One of the benefits of country versus city I suppose.”
“You can join me, if you like. If you feel like it one morning we could walk the dogs together.” Leo’s suggestion surprises me, and I get the weird feeling he surprised himself too. “Or I can take you down to the lake. You get it all to yourself if you go early.”
“I might do that, thank you.” I’m equally surprised to find I’m actually considering it.
I don’t do early. The dogs don’t do early. Pickwick in particular hides under the duvet until he can’t cross his legs any longer. But there’s something about the idea of a peaceful walk in the stillness of dawn, seeing the world as it wakes up, that appeals to me.
Seeing it with Leo isn’t exactly unappealing either.
I sense the gesture is a kind of peace offering. It would be rude to reject it.
“I meant it last night about being happy to show you around, you know.” Leo straightens up from where he’s leaning against the wall and faces me.
There’s an intensity in his dark eyes that unnerves me. Does he know the effect he’s having on me?
Regardless, if he wants to help me then why should I struggle on alone? I could cry into my chihuahuas about Pete and facing a new country alone, or I could accept the offer of a drop dead gorgeous vet to show me around. Really there’s no contest.
I’m still wary of invisible spiders’ webs though.
“Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want you to feel you have to…” I shut up quickly, before my English politeness can talk me into the crying into my chihuahuas option.
“I know I don’t have to. I would be happy to show you around,” Leo replies simply.
Okay then.
“That would be nice, thank you.” I accept quickly before I can say anything else that will talk me out of something I actually want to do.
Leo looks down at the dogs. Maxi is lying on his side, and Peanut is sitting on top of him. Leo shakes his head, then looks up at me and smiles. I mirror him again. I can’t help it. I like this glimpse of happy Leo – a Leo not burdened with grief and loss; a Leo without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Our eyes lock, and I feel it again: a connection. A visceral, gut tugging, inexplicable connection. I’m sure, from the way he looks at me, that Leo feels it, too, but there’s a dark thread winding through the connection; a tangled thread. I wonder if the attraction is as inconveniently timed for him as it is for me.
That’s assuming he feels anything at all. I couldn’t even say for sure that he likes me. Michelle would say I’m being fanciful; that men aren’t all that complicated, and they either want to shag you or they don’t. But … there is something strange happening here. We’re silent for several beats too long. Our eyes stay locked in a bizarre kind of staring contest.
It’s only broken by Peanut squeaking loudly and jumping up and down on her hind legs like a baby kangaroo.
I pick her up.
“I should’ve called her Mimi,” I say, not sure if I’m glad of the distraction or not.
“Oh?” Leo quirks a thick, dark brow and whistles for Maxi, who trots to his side and sits at attention.
Show off. Leo, I mean.
“Because with Peanut it’s always all about me, me, me.” I smile. “She rules over the boys as though she’s their queen. Funny thing is they let her do it.”
“She seems to have another adoring subject in Maxi,” Leo replies. “I’d be careful, or he’ll be round expecting a treat every day now.”
“I meant it when I said I don’t mind,” I reply a little too quickly. I look down at Peanut, not wanting Leo to know I’ve been told the history behind the Maxi visits.
“I need to get back to work.” Leo nods at me. No kissing ritual to worry about this time, but I swear there’s a gleam in his eye, as though he’s reading my thoughts and remembering our half kiss from last night. “I’ll see you around.”
“Okay.”
I turn around and head back to the other dogs before they decide to start howling. While I’m walking back to the house, a seed of an idea is taking root in my thoughts. I’ve already examined the barns and the crumbling ruins of the old church.
Even without getting a builder’s quote I know I can’t afford to convert any of them into accommodation without decimating my savings. If I ever have the money, I’d love to convert the old church into an artist’s studio. If I could get planning permission for it, that is.
But the house itself, well, that is another matter. With a little decorating and a few trips to IKEA to make my money stretch further, I could run a Chambres D’Hote, the French equivalent of the English B&B. I could also go to the flea market in Limoux and see if I can pick anything up there. I’ve heard there are still a few bargains to be had.
I walk around the house making mental notes of what needs doing. Okay, make that a whole heap of decorating, not just a little bit. I suppress the dart of fear that sanding window frames and gripping a thicker paint brush, on top of my usual illustrative brushwork, would be extremely painful and might make my arthritis worse. I have to be able to work.
I’ll cope. I can do it.
Although I’m not sure I could do the full Table D’Hote – cooking and eating my evening meal with the guests. I’ve never been that great with recipes. I get distracted or decide to experiment when I discover I’m missing some of the specified ingredients. Sometimes it works out really well, other times not so much, and that wouldn’t be good for guests who would expect a three course meal showcasing the local cuisine.
I’ll just do B&B.
I wonder if there’s scope to create separate accommodation for me so I can keep some privacy. Or maybe I should convert the downstairs rooms that have French Windows looking out onto the woods behind the house. Then guests could have their own outside entrances to their rooms.
It’s daunting, but I suppose it might be doable if I aim for next season. It’s way too much to manage for this summer coming. I set the seed of the idea aside and let it germinate while I work on a Fenella watercolour. For some reason the donkeys keep coming into my mind; another seed, this time a story idea, pushing doggedly at the back of my mind. Trying to break through.
I’ve got work to do, a house to decorate and renovate, and somehow I need to organise getting my belongings down here. Pete was going to hire a van.
Huh.
I certainly don’t have time to write and illustrate my own children’s story, something that has absolutely no guarantee of being published. When I was fresh out of art college, my parents kept telling me that trying to get into children’s publishing was very risky and to try for something that provided a regular monthly paycheck.
The thought of illustrating industry brochures for the rest of my life was enough of a spur to make me push to do what I really wanted. Then I was incredibly lucky to get the Fenella contract, a brand for which there is a seemingly endless demand for add-on products. I’ve designed Fenella Fairy notepads, colouring books, sticker books, you name it. It’s turned out to be safe, despite what my parents originally thought.
Though, if I’ve already taken one step into the unknown by coming here, then why not take another? I’ll think about it. I’ll add it to my to-do list along with the donkey watercolours for Angeline. I feel a twinge of pain in my right hand about the same time I notice my stomach is growling. Time for a break. I’m going to have to go to the bakery for some bread, if it’s open. Madame Gilbert seems to keep capriciously erratic opening hours and closes at lunchtime, which always seems odd to me, closing just as people are getting hungry.
I put leads on the dogs, and they spin like little tops as though I’ve never given them a walk ever, ever, ever in their entire lives. Oh well. At least they’re easily pleased. Much easier to keep happy than men. Easier to train, too.
It’s a beautiful day, and the sun bathes me with a warmth that makes my whole body relax with a sigh of contentment – like the “ahh” sensation you get when you slip into a hot bath at the end of a long day. The sunshine has already brought out several hundred freckles on my face in just a few days. It’s nice to be able to put summer clothes on every day and not worry about cardigans or umbrellas. Maybe my freckles will eventually join up, and I’ll have a version of a tan.
Tiny wild daisies and vivid blue cornflowers mingle with the late wild poppies in the hedgerows to make walking into the village a total delight, so much so that I’m not looking where I’m going and end up bumping smack into Sophie.
“Ouff, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask, aware that most people bump into others on pavements because they’re glued to their mobiles, not admiring the wildflowers.
“I’m fine.” She crouches down to make a fuss of the dogs. “Bonjour, mes petites.»
“Oh, your skirt. I’m sorry.” I gaze in dismay at her suit skirt, navy this time, now covered in tiny, dusty paw prints.
“It’s okay.” She brushes it down, but I take a baby wipe out of my bag and offer it to her. I swear I buy more baby wipes than people who actually have babies. I use them for everything from dog emergencies to shoe cleaning, house cleaning and removing make-up.
“Are you on your lunch break?” I ask, providing an empty doggy bag for the used wipe.
She raises an eyebrow at my preparedness. Funny how I’m more organised when it comes to the dogs than myself.
“Yes, I’m treating myself to lunch in the café today. I always do on a Friday. How about you?” she asks.
“I was going to buy bread,” I say, knowing I should do the sensible, economic thing but really wanting to go to the café.
“The Boulangerie is shut now. Come and have lunch with me.” Sophie links her arm through mine, and I’m touched.
She hasn’t grilled me about Pete yet, but her kindness shows she knows how I’m feeling. I’d thought it would be really hard to make friends in France, and without the kindness I’ve been shown so far, I know I’d be finding everything a lot harder.
“Your dress is beautiful, Poppy, so unusual,” Sophie comments, eyeing my cotton tunic dress with approval. I made it myself with fabric I ordered from India on the internet, but telling Sophie that sounds too … boastful, I suppose.
Anya and Jacob’s café is a welcoming sight. A striped red awning covers the tables and chairs outside so there’s a choice of shade or sunshine. The door to the café is wide open, and inside is colourful. There’s artwork and posters covering the walls. I peer through and can’t help noticing some of the paintings have a price card displayed below and the label “local artist” in English as well as French. That plants another seed in my mind. Could I sell some of my watercolours here? The idea of being free to pursue whatever artistic direction I like, no deadlines except for perhaps commission work agreed with the buyer, is liberating. It feels too good to be true.
Perhaps without Pete and my family tugging me back down to earth, I’m in danger of letting my dreams carry me away. I feel their tug, like a giant helium balloon, wanting to carry me up into the clouds.
“You are very quiet, Poppy.” Sophie eyes me speculatively. “Where are you? Not back in England with your merde-for-brains boyfriend?”
“God no.” I laugh at her franglais idiom. “I’m just daydreaming. I’m always being told off because my head is in the clouds.”
“But you are an artist,” Sophie replies solemnly. “You are made to dream, to see things differently and capture what other people cannot see. It is not a fault.”
I smile. “Where were you when my teachers kept telling me off for daydreaming in class?”
“But not your art teacher, no?” Sophie smiles as we sit down at a table in the sun.
“You’re right. My art teacher was great, a real inspiration. She made me believe in my abilities and encouraged me to go to art college.” I pick up the menu and am glad to see that bacon rolls are on offer. I put the dogs under the table and will them to stay there and be good. If they do misbehave, I can always bribe them with bits of bacon.
I like how dog friendly France is compared to England. Whenever I ask if it’s okay to bring my dogs into a café, the owner looks at me like I’m mad. I’ve already seen someone else with a toy poodle on her lap, so I don’t bother to ask Anya if it’s okay.
Once we’ve placed our order, Sophie explains why she took the job at the notaire’s office, and that she’s studying law part time. The dogs strain at their lead beneath the table. I glance up to see what’s caught their attention and notice Leo walking into the café. Thankfully Maxi isn’t with him. I can do without another Peanut escape.
Leo nods over at us but doesn’t come over. Again I feel the intensity of that strange connection between us. I’d swear he was attracted to me if it weren’t for his diffident air. For all I know he’s staring at me planning how to turf me out of a house he still sees as Dubois property.
I scold myself for being too fanciful and deliberately look away from him.
“The café is very popular at lunchtime,” I remark to Sophie. “I suppose it doesn’t have any competition.”
She smirks but doesn’t mention the charged look that just passed between me and Leo. She’s obviously going with the “he fancies you” option, given the way she’s smiling, but I’m not totally convinced. Yes, my confidence has been knocked by Pete dumping me, and sitting next to a glamorous Audrey Hepburn lookalike doesn’t help, but it’s not just that. It’s a feeling that things are far from that simple. They’re not even simple for me, and I know I’m attracted to Leo; it would be useless to deny it.
But attraction and action are two very different things. One doesn’t necessarily have to lead to the other, even presuming it’s mutual.
“They do takeaway baguettes here,” Sophie comments. “That’s something Madame Gilbert doesn’t do even when she is open.”
I didn’t really speak to Madame Gilbert last night; the gimlet eyes put me off. I kept picturing her as part crow and wanted to draw her like that. I tried a few sentences in French on her, and I swear they weren’t too incomprehensible, but she pretended not to understand. Sophie says Madame Gilbert does actually speak some English but refuses to on principle.
Luckily I’m not like Peanut. Despite feeling upset by Leo’s initial unfriendliness, I really don’t need the whole world to love me. Just more friendly faces than unfriendly faces would suit me fine, and on the whole Saint Quentin seems a friendly sort of place to live.
“Uh oh,” Sophie murmurs under her breath.
I look up and see Jacques has entered the café too and is queuing a couple of places behind Leo who seems to be getting a takeaway order for all the staff at the veterinary practice. Well, either that or he’s very hungry.
“What’s up? Aren’t you allowed to come out for your lunch break?” I whisper back, leaning forward over the table so I can’t be heard.
“No, it’s not that, it’s … Ah. Bonjour.” Sophie beams up at Jacques who has left the queue to come over. You’d swear she was delighted to see her boss. Thankfully we’re at a small table for two so there’s no room for him to join us.
Treacle cowers behind my feet and trembles. He’s still not great with strange men.
“Bonjour.” I smile politely at Jacques, but my skin prickles. There’s something about the way he’s eyeing me up and down, his gaze lingering on my breasts and the exposed flesh above the neckline of my dress.
Thankfully Anya brings our food and drink over at that point, and Jacques has to back off so she can put it down on the table.
“How about I take you out for the day on Saturday and show you around the area like I said I would?” Jacques smiles but his lips look too thin. I imagine a lizard tongue darting out of his mouth and shudder inwardly. Sometimes a vivid imagination can be a curse.
“Um.” I ponder how to say no without offending him.
“I could take you to dinner at an amazing restaurant I know in Carcassonne. It’s situated in the walled medieval city.” Jacques’s voice carries, loud and confident. He seems so sure of himself.
Just as I think I’m going to have to lie to get out of it, I feel a firm hand on my shoulder and turn around to see Leo glaring at Jacques. His hand on my shoulder seems to claim me. If everything wasn’t so complicated, I’d be flattered.
“That won’t be possible. Poppy and I have plans for Saturday.” Leo continues to glare at Jacques and then adds something in French that’s far too fast for me to catch. From the sour look on Jacques’s face and Sophie’s widened eyes, I don’t think Leo was being particularly polite.
Jacques licks his lizard lips, but there’s a flare in his eyes that tells me he’s livid with Leo, not necessarily about me but because he’s been shown up in public. For a bizarre moment it feels like we’re in a Wild West standoff.
I’d be flattered if I didn’t get the feeling this is about far more than who gets to take out the new English girl first. There’s hatred in both men’s eyes, and I’m stuck in the spider’s web between the two of them.
Behind me, Treacle creeps out to tentatively sniff at Leo’s legs. He’s clearly made his choice, and I’m in agreement.
“Yes, sorry,” I apologise to Jacques. “I do already have plans. It’s very kind of you to offer though, thank you.”
“Another time maybe?” Jacques shrugs, but his expression is strained.
“Er, yes, maybe,” I mumble, purely to be polite, but I feel Leo’s hand tighten reflexively on my shoulder, even as Jacques leaves.
“I’ll pick you up at nine a.m. on Saturday, okay?” Leo smiles at me, but there’s a shadow of something dark clouding his eyes, making the smile a tad grim.
“Okay. Thanks for rescuing me.” It seems the right thing to say, but I would’ve found a way of saying “no” to Jacques on my own. A roundabout, extremely polite way, but with my own instincts and the oblique warning from Sophie, I know to steer clear of Jacques.
Leo reaches down to stroke the dogs, Treacle included. When he looks up, his smile has lost its hard edge and seems genuine, his lips wide and sensual.
If it weren’t for the spiders’ webs and diffident stares, I’d be floating on currents of possibilities right now, even though I’m inhabiting dangerous rebound territory.
“You’re welcome.” He turns and leaves the café carrying the large paper bag containing his order.
I can practically hear the gossip grapevine coming to life at the nearby tables occupied by locals. No doubt by tonight the Chinese whispers will have it so that the two men came to blows over the new “anglaise” who’s just been dumped by her English boyfriend.
Way to make a discreet entrance into village life.
I raise my eyes at Sophie and take a bite of my bacon roll. I feel a gentle nudge at my shins and pull some bacon out of the roll to divide into three bite-sized tastes.
Three tails wag beneath the table – one cream, one ginger and one a slightly stringy Yorkie tail. They’re in raptures as they take their tastes of bacon.
Dogs. So much simpler and easier to please than men.
From [email protected]étérinaire-saint-quentin-sur-aude
Subject: Slight complication
Hi Sarah,
What did I say in my other email that made you think I fancy the English woman? I wrote that I felt sorry for her, and I did. I still do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want Les Coquelicots – Madeline and Amelie’s home – back in the Dubois estate.
Though maybe you’re sort of right. If things were different, yes, I would fancy her. She’s cute, sexy and a little bit quirky. There’s definitely something there I’d pursue if she were French. Before you accuse me of being anti-foreigner (which I’m clearly not given I bought into a veterinary practice with an American!), what I mean is I’ve got no interest in starting a relationship with someone who’s almost certainly going to leave the country. I’ve had too much loss in my life recently to willingly sign up for an extra helping.
But while I might be ready to snap up the property when she goes, that doesn’t mean I want to see her hurt by Jacques either, not after what he did to my sister.
So I plan to be her friend and only that. Yes, I can almost hear you laughing all the way from Paris, but I’m serious. You know how what happened changed me. I’ve got too much on my plate here at home without making things more complicated than they already are.
As it is I’m going to have to replace the Estate Manager. I’ve been through the Vineyard books with the accountant, and some things simply don’t add up. My parents have said not to involve the police. They don’t want any fuss, just to let him go quietly. I’m not sure that’s the right decision, but at least I can make sure someone more capable is put in charge.
Now I’ve just got to talk to my father’s doctor about his test results, try to get Angeline to toughen up on her customers so they pay their animals’ bills so she’s not running a charity … oh, and keep Jacques away from Poppy.
Add in a full day’s work and you’ll understand why I don’t have time for more … complications.
I’m going now. Go harass and matchmake another one of your friends.
See you soon,
Leo