Ma Folie Française (My French Folly) (15 page)

‘Are you all right Mum? Here have a cup of tea … that'll make you feel better,' I said, pressing a warm, metal mug into her hands as she perched on a large boulder.

‘Tea? I need a double scotch. Or perhaps you have a couple of Valium stashed away in that backpack of yours,
Jean
?' she said; her hands shaking as she attempted to sip the hot, milky liquid.

‘Anna, don't worry. We've seen enough snakes for one lifetime.'

‘Well, in all the time we've lived here I've never seen one. You must admit this is a bizarre situation,' I added sincerely.

‘Anne, I very much doubt if there are any more snakes out here. They're not that common in
Corrèze
. We must have come across the only two in the entire region,'
Jean
explained.

‘Listen, you're not going to convince me that easily, but we're here now … and I'm not dead yet, so I suppose we better get on with it. Time is getting on and the sooner we get out of here the better.'

‘Well, if you're sure you're okay Mum, we'll carry on. It's not that far now and this is the prettiest part of the walk.'

‘Fine. But I swear … if I see another bloody viper…'

We looked at her concerned, then realised, she too, was stifling a grin. She smiled and broke into a giggle.

‘This could only happen to me,' she laughed, as I took her hand and patted her affectionately on the back.

‘Never mind Mum … never mind.'

After our disastrous attempt at hiking in the forest, we decided we'd stick to the relative safety of village strolls. With time, the odd country lane was eventually attempted and thankfully, we never laid eyes on another snake.

I, however, was guilt-ridden over the entire snake episode and expressed my desire to do something extra special for Mum and Dad, sooner rather than later. So, as a pre-amble to the decadent weekend for two arranged for their Anniversary,
Jean
and I made dinner reservations at a wonderful little restaurant we'd previously tried and adored.
L'Auberge du Pont de Vernéjoux
was housed within the picturesque walls of an ancient ‘
moulin
' or water mill, which sat nestled on the banks of the
La Vezère
. It sheltered under massive elms, in a little shaded hollow of the river and its verdant, mossy gardens were crowded with fatted geese, wild ducks and two overfed, hunting dogs. The gentle paddle of the worn millwheel plopped softly into the running waters, churning and bubbling as it rolled along. This was the picture perfect setting for my special announcement.

I created a little parchment scroll with the details of their Anniversary gift etched within. I tied it with a silky red, white and blue ribbon, sealed it with red wax then hid it from view until the special night.

‘This will win you loads of brownie points,'
Jean
grinned, from behind the bathroom door.

‘Lord … I hope so … after the other fiasco, I need this to work.'

‘It wasn't your fault
Marisa
. The bloody snakes were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stop beating yourself up about it.'

‘You know what I'm like,
Jean
. My guilt complex is kicking in … whenever my parents are around this always happens.'

‘Stop worrying
Marisa
. You'll end up with an ulcer like your father, if you don't calm down.'

‘I know… I know. That's just me … my father's daughter.'

‘Anyway, I'm really, really excited about making this announcement. It's probably the best thing I've ever done for either of them. I hope they like the idea?'

‘Why wouldn't they? Who wouldn't want to spend a weekend in a luxurious, French Chateau overlooking the
Dordogne
River, romance and champagne inclusive?'

‘Well … when you put it like that … they can't refuse. Thanks darling, I said and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘Maybe you and I should go instead?' I teased.

‘Can you stop talking for just two minutes?' he laughed, pulling me to him.

The evening of our ‘surprise dinner' announced itself with a blood-red sunset, an omen of even finer days ahead. My parents descended the stone staircase, both dressed in their best vacation clothes and rearing to go. They definitely suspected something, though I wasn't sure exactly why. I hadn't given any clues. Not a word of ‘surprise' or ‘gift' had been mentioned. They were far too curious about the purpose of our dinner date and pestered me constantly with ‘whys?' and ‘what for?'

‘We can pay for tonight
Marisa
… you and
Jean
have done enough.'

‘No, Dad. Not tonight … it's our shout. You might as well leave your wallet at home.'

‘But, darly … I insist,' he said, trying to grab hold of my handbag and purse.

‘Dad, you're making me mad. Stop it!'

‘But,
Marisa
… sweetie … I want to pay … please let me …,' he begged.

You have to realise, it's an acutely, embarrassing dilemma for an Italian father, having his daughter pay for him. He is obliged by bloodline and heritage to uphold his position of family patriarch and handle all money matters. I recall arguing with him so badly on one occasion, that I yelled in sheer frustration. ‘Dad, I can afford to buy my own underpants!' He had blushed at my verbal outcry and left me to pay, while fifty or so curious, shoppers watched on in amusement.

‘Dad, you're in our house now, and you obey our rules…
capisce
? (understand?)'

‘
Si, capisco
. But you're a naughty girl
Marisa
!'

‘Yeh, yeh…I know.'

My stomach churned in excited anticipation as we ambled along the river's edge. We arrived at our destination, to the generous welcome of Sylvie, our sympathetic waitress, who quickly seated us with a knowing smile. Our table, by the double French doors, overlooked the cool, rapid waters that shimmered in the mottled, evening light. The bucolic scene at once enchanted my parents.

‘What a lovely place,
Marisa
. Do you and
Jean
come here often?'

‘Occasionally … mostly on special occasions, you know … birthdays, anniversaries,' I added smiling.

‘Special occasions, eh? Is this one?' my mother questioned.

‘I think so … how often do I dine with my parents in an old Mill-house in rural France?' I joked.

‘Yes, darling … that's true. Nothing else?' my mother asked, dissatisfied with my response.

‘What are you getting at Mum? Do you know something, I don't know?'

‘No darling? Do you know something, I don't know?'

‘What game are you playing Mum?'

‘Oh, for heavens sakes Anna, just ask her,' Dad insisted impatiently.

‘All right then …
Marisa
… your father and I were wondering … are you pregnant?'

‘My God, Mum. Is that what you think? NO…definitely not!' I blushed in shock.

‘Oh, sorry … what a shame … we just thought … fresh, country air … your health has improved so much … special occasion and all…'

‘No, it's not about
Jean
and I … its about you and Dad.'

‘Us? I'm definitely not pregnant!' she grinned.

‘I should hope not … It's about your Anniversary, for God's sake,' I blurted exasperated.

‘Sweetheart, I'm sorry to disappoint you but our Anniversary isn't until next week. Did you get your dates wrong?'

‘No Mum,' I replied frustrated. ‘I know exactly when it is.' We organised tonight in expectation of next week's grand event.

‘You've lost us now,
Marisa
,' she replied confused.

‘Well, considering you've forced my hand … here,' I said ‘this is for you and Dad,' passing the parchment scroll to my mother and holding my breath.

She looked at the scroll then at me in bewilderment. My father observed quietly curious. She untied the satin, tri-colour ribbon and pressed open the rolled leaf.

Dearest Mum and Dad,

You are cordially invited to spend a romantic weekend of luxury and indulgence, at the famed ‘Chateau Chauvac', situated in the hamlet of Bassignac-le-Bas, by the banks of the glorious Dordogne River. She paused, Your accommodation consists of a ‘Tower Suite', gourmet breakfasts and a romantic, candlelit dinner on the pool terrace. Your hosts await your arrival on the 28th August.

With all our love on your 40th Wedding Anniversary, Marisa and Jean, Giulia and Michael xxxxx

‘Oh … darling … this is too much. You shouldn't have.'

‘No, its not … you and Dad deserve it … and besides, as you can see, Giulia and Michael chipped in as well.'

‘Oh, darly, thank you. You too
Jean
. You're both too generous,' my father added, standing to kiss me and shaking
Jean
's hands with grateful vigour.

‘We just hope you enjoy it … that's all. Now, do you understand tonight's significance? A preview of things to come.'

‘Sorry for pushing you sweetheart … oh … and about the pregnancy thing …'

‘Never mind, Mum. All's forgiven.'

Champagne was served in pre-celebration of the happy event and continued to flow throughout the four, copious courses that ensued. The conversation was relaxed and comfortable, with the tension of the ‘unknown' now swept aside and my parents were as flushed as a pair of young newly-weds.

‘So how was it? We want all the saucy details … don't leave anything out,' I laughed, as we carried their bags up the front steps.

‘It was nice dear … different,' my mother replied hesitantly.

‘You don't sound that excited about it … what's wrong?' I asked anxiously.

‘Nothing's wrong darly … it was lovely … really,' Dad replied.

‘I know you two … there's something not quite right … cough it up.'

‘Well, it's quite a long story sweetie.'

‘I've got all afternoon, Mum. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me the entire story,' I said, dropping their bags to the floor and sitting myself to the dining table.

‘It's funny really …
Monsieur
Frontinac
tried his best … but with his wife running out on him and all … it couldn't have been easy…'

‘His wife what?
Monsieur
who?'

‘
Monsieur
Frontinac
,
Marisa
. He's the proprietor of the Chateau. A sweet man, but very nervous and quite distressed about his wife leaving him.'

‘She left him? When?'

‘Last week. The man is an utter basket case, at the moment. Doesn't know if he's Arthur or Martha.'

‘Oh, no! That sounds bad.'

‘It was darling. He's trying to run that massive place all on his own … and what with the summer rush and all. He'll never manage the way he's going. He would cry on our shoulder every evening after a scotch or two.'

‘Oh, my God …sounds like a very romantic getaway for two,' I said sarcastically, then added, ‘More like a morbid
ménage à trois
with some poor sod crying in his scotch every night.'

‘Our scotch actually … he'd run out. We felt sorry for him, so we asked him to drink with us.'

‘Oh … Mum, what a bloody disaster!'

“No, darling … it was lovely. And we managed to cheer him up by the second day. He'd stop crying by the time we left.”

‘My parents, good Samaritans and agony aunts … no chance of any hanky panky then?' I laughed, shaking my head in dismay.

‘We weren't exactly in the mood. The ambience wasn't quite right.'

‘Shit! I've done it again haven't I?'

‘It's not your fault darly … and the Chateau was lovely … though … it lacked a woman's touch.'

‘What do you mean by that, Dad?'

‘You know … it was a little untidy … needed dusting and vacuuming … but apart from that …'

‘Apart from that, it was a total shambles! Is that what you're trying to tell me?'

‘Not at all Marisa. The building was beautiful; the bedroom was comfortable and full of antiques. The views were glorious, the breakfasts were adequate and the dinner was…well…memorable.'

‘You lack conviction Mum.'

‘Well … he wasn't the greatest of cooks … his wife usually does all the cooking so he was a little unprepared.'

‘Holy cow!'

‘But to make up for it, he shouted us one of his finest bottles of Champagne. He even took us into the ancient cellars, to fetch it. It was lovely.'

‘Shouted you? I'd paid for that! Never mind … so you drowned your misfortunes did you?'

‘It wasn't that bad sweetheart. Your father and I had a lovely time…really'

‘Okay…so what did you do all day?

‘Well … we went for lovely walks and visited
Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne
, which was very sweet. Lovely market. Pretty houses. Delightful views … you know.'

‘We sat by the pool each night for aperitifs and watched the sunset,' my father added.

‘Now, at least that sounds romantic?'

‘It was darly … just a shame about the pool …'

‘What about the pool? It looked absolutely lovely in the brochures. I thought it might even be warm enough for you to swim.'

‘Yes, it probably would have been sweetheart, we took our swimsuits … but you see … with it being empty and all …'

‘No water? What the bloody hell … it's the middle of summer, for heaven's sake!'

‘Now, now, Marisa. Don't get upset.
Monsieur
Frontinac
hadn't got around to filling it yet, that's all.'

‘That's all? Sounds like that man needs a frontal lobotomy!'

‘Don't be cruel Marisa. The man was a blithering mess.'

‘The man was a sobbing fool, the Chateau was in disarray and the pool was empty… Sounds like the perfect, weekend escape to me. Just like the brochure said it would be,' I replied disappointed yet desperate to see the funny side of the situation.