Sense and French Ability (16 page)

“
Bonjour
,
je
suis
de
retour
,” Madame shouted her arrival so that Harriet did not leap out of her skin at the vague sound of someone in the house. There was no reply and nobody came forth. Madame Marie went through the living room and into the kitchen. She was unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.

Camille, wondering what was going on, took her coat off and, as she made her way through the living room after her sister, laid it across the back of a chair. She jumped as her sister shouted, “Get out of my house, you filthy man. How dare you come in my house, in my kitchen? What are you doing?”

Jerome had not heard the old ladies return and when the door opened he was drying the last of the pots from his cooking of the previous evening. He had washed everything the day before, but not realising Madame Altier was to return he had left the last few pots to drain as it got late and he was concerned that Éric would get worried without him.

“I’ve been assisting with the cooking,” he stuttered in confusion. “It wasn’t my idea but it has been a help, I’m sure.”

“You are depraved and sordid; I don’t want you touching anything. What do you mean snaking your way in here and sabotaging my business the minute my back is turned? Get out!” Madame screamed.

Camille was speechless to see Marie in such a condition. She had seen her temper before, when they were children, but never had she seen her so red faced and beside herself with absolute rage. She was very apprehensive and stood in the doorway like a shadow of her younger sister.

Jerome decided that to leave, without saying more, was the safer option. He dropped the tea towel and scuttled out of the back door and, going around the side of the house, he moved as fast as his bow legs would allow down the steps and back towards his own house.

Jean Chri saw him as he hurried along and waved. He was sure he had heard shouting and stopped at the front of his house to observe Jerome hobbling down the steps. It was all that Jerome could do to put one leg in front of the other as he shook so much. He did not stop. Keeping his head dow,n he waved a hand in Jean Chri’s general direction. Never had he experienced such anger from anyone and the things she had said were so appalling he could not bear to rethink it all. His entire reaction was to shut down. Yet he had to go back and appear normal for Éric’s benefit. If his cousin saw him in this state he would be panic stricken. He hurried on past his own front door to find a place to hide until he had calmed himself. He scuttled along the lane, passing Harriet’s little house until he came to the bench that Fliss had discovered so many weeks before. Plonking himself down upon it, Jerome was still shaking.

Back at the house Camille perched down on the edge of a chair in the living room and gripped the edge of the table with bony knuckles showing white. She decided she would allow her sister to rant alone for a while before saying anything to calm her. She understood Marie well. As she listened there was banging of saucepans, clattering of metal dishes and sounds of Marie chuntering to herself.

*

As Jean Chri entered his barn his thoughts were gloomy. The humour of the village was falling apart, he reflected. His marriage was now non-existent; the woman he knew in absolute certainty he loved to distraction was gone; Jerome, he guessed, had become a pariah and he, himself, well. . . He considered his brother Pascal and his family. Melodie’s little beaming face came to his mind and he couldn’t help but give a small smile. Thank goodness for family.

Chapter 16

Fliss found a skirt suit hanging in the wardrobe. She hadn’t worn it for several months but it still fitted, despite the good living she had enjoyed in France. It smelt a little musty from hanging unworn for so long, although she had it cleaned before she left. The weather outside was damp and drizzly, so Fliss hung it in front of the open bedroom window to air.

‘If I’m going for this interview today, I better at least try to look the part. I’m not sure about it at all but it was very kind of Edward to go to all the trouble to get me this opportunity with Bob Hackett.’

Determined not to let Edward’s kindness down, she took her time getting ready. Her phone rang as she finished brushing her teeth.

“Are you about ready? How are you? Nervous?”

“Yes, nearly ready. No, I’m not nervous,” she answered.

“It’s just a formality. I’m sure the job is yours,” he said with encouragement in his voice.

“Well, we shall see. Thanks for organising it, Edward.”

“I’ll call you later to see how it went.”

Fliss ended the call. Now she rushed. Mooching was deceptive and time was running out. Fliss threw on her jacket. She grabbed her keys and ran for it. It was down the road, across and through the business park but she took the car anyway. She never used to when she worked there before, but now the sky had turned grey and rain threatened again. She parked, hopped out, and trotted across the car park. Feeling hassled on arrival, she ran into the loo to give her hair a quick comb through before approaching the cool and calm Rachel at the front desk.

“Hi, Rachel, I’ve got an appointment with Bob Hackett.”

“Hello, Fliss, it’s been a long time,” the receptionist commented not looking at Fliss, focussing her gaze in her appointment book. Again without looking up she added, “How’s things?”

“Fine thanks.” She wasn’t that interested.

She looked at Fliss. “If you’d like to go up, you know the way at least. His secretary, Judy, will tell you when he’s ready.” She giggled in a Barbie kind of way. “Of course, you’ve met her too, haven’t you? See you later. Fingers crossed,” she added kindly. She seemed to have put two and two together and made the correct number, unusually.

Rachel was efficient and good at her job but it could not be denied that it was the type of place where she was there to be pleasing to the eye.

As Fliss rode the escalator she wondered what she was doing. She needed the money, but what about all the stress and hassle she was so pleased to leave a few months ago?

Fliss sat on the black and silver furniture to wait. She slid on the leather and fidgeted about, trying to sit more serenely.

‘Give me a good sturdy kitchen chair at a table with an oil cloth any day. Hell, I’m fidgeting here, but I’m ambivalent. I’m not sure why I am putting myself through this but I’m not worried by this interview at all.’

Bob Hackett emerged from his office rather than buzzing through to Judy to show Fliss in. He approached her and kissed one of her cheeks, taking her hands at the same time.

‘This is weird. I am here for an interview but it must be because we worked together on some high end projects for a long time and we are friends and old colleagues. We were virtually equals in the company structure.’

He invited Fliss to sit and he took his place behind his desk so that at least there was a semblance of formality. In reality they chatted about the work and he said he would be in touch.

On leaving Fliss took the stairs. It was less populated and she just wanted to sneak away.

*

That evening Fliss sat wondering what to do. It had been so long since she was bored here with no real occupation. Her mind wandered to Madame Marie’s and she imagined her changing beds, cooking meals for six or more, sitting afterwards with a glass of wine. She missed the cantankerous, kind-hearted, old lady.

‘I hope her sister, Camille, is alright.’

Her mind wandered to Jerome. Such an old gossip but his heart was in the right place. Despite what people said he had not taken Éric in just so he could access his disability pay. Éric was harder work than that. She was sure he did not run a disreputable house with the young men who visited.

‘He’s always willing to help me out and seems to thrive on being needed.’

She considered Jo.

‘Jo’s been over there quite a while now. She and Harriet seem to get on well and developed a sound friendship.’

She pictured Jean Chri and sighed.

So deep in concentration was she when her mobile phone rang, on the arm rest of the sofa next to her elbow, that Fliss nearly jumped up. On silent earlier when she went for her interview, she must have turned the sound back on and inadvertently turned it up. Her heart thumped with fright! Fliss pressed the button to take the call and the thump continued when she realised who was at the other end.

“’Ello, bonsoir, Fliss is that you?” She heard the recognisable French voice and realised that in her fright and surprise she uttered not a single word. “’Ello, Fliss are you there, please? ‘Ave I the correct number?” The voice struggled with a few English words.

“Jean Chri,” she muttered. She was dumb-founded, literally. “You were in my thoughts,” she said, after a moment’s silence.

“You were thinking of me?” He asked, confident in his own language.

“Well, of all the people I met and made friends with in France,” Fliss said, rising from her seat in her agitation.

“Oh, I see,” he said and sounded forlorn.

“Fliss, the reason I rang. . .”

“How did you get my number?” Fliss interrupted him.

“I asked and Jo gave it to me,” he confessed. “She didn’t want to but I kept asking her,” he said. “You mustn’t be cross with her.”

“Fliss, the reason I rang. . .”

“I shall have words with her when I see her. She . . .”

“Fliss be quiet, please,” Jean Chri said forcefully.

She realised she had been rude and talked to over-ride her own dismay. She stopped.

“I spoke with Pascal and he said it is to you I should tell these things.”

“What things?” Fliss asked weakly.

“Fliss, I understand that you had a terrible experience before we met, over there in England. Remember when we did up the out-house for a kennel? And before you left this place you said I am conceited. You are frightened Maryl might return and people here will be unkind because I am married still.”

“Yes, I remember,” she voiced, pacing the floor as she listened.

“Our divorce is started. Maryl will not return. Fliss I have to tell you these things or I have not done everything I can and I should regret that all my life. I decided I must say these things to you. I tried to be strong and leave you to make up your own mind but you are more important to me than anything I have known. You have strength and compassion. I saw this in your dealings with Madame Altier and with Jerome. You have a good sense of humour and . . . I love your eyes,” he finished.

“Oh, Jean Chri. I’m sure I am not all these things. I can be as mean as the next person and I wasn’t brave when I ran away from the village,” she protested.

“Please consider coming back here. Consider Fleurus-le-Comte as your home. Decide to come home to me,” he pleaded. “I cannot say more, Fliss, except I love you. I will protect you. We will be strong enough together.” He allowed no time for her to answer before he added, “Please consider with care, Fliss. I must go now.”

The line went dead and Fliss was left with the sound of her own breathing. She was sure the thumping of her heart could be heard down the street.

She collapsed onto the sofa which, fortunately, was behind her. It had taken much for him to phone her in this way, and to be so honest, bearing his soul with such wretchedness. He was normally stoic and practical. While being sorry for the upset she caused she relished, guiltily, this insight into his inner feelings.

“Oh my,” she said to the wall. “I’ve so much to decide now I am forced into it.”

Procrastination was no longer an option. It was so hard to think with the heart and not the head.

‘Why should I not think with the heart though? This is what I want – no, need.’

There were so many questions bombilating around in her head like tinnitus. The more she considered, the more she understood. There was one answer. She had realised this for a long time but refused to listen to her heart. Her head ruled her for years and years and here she was, single and unhappy.

*

Fliss waited until it was Friday lunchtime. She rang Edward at work when she was sure he would not be with a client, but taking a break albeit still at his desk. It was unfair to tell him that she needed to talk and then leave him longer to wonder what she wished to say.

They arranged that he would come round at 7.30pm, that time of old habit. Fliss could not blunder around with this. She must be clear and concise and share how she viewed things. She must be honest. That much she owed him.

For the rest of the afternoon, being at a loss for what to do, Fliss put her energies into house cleaning as had served her well enough before. Even this did not occupy her mind enough, though, and she ended up sitting in front of the laptop.

Before she knew it Fliss called up pages about the Seven Valleys, now so familiar. She found images of places she visited comforting and exciting all at the same time. This became slightly obsessive. She saw the river confluence where she’d sat and read and then taken Jo to visit; the steep-sided hills. Then she found the ‘Tripadviser’ website and gained a tormented fascination from reading every tiny detail about Fleurus-le-Comte. Photographs of the places in and around the village were exhilarating to discover. She wanted to telephone Jo and to speak to Madame Marie. Whatever happened she had to speak to Edward first. It would not be easy and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

While Fliss made it clear, before she left for France, she needed a change, she never formally ended their relationship and had not been open with him about things over there. She owed him this honesty.

At 7.30pm Fliss heard his car door slam and saw Edward walking up the path as she peeked out of the window. They greeted each other and he came into the sitting room. He made no move to sit.

“Edward . . .”

“Fliss . . .” They both uttered each other’s names at the same moment.

“You go first,” she said.

“Well . . . It’s not working is it? There’s something I have to say.” He took a deep breath as if he inhaled confidence and Fliss guessed what was coming.

“We have come to the end of our relationship,” he continued. “Maureen Dawlish and I are becoming good friends. Nothing has occurred between us but we are becoming closer. You’ve been away such a lot.” He shrugged his shoulders.

This little speech seemed sanctimonious and starchy. This was Edward. She let him continue.

“Fliss, we should formally draw a line under our liaison, now, today. I don’t want to deceive or lie to you because I respect you too much for that. I’m truly sorry if I’ve shocked you. Now what did you want to say?”

A host of thoughts blazed through her mind but she let Edward maintain his rigid dignity.

“Nothing, Edward, nothing at all. I understand it’s been awkward. I’ve been difficult to be with and I don’t blame you for finding friendship and comfort elsewhere.”

“She understands me, that’s all,” he said in that time honoured way of many.

“Edward, it’s alright,” Fliss re-emphasised. “Now do you want a drink before you go?” She turned abruptly, feeling over-jolly and lighter than she had in several weeks.

“No, I’ll be getting off now. Will you be alright? Do you want me to ring anyone to come and keep you company?”

She did not smile at his suggestion although the pomposity of it all opened her eyes to what Jo had seen months, no years, ago.

“I’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek before moving towards the front door.

After he went she should have been ecstatic at the ease with which that had all happened for her, but somehow Fliss came over a little sad. After all, Edward had been a large part of her life for a long time and while he had made their parting easy he had been kind and attentive in his own way. She hoped he would be happy with Maureen Dawlish.

‘They sound like a matched pair,’ she thought a little ironically.

*

It was a new day in so many ways. It was hot and sunny for a start. Fliss could not believe it after so many rainy grey days. Jo rang her and they spoke for simply ages. Fliss told her all about her phone call from Jean Chri and then about the conversation with Edward the previous night. In her own inimitable way she was supportive and helpful. At no time did she say “I told you so!” However, Fliss could tell she was certainly thinking it. She was coming home in a couple of days.

“I have so much to tell you,” she said.

“Tell me the juicy bits now, then,” Fliss cajoled, but she was having none of it.

They talked more about various people in the village and Fliss was certain where she wished to be. In fact she had never been more clear-headed about anything like this before.