Sense and French Ability (6 page)

Fliss sat at the end of the sofa and curled her legs under herself. She cradled her hot mug and left the television buttons alone as she stared at the empty fire grate. Her bank held quite a sum of money in savings from bonuses unspent. Now she also owned the bungalow that she and her mum had shared.

‘What if. . ? What if I were to sell this place and give up my job? That would give me the where-with-all to move to France, wouldn’t it? Who knows who I might meet and what adventures I might have?’

Her thoughts strayed back to that holiday in the Auvergne.

‘A holiday is not living in reality is it? The emotions a remembered holiday invoke are not representative of day to day living, with all its practical problems and pragmatism. There are no serious responsibilities when on holiday. Food and accommodation are automatic; subsistence is not long term. Get a grip Fliss. This is all a little extreme.’

She shook her head at her own flight of fancy. Her thoughts took off again reminiscing about the two weeks she had experienced. The delicious farmer, Jean Chri; no, don’t think of that, he’s married. Madame Altier with her gnarled knuckles and stooped figure; the restaurant owner and his cousin, Éric; the little girl, Melodie and her parents who were such fun and so kind, Harriet, whose partner died – all flitted through her mind on gossamer memories.

‘However, having no family here, with Mum and Dad both gone now is a factor. I have no brothers or sisters, nor cousins that I am in contact with. What about earning a living? I couldn’t support myself for years on end doing nothing. At least being practical in that area, I know I don’t have that much money. What I have would carry me over renting somewhere while I sell the bungalow and decide whether to buy over there or not. The question remains about how I would support myself. Bar winning the lottery, or finding a sugar daddy, this is a thorny problem. Oh, it’s a dreamy idea that is going nowhere. I’ve told Edward I could buy Madame Altier’s place but that may well not happen.’

It was getting late and her half-drunk tea had grown cold. She gave an involuntary shiver. Was that the proverbial goose wandering too close to her demise? Perhaps she better get to bed, and think more tomorrow.

‘I’ll take a reality check, look further on the internet, do research about living in northern France and find out about properties that might be for sale. Madame Altier’s B and B would suit me well but it isn’t even on the market yet.’

*

It took Fliss forever to get to sleep but, for a change, she was wide awake the next day. For the first time in ages she was energised and excited.

After work, steadying herself and with the great self-discipline nurtured over the years, Fliss made herself toast and tea before switching on her laptop. She settled for an evening of searching the internet. There were areas of northern France that are flat and, in her view, uninspiring. This was inland from Calais and Dunkirk. Going the other way, as she had done, towards Boulogne, she had discovered to the south west the area that is known as the Seven Valleys. From the images and photos it looked beautiful, and Fliss could not resist re-looking at the places she had visited. She felt a compulsion and read on:

“Northern France’s best kept secret, the Seven Valleys in the Pas de Calais, with its rolling contours, is as green and bushy as anything you will see in Dordogne.

With its Opal Coast, charming villages and historic battlefields; including those of Agincourt, Crecy and First World War, the area of the Seven Valleys offers the visitor a glimpse into the past and a sample of the now peaceful way of life.”

The pictures showed rolling hills, deep-sided valleys, verdant meadows and calm tranquillity. It reminded her of parts of the Yorkshire dales, without the stone barns. It talked about picturesque places to walk; rivers populated by trout; farms set low down and often built of whitewashed torchy (which she discovered was wattle and daub, a building material as ancient as the hills themselves). There were coastal towns to which fishing fleets still returned with a catch of whiting and sole. Inland towns where the rivers hid between the houses, bubbling and gurgling their way to the sea nestled among wooded hillsides. Tiny white anemones, daffodils in spring time, followed by bluebells flooded areas with colour. Sixty per cent of the ancient oaks dated from previous centuries. As for villages, hundreds offered a variety of cosy
auberges
at which to eat local produce as well as places to hire a bicycle for a strenuous ride through the valleys, or quiet corners to take a book and read beside a small pond which looked inviting.

Fliss was about to look again at properties for sale in the area when a knock at the door startled her. When she opened it, there was Jo.

“Twice in as many days?” Fliss showed her surprise to see her friend again so soon.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about your news,” she said.

“Come on in. Guess what I was looking at on the internet?” Fliss laughed.

Jo was always extravagant in style, her choice of colours reflected her large personality. Everything about her was larger than life. She was tall, and even her hands were broad and competent looking. She was loud in every sense and meaning of the word. Today her bright ginger hair, tied with a yellow scarf, left tendrils escaping all around her face. She wore emerald green jeans with a yellow and orange jumper. Jo lacked all self-consciousness. She was the only person Fliss had ever encountered who could be so outrageous and get away with it.

“Let’s take this into the sitting room. I want you to see what I’ve been looking at on the internet. The more I’ve read and seen the more interested I am.”

“I’m intrigued,” she responded and she sat on the edge of the sofa folding her long legs.

“Look at this,” Fliss urged with excitement edging into her voice.

Jo was quiet as she read from the laptop.

“It sounds great.”

“I never got to computer dating but this must be how it feels. It’s like meeting a possible lover; that first glimpse of anticipation laced with excitement, followed by a growing knowledge and understanding,” Fliss said and added a small laugh of reserve. “I’m starting to make that commitment to my future, like you said.”

If she had but a glimpse of the future she might have been feeling differently about the region and what it to offered, what extremes of emotion and experience lay in store.

Jo finished her coffee and, after chewing over Fliss’s plans for a short while, she got up to go.

Fliss cleared away the mugs. Looking at properties on the market, she was pleasantly surprised. While knowing that prices had risen abroad, and things had stagnated in England, she would still get more for her money than in the UK. Her current bungalow, although old, had several desirable features. The open fireplaces,size of rooms and the garden, should all help to sell it for a price that would allow Fliss to buy something reasonable. Her parents had bought it when prices were low and stayed living here until mortgage free.

‘I could have a studio and paint. Mmm! That wouldn’t earn a living though...’

Fliss returned to the accommodation pages on the website and found images of many of the places she had visited. Like an obsession she devoured the sights and remembered the sounds and smells of the area. It was all friendly and comforting. ‘While never living a frugal lifestyle I am not afraid of roughing it should I have to. Those camping holidays with Mum and Dad when I was younger are testament to that. Those tent pegs I had to bang in to non-existent soil in the Pyrenees were a nightmare, and I remember making cups of tea when it was raining and windy. It was so cold sometimes, too, before the days of thick cosy sleeping bags and duvets.’

Her requirements were not excessive, but she would have to afford to run a small car if she lived out in a country village. She would need to have enough money to feed herself. There was only self-sufficiency to a small degree for someone like her. She must be realistic.

Fliss knew that she would have to revisit the area of Fleurus-le-Comte again, and soon. 

Chapter 6

Eager to continue with her ideas, Fliss noted the telephone number, saying a silent prayer that Madame Altier would not be booked up for the long weekend she had just reserved for her leave. Perhaps, as Easter approached, she would be busy. Fliss was eager to return to the same B and B.

‘I don’t want to research all over again.’

She considered waiting to ring until after she had eaten but, too restless, she decided to get right on with it.

At last, she was out-growing the restricted person she had become, finding again the girl prepared to take a chance. She realised, with sudden clarity, how liberating that felt.

Fliss dialled and listened to the strange-sounding foreign ringing tone and nerves over-whelmed her. She wanted this so much now.

“Bonsoir” answered a dislocated voice.

“Oh. Bonsoir! Madame Altier?”

“You are Eenglish?” The voice asked in an accented way.

“
Oui
. It’s Fliss,” she continued in French. ‘I only said good-evening and straight away my accent has betrayed me’.

“Ah, Fliss,” continued Madame Altier.

She managed to make herself understood. The telephone was always more difficult than a face to face conversation. Thankful that the B and B had a room free for the days that she wanted, Fliss smiled. A bizarre conversation followed. It was polite for Fliss to speak French, but Madame Altier wanted to practise her English and so a bi-lingual conversation ensued.

Before she rang off , Fliss said in French “Thank you for your good English,” and then, “Au-revoir.”

She started to plan. She had travel methods and schedules to sort out, money to change, clothes to pack.

If she had known what approached in this region, so beautiful, she may not have been so eager to be part of it – but there was no precedent for what the future held, and so no way of preparing for it.

*

The journey this time was frustrating, with dreadful traffic on the English side and delays at the tunnel. When had Fliss negotiated all of that the sky was grey and heavy, but as she arrived in the village her spirits lifted in spite of the weather.

Having had a good sleep in the room in which she was now at home, the next morning Fliss arose with optimism.

She sniffed the air, looking around as she ambled along the road taking in the sights, sounds and smells. All was becoming so familiar to her.

‘I must go into Jerome’s restaurant and book a table. Madame Altier will not be happy but she’ll learn that I won’t be intimidated. I’ll not take sides in any village dispute either.’

Fliss pushed the door with slight apprehension she peered around it. Often a male preserve at this time day, the bar was quiet. Jerome stood alone behind the counter as he washed glasses.

“Fliss,
bienvenue
.” He flung the tea towel over his shoulder and beamed at her as he came forwards, greeting her with kisses to either side. His cheeks were rough against hers.

“I wondered if I could eat here tonight?”

“Of course, it would be my honour,” he responded, in his typical affable manner. “Always a pleasure to have the English here.”

They exchanged pleasantries but Fliss didn’t want to hang around, despite his offer of coffee.

“See you later,” she said, before she left to continue her stroll

It took her along the little lane, beside the river, heading towards Harriet’s house. On the spur of the moment she decided to pursue the friendship she had begun during her previous visit.

“Come in, come in. Lovely to meet you again.” Harriet smiled when she saw who had rung the bell at her door. “Come through, I’ve got to finish clearing up in the studio. If I don’t do it things will go hard and be impossible to clean. I hadn’t realised you were coming,” she added.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Fliss said as she followed Harriet through the house and across the coarse and spiky grass.

“Not at all. That’s the beauty of working from home.”

“Welcome to my workshop. I make pots and ornaments. I’ve got a few tools to finish washing,” she explained.

The space was lofty and old. An extractor fan whirred somewhere in the background and in the roof skylights were cloudy with age and dust.

The table in the centre of the floor space held several cloths, sponges, tools and mats but all was laid out tidily. Next to the table stood a potter’s wheel with its seat attached. It, too, looked old but presumably it functioned well. In the corner sat the solid cube of a kiln.

The whole space was busy and full of finished and what appeared to be half-made bits of Harriet’s work.

“Do you sell them locally?” Fliss asked as she looked around.

“I have a stall at some of the markets, and there’s a craft shop in town that takes them. It’s not much but helps me to feed myself. It keeps me out of mischief and gives me something to fill my time.” She shrugged and smiled gently. “I have what’s called a micro-enterprise here in France. It’s a small business, as it sounds but taxes and other paperwork become much easier if it’s registered that way. I remember the last time you were here you said that you might want a place like Madame Altier’s? If you run a B and B that’s the easiest thing. I imagine Madame Altier’s is run that way. Ask when you need to if you get stuck.”

Fliss smiled at her and nodded, grateful for any friendship and help.

Shelves around the walls held tubs and pots of glaze powders. An odd assortment of small buckets and various containers filled others. On more were vases, and sets of small cups for wine with matching jugs that Harriet must have made. Some were glazed and others awaited that process. In a different style were sprigs of leaves and stylized flowers in bright colours.

“These are truly lovely,” Fliss said as she found a spray of flowers. “They’re unique. You’re skilful.”

Harriet turned from the sink to see to what Fliss was referring.

“I got the idea from a magazine a while ago but they sell well, especially in the summer months when tourists are here. There, that’s that done,” she said, wiping her hands and turning off the extractor fan.

“Now, how are you?”

“I’m fine, just over for a long weekend. It’s short notice but I wondered if you would join me for a meal at Jerome’s tonight? I’ve booked a table. My treat. It would be good to have company.”

“How lovely. Yes, that would be great. What time?”

They sorted out the arrangements and, as she said her goodbyes, Fliss realised that she was excited to be forging further links.

Later that evening as she left the house Madame Altier said, “I don’t know why you want to go there,”

“I’m doing research,” Fliss said, and gave her sweetest smile. “I need to understand what the competition is. It’s for if I end up buying a bed and breakfast like you.”

Madame Altier sniffed, shrugged and turned away.

Fliss met Harriet at Jerome’s front door and they entered together.

Two young men stood at the bar, drinking from the necks of  little bottles of local Ch’ti beer. As the women entered they each put their bottles down, came across to say hello and give Harriet the traditional kisses. They shook Fliss’s hand since she was a stranger to them.

“This is Fliss. Alexandre, Nicolas,” she said, introducing them. “Fliss is interested in coming here to live, but for now is staying with Madame Altier for the weekend.”

Fliss had not met the boys before as they had not been at the lotto evening, but she had heard about them from Madame. No doubt they had heard of her too. As Fliss and Harriet sat at one end of the long table, the boys returned to their beer, good manners having prevailed.

“That was delicious.” Fliss sat back in her chair and surveyed the room with contentment.

“I know, root veg soup isn’t high end gourmet but it’s definitely tasty,” Harriet agreed.

Jerome served the main course. He wished them “Bon appétit,” before he returned to chat with the two Augustin lads. The steaks were cooked
saignant
justas they had asked, and as Fliss cut into hers the red meat juices flowed into the pepper sauce, combining to make a truly piquant experience.

“Ah, I can’t believe this. Madame Altier led me to understand that things here are second rate, but this is so succulent. Jerome has done well for us here,” Fliss commented.

“They don’t get on and there is envy about their respective collecting of English friends too. It must have been going on for ever and a day. I‘ve heard they knew each other as children in school.”

“Well, I shall steer the middle course and be friends with each of them,” Fliss stated.

“That’s what I do. It works alright and is the safest thing,” Harriet said.

They both spoke English.

“It’s relaxing to speak my own language once in a while,” Fliss said.

Harriet was about to answer when the door opened and all eyes turned that way to catch sight of the newcomer.

Fliss became aware of heat rising up her neck and tried hard to combat it with deep breathing as she realised Harriet’s eyes had cast over her.

Jean Chri came towards them to kiss his hello. Fliss, not completely in control of her emotions despite her denial of his attraction, avoided eye contact. The dark stubble brushed her cheeks. She hoped above all else that she didn’t smell of garlic.

‘Why should that bother me?’ she wondered as he leant across Harriet to greet her.

“You are enjoying your meal?”

Harriet responded for them both. He left to join the other men while Harriet and Fliss accepted their cheese course from Jerome.

There were three different pieces of cheese with a lettuce accompaniment which had a light lemony dressing. The biscuits and butter that would have accompanied cheese in England were missing, but Fliss didn’t mind as she concentrated hard on her meal.

“Normally we would have cheese after dessert or instead of it,” she said inconsequentially to Harriet. Why the sudden constraint? It must be because the arrogance of Jean Chri crossed the room and tainted her space.

“It’s supposed to be better for the digestion,” Harriet responded.

“So have you further plans to move here? It would be good to have an ally in the village” Harriet said.

Fliss explained about her mother’s death and her flagging relationship with Edward.

“I need a huge change to kick start my life,” she confessed.

‘Hell, I’ve invited her here. I hope she doesn’t consider I’m making a play for her.’ Fliss felt flustered.

Harriet read her mind as her next comment put the record in order.

“Maybe you’ll find someone, over here. I’m a great believer in fate and happy enough on my own, I suppose. I miss the companionship in the evenings but I don’t kid myself. I should be lucky to find anyone else in my situation and of my persuasion. There aren’t many other gay women in this region. I’d need to go to a big city, and I have no desire to do that.”

Sitting back in their chairs, they relaxed, then suddenly deep raucous laughter rose from the bar. As a reflex action both Fliss and Harriet turned to the cause of the mirth. It must have been a comment made for there was nothing else. Except Fliss was unsure if Jean Chri had imperceptibly raised his bottle to her in a salute.

‘Really, the conceit of him.’

Harriet caught her eye and smiled.

*

When indoors, Madame Altier gave Fliss the third degree about her meal at Jerome’s restaurant.

“It has been a very pleasant evening,” Fliss told her, ignoring what she knew to be the crux of her questioning.

Then she took pity on the old lady and said, “The food was good but he deals with a different clientele to you. I’m sure there’s room for both in this village. I shall be eating here tomorrow evening, if I may, Madame.”

This calmed her hostess.

‘She isn’t so bad, just old school, gossipy and full of small village standards. She’s lonely, but kind too.’

“So are you thinking of coming more permanently?” Madame asked.

“It is tempting but I have no means of supporting myself. I need to find a small business similar to yours. The sale of my house in England will not last for ever and if I had to rent here, or even buy a small place, I should need work.” Fliss sighed.

“There’s you wanting work and here’s me with too much,” sighed Madame Altier.

“Too much?” Fliss asked.

“I can’t manage on my own these days. It’s hard work changing beds and cooking all the time. I have to ask people for help. After you left before I had to ask Jean Christophe to help me mend my door handle. I don’t like to keep asking. My sister wants me to go and stay with her but I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps you need me to come and help you out? We could be a team for a while.” Fliss laughed. “Now, Madame, I must get to bed. It’s been a lovely day but I’m tired now.”

As Fliss lay in bed she found it hard to relax. She reflected on her evening, smiling when she remembered bits of conversation with Harriet. She supressed the memory of the closeness of Jean Christophe, and her mind meandered among the people she had met again or for the first time tonight.