Sense and French Ability (9 page)

*

The week after the dinner at Madame Altier’s passed in the normal way. The weather remained reasonable. Jean Christophe did his daily round with the cows and in between he planted sugar-beet in his fields. On top of this, he washed his clothes and managed his household in a desultory fashion. He saw Fliss once or twice to wave to and was gratified that she returned his greeting. By the end of the week he was tired and deflated despite trying to maintain an air of normality.

As he entered the cow shed at about half past five on Friday, he saw a car pulling into Madame Altier’s driveway. This must be the guest that was referred to. A man who looked about forty, around Jean Christophe’s own age anyway, got out of the car and stretched.

As Jean Chri looked up to the house he saw Fliss by the front door at the top of the steps, and couldn’t help but dawdle on his task in order to watch the scene unfold.

She waved and he heard her shout “Edward!”

He did not hear, “What are you doing here? I couldn’t believe it when Madame Marie said the visitor was you. She didn’t put two and two together at first and only told me your surname a couple of days ago. Why didn’t you say?”

“I thought I’d surprise you. After all, we’re still friends.”

She sighed but managed to make it imperceptible.

As Jean Chri spied on the scene he saw the man reach into the car and produce a bunch of flowers. He couldn’t discern whether Fliss was pleased or not. He saw her kiss the cheek of the man once, in the English fashion, and watched the man placed his arm around her waist. Together they mounted the steps and disappeared indoors.

Jean Christophe continued into the cow shed and meditated on what he had seen. No kiss on the lips, no warm hug. However, they were both English and the race were renowned for their self-discipline and reserve. This did not appear to be the Fliss he was becoming familiar with, though. She seemed outgoing, full of life and warmth. He wondered for how long this Edward was visiting. Would they meet? That would be most interesting.

Jean Chri found the answer to his own question more quickly than he could have imagined. As had occurred once before, he was returning from his small-holding with a bucket of vegetables when he met Fliss on the bridge. This time she accompanied Edward. They stared down into the gushing river but appeared not to be saying anything. He couldn’t tell if it was a companionable silence or if a distance stretched between them.

“Bonsoir,” Jean Christophe said as he prepared to pass. In the presence of Fliss with another man, he became unsure of himself and shy. He could not lean in to kiss her hello which would have, and had been, the most natural of greetings.

“Oh, hello,” Fliss responded with her broad, pleasurable smile. Before he moved on she continued, “Edward, this is Jean Christophe. He owns the farm over there,” and she waved her arm in the general direction. “Jean Chri helped me move that huge wardrobe in your room so that I was able to decorate behind it,” she explained to him in English.

In French, she introduced Edward to Jean Chri. They shook hands in a cordial but distant fashion, after which Edward put his hands in his pockets.

“Enjoy your stay,” Jean Chri said, smiling, and Fliss translated as best she could. Edward nodded but offered nothing more, and so Jean Chri wished them a pleasant walk and made his exit.

Fliss noticed that Edward was aloof after her French friend passed on his way. They crossed the bridge and walked on without reference to the brief meeting until Edward said, “You seem to be settling in here and making friends and making it your home!”

“Yes, I like it here and the people are kind and welcoming,” Fliss added, not unaware of Edward’s meaning.

“I know,” he nodded. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it!” he retorted looking at his feet as he walked with Fliss on his arm.

Fliss said nothing to this. She understood how he felt but she was unable to give him more. As to the friendship with Jean Chri to which Edward referred; yes, there was a connection but in a superficial way, Fliss was sure.

Chapter 9

The end of April turned to May and then June approached. Fliss became confident as her knowledge of the business grew.

When she visited England for a few days, it felt strange going back to her house because Jo lived there now and, inevitably, she had made her own stamp on it.

Fliss had seen Edward when they bumped into each other at the supermarket on a Friday night and gone for a drink. Things between them were strained, although she had tried her utmost to be cordial and amicable. She wanted to be friends if they could manage it.

Now, back in Fleurus-le-Comte, she helped Madame Marie more and more. She changed beds and planned meals and cooked, sometimes for up to ten people, with belief in herself. When the phone rang, she noted bookings in the diary on several occasions.

Fliss had ideas to make the B and B business even more healthy. These she kept to herself, for now. It was early days, she was still ‘on parole’ and she did not wish to appear pushy.

Since she had an afternoon off, Fliss took a stroll around the village. Things had been so busy that she had seldom been able to do this and so had metfew people. Fliss was heading towards the bridge when, as she passed Jerome’s door, Harriet approached.

“Hi, I’m popping in to see Jerome. If I don’t go often he thinks I’ve fallen out with him. I guess he’s used to that with others.” Shrugging, she added, “Are you coming in?”

“Yes, OK. I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

They entered the bar. Silence. Harriet called.

“Hello,
bonjour
, Jerome.”

The old man appeared, wearing the perennial apron, and came forward to greet them with arms outspread and a large smile.

“How good to see you both. Are you like this with me?” He touched his two index fingers together to signal a disagreement.

Harriet caught Fliss’s eye.

“No, never,” she reassured him.

“And how are you getting on, Fliss?”

“Everything’s fine so far,” Fliss smiled back at him.

“I understand that you may take over Madame Altier’s business?” Jerome enquired. The local chat line operated well. Fliss wondered how much he knew and how much he would like to know. She told him how things stood. There was no sense in taking sides in petty village arguments. As a newcomer she determined to be even-handed with everyone.

“Jerome, what’s happening about the food for the ducasse? I remember what you said about M. Demille.” Harriet changed the subject.

“He is an old bag of hot air,
comme
d’habitude
,” answered Jerome. “I’ve got the contract, but I’m doing all I can to show them that the menu will be good.”

“Any clues?” asked Harriet.

“No, not even for you!” He smiled. “It’s a surprise so that everyone will be impressed. Are you helping with the decorations again?”

“Yes, the A.E.P. committee are doing it as usual. Hey, perhaps you would help too?” She turned to Fliss. “Many hands, and all that.”

“I’d love to help, but what am I letting myself in for?”

Harriet went on to explain.

“The whole village turns out for a long afternoon and evening of games, drinking, feasting and music with fireworks to finish. A group of the men put up a large marquee, or
bulle
as it’s called here, for the tables and chairs. The women decorate it all with a colour theme.”

Fliss had become aware that some things were women’s work in this small community, but chosen to accept this.

“The date appeared in the newsletter that arrived in the letter box, at the bottom of the steps, last week.”

The village did not own its own bulle. There was a call for some of the farmers to take a trailer across to the next village to collect one. They were to erect it too. That was men’s work.

“There’s a meeting next Tuesday evening to organise everything. Will you come along?”

“I’d love to,” answered Fliss.

“It’s in the Salle des Fètes at 19.30. Shall I come and call at your house for you and we can go in together?”

“That would be great,” said Fliss. “I am getting more confident, and know a few people better, but that would help,” she added.

“Well, I must make a track now,” Harriet said to the room in general.

“Do you want some eggs?” Jerome asked. “I’ve got salad leaves you can have, too, if you like. Would you like some, Fliss, or would Madame Misery disapprove?”

“That would be great. Thank you,” she responded, ignoring the jibe.

Jerome went to fetch his offerings asHarriet reiterated her plan to call for Fliss and left.

“Harriet is so kind,” Jerome stated, after she left. “A good friend. Things have not been easy for her. It took a while before she was accepted by some around here.”

“I’m sure,” said Fliss guardedly.

“There were a difficult couple of years for her. Valentine died and since then she has been on her own, but she joins in with the village life and the old biddies seem to accept her now. She pops in to see us here regularly.”

‘That might not endear her to all,’ Fliss thought to herself.

“I must go now too,” she said. “Thank you for these.”

“Let’s hope they don’t get you into trouble.”

“I’ll manage!” Fliss smiled back, nodding her understanding.

When she arrived back at the house she told Madame Marie who gave her the produce.

“Hmmph!” Madame frowned. “We don’t need his charity or anything from his scruffy kitchen.”

“Well these are from the garden, so they’ll be fine, and we can make use of them,” said Fliss, heading for the fridge.

*

After Fliss met Harriet she contacted Jo and asked her if she was free to come over for a visit.

“The weekend of the ducasse would be ideal,” she said putting forward her full proposition during a long and lively telephone call.

Jo, rapturous at the idea, encouraged Fliss to make prior agreement with Madame Marie. Arrangements were made for her to stay at the B and B, since they had the room. The business was busy, but Madame closed the weekend of the ducasse so they could enjoy themeslves without having to consider the needs of guests.

Harriet rang the bell on Tuesday as she had said. Together, she and Fliss went to the meeting to arrange the ducasse. Jerome did not go but several others were there. She already knew a few people. M. Demille; several older ladies who always helped with everything; Jean Christophe and his brother Pascal; the older Augustin brother, Alexandre as well as herself with Harriet were the full complement.

Fliss and Harriet were among the first to arrive. One of the ladies brewed coffee and distributed it. Another, Claudine, had made biscuits. As each person entered the little hall they each greeted the assembly with kisses and handshakes, before taking a seat around the tables, and so it took a while before the meeting got underway.

Arrangements were made for the erection of the bulle and jobs discussed and distributed. Fliss found it difficult to follow all the details of the quick discussion. There seemed to be a long talk about something to do with drinks on offer. After a lot of time, the decision was taken to go with the same as the previous year.

Fliss smiled inwardly. Here, some people desperately needed to have their say and appear important in this small community but Fliss found it charming, albeit amusing. Jean Chri glanced at his brother, Pascal, before catching Fliss’s eye and smiling at her. He understood her thoughts. As she lowered her gaze pink climbed around her neck and her throat went dry.

Tasks were sorted, the food situation discussed and who was to serve decided. Others were shopping for table cloth rolls and napkins. Jean Chri and Pascal would ask a couple of others to help them with construction of the bulle.

Fliss had the job of making the small decorations for the centre of each table with Harriet. This involved little vases that needed covering somehow. They needed to acquire flowers for them.

“We’ll either ask people if we can raid their gardens, or it might be charming to have wild flowers,” Harriet said, as an aside to Fliss.

“It might make an impression to have small flags with the village sign on to go in the vases too? People who come from other villages would see,” Harriet suggested.

The hour was late when the formal part of the meeting concluded and Fliss expected people to drift away home. Next, to her surprise, someone produced glasses and a couple of bottles of wine with a plastic box of mixed crisps and snacks. People stood to chat and share news. Fliss found herself, with Harriet, talking to the group of older ladies. It felt good to be part of the village but she realised how small and conservative their world was. While delightful in one way, Fliss realised that she must not overstep a line and shock their morals.

Soon people tidied up and washed glasses and cups. After helping, Harriet said her goodbyes.

“Are you OK if I pop off now?”

“Yes. Thank you. I’m fine. It’s time for me to make a move too.”

As she collected her jacket, Jean Chri approached. His brother had left too. He asked how she was getting on.

“I haven’t seen you for a while,” he said.

“I’ve been so busy,” she answered. She was aware that Claudine’s eyes were upon them. She had to be careful. He was a married man and too much interest between them would be noted with ease.

She turned towards the door but found she was leaving at the same time as Jean Christophe. No valid reason to delay her departure came to mind, so they walked down the steps together. The only light came from that reflected from the spotlights on the church tower and from the glow of the moon and stars. It was as black as the inside of Madame Marie’s coal scuttle until Fliss got her night vision. The ground was uneven and she trod carefully and slowly.

“Are you alright? These steps are treacherous.” Jean Chri placed his hand under her elbow for support, drawing her closer. It seemed natural.

“Thanks,” Fliss said huskily.

With a loud creak, the door to the
Salle
opened and light flooded down upon them. She pulled away as other people arrived to descend the steps, Fliss turned and fled, calling her goodbyes over her shoulder.

*

“Éric, I need you to get the salad leaves picked and the tomatoes washed and put in the fridge,” Jerome said. “I’m busy with dressing these salmon. Can you pass me the bag of lemons before you go out?” He added this, waving his hand in the general direction of the ingredient he needed. “Oh, and can you bring me in a few sprigs of parsley?”

He was very busy and could have done with extra help today, of all days, before the ducasse as well as on the day itself. Éric had the capacity for limited help. Preparing a meal for so many was always hard work but this year Jerome was trying to impress, and so had taken on an awful lot.

‘I’m blown if M. (flaming) Demille and his crew will have anything to complain about. As for Madame Misery Altier, well, the less said the better. That Fliss is a breath of fresh air and maybe she will breathe sense into the old bat!’

Jerome was getting increasingly agitated, and wished Éric was more up to the job. As he stood back he exhaled a deep sigh, put his knife down and stood away from the table. He inhaled oxygen to calm himself and was beginning to feel better when he heard the front door bang.

“Hello?” called a voice he was starting to recognise. “Is anyone there?”

He hurried through to the bar to find Fliss who asked, “Do you need any help? I’ve got a free couple of hours before my friend arrives.”

“That would be marvellous but I don’t want to get you into trouble with Madame!”

“Oh that’s OK,” Fliss answered. “I’ll tell her if she asks.”

“Come through to the kitchen. I’m pleased to see you.”

The next hour and a half passed pleasantly enough with Fliss acting as sous chef to Jerome’s instructions. He was also pleased to have a gossip. Madame Altier and her plans for the future, Jean Christophe and his wife’s unexpected exit and what Fliss was hoping for, all came within his scope. Fliss tried to be non-committal. Jerome started to tell her about his situation with Éric.

“Some people in this village think my relationship with Éric is not correct or as it should be but they couldn’t be further than the truth,” he maintained. “People wonder why he didn’t go to live with his father when he left the army and was ill. As a boy, his old man was quite cruel to him but I’m not telling all the truth. Why should I? It’s not their business, although they would like it to be.”

Fliss peeled and chopped carrots, mumbling a response, not wishing to voice any opinion at that moment.

“They don’t know that his father used to lock him in the shed when Eric was young and displeased him. Éric has told me it was dark and damp and he could hear mice or rats in there. He used to be very frightened,” Jerome explained.

“That must have been horrible for a sensitive little boy,” Fliss agreed.

“
Absolument
! There is no way that he wanted to go back there, as you can imagine. I couldn’t allow it. Hélène left with the children so I had the space. People think I took him in for his illness payments. That’s rubbish too. It costs me more to look after him,” Jerome clarified.