‘Ha. He thinks he is the king, non?’
Lily hadn’t mentioned the watering can incident, or the fact she’d been caught peeking through the windows. Chloé would never do something like that. She was far too elegant, too put-together. Lily had found herself trying to copy some of her mannerisms, correcting her posture when she was in Chloé’s presence. She’d even slipped on her smartest trousers and blouse this morning in an attempt to summon her inner chic.
‘Do you want me to come to ’elp you today?’ Chloé asked now. ‘For your rendez-vous wiv the lawyer?’
‘Oh, thank you. No, I’ll be fine.’ She wasn’t sure whether turning up with Chloé, who clearly had some sort of grudge against Frédérique, would be a good idea. Plus, the notaire had insisted she employ a translator as part of the transaction; so she’d be fine with the nitty-gritty.
Chloé shrugged. ‘As you want.’ She looked a little put out.
‘I mean, it’s really kind of you to offer. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think… I mean, it’s so generous of you to… and I know my French isn’t… well, great…’ Lily trailed off, noticing that Chloé was looking at her, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
Lily couldn’t operate her eyebrows individually. She resolved to start practising in the mirror. She tucked her wayward hair behind her ears and vowed, too, that she would find a local hairdresser in the next few days to cut it into a neater style. ‘What’s funny?’ she asked at last.
‘You Engleesh and your “I’m sorrys”,’ said Chloé with a smile. ‘You do not ’ave to apologise to me. If you do not need my ’elp, it iz fine.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry…’ She felt herself blush. ‘I mean…’
‘It iz OK,’ Chloé said. ‘You do not ’ave to be sorry for being sorry, uh!’ She smiled.
Lily suppressed the urge to apologise again, with some difficulty, and sipped from her coffee instead, this time ready when the thick, bitter liquid hit her mouth and managing to keep a neutral expression.
Half an hour later, she was in the car, a rudimentary map on the passenger seat and her GPS loaded with the notaire’s address. Only she was beginning to wonder whether she’d programmed it correctly. She seemed to be heading deeper and deeper into nowhere, and unless the notaire was actually a cow, or worked from a barn, she wasn’t sure he could possibly have an office in such a rural and uninhabited location.
Just as she was about to give up – and her GPS had once again lost signal – the road opened up slightly and a cluster of stone houses appeared to her right. They curved around a small grassy area that looked a little like the shape on the map that Chloé had drawn. But Lily couldn’t see anything that resembled an office among the ramshackle buildings, and, with no visible signposts, had no idea exactly where she was.
But relieved at least to see signs of human life rather than just bovine, she pulled up, determined to either find the place, ask for directions or simply turn back and give up. She clambered out of the car gratefully, feeling the cool morning air against her sweaty skin. Sadly, rather than being fresh, the air smelled strongly of cow, which was hardly surprising given that the field to her left was full of brown Limousin cattle, who walked up to the flimsy wire fence with interest and regarded her sadly over their wet, pink noses. ‘Do you know where the notaire is?’ she asked them and they looked at her solemnly.
Then she jumped, hearing laughter behind her.
Turning, she found Frédérique, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. For a moment, she didn’t recognise him. He was dressed smartly in tailored trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, revealing – to her surprise – pretty impressive biceps previously invisible under his shapeless overalls. His brown hair was brushed and had clearly benefited from a little gel, and his beard seemed tidier than it had yesterday – perhaps he’d trimmed it? He flashed his annoyingly infectious smile at her again and, again, she found herself grinning in return.
‘Oh! Hello!’ she said. ‘I mean, bonjour, I didn’t… vous êtes un surprise!’
‘C’est une surprise,’ he corrected. ‘Surprises, they are feminine.’
Seeing as he’d made her jump out of her skin twice in two days, and was unequivocally male, she wanted to dispute this. But she knew better than to argue with the strict rules of French grammar.
‘Oh, une surprise,’ she said. Then, ‘What?’ she asked as she saw his eyes still twinkling with amusement.
‘It iz nothing. Just… en France we do not ask le cows for the directions,’ he said, with amusement. ‘Zey are not so good weeth the map reading, huh?’
‘Very funny,’ she said, feeling completely out of her depth. She wondered what this man – head of the police, top official of the local town – must think of her. First trespassing and now speaking to a herd of cattle. ‘I was just…’ She trailed off, unable to explain exactly what she had been doing. ‘Is this the right place,’ she said instead, ‘for the notaire?’
‘Oui, c’est là,’ he said, gesturing to one of the houses.
By the ordinary-looking front door, she now noticed a tiny plaque, flashing gold in the sunlight. A business premises.
‘Oh,’ she said, feeling, as usual, on the back foot. She wanted to ask him where he’d come from and how he’d managed to appear out of nowhere on a seemingly deserted country road just seconds after she’d pulled up. But as he already thought she was either a criminal or completely mad, she decided to leave that particular question for another time.
They walked together over the half cobbled, half muddy ground and as they approached she could clearly see the lettering on the plaque which read:
M. Jean-Jaques Berger, Notaire
They pushed open the black-painted door to find themselves in what looked like an ordinary house and she was glad, then, that Frédérique was at her side. Without him, she’d have assumed she’d come to the wrong place, despite the plaque, and that she’d walked accidentally into someone’s hallway.
Frédérique then opened a door to their left which revealed a small, cluttered room with a woman sitting at a desk. Its surface, the surrounding floor and several of the chairs that lined the room were covered in manila files and the room smelled suspiciously of cigarettes.
‘Bonjour, Florence!’ Frédérique beamed, and, seeing him, the woman stood up and held both of his hands as they kissed each other’s cheeks.
He introduced Lily and the pair of them were directed to sit on two of the chairs, which spilled their foam filling through cracks in the leather. Minutes later, a man entered, clutching a backpack under his arm.
‘Bonjour,’ he said to Florence, then took his place on a chair next to Lily without being directed. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said to Lily. ‘Always get lost around here. I’m Chris.’ He put out his hand and she automatically extended hers for a shake.
‘You’re the…’
‘The translator, yes,’ he said. He placed his backpack heavily on the floor, then removed his glasses and cleaned them on a corner of his shirt. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, ‘had another signing this morning already over in Eymoutiers, and barely made it.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, not knowing what else to say. ‘You’re English?’
‘Welsh.’
‘Right. Well, nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ he replied. Then, ‘So, do you know what happens next?’ he added in a low whisper.
‘Not really,’ she admitted.
‘Well, there’s a lot of legal jargon, of course. The notaire will see us in a minute and we’ll read through all the paperwork. He’ll go through a number of clauses, and I’ll explain anything you don’t understand. Then you’ll sign…’ He leaned his head close to hers as if imparting state secrets, his hair, fashioned in too spiky a style for his age, drooping in response to the additional gravity.
‘And that’s it? It’s all done?’ she asked, incredulous. It certainly seemed more straightforward than when they’d bought the house back home.
‘Well, for now,’ he said. ‘Then there’s the reports and the waiting, and you’ll get another call in about two or three months for the completion. Less if you’re lucky.’
She felt her heart somersault. ‘The completion? So this is…?’
‘This is the compromis. You’re promising to buy. It’s legally binding, subject to any clauses we insert. You’ll pay the deposit, which, if you back out, will be lost I’m afraid.’
‘But the house won’t be mine?’ she said, feeling goose bumps sprinkle her skin.
‘No.’ He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement. ‘Has nobody explained the process to you?’