A Year at the French Farmhouse

‘Pah! Yes. But it would be nice to sit down occasionally.’


In the end, they spent the next thirty minutes dragging two of the extraordinarily heavy garden chairs in from the newly mowed garden. ‘Let’s leave the table,’ Lily puffed when they were heaving one of them up the single step into the kitchen. ‘I’d rather have to eat on my lap than go to hospital with a hernia.’

‘That sounds like a plan,’ Emily said. ‘But should we drag in a third just in case your boyfriend comes around?’

‘Frédérique?’

‘No,’ Emily said, but raised a quizzical eyebrow at the conclusion Lily had jumped to, ‘although let’s talk more about him later. I was talking about the ridiculously dishy Claude.’

‘Dishy?’

‘I’m trying to expand my vocabulary.’

‘Fair enough. Well, first of all, Claude might be dishy, but he’s really not my type.’

‘Lily, that man is everyone’s type.’

‘Well, he’s easy on the eye, I’ll admit. But seriously not the type of man I usually go for.’

‘Yes, you prefer them slightly more rotund with more of a receding hairline, right?’

‘Ouch!’ Lily said, giving her friend a nudge. ‘That’s a bit mean.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Plus, as far as I’m concerned, I’m not single. Ben and I have been together for over twenty years. You don’t just walk away from a commitment like that.’

‘Um, you kind of have, sweetheart,’ Emily said, plonking the chair down and sliding into it. ‘Fuck, these are uncomfortable.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ Lily said, feeling her throat constrict slightly. She sat down in her own uncomfortable and slightly damp chair. It was heaven to take the weight off her feet, even if it was torture to sit on the hard, metal surface. ‘I know you think I’m mad, but I still think Ben will come round. I just need to show him I’m serious. And maybe show him how great life in France can be…’

Emily’s eyebrow raised once again.

‘What?’ Lily asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re doing the eyebrow thing.’

‘Oh, bloody hell. I need to train myself to keep them still like a normal person. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. Mine’s on my bloody forehead.’

‘Yep. And you’ve obviously got something to say…’ Lily said. She tried not to let her impatience show – not wanting to fight with her friend – but it wasn’t easy.

‘OK,’ Emily said, sitting forward, her forearms on her thighs, hands clasped together, like an interrogative interviewer. ‘I just feel there has to be a point when you decide you’ve given that man enough chances. You’ve got to give him an ultimatum.’

‘But…’

‘I know. You love him. And he loves you. But are you a hundred per cent sure that he knows how much you still want him to join you?’

‘Of course he does – he must do!’

‘But, sweetheart… have you actually laid it on the line – said it openly?’ Emily said kindly.

‘Well, not exactly…’

‘Oh, Lily.’

‘I know. I suppose I’m just clinging on to the hope that he’ll kind of wake up,’ she said, feeling her face get hot. ‘That he’ll come and we’ll be together because he wants to – not because I begged him to.’

‘There’s no shame in begging, you know,’ Emily said, eyebrow arched. ‘It can work wonders…’

‘I know… Well, I know what you mean. It’s just… I can’t explain it…’

‘You have every right to tell him what you want. Tell him it’s now or never.’

‘Ah, I don’t know, Emily. I suppose I’m deluded. I just haven’t given up on it all working out yet without, well, without me forcing anything.’

‘Good! You shouldn’t. But you also need to be realistic. You know?’

‘I know. Just, maybe not just yet.’

‘Well in the meantime if a gorgeous French bloke decides to make a move, maybe you should consider it. Whether it’s Claude or the mysterious Frédérique,’ Emily said, using a French accent.

To her surprise, Lily felt her face flush even more hotly.

‘Ooh,’ said Emily, not one to miss a trick. ‘Lily loves Frédérique!’

‘Stop it!’ Lily retorted.

‘I’m only joking, but out of interest, if you had to choose out of the two.’

‘Of Frédérique and Claude?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, neither, obviously.’

‘But who’s more your type?’ Emily pushed. ‘Go on. I quite fancy Claude, there – see, it’s just a game. I’d never do anything, obviously. But wow, if Chris dumped me I’d hunt him down immediately. So… hypothetically…’

‘Hypothetically,’ Lily said, carefully. ‘I’d choose Frédérique.’ Her cheeks were burning so brightly she wondered whether the house needed air conditioning rather than heating. ‘But that’s all it is – hypothetical.’

The conversation moved on to dinner at Chloé’s and paint colours and where they might get second-hand furniture to make the house more habitable.

But when Lily was making tea later, Emily having dragged her chair back into the garden, and rolled up her trousers in an attempt to attract some sun to her pale skin, Lily couldn’t help dwelling on the question a little more. It was OK to be a little attracted to someone else, especially in her situation. But she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she ought to keep Frédérique at arm’s length.

At least for now.





14





‘Yes,’ he said on the phone. Then, ‘I understand. OK.’

Next to him, Lily strained to hear what was being said, but it was impossible.

He hung the phone up, quietly, and looked at her.

‘Well?’ she said, almost bursting. ‘What is it? Has it fallen through? Do we have to wait? Don’t tell me the sellers have pulled out again?’

‘Lily Butterworth,’ he said. ‘We got it.’

‘We got the house?’ she almost screamed.

‘We are the proud owners of number 32.’ He grinned as she launched herself into his arms.





‘What are you smiling about?’ Emily’s words broke through her day-dream and she snapped back to reality.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she said. ‘Just thinking.’

They rounded the final corner, crossed the bridge over the lake and turned onto the main road through Faux la Montagne. The evening was cool, but it was light and there was no threat of rain. The Nissan bumped up the now familiar road, passing the café with its purple sign. The lights were on and as they passed Emily glimpsed people inside.

Seconds later, they were pulling up outside La Petite Maison.

‘Oh god, I feel like I’m intruding,’ said Emily dramatically.

‘Don’t be silly. Chloé’s happy you’re coming – and she’s got plenty of pot-au-feu apparently.’

‘As long as you’re sure.’

‘Yes, she literally said the more the merrier.’

‘That was nice of her.’

‘Mind you, eating that poor chicken,’ Lily added, with a grimace. ‘Not sure if I have the stomach for it.’

‘I hate to break this to you, but you’re a carnivore, my love,’ said Emily, ‘you had a chicken sandwich for lunch!’

‘Yes, but that was some random, anonymous chicken,’ said Lily. ‘This is… well, it feels different.’

‘The chickens you usually eat are probably scrawny little mistreated things. At least this one had a proper life…’

‘Yes, but isn’t that worse somehow? She was probably happy. Fantasising about the many years of pecking ahead…’

‘You know that’s irrational, don’t you?’ Emily said. ‘Especially as you, Madame, have chosen la French country life, eh!’ she continued, dropping into a faux French accent. ‘It iz what zey do ’ere.’

‘I’m proud of my irrationality. It’s what makes me mysterious and unpredictable,’ joked Lily.

‘Idiot.’

When Chloé answered the door, somehow managing to look elegant and well-dressed despite wearing ripped jeans and a simple black blouse, the smell that followed her from the kitchen was delicious.

‘Bonjour, welcome!’ she said. ‘It iz almost ready.’

‘Hi, Chloé, this is Emily,’ Lily said as she entered.

‘’ello, Emily,’ Chloé said, with a smile. ‘It iz nice for to meet you.’

‘Yes. You too.’ The pair of them went through the small dance that sometimes happens when people aren’t sure how to greet each other; leaning in for a kiss, but abruptly changing course; sticking out a hand for a shake, then retracting it. In the end, Emily just leaned forward and gave Chloé a hug and they both laughed.

‘See,’ she said. ‘We’re friends already.’

Chloé smiled. ‘Yes, so it seem.’

She showed them through to the dining room, where she’d set the table with a burgundy tablecloth and a porcelain centrepiece, fashioned into the shape of delicate flowers.

‘Oh, it looks beautiful!’ said Lily. ‘You needn’t have gone to any trouble.’

‘It iz no trouble, just dinner, uh? We ’ave to eat, and it iz better together. And if we do it, it is just as well to make it look beautiful, non?’

Gillian Harvey's books