But now she’d had to question everything she’d assumed, everything she’d felt. Because she was here, and he was there. And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it without making one of them desperately unhappy.
And Frédérique – not only did he look like the man in a movie she’d drooled over for the last decade or so, but he was also funny and kind. And actually there in a way Ben refused to be. Sure, she’d love to wake up and find out the breakup had all been a bad dream – to find Ben by her side. But even if he turned up now, begging forgiveness, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. In letting her go so easily he’d revealed how he felt about her. Maybe she couldn’t ruin any chance for their future, because there simply wasn’t one.
The hot water spat and hissed as she filled the old ceramic bath, added some shower gel – making a mental note to get some bubble bath next time she was out – and sloshed her hand in until a few bubbles formed on the surface. Then she slipped off her dressing gown and sank into the warmth.
Her shoulders stung where she’d been lightly sunburned the day before, and she washed herself quickly, then sat up a bit to allow them to cool in the air of the tiled room. Originally, when she’d walked home yesterday, overjoyed at the idea of going out for a drink – just actually having something to do in the evening – she’d thought she might slip on one of her favourite dresses.
But Emily’s words had dampened her enthusiasm. Instead, she pulled on a pair of jeans, paired them with a light green blouse and applied just a little bit of makeup. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she nodded. She didn’t look like a woman expecting to be romanced. But at the same time, she’d scrubbed up pretty well – had made an effort.
What she was doing wasn’t wrong, surely? Yes, she had blocked Ben, but only after the stinging finality of his text messages. And if he really wanted her back, or had had any sort of change of heart, he would have found some way to contact her. It was time to move on – it was the only healthy thing to do.
When Frédérique arrived at her door, she was doubly glad she hadn’t opted for a dress. He was wearing navy jeans and a short-sleeved, light-blue shirt, with three buttons undone, showing a hint of tan and skin but stopping short of the forest of hair she now knew lay beneath. The outfit suited him – he looked more Russell Crowe than… well, than the actual Russell Crowe looked these days, but casual at the same time.
‘You look très belle,’ he said to her when she answered the door.
‘Oh! Merci,’ she replied. ‘Um… toi aussi?’
‘Ah, yes. I am beautiful, non?’ He grinned.
She smiled – it was hard to tell whether he was simply agreeing with her, which while a touch arrogant was kind of cute, or whether he was laughing at her French.
‘I ’ave brought my vintage voiture,’ he said, nodding behind him to where a light blue 2CV was parked. ‘We can ride in style, huh?’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ she said. Although bearing in mind the state of some of the ‘vintage’ cars she’d seen on the roads since moving here, she couldn’t help wonder if it would be a rattling death trap. Still, it would be impolite to offer to use her hire car instead.
Typically British, she thought, as he opened the passenger side door for her – I’d rather risk life and limb than be thought of as rude.
Luckily, her fears were unfounded. The Citro?n had clearly been well looked after – the interior was immaculate, and while the seats weren’t exactly comfortable, the engine purred smoothly and the ride felt relatively safe.
‘So, where are we going?’ she asked, once she’d clipped herself in and they’d turned onto the slightly wider road that curved around the edge of the lake.
‘Ah, I know a little place – they serve drinks, yes? But food if you want? And it is perfect tonight for the balcony?’
‘Sounds lovely.’
‘You ’ave the date, too, today yes?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The date – I receive the date for signing of the ’ouse?’
‘Oh. Yes.’ She’d received an email earlier arranging the date for final signing – in just a few weeks’ time. ‘It’s all becoming very real.’
‘Sorry, I don’t understand? It is not real?’
‘No, I mean. It feels amazing that it’s happening.’
‘Oh. Well, I am glad.’
‘It must be nice to complete the sale after so long.’
‘Ah, bah, non! It eez not a problem, eh? But I am pleased that I am completing the sale for to you, Lily,’ he said. ‘That you will stay, huh?’
‘Oh. Thank you.’
‘And pleased too of course for my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She is not well, so she worry about things all the time.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, but this is what ’appen when we get old, non?’ he said, trying to keep his hands on the wheel and shrug at the same time. Which only partially worked.
‘Well, I’m happy about it too,’ she said. ‘It will be nice to feel… Well, that things are falling into place.’
‘But not falling down, uh?’ He grinned.
‘No, hopefully not.’
They arrived in Auphelle, a small village at the far side of the enormous lake, and Frédérique parked his car in an almost-empty car park in front of a grassed area. A small path led down to a restaurant, set right on the waterfront, its balcony extending almost to the water’s edge.
‘This is lovely,’ Lily said, accepting Frédérique’s hand as he helped her negotiate the rather uneven stone steps that led to the entrance. It had been a while since she’d worn heels and she was already regretting it a little. They might make her legs look longer, but the aesthetic was lost when she started to walk – she could barely balance.
‘It izz just a little place that I like to come,’ he said. ‘Zey are very nice ‘ere. And we can sit, in the sun, eh? And look at some of les boats?’
‘Yes, perfect,’ she said.
The waiter showed them to a table on the corner of the balcony that offered uninterrupted views of the water. Despite the parasol over the table, she could feel her shoulders start to heat up in the direct sunlight. She shifted along and tried to shade herself as best she could.
‘You are all right, Lily?’ asked Frédérique.
‘Oh yes. I’m fine.’ She smiled.
They ordered wine and Frédérique spoke quickly to the waiter who came back with a board covered in different cheeses and a basket of bread as well as a carafe of house red. Frédérique poured her a generous glassful and she took a sip, feeling herself start to relax.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is what I came to France for.’
‘You come to the country for wine? Zey don’t have wine in England?’ He grinned.
‘Oh, there’s definitely no wine shortage in England.’ She laughed. ‘It’s this.’ She gestured around her. ‘Sunshine, scenery…’
‘And of course the good company, yes?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said, finding herself blushing.
He laughed. ‘It is joking,’ he said. ‘I am sure you have lots of friends in England? And lovers?’
The word caught her off-guard. ‘Well, sort of,’ she said. ‘A husband. Well, I did have one.’
‘Yes, but you ‘av not brought this ‘usband wiv you.’
She shook her head, desperately holding back a swelling tear. ‘No. It’s… we’re over.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said.
‘Yes, me too.’ She shrugged – perhaps the habit was rubbing off. ‘But c’est la vie.’
‘Yes. C’est la vie. And to new beginnings in France,’ he said, clinking his glass with hers and fixing his intense gaze on her. ‘I wanted to ask you…’
But at that moment, Lily spotted a familiar face over Frédérique’s shoulder. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s Chloé!’
Her new friend had walked in with two other women, all dressed casually but exuding the kind of effortless glamour Lily hoped one day to emulate. Chloé glanced around the terrace then caught Lily’s eye and smiled.
‘Yes? She is ’ere?’ Frédérique said, turning to look.
When Chloé saw Frédérique, her face took on a stonier expression. She seemed to say something to her friends and then walked over to their table.
‘Bonjour, Chloé,’ Lily said standing up and exchanging a brief air-kiss. ‘C’est une surprise!’
‘Oui,’ she said. ‘Bien s?r. You are ’ere for dinner?’
‘Just a drink,’ Lily said. ‘Frédérique… we wanted to celebrate the house sale.’
Chloé nodded, her face uncharacteristically expressionless. ‘Ah, ze house it is done?’
‘Well, no. But we’re getting there,’ Lily said, realising how weak an excuse that sounded, then wondering why she felt the need to have an excuse to be with Frédérique in any case.
‘Bonjour, Fred,’ Chloé said, and exchanged a quick kiss with Frédérique. It sounded odd to hear him called ‘Fred’ – such a plain, normal name. Even so, the way Chloé said it, with her accent, it sound much prettier than the version Lily was used to.
‘Well, I ’ope you enjoy,’ she said, after a brief silence. ‘It is a good evening, yes?’