‘Oh, sweetheart.’
‘No,’ she said, almost fiercely, rubbing her fist across her eyes. ‘That’s enough. I can’t let him ruin this… I’ve got to…’
‘OK, change of subject,’ Emily said, understanding completely. ‘Tell me about this party. I want to know everything you’re planning for it. When exactly is it? What should I wear? And will the illustrious Frédérique be making an appearance?’
Lily felt better once she’d hung up an hour or so later. There was something wonderful about talking to Emily on the phone – text messages and emails just didn’t give her the same lift, and when she did a video call, she just became obsessed with looking at her own face.
She wandered down to the kitchen, still only dressed in her pyjamas, to find a man on a ride-on mower bumping up and down her garden. Claude had obviously decided to seize the day and come over to mow earlier than planned. She raced back upstairs and pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a pink fleece, washed her face and tied her hair back neatly. Feeling vaguely human, she walked out of the back door onto the sunny terrace and waved in his general direction.
It took her about ten minutes to get him to notice her over the noise of the mower, but she finally managed to persuade him in for a cup of coffee mid-mow. By the time he arrived at the door, covered in cuttings and smelling of grass and earth and petrol, she was already pushing down the plunger on her cafetière and had set out a plate with a couple of pain aux raisins for him.
‘Oh, I must not,’ he said, indicating the pastries. ‘I am getting fat, my wife say.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lily said, helping herself to one. ‘Surely these aren’t too bad for you?’ After all, they contained raisins. It was practically one of her five a day.
Claude laughed and patted his stomach. ‘Ah, yes. But my wife she is very careful with my ’ealth.’
‘Well, she must love you very much,’ Lily said.
‘Oui.’ Claude nodded, rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee. ‘Mais peut-être a bit too much, eh!’ He sat down at the table and eyed the pastries hungrily.
‘Sure that’s not possible,’ she said.
They looked at each other for a moment, then it got a bit awkward.
‘I’m having a party on the twenty-ninth,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you and your wife…’
‘Florence.’
‘Florence would like to come?’
‘Eh bien, oui, merci.’ Claude smiled. ‘I will tell ’er.’
He was almost finished with his coffee and Lily knew she had to strike while the iron was hot – if he disappeared into the garden she’d probably not have another chance to talk to him properly, one on one.
‘Actually, Claude,’ she said, slipping into the seat opposite, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’
‘Oui?’
‘You said about Frédérique… How maybe he wasn’t a great person to have a relationship with.’
‘I do not remember this.’
‘Yes! You said he wasn’t always good with the ladies.’
‘Ah yes, this. I say this. Oui. Poor Frédérique…’
‘Well, that’s just it,’ she said. ‘I sort of… well, we went on a couple of dates. And I wondered… was there anything I should know? Before… well, we have another?’
Claude looked at her, then down at his mug. ‘I am not sure,’ he said. ‘Frédérique is my friend… and…’
‘But I am your friend, too, Claude,’ she said. ‘And I’m a bit worried…’
Claude smiled. ‘Ah, but, Madame, you need not to worry,’ he said. ‘He is not dangerous, oui? He is just… how you say… a little amorous?’
‘Well, that’s not usually a bad thing?’
He shook his head. ‘No, and I am sorry if I worry you. It is just, for some ladies it become a bad thing.’
‘How do you mean?’
Claude shifted slightly in his chair. ‘I fink it might be better if you speak to ‘im, non?’
‘Look I know you’re uncomfortable, but I won’t mention it to him, I promise. I’m just… well, I suppose I’m scared of…’
‘Of ’aving ’im to break your ’eart?’
‘Oui, yes.’
Claude shook his head. ‘Well, I cannot say that he won’t do this, because I don’t know the future. But some ladies, they ’ave said Frédérique ’e loves them too much. It is too much for them I think? And Frédérique, ’is ’eart is broken.’
‘Oh, poor Frédérique.’
‘Per’aps,’ he said. ‘But per’aps also ’e fall in love a little too easily. Per’aps he need not to dream so much.’
‘Oh. OK.’ Lily sipped her coffee. ‘Thank you for, well, for speaking with me about it.’
Claude shrugged. ‘I ’ope I don’t make problems for ’im?’
‘No, not at all.’
He nodded, then stood and turned towards the back door.
‘Claude?’ she said.
‘Oui?’ He turned and looked at her.
‘I’m sorry. But you say he falls in love too easily. Do you think, when he says he loves someone, well, is he really in love? Can it be real?’
Claude shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, simply. ‘I cannot say if it is real, if it will last. Because things do not last sometimes even when there is love, we know this. But I do know that for ’im, when it ’appen it is very, very real when ’e feel it. Perhaps trop.’
‘Right.’
‘But I ’ave to say, that also when he fall out, ’e fall out.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, ’ow you say, allez doucement – be soft, careful,’ he said.
‘You’re a good friend to him,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Fank you,’ he said, before disappearing back to his mower.
32
She was back in the musty air of the notaire’s office, surrounded by files. Outside the weather was hot. Sun streamed through the windows, showing the streaks on each of the individual panels, where a cleaner had applied some sort of product, but failed to wipe it off.
But it was cool in the office, the kind of cool only a stone building can offer without air conditioning. And it was, at last, happening.
‘And eef I could ask you to signez vos initials, ’ere, ’ere and ’ere,’ said Monsieur Berger, indicating the crossed places on the fourth document in a row.
‘So, he’d like you to sign your initials at the places crossed on the document,’ said Chris in her ear in a low voice, as if imparting state secrets.
Lily avoided the temptation to tell him that with the notaire speaking almost entirely in English by this point, there really was no need for his help. But she held back – he’d been really helpful when looking over the electrical report, and it was sort of nice to have someone at her side other than Frédérique, who, as he was signing on behalf of his grandmother, wouldn’t have been officially allowed to translate for her. She duly placed yet another set of initials where indicated, her hand aching in protest.
‘And ’ere if you could write this sentence, oui, c’est correct, et vos initials…’ continued the notaire, his voice almost a monotone by this stage. Lily didn’t envy his job at all, which must consist largely of guiding idiots like her through legalese and getting them to sign their name over and over again.
‘Bravo!’ he said at last, rising to his feet and sticking out a hand for a shake. ‘Madame Butterworth, you ’ave yourself une maison!’
‘Merci beaucoup,’ she said.
‘Bah, vous parlez bien fran?ais! Je ne savais pas. Vous n'avez peut-être pas besoin d'un interprète, après tout!‘ he replied, speaking so rapidly she could barely recognise a word.
‘Um,’ she said, looking helplessly at Chris.
‘He’s congratulating you,’ he said. ‘On your French.’
‘Oh. Merci,’ she said, blushing.
‘Félicitations, Madame Buttercup,’ Frédérique said once they were outside.
‘It’s Madame Butterworth,’ said Chris, his brow furrowed. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Ah yes! I know this now. But, for me, she is as beautiful as a buttercup, non?’
‘Oh,’ Chris said. ‘Yes, of course.’ He seemed embarrassed.
‘It is OK, Monsieur, she does not mind. We are lovers,’ Frédérique said with a reassuring pat on Chris’s shoulder.
‘Well, not exactly,’ began Lily, but Chris was so red that she wasn’t sure what to say next. ‘Look, thank you for your help. I wouldn’t have managed without you.’
‘No problem,’ he said, shaking her hand briefly before hot-footing it to his Renault.
‘Well, this is a wonderful day!’ Frédérique said, turning to her. ‘My grandmother will be very ’appy, and I am very ’appy that the ’ouse is now yours and you will be living ’ere.’
‘Thank you. Pass on my best to your grandmother,’ she said.
‘And I can now buy you a drink?’ he continued. ‘Per’aps champagne?’ He put his hand on her arm and she felt the familiar tingle.
‘OK.’ she smiled. ‘Why not?’