A Year at the French Farmhouse(105)

‘Thanks, love.’

More people began to arrive, and after a while she drifted through to the back, leaving the front door open for any latecomers.

It was a good turnout. Claude and his wife – who was stunningly beautiful, with long black hair caught up in a casual chignon – a few expats she recognised from the party, as well as Dawn and Clive; Chloé, Chris the translator and his wife, who was just as fluent in French as her husband and was soon nattering away to Chloé with such a flawless accent that Lily resolved to book up some lessons as soon as the party was over. All in all, there were nearly twenty people there; most of whom she knew and many of whom had helped her in some way.

She flitted from group to group, making sure wine was topped up, nobody was left out, and felt a little like a bride at a small wedding – surrounded by people who wished her well, who had already become part of her life, or might well be in her life moving forward.

She’d made up a party tunes playlist on her phone and streamed it through a speaker she’d brought out into the garden. Derek and Claudine danced, swinging each other around in a way that looked a bit precarious to Lily, but that didn’t seem to bother Sam a bit. Even Gabriel turned up – tall, but with a slightly awkward stoop. He was clearly a little uncomfortable, but greeted Lily warmly. ‘So this is the woman who steal my wife!’ he joked. ‘It is nice to meet you at last, Lily!’

An hour in, and the only fly in the champagne was the fact that Emily still hadn’t appeared. But she’d checked the flight times from Limoges and seen there’d been a half hour delay. Her friend would arrive soon, she reassured herself. And probably, any minute, she’d get a call telling her to open some red wine in readiness. It would be fine.

Frédérique was behaving himself, almost too well, and had spent some time speaking to Claude, then Chloé, periodically appearing at her side to make sure she was happy and didn’t need anything. It was almost too good to be true.

And, of course, the moment she had this thought, the music suddenly went off.

People glanced around vaguely, not particularly bothered, and went on with their conversations as Lily walked to her phone to check it hadn’t drained its battery. But before she could reach it, she heard a noise that made her stiffen.

‘Madame Buttercup!’ it boomed. ‘Mesdames et Messieurs, ladees et gentlemens, may I ’ave your attention, please!’ All heads turned in the direction of the terrace, where Frédérique stood, holding a microphone. His speaker had been propped in the living room window and was booming his words out across the garden, and probably to everyone on the beach and beyond.

Lily shook her head and tried to catch his eye. Sam had been right he was going to serenade her! But surely Frédérique realised that it wasn’t something she wanted him to do – particularly here?

She braced herself for some gentle French crooning, a little embarrassment that she could laugh off. And hoped now that Emily wouldn’t turn up – at least for the five or so minutes it would take her boyfriend to lay down a love song.

Only Frédérique didn’t start singing.

‘Lily, mon coeur, come ’ere,’ he said, holding his hand out and flashing his brilliant smile. She walked forward as if on autopilot and he took her hand.

‘I just wanted to take a moment for thees wonderful woman, eh?’ he said. ‘She come ’ere and in no time she change all our life!’

Lily doubted she’d made a difference to the lives of most people here, seeing as she’d only met a few of them once, and others had simply been over to chop down the grass or prevent walls from tumbling down. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I…’

But Frédérique was in full flow.

‘And I fink for this wonderful party too, eh, we should be very grateful!’ he said. ‘And maybe that I will give her the clap. We must all give her the clap – yes?’

The audience dutifully clapped and Lily felt the blush that had started on her neck creep to her cheeks.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Come on, Frédérique, that’s enough.’

‘Ah but, my love,’ he said, still clutching the microphone. Still booming. ‘I ’ave something more to say.’

Lily caught Sam’s eye and had to look away quickly, not sure whether she was going to burst into tears or catch a fit of the giggles. She felt sorry, too, for Frédérique. However misjudged this intervention, it was sweet that he wanted to make her feel special.

She focused her eyes on him. ‘Can’t you say it later?’ she hissed, keeping her face fixed in a smile. ‘I’m really… it’s private, surely?’

‘Ah bah non!’ he said, seemingly forgetting he was broadcasting half of a private conversation for an audience. ‘This is something I want to say for all your friends, eh?’

There was nothing she could do.

She braced herself for an onslaught of compliments; or perhaps the opening strains of a love song.

But what happened next was far, far more dramatic.

Suddenly, Frédérique dropped on one knee. ‘My love,’ he said.

She was stunned into silence. Surely, the man wasn’t proposing. Perhaps it was just a romantic start to some sort of singing routine he’d worked out.

‘A few day ago thees woman she say to me, she want to ’ave a romance that go more doucement,’ he said, ‘more gentle, maybe a leetle more old-fashion, oui?’