A Year at the French Farmhouse(22)

‘Oh wow,’ said Lily. ‘This is beautiful.’

A shrug. ‘It eez OK.’

‘I love the whole shabby chic look!’

‘I am sorry, the… what?’

‘The shabby chic, you know – faded grandeur, upcycled antiques. You must have worked hard on this,’ she said, hoping that Chloé might be able to point her in the direction of a decent chalk-paint stockist.

‘Non, this was my grandmother’s,’ said Chloé shaking her head. ‘The furniture has been here since one hundred years. I have done nothing.’

‘Oh.’ Lily nodded, chastened. ‘Sorry.’

‘De rien,’ Chloé said, ‘It does not matter.’

‘Well, thank you. It’s gorgeous.’

‘Oui, I think so too,’ Chloé said with a smile. ‘The whole house is – as you say – beautiful. I am lucky. My grandmother passed it to me from ten years.’

Lily nodded, wishing she had the confidence to accept a compliment like Chloé, whether about her house or her taste or her shoes, without arguing against it, or saying something like: What? This old thing?

‘You would like a coffee?’

‘Oh, yes please.’

‘I will make. Come down since five minutes.’

‘I will, thank you.’

The minute Chloé closed the door and Lily heard her footsteps clip down the wooden stairs, she flung herself on the bed and sank into its feathered eiderdown. She gazed at the window, through which, from her vantage point, she could see a light blue sky, sprinkled with small, unthreatening clouds and just the very tops of buildings and trees.

If someone as beautiful and glamorous as Chloé could run a business here and make it work and be – or at least appear to be – happy and confident, then so could she. She imagined herself wearing crisp linen and elegantly cut clothes, changing up her trainers for heels. Perhaps getting her slightly messy hair cut into more of a chic bob. And lipstick – she should be ditching the dusky pinks she favoured for something vibrant, confident and red.

She stood up and looked in the mirror. Her black hoodie hung off her, shapelessly. Her jeans clung to her thighs in all the wrong places. She rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out a clean top, which brought with it several other items. Some knickers that had seen better days, a diary and a little photo album she’d grabbed at the last minute from her bedside drawer.

She picked the album up, tempted to open it, but knew it wasn’t the right time. Seeing pictures of Ty and Ben, of the three of them as a family, might tip her over the edge. She’d wait until she was feeling stronger.

Plus, she told herself, it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t see them again. Ty was definitely going to come over, and she still had to believe that Ben might come around.

She slipped into the top then dumped here hoodie on the bed before thinking better of it and hanging it neatly over the back of the dressing table chair.

She found a brush and ran it through her hair, tucking it a little behind her ears. Then, reaching into her washbag she pulled out her duty-free purchase – amused to remember that the perfume she’d chosen was presciently a ‘Chloé’ one. Her mascara was smudged, so she wet a finger and ran it under each eye. It would have to do for now. ‘This,’ she said to her reflection in the mirror, ‘is the start of a whole new chapter.’

Then, smiling, she turned and tucked her case under the bed, pulled the eiderdown back into its original position and left the room, trotting down towards the dining room and the smell of freshly ground coffee.





8





‘So, what’s the house like?’ Emily asked.

Lily pressed the phone to her ear, turned slightly, her head comfortably cradled by the feather pillow, and looked around the charming room again.

‘Oh, Em, the B. & B. is lovely – and you should see Chloé, the owner. She’s about our age, but she’s so glamorous, so… so French.’

‘Are you saying I’m not glamorous?’

‘You have your own, unique glamour.’

‘Hmph,’ her friend joked. ‘Anyway, I’m not too fussed about how lovely the B. & B. is – I’m more interested in the actual house. You know, the one you bought on a whim and left your husband for.’

‘Emily!’ Lily felt a pang of guilt. ‘You know it wasn’t as straightforward as that.’

‘Sorry, sorry. Wasn’t thinking.’ Emily was silent for a minute. ‘Christ, Chris is right, I’ve got to think more before opening my gob.’

‘Is everything all right?’

There was a pause, then:

‘Yeah. Yeah. Fine. You know me – always breezy!’ Emily replied.

‘Ha – that’s one way of putting a positive spin on the fact you’re a windbag.’

Emily let out a brief, dry laugh. ‘Takes one to know one.’ But her voice sounded thoughtful rather than amused.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes. Buster’s hurt his paw and he was whining all night. Like having a new-born, only one that weighs more than you and farts like a trooper.’

‘Sounds adorable.’

‘Yep. So I’m a little sleep deprived to say the least.’