A Year at the French Farmhouse(52)

Lily nodded. ‘I hope we didn’t upset anyone?’

Frédérique made a face and shook his head. ‘Non, I do not think people are very easy to offend, tu comprends? But some people, they find it très funny. They say, look at the English ladies, uh? But I tell them, Madame Buttercup, she is my friend; she does not be’ave like that normalement.’

‘Thank you,’ Lily said.

‘But your friend, eh?’ Frédérique added, raising an eyebrow. ‘She like to ’ow you say, she like a drink a little too much, per’aps? She is a bit crazy?’

‘I know. But… c’est compliqué,’ she said. ‘It’s complicated. She is… un peu malade.’

‘She is sick?’ Frédérique looked concerned. ‘From the drinking?’

‘No. Well, yes. But no, I mean… She’s not sick exactly. It’s more that she’s triste, sad.’

‘She ’as une dépression?’

Another female word, Lily thought. Great. ‘Well, a bit. At the moment,’ she said. ‘She…’ But she couldn’t find the words to explain without betraying Emily’s confidence. And she wasn’t sure whether Frédérique would cope with the mention of a cervix over the breakfast table.

Frédérique nodded sagely. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You want that I tell people this?’

‘Oh no! Please don’t tell everyone she’s depressed!’

‘I mean,’ he said, leaning forward slightly, his face only inches from hers; eyes earnest, ‘I mean to tell them that she is not well, that it is pas normal for ’er to, how you say, drink the piss?’

‘To get pissed,’ Lily corrected, with a grin. ‘And yes, please. I mean, if people say anything about it.’

‘OK, I tell them,’ he said. ‘But I tell them for you. Because you are my friend, oui?’ He held her gaze for a moment and she found herself looking away, face flushed.

‘Yes. Yes, definitely,’ she said.

Frédérique stood up decisively. ‘And now you can go back to the new ’ouse, without les ravageurs, the little pests!’ he said with a grin.

‘Yes. Thanks for that again. And sorry about… the bites. Do you want me to… do I owe you anything?’

‘No, you do not need to pay me,’ he said. ‘After all, it iz still my ’ouse pour l’instant, eh. Zey were my petite pests, oui?’ He smiled. ‘But maybe when your friend goes back to Angleterre you can buy me a beer? Tell me about your dessins et your plans’

She looked up at him, his earnest, injured face so open and friendly and found herself smiling.

‘Definitely,’ she said.

He reached a hand out and gently touched her shoulder. ‘And perhaps, Madame, you will solve another mystery for me – eh? ’Ow such a beautiful woman end up coming to zis small place alone?’

It had been a while since she’d been touched. She wanted to say something, to say that she wasn’t available – not like that. But perhaps he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a friendly gesture.

She wanted to say something modest, like, Pah! Beautiful! You need your eyes testing. Or something Emily might say, such as, Do you mind taking your hand off my shoulder. Perhaps even, Unhand me, sir!

But actually, it was quite nice to feel his hand on her shoulder. And she didn’t know what she wanted to say about it.

‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure when Emily’s going. But yes. That would be très bon.’

There was a clatter from the hallway and, as Lily lifted her head to look she saw Emily peeping around the doorway – invisible to Frédérique from her position. She made a little face at Lily, unsure whether or not she should come in.

‘Hey, Emily!’ Lily said loudly. ‘Frédérique, this is my friend, Emily. Emily, this is Frédérique, the maire, the man who is selling the house to me.’

‘Bonjour,’ said Emily, walking up to them and sticking out her hand for a shake. She eyed Frédérique with interest. She’d changed into a pair of white jeans and a red, flowered blouse and looked so fresh and groomed from the shower that Lily suddenly felt sweaty and inadequate in comparison.

‘Rebonjour, Madame,’ Frédérique said, briefly touching his fingers to hers. ‘I ’ear you ’ave quite an experience au marché this afternoon, huh?’ He grinned.

‘That’s one way to describe it, I suppose.’

‘It is OK, I now, I know your secret ah? I will tell all zat this woman, she is not like this normalement. She does not mostly like to drink like the poisson, eh? All will be well.’

‘Well, thank you,’ Emily said, looking at Lily with eyes that told a different story.

‘Well, I’d better go,’ Frédérique said, looking at them both with a wide smile. ‘Bonne soirée, Mesdames.’

‘Bonne soirée,’ they chimed in unison as he left the room.

‘Right, missy,’ Emily said, grabbing Lily’s arm and pulling her into a chair. ‘You have got some explaining to do.’

‘I have’

‘Yes, first of all, what secret of mine is that man going to tell to the entire Limousin?’