A Year at the French Farmhouse(66)

‘Une vache, c’est une “cow” oui? MEUH!’ He lifted his fingers into the shape of horns and pawed the ground slightly, then grinned at her.

Lily laughed. ‘Non,’ she said, ‘not a cow…’

‘Per’aps you mean, you are happy that I am not f?ché – annoyed, non?’ He smiled.

‘Yes, f?ché,’ she said. She felt more relaxed after his cow impression for some reason. Ironically, he seemed more human.

He laughed. ‘I am not a man who make anger very often,’ he said. ‘Life is too short, iz it not?’

She nodded. ‘Definitely.’

‘And your friend,’ he added, his brow furrowed slightly. ‘She is not well, Frédérique m’a dit, ’e say?’

‘Oh, she’s fine now. Er… elle va bien,’ she said.

‘That is good.’ He turned back to the wall and began smoothing the paste with his trowel.

‘And Frédérique – will he be coming later?’ she found herself asking.

He looked at her.

‘To see the work, I mean. Pour voir les travaux?’ she added hurriedly.

He nodded. ‘Per’aps,’ he said. ‘But ’e trust me, uh, so per’aps not.’

He seemed to be wrestling with something, and she hoped for a second that he didn’t think she was suggesting his work wouldn’t be up to scratch.

‘Tu sais,’ he began, ‘You know… Frédérique, ’e is my good friend, non? But you are also my friend, now, I think?’

Lily nodded. ‘Oui,’ she said. It was nice to hear him say that.

‘So,’ he said, ‘as we are friends, I should say zat pour les femmes, Frédérique, he is not always such a good friend, uh?’

‘Oh,’ she said. A memory stirred. Hadn’t Chloe said something similar? But Frédérique, seemed so nice – so open. It was hard to understand what could be so terrible about him.

He nodded. ‘Just, er, be careful… fais attention, uh?’

‘Merci,’ she said, feeling slightly awkward. She’d only just worked out that she might have a little crush – a tiny attraction – for Frédérique. How was it possible that Claude had seen through her already? She could feel her cheeks getting hot. ‘Anyway, I better… um…’ She waved vaguely towards the kitchen, indicating that there was an important job to be getting on with.

He nodded, and returned to his trowel. ‘You will not say to ’im?’ he asked as she turned back to the kitchen.

‘Oh, no. Of course not!’ she said.

‘Merci,’ he said. ‘As I say, ’e is a good friend for me, yes?’

‘Oui,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’





An hour later, when she was scrolling on the local selling site hoping to source a decent sofa or two, Claude popped his head around the kitchen door.

‘It is all done,’ he said. ‘You ’ave now a wall in your ’ouse, madame.’

‘Oh, merci beaucoup!’ she said. ‘Thank you so much, Claude.’

‘De rien,’ he said again. ‘And I will tell Frédérique that you wish to talk to him?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘No, I think it is OK.’

He nodded. ‘? tout à l’heure,’ he said. ‘See you later.’

‘Bye.’

Nervous about placing bids online, she sent a message to the seller of some second-hand furniture in Eymoutiers and hoped the online translator she’d used hadn’t let her down. Then, slipping on her trainers, she packed up a few essentials and took a walk to the beach.

Spending time at the lake with Sam yesterday had made her realise how much she’d already missed out on. To live within a stone’s throw of such a beautiful spot and barely spend a moment there seemed ridiculous. She’d moved in part for the beautiful scenery, but had spent more time than she’d care to admit since arriving staring at four stone walls.

Not that she’d want to spend too many afternoons building sandcastles – something she remembered fondly doing with Ty in years gone by, but that had seemed quite a slog yesterday when she’d been handed a bucket and spade by Derek and given her orders.

‘You don’t have to, you know?’ Sam had laughed when she was turning out her fourth.

‘It’s fine,’ she’d said. And it had been. She hadn’t minded.

But now the idea of spending some time on the beach just reading a book or – if she felt brave – perhaps having a little swim seemed much more appealing.

It was Friday afternoon and the beach was busier than she’d seen it before. Families sat on spread-out blankets, children paddled in the shallows. There were a few swimmers making their way up and down a marked-off area. The bar was busy too – people sat on the wooden terrace chatting with one another, drinking coffee or beer. People smoked. There was a general hum of noise – a background of chatter, with screams and shouts of children played intermittently over the top.

It was nice to see the place come to life a little more, but noticing all these people so obviously gathered in groups made her more aware of her solitude than she’d been last time.