A Year at the French Farmhouse(69)

And the thought of a possible reconciliation with Ben – something that she’d kept at arm’s length as much as she could recently – was back at the forefront of her mind.

For twenty years, they’d been everything to each other. Sure, they’d probably gone through periods where they’d taken each other for granted, or snapped at each other, or not spent enough time together. But underneath it all she’d always had a feeling of safety and permanence. She’d felt that, for better or worse, it was Ben she wanted by her side. And she’d been convinced he’d felt the same way.

But now she’d had to question everything she’d assumed, everything she’d felt. Because she was here, and he was there. And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it without making one of them desperately unhappy.

And Frédérique – not only did he look like the man in a movie she’d drooled over for the last decade or so, but he was also funny and kind. And actually there in a way Ben refused to be. Sure, she’d love to wake up and find out the breakup had all been a bad dream – to find Ben by her side. But even if he turned up now, begging forgiveness, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. In letting her go so easily he’d revealed how he felt about her. Maybe she couldn’t ruin any chance for their future, because there simply wasn’t one.





The hot water spat and hissed as she filled the old ceramic bath, added some shower gel – making a mental note to get some bubble bath next time she was out – and sloshed her hand in until a few bubbles formed on the surface. Then she slipped off her dressing gown and sank into the warmth.

Her shoulders stung where she’d been lightly sunburned the day before, and she washed herself quickly, then sat up a bit to allow them to cool in the air of the tiled room. Originally, when she’d walked home yesterday, overjoyed at the idea of going out for a drink – just actually having something to do in the evening – she’d thought she might slip on one of her favourite dresses.

But Emily’s words had dampened her enthusiasm. Instead, she pulled on a pair of jeans, paired them with a light green blouse and applied just a little bit of makeup. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she nodded. She didn’t look like a woman expecting to be romanced. But at the same time, she’d scrubbed up pretty well – had made an effort.

What she was doing wasn’t wrong, surely? Yes, she had blocked Ben, but only after the stinging finality of his text messages. And if he really wanted her back, or had had any sort of change of heart, he would have found some way to contact her. It was time to move on – it was the only healthy thing to do.





When Frédérique arrived at her door, she was doubly glad she hadn’t opted for a dress. He was wearing navy jeans and a short-sleeved, light-blue shirt, with three buttons undone, showing a hint of tan and skin but stopping short of the forest of hair she now knew lay beneath. The outfit suited him – he looked more Russell Crowe than… well, than the actual Russell Crowe looked these days, but casual at the same time.

‘You look très belle,’ he said to her when she answered the door.

‘Oh! Merci,’ she replied. ‘Um… toi aussi?’

‘Ah, yes. I am beautiful, non?’ He grinned.

She smiled – it was hard to tell whether he was simply agreeing with her, which while a touch arrogant was kind of cute, or whether he was laughing at her French.

‘I ’ave brought my vintage voiture,’ he said, nodding behind him to where a light blue 2CV was parked. ‘We can ride in style, huh?’

‘Oh, that’s great,’ she said. Although bearing in mind the state of some of the ‘vintage’ cars she’d seen on the roads since moving here, she couldn’t help wonder if it would be a rattling death trap. Still, it would be impolite to offer to use her hire car instead.

Typically British, she thought, as he opened the passenger side door for her – I’d rather risk life and limb than be thought of as rude.

Luckily, her fears were unfounded. The Citro?n had clearly been well looked after – the interior was immaculate, and while the seats weren’t exactly comfortable, the engine purred smoothly and the ride felt relatively safe.

‘So, where are we going?’ she asked, once she’d clipped herself in and they’d turned onto the slightly wider road that curved around the edge of the lake.

‘Ah, I know a little place – they serve drinks, yes? But food if you want? And it is perfect tonight for the balcony?’

‘Sounds lovely.’

‘You ’ave the date, too, today yes?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The date – I receive the date for signing of the ’ouse?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ She’d received an email earlier arranging the date for final signing – in just a few weeks’ time. ‘It’s all becoming very real.’

‘Sorry, I don’t understand? It is not real?’

‘No, I mean. It feels amazing that it’s happening.’

‘Oh. Well, I am glad.’

‘It must be nice to complete the sale after so long.’

‘Ah, bah, non! It eez not a problem, eh? But I am pleased that I am completing the sale for to you, Lily,’ he said. ‘That you will stay, huh?’