A Year at the French Farmhouse(93)

‘Oh.’

‘No. Not completely. It was the fact that I didn’t talk to you about it. That I didn’t let you in. We’d been… well, I think we lost a bit of closeness because of that. Because I was keeping myself to myself too much. Maybe drinking too much…’

‘Oh, Ben, it wasn’t that bad.’

‘Well, it wasn’t ideal.’

‘Well, no. I’ll admit. But you know, I suppose I did spring it on you rather out of the blue. The whole eBay thing.’

‘Ha. Well, kind of out of the blue. And kind of right in the middle of the blue. It wasn’t as if you’d never mentioned France before.’

‘No, I think I may have spoken about it once or twice,’ she agreed.

There was a silence.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Because maybe if you’d known I was just… well, clinging on at the time. That I was working from home more and more because sometimes it was too much. Well, maybe things might have been different.’

‘Oh Ben…’

She was silent for a minute, wondering if she could take the risk. To actually say it, openly. To risk being hurt all over again. ‘Ben,’ she said, ‘look. It’s not too late. You can still… I want you to come here. We can work on your anxiety, we can start afresh. It’s beautiful here… lonely, but… Please come.’ She felt her palms tingle.

He was silent on the other end.

‘But you said you were building a new life,’ he said at last.

‘Only because I had to, not because I wanted to…’

Minutes later, she was on the phone to Emily. ‘So I did it,’ she said. ‘I asked him. Directly. Just like you said.’

‘Atta girl! And?’

‘And nothing. He barely said a word. It was as if…’ Lily drew in a big, shuddering breath ‘… as if I’d never meant anything to him at all.’

‘Oh Lily…’

‘No. It’s OK, it’s OK. Because I know now. At least I have some sort of… ending to it. I don’t have to… wonder any more.’

Emily was silent. ‘I am so, so sorry,’ she said. ‘I never should have…’

‘No, you were right,’ said Lily. ‘I was too afraid to ask. And maybe it was because I was scared of the answer. Perhaps I knew all along.’

Another silence.

‘So he said no?’

‘Worse. He put the phone down.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’

‘No,’ she said, almost fiercely, rubbing her fist across her eyes. ‘That’s enough. I can’t let him ruin this… I’ve got to…’

‘OK, change of subject,’ Emily said, understanding completely. ‘Tell me about this party. I want to know everything you’re planning for it. When exactly is it? What should I wear? And will the illustrious Frédérique be making an appearance?’

Lily felt better once she’d hung up an hour or so later. There was something wonderful about talking to Emily on the phone – text messages and emails just didn’t give her the same lift, and when she did a video call, she just became obsessed with looking at her own face.

She wandered down to the kitchen, still only dressed in her pyjamas, to find a man on a ride-on mower bumping up and down her garden. Claude had obviously decided to seize the day and come over to mow earlier than planned. She raced back upstairs and pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a pink fleece, washed her face and tied her hair back neatly. Feeling vaguely human, she walked out of the back door onto the sunny terrace and waved in his general direction.

It took her about ten minutes to get him to notice her over the noise of the mower, but she finally managed to persuade him in for a cup of coffee mid-mow. By the time he arrived at the door, covered in cuttings and smelling of grass and earth and petrol, she was already pushing down the plunger on her cafetière and had set out a plate with a couple of pain aux raisins for him.

‘Oh, I must not,’ he said, indicating the pastries. ‘I am getting fat, my wife say.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lily said, helping herself to one. ‘Surely these aren’t too bad for you?’ After all, they contained raisins. It was practically one of her five a day.

Claude laughed and patted his stomach. ‘Ah, yes. But my wife she is very careful with my ’ealth.’

‘Well, she must love you very much,’ Lily said.

‘Oui.’ Claude nodded, rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee. ‘Mais peut-être a bit too much, eh!’ He sat down at the table and eyed the pastries hungrily.

‘Sure that’s not possible,’ she said.

They looked at each other for a moment, then it got a bit awkward.

‘I’m having a party on the twenty-ninth,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you and your wife…’

‘Florence.’

‘Florence would like to come?’

‘Eh bien, oui, merci.’ Claude smiled. ‘I will tell ’er.’

He was almost finished with his coffee and Lily knew she had to strike while the iron was hot – if he disappeared into the garden she’d probably not have another chance to talk to him properly, one on one.

‘Actually, Claude,’ she said, slipping into the seat opposite, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’