Читать книгу Poppy’s Place in the Sun: A French Escape - Lorraine Wilson - Страница 9

‘There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure’

Paulo Coelho

A nap leaves me in a better mood. After wondering what I should take to the Dubois’ this evening, I decide to put Fenella aside for the afternoon and give them a watercolour sketch of the chateau instead. I work from the journal sketch I did earlier, but this time I add the donkeys. They give the picture movement and a foreground focal point. I can’t do anything too complicated in the time I’ve got, but my fingers seem to fly over the paper, and I’m pleased with the end result.

A donkey sticks his head over the hedge and eyes me suspiciously. The dogs dart over, so I go with them, wanting to get them used to the animals. I wonder how Maxi got into my garden this morning. Maybe from the woods at the back. I sigh at the thought of plugging every gap where foxes and cats have pushed up the fence or dug beneath it for their nighttime manoeuvres.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Donkey.” I walk over and offer him the back of my hand to sniff. It only seems polite to say hello, and if I’m going nuts why not go the whole hog? At least this is one neighbour I can bribe to like me with a carrot.

Unfortunately I’ve not got any carrots on me, and the donkey soon gives up when he realises I’m not going to feed him. I sit and watch them trotting around the field and keep a gimlet eye on Peanut, head of pack mischief. There’s an old football in the field, and I watch, fascinated, as the donkeys kick it around the field. Thankfully the dogs can’t see, or they’d be in there wanting to join in, regardless of the fact the football is bigger than they are.

I imagine texting Mum:

“Hi Mum, don’t worry about me being on my own, I’ve got a wolf-dog knocking on my door to give me wake-up calls and donkeys in the next field playing football to keep me entertained!”

Ha. She’d try to get me home and sectioned under the mental health act.

I’m jittery at the idea of facing Leo again. My stomach is doing weird acrobatics now that I’ve finished painting. I’ve never been keen on arriving at social events on my own, and knowing I’m going to face animosity makes it much worse.

I decide to do some yoga to relax before I change, glad I managed to fit the yoga mat in the car. I’m keen to use as many non-drug alternatives as possible to help with the arthritis. I know I’m going to need drugs eventually, but I’m keen to delay the inevitable. I’ve been given some modified routines by a physiotherapist who’s also a yoga nut. I can’t stop my joints deteriorating, but I can strengthen my muscles and give my body as much help as possible. There are poses that help relieve the pain, too. They soothe the knotted muscles that contract as a reaction to the pain and help me to relax.

As usual, Peanut joins me on the mat and executes a perfect Down Dog pose next to me. When I lower myself to do the lying down poses, it descends into the usual farce. I never have the heart to shut the dogs out of the room. It adds to the challenge when you have chihuahuas scaling your legs like they’re a climbing frame or you stretch down to find a Yorkie appearing from between your legs to lick your nose.

As usual, I end up laughing myself silly at their acrobatics and give them all lots of fuss. It makes me feel better, anyway.

Determined to wear the dogs out before I leave them alone in a new house, I put some party music on so we can have doggy disco night. The dogs adore it. They love finally getting my full attention after I’ve been doing boring work all day. Peanut loves to dance around on her hind legs, and Treacle is almost as good, but poor Pickwick has to make do with spinning round in mad circles while woofing his peculiar woof that makes him sound like a toy.

I feel a pang when I remember how Pete used to join in with our impromptu disco sessions, but I try to suppress it – I refuse to feel pangs for someone who can be so cold and so cowardly.

I feed the dogs and then put Katie Melua’s album on loop on the iPad, hoping the dogs won’t howl when I go. Then I make sure I’ve got the chateau sketch protected and slip out quietly, setting off for aperitifs.

It’s a relief when I spot Sophie walking towards the Chateau. I’ve been dreading turning up on my own. Especially given that what I initially assumed would be thirty minutes of awkward chitchat with Madame and Monsieur Dubois is turning out to be a meet and greet with any number of unknown villagers, all keen to check out the latest “big news.” I smooth down my dress. It’s a jersey sundress; I didn’t pack any smart clothes, not thinking I’d need them. But I have added a delicate cream scarf I embroidered with gold coloured thread to dress it up a bit.

My stomach still lurches when I think about seeing Leo again. I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal about it. If he doesn’t like me, so what? He’s only one villager.

Oh crap. I wish I hadn’t been so irritable this morning, but his belligerence tipped me over the edge, and he got the misdirected anger I really should’ve taken out on Pete. Anger I will take out on Pete if he ever answers his bloody phone again. I suppose I could try using a different phone to ring him to see if he answers. But I do have some pride. I’m not a stalker, I just think I deserve a proper explanation.

The idea that someone I’ve been sleeping with, someone I’ve shared my hopes and dreams with and trusted, would actually do this to me … It makes my head ache, like it’s in a vice and Pete’s casually turning the screw.

“Poppy, hello.” Sophie leans in and effortlessly guides me in the air kiss dance, taking the lead like a pro who’s used to gawky English novices. Actually, if she works in the notaire’s office she probably meets a good few of us. “Where are your beautiful little dogs?”

“At home,” I reply, surprised she was expecting to see them.

“Pouff. They would have been welcome at the chateau.” Sophie pouts. She looks elegant, even though she’s only wearing dark indigo jeans and an asymmetric black top, the kind that looks amazing on someone like her but would just make me look wonky.

“They’re very skilled at making me feel guilty if I go out without them.” I grimace, remembering all the synchronised howling sessions I’ve had to break up in the past before discovering the magic of sticking a Katie Melua album on repeat and virtually emptying the cupboard of dog treats to distract them. I’ve tried introducing other singers, but the dogs insist it has to be Katie.

“We could go back and get them?” Sophie looks hopeful.

I hesitate but then shake my head. “No, we’re almost there, and they’d be bound to try and scent a priceless rug or something.”

They would show me up in front of Leo again. It would just add to my stress, trying to make sure they behaved. I’m so glad the village has two vets in the practice so I can choose to see Angeline when I have to take the dogs in.

Sophie seems disappointed.

“You’re welcome to come round for dog cuddles anytime.” I smile. “You can pop in on the way back if you like?”

“That would be nice, Poppy. Thank you.” Her English is perfectly pronounced but has a lovely musical lilt.

“Er, talking of dogs, I had this huge dog knock on my door early this morning.” I broach the subject cautiously, wanting to know what the big secret is before I have to face Leo again.

“That would be Maxi.” Sophie replies matter-of-factly.

Does no one other than me find the idea of an alarm clock dog a little bonkers?

“Yes, but Sophie…” I turn to face her. “Help me out please. I tried talking to Leo about it, but I was in a really crap mood. He just turned and walked off. I really don’t think I was that rude, not rude enough to warrant … Anyway, please can you enlighten me? I don’t understand what I’ve done to offend him.”

Sophie turns to me and meets my gaze, pausing before she replies.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says after a while. “It might help if you know.”

She’s quiet for a while, and I’m afraid she’s changed her mind. Eventually she breaks the silence.

“Leo’s sister Madeline used to live in your house. You know that the house used to be part of the Dubois estate, yes? Well, I assume you do, it was on all your documents.”

I nod.

“Madeline had a little girl called Amelie. Leo adored his niece. He was more father than uncle to her. While Leo lived here, and then afterwards whenever he came back to visit, Maxi used to go to see Amelie in the morning. He’d go early to get a treat before he went off to work with Leo and then Amelie went to school. You moving in must’ve made Maxi think … think that Amelie was there again.”

I look at Sophie, who seems more ruffled than I’ve ever seen her.

“Where do Leo’s sister and niece live now then?” I ask.

Sophie lets out a deep sigh. “They don’t, Poppy. They don’t live anywhere. They were both killed by a drunk driver just over a year ago.”

“Oh God.” Now I feel truly awful. “That’s terrible, and so sad. I wish I’d known. I’d never have said anything to Leo. I would’ve found a dog treat for Maxi.”

Hot tears prick at my eyes. I stop in my tracks, not sure I’m up to facing Leo. I feel more like a usurper than ever. But Madame Dubois wouldn’t have invited me round if they didn’t want me to feel welcome here.

“It’s okay. Leo won’t hold a grudge. Don’t worry about it.”

Huh, why does everyone tell me to stop worrying? More than worry, I feel shame that I intruded on Leo’s grief, however unwittingly.

“Thanks for telling me.” I manage a vague impression of a smile and force myself to keep walking.

“You are very welcome, Poppy,” Sophie replies with her usual musical lilt that makes my name sound exotic.

“You speak English beautifully. You have a lovely accent,” I say, keen to move the subject away from bereavement.

“Jacques likes your accent, he says it is very sexy,” Sophie replies nonchalantly, startling me. I look at her and see a sardonic quirk of her lips that tells me she’s not particularly enamoured of her boss.

“Oh.” I frown, flattered but unsettled. I do want to be found attractive, especially after being dumped, but…

“It is okay, Poppy. He is my boss, but you will be my friend, yes? You can say what you like. I won’t tell tales. That is the correct idiom, yes?”

Her solemn words make me smile. “Thank you,” I laugh. “I have to admit I find him a little unsettling.”

“I know what he is like, Poppy. I have worked for him for two years.” Sophie shrugs. “You would be better to stay away from him.”

“My boyfriend…” My voice tails off. I can’t do it. What sort of friendship starts off with a lie? I lick my lips.

“Is not coming?” Sophie spares me the need to spell it out. How does she know? Then it occurs to me she probably saw me out of her office window, when I was sitting on the bench reading the texts, my face unguarded.

“He told me by text just after I left your office,” I admit, my words tinged with shame. I know I’m not to blame – at least, I think I’m not. But I feel ashamed anyway.

“Merde,” Sophie sums things up pretty succinctly.

“Yup,” I agree. “Merde.”

By now we’ve reached the grand front steps leading up to the chateau entrance.

“If I were you, I’d say your boyfriend isn’t coming after all. Right from the start, if anyone asks, which I’m sure they will.” Sophie’s tone is serious. “Otherwise it will get very difficult, everyone constantly asking you when he’s arriving.”

“Hmm, that’s true I suppose,” I admit, annoyed with myself for feeling ashamed. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It was Pete who dumped me. It just feels like an inauspicious start to my life here. “Do you know who else is coming this evening?”

“I think Angeline is coming, and Jacob and Anya – they’re the Dutch couple who run the café in the village. They’ve lived here for ten years now. Madame Gilbert might be there, but don’t be put off by her. She hates and disapproves of everyone.”

“Why does she get invited then?” I laugh at the mock sour face Sophie pulls. I think behind the Audrey Hepburn perfection there lurks a dry wit and a touch of snark.

I’m definitely a fan of a healthy degree of snark.

“No one would ever dare not invite her.” Sophie snorts and then lowers her voice. “Anyway, she runs the bakery in the village. We wouldn’t want to have to drive to Mirepoix for our bread.”

Thanks to Sophie, I’m still laughing as I enter the grand entrance hall of the chateau. It has an actual chandelier and exquisite tapestries hanging on the stone walls. I can’t imagine living in a place like this. I’ve stayed in a few chateau hotels with Pete, one where our room looked out over the moat, something that thrilled me. Now I remember I think Pete complained about the lack of air conditioning and the smell from the moat, and we argued.

Here in the Dubois’s chateau there’s a huge old tapestry almost covering one wall, its colours still rich and vibrant. It displays a hunting scene and has an intricate decorative leafy border I intend to copy into my journal later on. A huge staircase leads up out of sight. I’m itching to explore. I’ve always loved castles. I could stand forever even in a ruined room and imagine the past coming to life around me in vivid detail. It used to drive my family and then Pete nuts. I was forever being told to hurry up and stop day dreaming.

I was always ridiculed for living in my own world, but for me the daydreaming was magical. I’d hate to live in their cold, one dimensional worlds. I absentmindedly reach out to touch the stone wall, wanting to feel the connection, and I’m mid-daydream when Madame Dubois walks in.

“Bon Soir, Sophie. Good evening, Poppy.” She smiles. “It is a very special place, no?”

“Yes, it’s amazing. How wonderful it must be to live in a place like this.” I look around the entrance hall. “I would love to know the chateau’s history.”

“Leo can tell you all about the history. He’s done a lot of research and created a website all about the chateau and the village.” She smiles proudly. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I must look it up.”

Leo. My stomach lurches as we walk through to what must be their living room, but really it’s a great hall with a minstrels gallery. The fireplace is so huge I could walk into it and not even bump my head.

Leo nods over at me but goes back to an animated discussion he’s having with his father.

Madame Dubois tightens her lips, and instead I’m introduced to Jacob and Anya. They’re in their mid-forties, I’d guess. Jacob is virtually bald and has a strange moustache. It’s the kind villains in the old films used to stroke while working out how best to torture their enemies.

He’s very friendly and un-villain-like, though, and so is Anya. Her white blonde hair masks what little grey there is. I like the fact she’s confident enough not to dye her hair. Their English is very good, too; it comes from ten years of dealing with English tourists who only speak English, they tell me.

I don’t quite know how to respond to that. The ribbing is good natured though, and I’m assured by Sophie and Madame Dubois that Anya’s cakes are to die for.

This is an opinion disputed by a woman I assume to be Madame Gilbert. She snorts with great disgust and glares at me.

I’ve answered all the “why have you moved to France” and “what are you going to do here?” questions. Well, I’ve answered at a superficial level. I’ve said I’m here for the beautiful countryside and sunshine, and that I’m an “illustratrice,” a word I looked up before coming this evening.

“What do you illustrate, Poppy?” Monsieur Dubois asks intently, leaning forward in his chair.

“Just children’s books,” I reply and mentally kick myself for using the word “just.” I’ve got a chance to start over here. I don’t need to carry the labels my family gave me.

“I would love to see your work.” Monsieur Dubois doesn’t seem put off.

“Well, actually, I’ve brought you both a gift. You’ve been so kind to me.” I fumble in my bag and bring out the sketch from between the two pieces of cardboard I was using to protect it, embarrassed at being the centre of attention. “It’s nothing much, I only had this afternoon.”

I present him with the watercolour sketch of the chateau with the donkeys in the foreground.

Madame Dubois looks at it and smiles. “It is beautiful, Poppy. We must have it framed. What a lovely gift.”

The sketch is then passed around so everyone can get a good look. When Angeline sees the donkeys, she beams. “You must paint my donkeys, Poppy. I would love some watercolour sketches to put up in the practice waiting room. What do you think, Leo?”

I’ve managed to mostly avoid Leo so far, although I’ve been constantly aware of his presence and known where he is in the room at any given time.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Leo says, surprising me.

I look directly at him then, our eyes locking and something passing between us. Something too complicated to put into words, but a definite sense that we both intend to put this morning behind us. At least, I think that’s the message he’s sending me. Maybe I’m wrong and he’s planning to send Maxi round in the middle of the night in an attempt to drive me out of the village.

“We’ll pay you, of course,” Angeline says firmly.

“Oh, thank you. I’d love to,” I reply. I sternly forbid myself to offer to do it for free. I could do with the extra income now.

“When is that boyfriend of yours moving here?” Monsieur Dubois asks. Madame Dubois elbows him, none too subtly.

I try to take a deep breath, but my chest is too tight.

“He’s not coming. It’s just going to be me,” I say firmly, as casually as I can fake it.

I can feel the stares and the barely restrained curiosity in the room. I just hope it’s going to stay restrained. I bite my lip and try not to meet anyone’s eye, silently praying someone will change the subject. Anyone? Please?

“Here Poppy, I notice you don’t have a drink. Have this.” Leo breaks the silence and hands me a Kir Royale in a crystal champagne flute. “To celebrate your move.”

“Thank you.” I clasp it tightly, confused. I thought Leo didn’t want me here. I’m half afraid my hands might shake, half afraid I might drop it. His presence has such a peculiar effect on my body that I’m afraid I can’t trust it to do as it’s told.

I can feel the stares still on me, the back of my neck prickling, although I suppose that could be the rash from the hedge-gate incident.

Thankfully Monsieur Dubois takes the not-so-subtle cue from his wife and draws me aside to sit next to him. He talks about all the artists who have come to the Languedoc region for inspiration and about the art collection in the chateau. I’m pleased to find a fellow knowledgeable art lover.

“Maybe there is something in the air, in the quality of the light.” He shrugs.

I’m suddenly horribly sure my little sketch isn’t worthy to be hung next to the other art in the chateau, and part of me regrets bringing it. Although I have got a commission for the vets’ surgery as a result, and I do need the money now.

“’The quality of the light.’ Those are the words of Matisse, although many artists have said much the same thing,” I reply with a smile and am gratified by Monsieur Dubois’s impressed nod.

If only his son was this straightforward and easy to talk to.

“I certainly find the evening light on the hills quite magical,” I say, and it’s true; the hills glow a gorgeous rosy gold, no doubt tinged by the red Rousillon earth. “And the area is so rich in interesting history, too, as well as art. I can’t wait to explore it.”

What little history I know about the area so far comes mostly from reading Kate Mosse’s Labyrinth, which informed me about the persecution of the Cathars. And then one time I accompanied Gran to a talk about the Maquis, the local Second World War resistance who risked their lives to help those fleeing from the Nazis.

They are only two brief snapshots of history, but they show that this is an area steeped in resistance, used to bravery in the face of persecution, whether it’s Cathars defying the soldiers of the vile crusade launched against them from the north or the free French subverting the Nazis.

It seems as good a place as any for me to stand up for what I want; for what I believe is best. It feels like I’ve been battling against people who wanted me to fit in with everyone else my whole life – my parents, my sisters, my teachers who saw daydreaming as laziness. Even Pete wanted me to be a bit more conventional and didn’t like me wearing clothes I’d made myself if we were seeing his friends. He kept buying me clothes with recognisable labels on. Now I’m free to label myself.

I take a sip of my Kir Royale. The champagne is far better quality than the bottle I opened to toast the new house. The light, delicate bubbles dance on my tongue as the rich blackcurrant liqueur slips down my throat, spreading a pleasant warmth through my chest. Odd that Leo brought me my favourite drink. It’s the second time today he’s read my mind.

I glance over at Leo to find his gaze fixed on me. The expression is intense but inscrutable. He seems to be a man of contradictions, but now that I know about his sister and niece, I think I understand him a little more.

“You must show Sophie around the area, Leo.” Madame Dubois grabs her son’s arm, and I almost choke on my drink. I really hope he didn’t think I was angling for an invitation.

“Oh, really, there’s no need,” I hurriedly interrupt. “Jacques the notaire has already offered to show me around the area and give me a guided tour of Carcassonne.”

I don’t add that I’ve absolutely no intention of taking Jacques up on it. I just want to give Leo an easy out that doesn’t embarrass either of us. Not that I think he’s easily embarrassed, but I certainly am.

In the following split second of tension I catch Sophie rolling her eyes, Madame Dubois’s look of alarm and something far, far darker clouding Leo’s expression. The silence must last only a second or two, but the moment feels elongated, almost unbearable. Like I’ve stumbled into the web of something truly awful – it must be a humdinger of a crawly spider. And it appears I’m the only one in the room who can’t see it. Fantastic, just what I need – a crawly spider with an invisibility cloak. I’ve got enough of my own to deal with.

“I would love to show you around, Poppy. I could take you to some of the Cathar castles if you like.” Leo smiles at me, and his face is transformed, the dark shadow vanished. Something about his smile makes me smile back, even though I’m thoroughly confused. I’m mesmerised, like my body can’t help mirroring him, betraying my attraction.

Now I’m confused by both the undercurrents and my body’s reaction to Leo. I’ve only been single for, what, all of two days? I shouldn’t be eyeing up other men already. Should I? Is that just another rule I’m supposed to accept? But I’m supposed to be making up my own rules now.

Still. Pete might change his mind and come, maybe…

I know I ought to speak, but I feel so tightly wound I can’t locate the words.

Thankfully Madame Dubois is far too accomplished a hostess to let the silence drag on.

“That is decided then.” She smiles tightly. “Leo is, how do you say in English, a history buff. He will be a perfect guide for you.”

“Um, okay, thanks.” I give the only response I can in the circumstances.

I would’ve said yes anyway, and I don’t want to upset Madame Dubois. I’ve spied something heartbreakingly vulnerable beneath her iron demeanour. She hid it more quickly than Leo. The Dubois family have been so kind to me it would be rude to refuse.