Love in a Warm Climate

by Helena Frith-Powell

  “We’ve heard so much about you,” says Lucy.

  “Did you really sleep with Scarlett Johansson?” asks Carla, shameless as always.

  “Who’s she?” laughs Johnny and puts his arms around my shoulder.

  Sarah looks amazed. “God you really are gorgeous,” she says, clearly refreshed with wine already. “Even more gorgeous than on telly.”

  I interrupt her before she embarrasses herself any more. “What would you like to drink, Johnny?”

  “I suppose asking for a beer in a vineyard would be seen as very bad form?” he replies.

  “Not at all.” I go off to get him his beer, leaving him in the hands of my three friends.

  In the kitchen my mother is preparing smoked-salmon blinis, sausage rolls and something that looks like guacamole.

  “How are you?” I ask her as I walk over to the fridge.

  “Alive,” she says. “Alive and cooking.” Then she collapses with laughter. She was always very good at laughing at her own jokes, I suppose someone has to.

  I go back and join Johnny. The girls see my return as a sign to push off and leave us alone.

  We sit at the table and eat something indescribable containing avocado and red peppers, but which tastes great. I see Colette and Calypso dancing together. Tim and Carla look as if they’ve struck up a deep and meaningful discussion about tennis, so he’s happy.

  “You’ve got a lovely bunch of friends,” says Johnny.

  “I expect this isn’t really the sort of party you’re used to,” I laugh.

  “I hate all those parties,” he smiles. “I’m much happier somewhere simple, with honest people around me. But sadly if I want to make a career out of films, that’s where I have to be.”

  He pauses for a moment and takes my hands in his. “So Cunningham, have you thought any more about what we talked about? About moving out to California and running a vineyard there?”

  I sigh. He has that sort of desperately expectant look the children have when they’re asking me if they can go on a sleepover but they know the answer will be no. I hate to do this, but I can’t move to California, I’ve only just got to grips with the vineyard here and it just feels, so, well, wrong.

  I’ve been agonising over it since the fire. My first instinct after Jean-Claude’s confession was just to pack up and go to California. For a while I was really set on it. But something just didn’t feel right. I kept trying to convince myself it was right, telling myself how lucky I was to have Johnny and the offer of a vineyard and how everything would work out, but I didn’t ever feel truly comfortable about it.

  “I’m sorry Johnny,” I tell him. “It’s a lovely idea, but I just can’t. For a start I love it here; I love the village, the life, even the smell of the earth and, of course, the people.”

  As I say that word I remember Jean-Claude and I feel like someone has just punched me.

  “The kids are settled,” I go on. “With everything they’ve been through I don’t want to unsettle them again so soon. And you would hardly ever be there, what with your career and always travelling around. I can just imagine sitting in some Californian vineyard alone and feeling a long way from home.”

  I was worried the alcohol would make it more difficult to see what the way forward was but it has given me more clarity than I normally have. This job is clearly ideal for me.

  Johnny takes a slug of his beer but doesn’t speak.

  “Johnny, I’m so sorry, you know how much I care about you. But I’m just not ready to uproot and move on.”

  “Okay, Cunningham. Well, is there any point in my being here?”

  He is being what Edward calls ‘grammatic’.

  I smile. “I think there is. It’s a great party and for once you don’t have to fly off anywhere. Why don’t you stay the night?”

  He looks rather surprised. “Well, if you insist. OK gal, can I ask my pilot to join the party and kip down somewhere? And where are those beastly children?”

  I watch him as he calls his pilot. He is so glamorous and gorgeous, and without him in it, my life is far less interesting. But that doesn’t mean I want to marry him and move to California. My heart is at Sainte Claire; there is no way I can just leave here now. Maybe I can convince him to stick around here a bit more.

  “Johnny,” I say when he gets off the phone. “I think you’re amazing, and you, well, you wanting to be with me has made such a difference to me at what was the lowest point of my life, and self-esteem,” I begin. “You really helped me through this time and I’ll never forget that. Life throws at you many things…” I smile

  “But very few friends,” he finishes the sentence for me and smiles. “That’s enough talking Cunningham, let’s dance.”

  I get up and we move on to the makeshift dance-floor. The band is playing ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, it feels good to be moving. The kids spot Johnny and join us, Edward already dances like a boy, I mean he is a boy of course, but in that way that boys are all arms and legs jutting out. Johnny twirls the girls around and they squeal with delight. Emily has a great sense of rhythm, unlike her mother.

  We dance on with them for another half hour or so, before my mother comes to take them off to bed, which she had promised to do. Johnny and I kiss them goodnight. They are exhausted and don’t protest too much. On our way out of the house he takes my hand.

  “I could get used to this Cunningham,” he says. “Maybe we should think about a compromise?”

  I smile and nod, touched but unsure of what to say. “Let’s go and catch the end of the party,” I say.

  The band is playing ‘You look beautiful tonight’, Johnny takes me in his arms and we dance slowly. It feels good to be close to him, to feel his warmth and inhale his smell.

  I see Carla and Tim dancing too out of the corner of my eye, as well as Kamal and Sarah. Lucy is chatting to one of the young Spanish grape-pickers, maybe she’s plotting a sequel to her book. There is a full moon bathing the scene in diffused light. It is hard to imagine anything quite so idyllic. For some reason my mind flashes to Jean-Claude, I wonder if he’s enjoying the moonlight, if he’s alone and if he’s thinking about us.

  “A penny for your thoughts Gal?” asks Johnny, looking down at me with an expression filled with affection.

  I have to move on from Mr Fox, there is nothing to be gained by dwelling on him. This is the new Sophie, independent and strong, ready to go it alone, and to take decisions that will be best for her. “I was wondering how difficult it would be to get a Hollywood star into bed?” I grin.

  Rule 26:

  Sex is just like any other sensual pleasure, be it eating or drinking: it is not to be taken too seriously

  The French Art of Having Affairs

  “Noooooooooooo!”

  I think I can hear the scream, but am not even sure it is coming from me. It is as if my ears are blocked and my brain has frozen. In fact, nothing seems real. I am somehow removed from the scene in front of me, which is happening in slow motion.

  I can do nothing to stop it. I run but I can’t get there in time. The car brakes and there is a thud as it hits Edward and it skids to a halt, crashing into the fountain. My son is thrown through the air and lands on the other side of the road; the side he was trying to get to.

  This is not a nightmare. I am awake. It has happened. My little boy is lying apparently lifeless on the ground; someone is phoning an ambulance. I am running towards Edward as fast as I can but petrified of what I will find there.

  If only I hadn’t gone back to see where Wolfie was, if only I hadn’t stopped to send that text to Sarah, if only the children had been gripped by the television programme they were watching instead of deciding to go to the bakery, if only we had never moved to France… If only a million things.

  I get to him and kneel down. He is lying as if asleep, with his arms by his head and his legs folded to one side. At least I made him wear his Spiderman helmet, although I think I can see a crack in it.

  “Please let him be
alive,” I weep. “Please God, please, please.”

  I put my hand gently on his chest, he is warm; I think he is breathing, but I can’t really tell. I long to scoop him up in my arms but remember you’re not meant to move people.

  “Is Edward all right?” Emily and Charlotte are next to me. Emily starts weeping when she sees her brother. I can’t answer.

  The ambulance arrives. Paramedics jump out like storm-troopers and surround my boy. A policewoman puts a blanket over my shoulders. In spite of the heat, I am shivering. There is a lot of activity on radios or walkie-talkies, I have no idea what is going on, I am desperate for any news at all but they are all busy. The girls cling to me watching it all.

  “He has head and chest injuries,” says the policewoman next to me after a briefing from one of the ambulance-men. “They are going to air-lift him to Montpellier. You can go with him.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “It is too early to tell, but children are stronger than we think. Is there anyone who can look after the girls while you are gone?”

  I take my mobile phone out and call Calypso. There is no reply. I try Audrey, then remember she is away in Paris. I try Colette, Peter and even Agnès. No joy. Bloody hell. There is only one person left.

  “I saw the helicopter,” says Jean-Claude. “What is going on?

  “Edward was hit by a car,” I say quickly. ‘They are air-lifting him to hospital. I can’t get hold of anyone else; could you please look after the girls for me?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Edward is being lifted carefully into a dark-blue plastic stretcher and strapped in. It is adult-size and his little body only takes up less than half of it. I am led to the ambulance and sit next to him. He is looking pale. I have one girl on each knee.

  “I need you to be very brave,” I say. “Edward needs me to come with him, I need to be there when he wakes up, so he won’t be scared.”

  “Who will keep us?” asks Charlotte. “Please not Agnès.”

  “When will he wake up?” asks Emily.

  “Not Agnès,” I say, avoiding Emily’s question. “Jean-Claude will take you home and I will be back as soon as I can. I’ll call you as soon as we get to the hospital.”

  “Okay, Mummy,” says Charlotte. “We will be brave.”

  Emily starts weeping hysterically. I try to console her but it’s hopeless.

  “We need to go,” says the ambulance-man. “We have to get there as quickly as possible. The helicopter is waiting in a field up the road for us.”

  “Come on, ma puce,” says Jean-Claude, who has abandoned his car in the middle of the road and is outside the ambulance. He coaxes Emily out and into his waiting arms.

  “Thank you,” I mouth to him as Charlotte joins them, the first contact we’ve had since he told me about the plot his brother cooked up. The door closes and the siren goes on.

  “Hey baby,” I say to Edward.

  “Hey Mummy,” I imagine him saying as I look at his little face, and I can’t help but wonder if I will ever hear his voice again.

  Three hours later I am sitting in a room in the Lapeyronie Hospital in Montpellier. Edward is being operated on for what they call a ‘closed traumatic brain injury’. They are hoping there is only ‘primary damage’ to the brain, but are worried about a haemorrhage and potential secondary damage.

  I have never felt so helpless in my life. I feel almost dead. I can just about manage to breathe. The coffee the nurse brought me is untouched. I clutch my mobile phone, as if that is going to give me any news.

  I have spoken to Jean-Claude. He has fed and bathed the girls and will put them to bed in my bed. They will call to say goodnight. He is being wonderful. Maybe I have been a bit harsh on him, after all, it was his brother who was the real impetus behind the whole thing, and Jean-Claude actually saved the vineyard his dastardly sibling tried to burn to the ground.

  I have texted Johnny to let him know what happened, he is back in LA so probably asleep. We had an amazing night; all the frustration and waiting of all those years finally over. I don’t think we slept at all. We made love and laughed and talked and just enjoyed being with each other. But when it was time for him to go, neither of us was too upset. We were both happy it happened, but his life is in Hollywood in his world of films and glamour and glitz, however much he pretends to hate it. And my life is here.

  “Soph.” I hear a door open. I look up. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see anyone in my whole life. “Thank God I was in Paris when I got your call, and able to jump on a plane,” says Nick.

  I get up and throw my arms around him. For the first time since the accident I let myself cry, really cry. All the fear, the angst, the sorrow, it all comes out, and before long Nick’s shirt is soaked. He strokes my hair and makes soothing noises. It feels good to be close to him again, good to breathe in his odour. A bit like coming home.

  “No news yet?” he asks when I have calmed down.

  I shake my head and go back to my plastic chair.

  “How do the doctors seem?” says Nick, leaning against the wall.

  “Great, they’re all great. Oh Nick, I feel so, so… God, why wasn’t I there?”

  I start crying again.

  “Shhh. There, there, Soph. You’re not to blame. He was always cycling off when you told him not to, and you can’t control everything all the time, especially with children. Come on now, you can’t blame yourself.”

  “If this had happened on your watch, I’m not sure I’d be as nice about it,” I say.

  Nick smiles. “Well, there’s no point in blaming you, is there? He’s a lively young lad, you can’t keep him on a harness.”

  “I wish I had,” I sigh. “I really wish I had.”

  My phone rings: Jean-Claude with the girls.

  “He’s going to be fine,” I hear myself saying to Emily. What’s the point in giving her nightmares? He might well be fine; we have to be positive.

  “You go to sleep and I’ll talk to you in the morning. Daddy is with me, yes. I’m sure he’ll come and see you too. Love you.”

  I say goodnight to Charlotte and thank Jean-Claude, who says he will sleep in the spare room.

  “So the handsome Frenchie has moved in?” asks Nick.

  “No, he was the only one around to take care of the girls. Everyone else seems to have left Boujan to celebrate the end of the harvest.”

  I haven’t told Nick about Jean-Claude’s betrayal. It’s really none of his business.

  “How are they?”

  “Emily was hysterical, Charlotte was in control.”

  “Plus ça change,” smiles Nick. “I miss them.”

  “They miss you too.”

  “I’ll come back with you, after, when we know…” His voice trails off. “Shit, Soph, you realise how fucking insignificant everything else is when something like this happens.”

  I nod. I feel like my whole body has shut down, bar the tears, which keep pouring.

  Nick walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Soph, he’ll be fine,” he says in a shaky voice. “He’s Spiderman, remember?”

  I put my hand up to touch his and he squeezes my fingers in his. At that moment the door opens and Edward is wheeled in on a bed. I leap up, desperate to see him. He looks so tiny, surrounded by nurses and with tubes all over the place.

  They put the bed in the middle of the room and smile at us. I look at them imploringly but they say nothing. They put a folder of papers at the bottom of his bed and tell us the surgeon will be here in a minute.

  As soon as they’ve gone I lean over him.

  “Hey baby,” I say. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” says Nick, leaning over the other side of the bed. For a split-second I think he means me. When I glance up he is looking at me, which makes me blush. How could I be so stupid? Of course he means Edward. How egotistical can you get? And at a moment like this too?

  The doctor comes in.

  “Bonjou
r. Shall I speak in English?”

  “Yes please,” I say. “How is he? Please tell me he’s okay, I just can’t bear it.”

  “We think we have stopped any internal bleeding of the brain. But we won’t know until he wakes up and his neural activity is back to normal. We will of course monitor him very closely. Your husband and you can stay the night here in his room; we will arrange for beds. It is important that he sees someone familiar when he wakes up.”

  “So, if there is no internal bleeding when he wakes up, he should be fine?” asks Nick.

  “He’s not paralysed or anything?”

  “Thankfully there was no spinal injury, but there was a severe knock to his skull. If he had not been wearing his helmet he would be dead now.”

  I feel faint. I think about the times they have almost got away without wearing a helmet. Nick makes me sit down.

  “We think he will be fine, that he will wake up and there will be no further consequences of the accident. But we have to be honest and tell you that there is a chance there will be.”

  “How much of a chance?” asks Nick. “I mean, can you give us a percentage please?”

  Our surgeon smiles. “You are on the right side of 50 per cent, but I can’t say any more than that. Please have something to eat, and get some rest. He’s going to need you when he wakes up.”

  They bring in two beds and put them either side of Edward’s bed. Nick goes down to the cafeteria to get some food for us. We share a cheese baguette and a small bottle of red wine. The alcohol calms me and I feel my body slowly starting to relax for the first time in hours.

  “I’m scared,” I say to Nick. “I’m so scared he’s not going to be okay.”

  “He’ll be fine, you heard the doctor: we’re on the right side of 50 per cent.”

  “Yes, but that still means there’s a 50 per cent chance things won’t be okay.”

  “Actually, it means there’s a less than 50 per cent chance, Miss Pessimist. Have another sip of wine, it’ll do you good.”