by T A Williams
Miss Beech smiled. ‘No, publish and be damned, Faye. Tell them the truth. I was born on 17th March 1934 on the outskirts of Plymouth, and I don’t care who knows it.’
‘So you’re from Devon?’
Miss Beech nodded. ‘That’s right, a West Country girl.’ She looked up. ‘Where were you born, Faye?’
‘Salisbury. That’s almost West Country, isn’t it?’
‘And your father, what did … does he do?’
‘He’s an architect.’ She smiled at Miss Beech. ‘Quite a good architect, actually.’
‘And you didn’t fancy following him into architecture?’
Faye shook her head. ‘I’ve always had this thing about language and the written word. And that’s why I’m here.’ She leant over and picked up the diary with 1956 engraved on the cover in faded gold paint that was peeling off the brown leather. Wiping the dusty little book against the leg of her shorts, she handed it across to Miss Beech. ‘Let’s see how many memories this unlocks.’
Together, they spent a fascinating morning, interrupted only by a volley of barking as a distant bell rang and the postman came and went, and regular visits from Claudette, bearing food and drink. By lunchtime they had barely got through the first of the diaries and a handful of photos, and Faye still hadn’t seen any of the pages of notes Miss Beech claimed to have made, but she had already accumulated a mine of information.
As the hours went by and Miss Beech still showed no inclination to talk about her childhood and early years, Faye decided that she wouldn’t press her at this stage, but would begin writing from 1956. The early years could be added as and when the old lady decided she wanted to talk about them. From time to time there had been a hint of her youth, but nothing of substance. Hopefully, that would emerge later on.
Towards the end of the session, they started talking about Faye herself. Miss Beech demonstrated that her memory was still very good. ‘So, what about Didier? Are you over him now?’
Faye looked up and gave it some thought before replying. ‘I think so, or at least I’m getting there. At first I was angry, then sad, and then furious again. Now I’m just glad it’s all over.’ As she spoke, she was still turning the question over in her mind. No, she couldn’t really say she was completely over Didier, but there was little doubt that here, in such different surroundings, she had barely thought about him for a good while. That had to be good news.
Miss Beech nodded approvingly. ‘We need the downs in this life to help us appreciate the ups, you know. However badly it hurts at the time, it’s all good experience and it’ll make you better able to appreciate it when the real thing comes along.’ She gave Faye an encouraging smile. ‘And it will. Love’s like that.’
‘Well, for now, apart from my dad, there’s only one love in my life and he’s lying on the kitchen floor, drying out.’ As she said it, an image of the man from the lavender farm flitted briefly across her mind, but she made short work of chasing it away. ‘I was just thinking yesterday that even if James Dean came walking in the door, I wouldn’t be in the slightest bit bothered.’
Miss Beech didn’t respond, but Faye could read a considerable amount of scepticism in her eyes.
***
When Faye went back to her flat at lunchtime, having successfully persuaded Claudette that she really couldn’t eat anything more after consuming no fewer than four gorgeous, still-warm biscuits in the course of the morning, she made herself a mug of coffee and settled down to write up her notes.
At around four o’clock, she noticed the sky outside beginning to brighten and by half past four the first rays of sun were peeking through the clouds. The rain had finally stopped and Faye knew what she wanted to do. She put on her clumpy old walking boots, grabbed a jacket, and went over to the kitchen to see if the dog was interested in a walk. No sooner had her hand landed on the lead hanging on the back of the door than Marlon was at her side, raring to go. She was just clipping it to his collar when the kitchen door opened and Eddie came in. He was moving very gingerly and Faye raised an eyebrow as she greeted him.
‘Hi, Eddie, feeling a bit sore today?’
He gave her a smile and a nod. ‘Hi, Faye. Yes, it’s this damp weather – it plays hell with my hip. So, are you taking our friend out for a walk?’
‘Yes, I need the exercise and I’m sure he’s happy to go out. Any suggestions where to go?’
‘Long walk, short walk?’
‘Longish, I think. Say, an hour or a bit more.’
Eddie glanced at his watch. ‘Well, if you want a longer walk, you can turn left out of the gate, walk up to the top of the hill, and then if you turn right just after the big olive grove, you’ll find yourself on the open garrigue. Follow the track and it’ll take you to the top of the hill. The views from up there should be fantastic after all the rain.’ He looked down at her feet approvingly. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got a solid pair of boots. It’ll be a bit soggy up there.’ He grinned. ‘I gather from Claudette you lost a shoe yesterday.’
‘Claudette finally managed to get him to give it up with a bit of bribery.’
‘Here …’ Eddie reached for the biscuit tin. ‘Stick one of these in your pocket. Marlon can’t refuse them.’
‘He’s not the only one. I took one with me last night just in case, and I found myself nibbling it as I walked along.’ Faye wrapped the fresh biscuit in a tissue, wondering how long her willpower would last this time.
She followed Eddie’s instructions and headed up the hill. The olive trees as described by Eddie were unmistakable, their misshapen trunks often thicker than her waist. No doubt they were tens or, more probably, hundreds of years old. She turned off as instructed and soon they were splashing along a rough track that led in the direction of a scrappy clump of trees on the hilltop.
Eddie had been right about the view. The air was crystal clear after the rain and Faye could see all the way across a wide swathe of vineyards, punctuated by the stunning purple lines of the lavender fields, to the hills and, from up here, she could clearly see high mountain peaks in the far distance. She breathed deeply, picking up a heady mixture of rosemary and wild thyme.
After a while she came to a pitted limestone boulder at the side of the track. Reaching down with her hand, she found the rock already dry to the touch, so she stopped for a brief rest. It was a charming place, the sun warm on her skin, and Faye felt glad to be alive.
Marlon, after running wild through the scrub, returned to her side and sat down close enough for her to feel his warmth against her bare leg. His tongue was out and he was puffing like a steam engine after his run. On closer inspection, Faye reckoned she could distinguish a distinct smile on his face. She grinned down at him.
‘Not a bad place to live, eh, Marlon?’
He glanced up and wagged his tail a few times, as if in agreement. Then, two seconds later, he jumped to his feet and shot off across the hillside. As Faye watched, another black shape appeared and the two dogs began to charge helter-skelter through the sparse vegetation. As they did so, she spotted another, taller figure, coming along the track towards her and Faye recognized the man immediately. As he drew nearer, she decided to let him make the first attempt at conversation or not, depending on how he felt. If he didn’t want to talk, then so be it. As it was, he slowed as he drew level with her.
‘Good afternoon.’ He hadn’t stopped, but his pace had definitely slowed.
‘Good afternoon.’ She hesitated. ‘I thought I saw your dog in the woods last night.’
‘About half past ten?’
‘Yes, thereabouts.’
‘That would be right.’ Faye was wondering whether to query why he hadn’t replied to her greeting when he changed the subject. ‘Tell me, are you English, by any chance?’
‘Yes, I am.’ She was still feeling miffed at his failure to talk to her the previous night and maybe he picked up something in the terseness of her reply. Whatever the reason, he stopped and turned towards her, pulling off his sunglasses
. In spite of her best intentions, Faye felt an unexpected and unwelcome flutter as the tiger eyes made contact with hers.
‘Your accent’s really good. I wasn’t sure if you were maybe from the north of France.’
Faye straightened up in surprise – not at the linguistic compliment, but at the fact that he delivered it in English, perfect, fluent, native English. It took her a few moments to react. Finally she managed it. ‘So, are you English, then? If you are, then your French is perfect.’
‘Half and half. I grew up down here, so that’s why I speak it.’ He hesitated. ‘But I meant what I said. Your French is really good.’ Then, as if regretting getting drawn into a conversation, he turned away and looked across at the two dogs who were chasing something through the bushes.
Faye, still digesting the information, decided she should introduce herself. ‘My name’s Faye, by the way.’ She held out her hand towards him. He turned back and glanced down at her hand for a moment before reacting. Finally he took her hand and shook it, not too hard, not too softly, and she felt his tough farmer’s skin against hers. It felt rather good.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Faye. My name’s Gavin.’ With that, he gave a double whistle and he and his dog set off down the track again, leaving Faye to reflect on how first impressions can be misleading. At that moment, her faithful Labrador reappeared and took up station beside her. She reached down and ruffled his ears, still mulling over what she had just discovered.
‘Here I was, Marlon, thinking he was a grumpy Frenchman. And all the time he’s a grumpy Englishman.’
Chapter Four
In the course of the days that followed, a routine gradually began to develop. Faye would sit down with Miss Beech for the first part of each morning and then return to her flat for a light lunch and to write up her notes. Sometimes she would go for a swim in the enchanting sunken pool, surrounded by roses and lavender, the heady aroma almost overpowering. Even on days when the Mistral wind was blowing hard, it was completely protected there.
From time to time she spotted the unmistakable figure of Obelix working in the garden and stopped to chat to him. He explained that Marlon wasn’t allowed in the pool, much to the Labrador’s obvious chagrin, as dog hair and filtration systems didn’t mix.
Faye never saw anybody else using the pool and it felt extremely decadent to think that she had something like this all to herself. As she floated in the tepid water, staring up at the clear blue sky, she reflected upon what was going to happen when her contract here finished. A return to England after sampling this little slice of paradise would certainly come as a shock to the system. All right, she would be returning to a new job in a new place, but one thing was for sure: it wouldn’t be a place of such opulent luxury.
Sometimes she would toy with the idea of staying on down here in Provence, but she was sensible enough to realize that, wherever she ended up, it wouldn’t be in a fabulous chateau with a private pool. No, attractive as it sounded, it was only a dream and dreams always come to an end in the cold light of day.
Most days, she and Miss Beech got together again for an hour or so around teatime, after the old lady had had her afternoon nap. It was slow going and Faye got permission from her to take the box of source material up to the flat so she could go through it, weeding out what didn’t look of interest, so as to save time. She decided to write the book in chronological order, starting with Miss Beech’s first screen appearance, and to concentrate on her career for the moment. Facts about her different film appearances were easy to find and Faye felt sure she could infill with more personal stuff as and when Miss Beech felt like opening up a bit more about her life.
Faye was soon spending most of her evenings and the weekend working on the book. Not, as she told herself, that this in any way interfered with her social life as, so far at least, she had no social life over here. But it didn’t seem to matter. The sun, the fresh air, the pool, her own private cinema, the walks with the dog, and work on the book occupied her time and she was never bored. This all combined to make her pleasantly tired, and she was sleeping better than she had done for ages. Provençal life definitely agreed with her.
While Miss Beech had her regular naps, Faye and Marlon would go for long walks, and she gradually began to familiarize herself with the surrounding countryside. After the rain, the air was full of the scent of wild flowers and herbs once more, the gentle breeze rarely carrying more than the sound of a distant tractor or one of the cockerels at the farm.
On her walks through the rough scrubland on the hilltop, she rarely met anybody and yet, she didn’t feel in the least bit lonely. Marlon more than made up for that, and she and he were soon the very best of pals. In the evenings she would carry on writing or visit the amazing cinema in the basement of the chateau to watch a movie.
The cinema was a real cinema in miniature. It had a dozen velour-upholstered cinema seats and a huge screen that covered the whole wall. There was a remote control to work the lights and volume or, if needed, to pause or stop the film. There was what Miss Beech had described as a “computer thing” down there on which Faye could make her choice from hundreds upon hundreds of movies and she was true to her promise to start by watching all Miss Beech’s films.
One afternoon, while up on the hill for a walk with the dog, Faye was surprised to hear the sound of an engine approaching along the track behind her. It was the first time she had seen a motor vehicle up here. She turned her head and saw a rugged all-terrain vehicle bumping over the potholes towards her. In spite of the intensity of the recent rains, the residue left by the torrential downpours had almost disappeared, except in the dried-up streams and rivers, which were now running with water once more. Apart from an occasional puddle, the ground beneath her feet was almost completely dry and the quad bike was making short work of the rough track.
Marlon, obviously interpreting it as a threat, erupted into a fit of barking as it drew closer, but then stopped immediately as he, and she, recognized the driver, and the four-legged passenger. Faye could see a familiar black shape perched on the rack behind Gavin, tail wagging furiously, and she found herself smiling.
As the quad bike approached, Faye had the opportunity to take a better look at Gavin. His shoulders were broad, his thighs strong and his brown forearms very much in evidence as he pulled up beside her. He was still wearing his same old khaki shorts and dusty trainers. He was probably, she thought to herself analytically, a few years older than her, maybe in his mid-thirties, and there was no getting away from the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous, although his face was sadly lacking in animation. Of course, she reminded herself, whether he was good-looking or not was of absolutely no interest to her at all.
As the vehicle came to a halt, his dog leapt down to greet Marlon who rushed across and stood up on his hind legs, reaching upwards, tail wagging, as Gavin ruffled his ears. Then Marlon and his brother set off across the hillside at breakneck speed. Gavin raised his eyes and transferred his attention to Faye.
‘Bonjour, Faye.’
‘Bonjour, Gavin.’ All very formal.
‘Out for a walk?’
As opening gambits went, it was pretty corny and obvious, but she sensed this was costing him some considerable effort. Remembering what Obelix had said about the accident that had killed his brother, she gave him an encouraging smile.
‘And loving it. The air’s so clear after the rain. Are those the Maritime Alps we can see in the distance?’
He nodded, looking relieved he could turn his eyes away, but not before Faye had had time to read the despondency ever present in them. After a little pause, he had another try at conversation. ‘And you’ve found the perfect observation point. I often come up here myself.’ For a moment, she caught a hint of a smile on his face, but it didn’t last long.
‘It’s really beautiful.’ She was searching for something else to say, when she heard him clear his throat and take another stab at conversation.
‘You seem to have made fri
ends with Marlon all right.’
‘Absolutely. We’re best buddies. What’s your dog called?’
‘George. He answers to both the English and the French pronunciation. And food, of course.’ To illustrate his point, Gavin pursed his lips and gave his trademark double whistle. ‘Georges, viens là.’
George the dog wheeled in mid-charge and tore back across the hillside towards them, closely followed by Marlon.
Faye gave the dog a pat on the head as he skidded to a halt in front of her. A second later George was nudged out of the way by Marlon who emphasized the closeness of his relationship with Faye by rearing up and placing two very muddy paws on her bare knees. She pushed him off and turned to Gavin with another smile.
‘Marlon’s normally a bit better behaved than that. George seems very well trained. Is it right that they’re brothers?’
‘Yes, they are.’ Gavin managed to transfer his attention from the dog to Faye’s face for a second. ‘Their mum was my dad’s old Lab.’ He took a deep breath. ‘She died almost the same time he did.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that …’ Faye hastened to draw the conversation away from the subject of death. ‘I’m going to enjoy discovering this beautiful area with Marlon. You can’t beat walking with a dog.’
‘Are you staying long?’
‘Until Christmas.’
‘Right. Um, good.’
He was obviously struggling again, so Faye did her best to help the conversation along. ‘What sort of farm do you have?’
‘Mixed, a bit of everything. And lavender, of course.’
‘I’ve seen the lovely purple fields and you can’t miss the scent.’ Another pause while she did her best to come up with something to say. Then she had a sudden, practical thought. ‘Do you sell eggs by any chance?’
‘We certainly do.’
‘I need to buy some. Would somebody be there if I drop down late afternoon?’
