by Karen Aldous
Well, “‘if only’s” were going to be a thing of the past. Evie stretched out her arms and legs and sank into soft cushions. She grinned to herself. Well who could blame her? She was beginning to understand her mother’s reluctance to have anything to do with Seb. At least they’d spoken. She sat back, spreading out her shoulder blades, and muttered with pride.
‘I did it. I rang her.’ She didn’t hang up. She wasn’t rude, well not totally dismissive. She spoke to me as well as to be expected.’ That was progress, and worthwhile.
She leaned across to the coffee table, retrieving Ben’s script. It was certainly brief compared to a novel, but Ben had set a brilliant scene at the beginning and inserted plenty of instructions between the lines. She heaved an admirable sigh at all his hard work and determination.
‘Hmm, interesting. Great story, and some great lines, but…’ It would definitely create more conflict with the women in it; the engineers would most certainly have been put out. There could be discussions between the women and engineers as well as Riquet. Scenes which showed them working in secret.
Evie began the task of re-writing her notes in an attempt to create coherence and in readiness for typing up at the library on Monday morning. In the evening, when Charlotte was tucked up in her cot, she continued with her notes – weaving some female characters through Ben’s script as examples. She also worked on it throughout Sunday whilst Suzanne and Bram took Charlotte out. The content amounted to several thousand words, with so much detail about the nature of the work the peasants – particularly the peasant women – carried out. With what she’d discovered, she’d added background scenes and characters – outlining where they had come from and why they were such geniuses with hydraulics. The book she’d worked from was full of general information she needed about the women’s work, but nothing relating to any one of them in particular. No letters or personal accounts. Not that it surprised her. They were peasants after all. Rubbing her forehead, Evie felt she’d come to a dead end. She couldn’t give a full picture until that knowledge was in her hands. Her only hope rested on an email she’d sent to one of the academic researchers referenced in the book. It wasn’t that she wished to do Riquet a disservice but she was sure there was more to his story. Digging deep and discovering the bigger picture had so far revealed quite an interesting slant to Ben’s script. She was sure, she could uncover more. Pierre-Paul Riquet has been immortalised with virtually every credit. Initiating, funding, fighting the authorities, designing, engineering and building methods – he’d contributed in every way to creating this magnificent canal between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. But now there was enough here to prove that without these peasant women, the canal may never have been possible.
Tired from her late night, on Monday morning Evie set off at nine-thirty for the library. Another beautiful morning she thought, as she closed the gate and mounted her bike whilst examining the area. At least the work occupied her mind. Out on the canal, she cycled along the path and over the bridge in the direction of Beziers. Within minutes, she sensed someone on her tail. She viewed behind her. How the creep managed to know her timings and follow her was beyond her. She wondered now if he was a close neighbour watching from a distant window. Either that or he had a burrow somewhere along the track with a sensor running to her gate. He was a complete mystery. But, it turned out, it was only a young couple behind her.
Once her notes were typed up, which took longer than she had envisaged, Evie saved them on a memory stick she’d bought, printed two copies out, then took out Ben’s business card he’d given her and emailed him a copy. As Charlotte was so quiet, lost in a picture book, she took the opportunity to search the internet. She found various items, but without time to read them all she copied what she could onto a document or onto her stick and printed a few things off. She grabbed Charlotte’s bag.
‘Right, little lady, it’s getting late. We’d better get you home,’ Evie tucked the toys and books away, then her own books, all in her rucksack. Searching around her as she left, something she had found herself doing regularly, she couldn’t see the stalker.
‘No doubt you’ll appear,’ she muttered, heading for her bike and back to the canal path. ‘I really must try and conquer that CCTV.’
Reaching the narrow bridge, and dismounting to cross at the basin of the Fonserannes Lock, she spotted Ben’s film crew gathered on a derelict bank whilst, several feet away beyond them, the scene resembled an old painting Evie had once seen – The Stone Breakers – of peasants hammering at a pool of rock and stone at their feet. Ravi waved, drawing Ben and Samantha’s attention towards her. She raised a friendly palm and hesitated at the other side of the bridge, debating with herself whether she should quickly hand Ben a copy of the research now. Not only did Charlotte need her food, but the crew appeared busy. She took a right turn towards them, the magnetism again drawing her, but then swung round and pedalled towards home.
She observed Ben, as he now seemed to be half bent and scuttling backwards behind a cameraman, focused on the sweaty peasants at work; one lifting his cap and wiping his brow whilst others channelled with a hammer.
Ben’s arm suddenly punched the air. ‘Ok, cut.’ A clapperboard appeared before the camera. ‘A good place to break, guys.’ he told the crew.
He turned, spotting her, widening his lips to a broad bright smile.
Evie’s heart pounded, the warmth behind his eyes buckling her senses. He waved. He looked so cool, so casual, dressed in just plain stone-coloured jeans and a simple white polo shirt. Her eyes feasted on him, with his collar erect, brushing against the dark stubble of his neck and cheek, his pheromones reaching out to her.
Evie’s stomach stirred. She shouldn’t be thinking this. She was still committed to Seb.
He called out, ‘Won’t you join us for a pizza?’ Several feet behind him, Samantha waved.
Stopping the bike, Evie scratched her head. ‘No really. I don’t want to stop you working, and Charlotte needs a nap.’
‘I think she’s almost there,’ Ben grinned pointing to Charlotte.
She paused, feeling his charismatic pull. Needing to take control, she wrapped her fingers on the handlebars. ‘Thank you. Another time.’
‘Wait.’ Ben ran towards her. ‘You ok? How did your interview go?’
‘Oh good, yes. I start Tuesday.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks. Oh, as you’re here,’ she slipped off her rucksack, ‘the first lot of notes I promised.’ She eased out a copy of her typed pages and proudly handed them to Ben. ‘I think you’ll be amazed by what you can add to your script – which is already amazing, by the way. You must have had so much determination.’
‘I’m really looking forward to reading it. There’s quite a lot here,’ Ben flicked through the wad of paper and began reading aloud.’
The peasant woman came to work on the canal from mountain villages and used their indigenous and intuitive methods, apparently based on classic Roman architecture, but it seems they devised many ingenious methods in their determination to find solutions to living in the mountains. It was natural for them to contour the waters through mountainous terrain, diverting rivers through rocky soils and keeping out debris so that they would flow sufficiently. They also made these locks work effectively by curving the walls so that they withstood the volumes of water and the amount needed. They also used a traditional mortar unknown to Riquet’s engineers which strengthened the lining of the basins. Riquet hit gold finding these people.
‘Yes, it’s fascinating.’ I’m not finished yet though. This is mainly what I was telling you about. I’m making it all sound so simple but, in reality, this canal would not have happened without their expertise. Certainly not with the engineers they had. What is even more frustrating is that the female names were wiped from the account books. It appears they were never meant to be traced and their contribution was deliberately covered up.’ Evie clasped a cheek whilst rambling excitedly. ‘I suppose the
world was a different place then and Riquet could never admit his great engineering feat was the accomplishment of hundreds of peasant women.’
Ben’s mouth gaped. ‘Well, well. To be honest, when I first read something vaguely about the peasant women, I just thought it referred to a few supplying food or doing laundry or some other domestic arrangement. I’m pretty shocked.’
‘These women were considered, and, you’ll laugh, but, “fairies” of hydraulics. They were held in extremely high esteem among their culture. The details so far are all in there. It’s fascinating.’
‘Wow, another story.’ Ben’s excitement was palpable.
‘Very possibly.’
Ben tilted his head, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘I really can’t thank you enough. I’m not sure yet how it will all fit with my script. I have been thinking about it. I guess it will come to me once I’ve read all this. Did you discover any dirt, say whether Riquet had a mistress? That would certainly be interesting.’ Evie chewed on her cheek, conscious she should get her daughter back but Ben’s presence was intoxicating. She was drunk just talking to him.
Evie thought for a moment about an account she’d just seen on the internet. She hadn’t had time to read it all yet, but it could lead to something. ‘Nothing conclusive. I’ve just found two vague references that he had at least two illegitimate children but I need to follow those up. I’ll have to go through it all first and check it out.’
‘That’s fantastic. That would spice it up a bit. Wow, a scandal. The man isn’t the puritan he’s made out to be.’
Evie saw the lustful glint in his eyes. This was major. This was what he was hungry for. Her head hung low as her spirit dipped. And, once he had all the facts, she wouldn’t be needed. She tried not to think about that too much. But, she reasoned, this was what she was being paid for, what he’d hoped for. He had opened his mind and drunk in her suggestion and he really did deserve all the success. Ben had that steely impenetrable single-mindedness which possibly cost him everything else. Just like Riquet… and just like Seb.
‘So, anyway,’ she winked with a smile, ‘if I find out any more, I’ll let you know.’ She mounted her saddle. ‘You’ll begin to see the canal and its wonders very differently once you read all the research and realise the genius and toil the mountain women put into it. I know you will. I honestly think they deserve their own memorial.’
‘Sounds fascinating, I can’t wait. Thanks Evie. Oh, and email me an invoice with your hours. I must pay you for all this work.’
‘Thank you. Yes, I will.’ The excitement of earning more funds was becoming gratifying for Evie, as well as the thrill of doing the work. She stoked her pedal with her foot.
‘And, before you go,’ he smiled, ‘I’m having a birthday gathering next Saturday. Come and join us. A number of crew will be there. I’ve booked a prime spot at ‘Le Petit Nice’, a lovely restaurant overlooking the River Orb in Roquebrun. You may know it. Bring your partner.’
Evie’s face brightened. She had been to Roquebrun as a child and recalled the pretty village built on the vast high rocks. As a family, they had canoed along the river and played for hours on the shingly beach. She had heard about the beautiful setting of the restaurant but doubted her parents would have taken her anywhere so expensive. It was so tempting to tell him, yes, she would come.
‘Happy Birthday for next Saturday but I’m afraid I won’t be able to come. My sister is visiting for the weekend. I don’t get to see her very often.’
His smile faded. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. For me, I mean.’ Ben said, leaning towards her and resting his hand on her shoulder. The very scent of him sent her blood pulsing. He kissed both sides of her face, then stepped back, gazing at her. ‘I would ask you all, but seating is limited.’
Licking her lips, dreaming how romantic it would be to go to the restaurant just the two of them, she told him, ‘It is a shame.’
‘Well look, no problem,’ he said, ‘you have my number if you change your mind?’
‘That’s very kind. I don’t think I will though,’ she told him, watching disappointment wash over his face.
‘That’s fine. Loyalty is a great quality. I completely understand. Anyway, it’s time I got back to work. I have another few scenes to complete today. Tomorrow we have two leading actors on set. They should be flying in today.’
‘How exciting.’
Ben glanced at his watch. ‘It is, as it’s my first major directing role. I know I’m like a child. I just hope we can work well with them.’ He pulled a worried face.
Evie couldn’t believe how easily Ben shared his fears. In comparison to Seb, he was an open book. Again, it portrayed his honesty and she liked that, even though he displayed total professionalism and appeared capable. Seb wouldn’t dare show any weaknesses or criticise himself.
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. You look as though you know what you’re doing.’
He rolled his eyes and punched his chest mockingly. ‘Maybe I should have been an actor first because it’s not what’s going on in here, trust me.’
Evie chuckled. ‘You cover it well.’
‘We’ll see. They’ll be dining with us Saturday too.’
‘Oh, who are they?’
Ben tightened his lips, trying not to grin and gazing ahead of him with a squint. ‘What can I tell you? Ok. Male, and top secret.’ He checked his watch.’
‘Hmm, not helpful. Will I know them?’
He grinned as he stepped backwards. ‘Can’t say. Ok, one clue. One is not normally an actor, that’s all I am going to tell you.’
Evie mocked a sulky face. ‘Oh, spoilsport. Thanks for inviting me anyway.’ She peered up to the steep path. ‘Right, I need to get a run up this hill. See you soon,’ she said and thrust the bike forward, leaving Ben staring after her. She waved and changed down the gears, making her ascent up the busy path beside the Fonserannes Lock.
The bridges were heaving with tourists. Trying to clear her mind of the intimacy of his closeness, she weaved through visitors and glimpsed the canal-cruisers negotiating narrow entrances and banging the vessels into the thick walls of the basins – the basins so expertly shaped by the peasant women to hold precise volumes of water. Such fine engineering, she thought, or was it art? She couldn’t decide how to classify their knowledge and application. It was amazing how they transferred what they’d learned from floating large timbers from the high mountains of the Pyrenees, down temporary dams to reservoirs. Then, once the reservoirs were filled sufficiently, the logs floated and broke, and were carried down to the next dam. These were the techniques they’d used to inform the design of the huge stepped bowls of this famous lock, which had transported boats and goods years ago. But now, it lived and breathed leisure – giving pleasure to couples and groups as well as onlookers. With every exciting detail she’d read, Evie had begun to form an image of the clever peasant girls. Characters were forming in her mind, their stories, their accomplishments. She held so much respect for them. They must have been so strong, so talented, but how did they cope with leaving their mountain homes and possibly husbands and families? Would they have had financial independence? There were still so many questions. She rode home with much trepidation. And not just concerning their lives. She really needed to plan her own.
Chapter 18
With guidance and shadowing from her manager, Evie’s first morning had gone without too many hitches. Her confidence was definitely growing. She found the students keen to learn and interesting, particularly the children. They learned fast and most already had a fair grasp of English. Sabine was pleased with her progress. Charlotte and Suzanne had also enjoyed their time together, which Evie was pleased about’, but it became difficult when Charlotte began protesting when it was time to take her home. Something else she would have to get used to. It was a relief to see her safe, with no reported hassle from the stalker. With less pressure, and Charlotte tired and needing an afternoon nap, Evie also managed to pen a few emails for her visit to the
library on Thursday, and got to the CCTV screen. Although technically, again, the operation wasn’t a great success. She seemed to have a mental block with the footage and with winding and rewinding.
On Friday morning, after shopping early, she sat under the shade in the garden whilst Charlotte bounced and sang her little heart out on the trampoline, waiting for Cally to arrive. With her notebook and pen in hand, she wrote down some ideas for some magazine articles. Apart from her usual diaries, Evie had enjoyed writing up her research and was keen to keep writing. She jotted down possible article titles such as, ‘Villeneuvette: The Silkworkers’ Town’, ‘Etang de Montady: Vineyards of The Canal’, ‘Secrets of… Maria Mendoza’…
‘Where did that come from?’ She flipped over the page, wrote the name at the top and continued scribbling, suddenly feeling inspired to create whole backstory for this character who had just popped into her imagination.
Maria Mendoza: a peasant girl from the village of Gerde, in the Bigorre valley, a mountain villager, the elder child whose siblings relied on her for their survival. Just twenty-three, with property and land inherited from her clan and all the rights involved. She was key to the family and village community, bringing water supplies to her village and reworking channels of water and drainage not only to her own private home but also to other inhabitants’ homes. Pierre-Paul Riquet was captivated, not just for her skills and leadership qualities, but her beauty. She, like him, spoke Occitane. They fell in love, but the forbidden kind, she was widowed with a child possibly - (her husband killed by Riquet’s salt tax collectors) and she knew he was married with children. They could never be together but, infatuation and admiration from a distance growing uncontrollably. She was only mistress in mind, never in reality. Until…
