I’m once again impressed by his knowledge of plants, and not just that, but how much he cares about them too, and the idea of ‘us’ having anything next year makes me feel warm, and then the familiar dagger of dread slices through the warmth. I won’t be back here for another year. How much will have changed in that time? The house is ours now, but if Julian’s here alone, how long before he meets someone? When I come here next year, he’ll have fruit trees with someone else, and I’ll be the third wheel, and the house won’t be ours any more. I shouldn’t be this abnormally jealous of a girlfriend he hasn’t even met yet.
He starts talking to Theo in French and Kat gives me a questioning look. She knows something’s wrong but I can’t begin to put it into words. It’s not that I don’t want him to stay here, and it’s not how much I want to stay here too. It’s how much I want to stay here with him. Not even in a romantic way, but I like how things have been for the past few weeks. Jules and I are friends, comrades against the bits of the house that are falling apart, alone but together in a new place, and no matter how hard I try not to, I like him. I know Eulalie would’ve liked him. Hell, Eulalie would’ve made it her life’s mission to set me up with him. If she’d have known he existed, she’d have been like a dog with a bone trying to force us together.
But liking him doesn’t mean I can trust him, especially when it comes to money. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let Eulalie’s Château of Happily Ever Afters slip through my fingers because I’m distracted by how much his glasses suit him and how wide his smile is when he lets his guard down.
‘Theo says he should be done here by four, if you want help tidying up,’ Jules says to Kat. ‘Which you will. Because we didn’t stand here all day so you wouldn’t spend some quality time with him. I told him to talk slowly and installed a translation app on his phone. He’s all yours.’
The market is quiet enough in the afternoon for Kat to man the stall by herself, and as I wander home with Julian and his tree, I realise how much I want to do this again next week. And the week after. And the week after that too.
It’s such a far cry from pushing crappy cakes on customers who don’t want bits of cake shoved down their necks in the middle of their shopping, from frenzied rushes through the streets to get in on time, cars blasting their horns at me and customers running me down with trolleys. It feels like a different world. Walking home lazily with the earliest autumn sun warming my skin and the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen beside me, I don’t know how to go back to dull and damp Britain.
Without Jules.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julian looks as exhausted as I feel when we get home, but it’s the best kind of exhaustion. At home, I’m exhausted after a day of work, but this is different. There, it’s an exhaustion that mostly comes from the dread of having to get up and do it again every day for the foreseeable future. Here, I’m tired because I’ve been on my feet all day, but I smile every time I look at Julian, I smile every time I think about the weight of the money bag I handed Kat when she took over, and I can’t wait to do it again next week. This time I’ll bake more, she’ll bake more, and next Saturday will be even better.
‘You look tired,’ Jules says.
‘I am, but not in a bad way.’
‘Same,’ he says, smiling at me.
‘Why don’t I…’ I trail off because I’m absolutely sure he won’t want to spend any more time with me today.
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. ‘If that was going to be anything to do with feeding me, I’ll love you forever. I’m starving. I’ll settle for dry bread and instant noodles at this point.’
‘I think I can do better than that,’ I say, smirking at the idea of him eating instant noodles. ‘The cheese seller talked me into another one of les trois Normands, so why don’t I do something with this square of pont-l’eveque and we crack open this bottle of whatever it is Kat gave us?’
‘Sounds like a very French night.’ He grins.
He lets me have the first shower, and I get started in the kitchen while he goes outside. When Jules comes in from the freezing outdoor shower, he looks better than I’ve ever seen him look. His hair is damp and hanging around his shoulders, he’s wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and the softest-looking fraying, battered hoody I’ve ever seen.
‘Bloody freezing out there,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to do something about the hot water system. A cold shower under a hosepipe hooked over a hanging basket bracket is fine in the summer, but it won’t be long before the weather turns too cold to even consider it.’
‘Do you think you can do it?’ I ask, constantly impressed by his skills.
‘I don’t know, it depends why it’s stopped working in the first place. All I can do is look for the source of the problem, and if I can’t fix it, we’ll have to get a plumber out. It’s not been a priority because the weather’s been warm, but it’s September now, you can already feel a chill in the air.’
It makes me think about spending autumn here, watching the leaves turn brown in our impressive garden, the chestnuts falling from the orchard trees, the views from the library window as the countryside shuts down for winter around us. It’ll be amazing.
And I won’t be here to see it.
Tears spring to my eyes and I blink them away, forcing myself to concentrate on spreading the stinky cheese on bits of crusty baguette. This is a holiday, nothing more. People like me don’t go on holidays and just… stay. It’s fine for Jules, he hasn’t got a nine-to-five job and he owns his house. I’ve got a boss who’s going to be on the warpath if I’m not back in the supermarket aisles at nine a.m next Wednesday morning, and a landlord who’s probably already started banging on the door for next month’s rent.
I swallow hard. ‘Why don’t you wash up a couple of glasses, open that bottle, and find somewhere to sit?’
‘Sounds perfect after such a long day.’
It doesn’t feel like a long day though. Even though, apart from baking late into the night, we left home before five this morning, and by the time we’d walked home, it was gone four this afternoon, the time has whizzed past in a blur of laughing with Jules, his arm around me, and smiling customers, people talking to us about Eulalie, and Kat’s beam when she realised how well things had gone. A long day is being stuck in a stuffy supermarket for hours on end where you don’t want to be and no one is interested in what you’re trying to sell.
Jules nudges my arm and hands me a glass with a shot of Calvados in it. ‘Cheers.’
We clink glasses and down the drink.
‘Jeez,’ he shudders. ‘I’m not sure if we’re supposed to drink it or use it to unclog the drains.’
Even so, he refills both our glasses and carries them upstairs to decide where to eat. In my flat, there’s a bedroom, a combined kitchen and living room area, and a tiny bathroom. It’s weird having so many rooms that you have to decide which one to go in.
Jules comes back to carry the tray of food upstairs, and I follow him into one of the living rooms on the first floor. It’s one I’ve spent a lot of time cleaning up. There’s a table under the window that’s got the beautiful blue orchid on it, a big snuggly sofa with a long wooden coffee table in front of it, a white furry rug on the floor, and paintings hung all around the walls that have Eulalie’s husband’s signature in each corner of them. Again, they’re personal, sentimental things, and I can’t imagine why she would’ve left them here.
I start setting dishes out on the coffee table, the cheese and baguette pieces, and slices of apple from the tree out front. I’ve never eaten cheese like this before and have no idea what to serve it with.
Jules sits down and crosses one leg over the other. ‘What do you think about selling some of the chestnut tree saplings?’
I glance up at him. ‘I don’t know, what am I supposed to think about it?’
‘I was talking to the guy on the plant stall today and we got on to what’s growing here. I was telling h
im about the orchard and how many little saplings have sown themselves because no one collected the harvest. He was interested in selling them. He offered me fifty euros for twenty of them, and more if they sell like he thinks they will. We have hundreds, and we can’t keep them all because the bigger they grow, the more nutrients they’ll take away from the established trees and we’ll get a poor harvest. It’d break my heart to destroy them for no reason, and I think it’d be nice to send Le Château de Châtaignier chestnut trees out into the world for other people to grow.’
I have to admit his attachment to plants is all kinds of adorable. ‘I don’t know anything about trees, do whatever you think is best.’
‘Well, it’s not a huge amount of money, but it’s not about that. The trees would have a chance of living good lives, and they’re still young enough that it’ll be easy to dig them out of the ground and pot them up to sell. I figured we could put the money in some kind of communal pot between us, because—’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I snap at him. As usual, everything’s about money. ‘The guy offered you fifty euros, great. Take your money and be done with it. Why bother to tell me?’
He looks at me like I’ve lost the plot. ‘Because it’s not my money, it’s ours, and those trees are ours too. I wouldn’t sell them without asking you.’
‘Why not? You could’ve pocketed fifty euros and I wouldn’t have been any the wiser.’
He gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen and my breath catches in my throat. ‘Because I’m not that kind of man, and I hate whatever it is I’ve done that makes you think I am. Everything in this place is ours, and if we earn any money from it then it’s ours too. It’s up to you if you want to split it fifty-fifty, but my idea would be to put it into a kitty between us, because this place is soon going to start costing us money. If I can’t figure out the hot water system then the first expense will be a plumber, which isn’t going to be cheap.’ His voice is low and his tone is clipped, and he seems genuinely hurt by what I’ve said.
I sit down on the sofa with a sigh, and I don’t miss the fact that he inches further away.
‘You still think I’m only here for money, don’t you?’ he says. ‘After all the time we’ve spent together, you still think my only reason for being here is some ridiculous riddle about treasure?’
‘No… Jules… I don’t know.’
‘Well, you’ve been trying to hurt me from day one and I’ve always said it’ll never work because you don’t know me, and in the past few weeks, I’ve been more open with you than I ever have with anyone. You know me better now than people who’ve been in my life for years, and that’s still what you think of me. Congratulations. One of your insults finally worked and you didn’t even have to compare me to a plastic doll in the process.’ He downs another shot of Calvados and slams his glass down on the table as he gets up.
‘Jules, wait, please.’ I jump up and run around the table, trying to block him in. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Yes, you did.’ He stops short of touching me to move me out of his way.
I suddenly realise what I’ve done. I can insult his looks all I want, I can say anything about his hair or his abs and it doesn’t bother him because it doesn’t matter to him. The Julian I’ve got to know, the one with scruffy hair, glasses, and big hoodies is what matters, because that’s who he is. He let me see past his armour, and I’ve just stuck a knife in him. ‘I’m sorry, Jules, please don’t go. It’s not you, it’s me.’
I don’t realise I’m crying until he reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek, wiping away tears.
‘That’s not what I think of you,’ I sniffle. ‘It’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself to think of you because I can’t be taken for a mug again. I let myself be taken advantage of before and I only lost my own money. This place was so important to Eulalie, I’d never forgive myself if I lost it, so I can’t trust anyone. It’s not personal, Jules, and despite the cliché, it really is me, not you.’
‘Look, I get not trusting people,’ he says carefully. ‘But what have I done that makes me so untrustworthy? I thought we were getting on great. I’ve had fun with you lately. If I’m being honest, I’m dreading you leaving next week.’
‘Me too.’ I smile at him sadly then remember this is serious. ‘I don’t have a great history with men. I’ve trusted the wrong person before when it comes to money, and no matter how well we’re getting on, we share a place that’s worth a hell of a lot.’
‘This place is worth more than money.’
I want to believe him, but even now, I’m doubting him. Even when I want to grasp his hands between mine and say I’m sorry for hurting him, my brain is screaming that I can’t trust anyone when a house worth this much is involved, no matter how much I wish I could.
I don’t reply and he doesn’t say anything else, but instead of walking out, he sits back down and pats the sofa beside him. I sit down as he refills my glass and presses it into my hand, and I slam it back without thinking, enjoying the way it burns my throat and warms my stomach.
Jules settles back and puts his feet up on the coffee table, and then he manoeuvres me until I’m facing him. He pulls my legs across his lap and rests both his arms on my knees. ‘Tell me.’
‘You don’t want to know.’
He squeezes his arms around my arched knees. ‘If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.’
I debate telling him to sod off, it’s none of his business, and I don’t want him to know how stupid I was once, but I know I’ve hurt him and it’s nowhere near as welcome a feeling as it would’ve been three weeks ago. He’ll know if I lie to him, and he deserves honesty because it’s not him I don’t trust – it’s everyone.
‘I fell for a holiday romance scam. Anyone would have seen it coming. Anyone but me, apparently.’
‘What happened?’
‘I met this guy on holiday. He was amazing and perfect in every way and he was head over heels in love with me. It was a whirlwind romance. It seems so stupid now, looking back on it.’ I know I’m blushing with embarrassment at having to admit it aloud. ‘I can’t believe I’m even telling you.’
He squeezes my knees. ‘Go on, tell me.’
‘It was a whirlwind three months of love and passion. It was all so perfect. I quit my job so I didn’t have to go home and leave him. He proposed, we were going to get married and live happily ever after together. But he needed money. He had elderly parents reliant on him, he was working but pay was bad… et cetera, et cetera.’ I roll my eyes, trying to ward off the familiar flush of shame when I think about it. ‘I went home and told all my friends I’d found The One. I was ecstatically happy, and I fell out with anyone who warned me to be careful. He was coming back to Britain to marry me, but there were problems with the immigration papers and he needed money to pay someone to help him with them, then he lost his luggage and needed money to replace it, his phone was stolen and he couldn’t keep in touch with me unless he bought a new one…’
‘Call me cynical but I have a fairly good idea of where this is going…’
‘Turns out everyone but me had a fairly good idea of where it was going. After more disasters that all needed money thrown at them, my money obviously, he couldn’t afford it, what with giving everything he earned to his poor sick parents. He eventually made it to Britain with a brilliant business idea, the kind of thing that was going to make us both rich and set us up in our married lives forever. He was going to start up some internet company, make it popular, and then sell it on for “neither of us would ever have to work again” kind of money.’
He pushes his bottom lip out and gives a sympathetic nod.
‘I invested everything I had in it. Like, everything, even down to the money for next week’s groceries. And then I never saw him again.’
‘Yeah, that ended exactly as I expected it to.’ He gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Police?’
I nod. ‘T
here was nothing they could do. The contact info he’d given me was as fake as the name he’d used. No one had any way of finding him. My best friend even paid for me to see a solicitor, but I’d given the money as gifts, it wasn’t like he’d stolen it, and the investment was just that – an investment in a business, and if that goes wrong, you lose your investment. There’s no recompense for being a complete idiot. I had no job, no money to pay the rent, none of the savings I’d intended to live on while finding a new job…’
‘Wow. People are shit, aren’t they?’
I smile at him. ‘Hear, hear.’
He can’t reach the glasses on the table without moving my legs, so he snags the neck of the bottle and takes a swig from it before handing it to me. I take a healthy gulp and stand it on the sofa between us.
‘For ages afterwards, I believed it was all a mistake. I kept waiting for him to turn up on the doorstep and pay back everything he’d borrowed. I’d seen those holiday romance scams on TV and thought I’d never fall for anything so ridiculous. It was the sort of thing that happened to other people. I felt so stupid. Still do.’
He reaches over and takes my hand, twisting his fingers around mine. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Maybe it worked out for the best,’ I say. ‘It’s how I ended up in the flat next door to Eulalie, because it was the cheapest place I could find after I got evicted from my lovely flat.’
‘Seriously?’ He lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s gotta be fate or something, hasn’t it? Something good that came out of something bad?’
‘Tell that to my empty savings account and terrible credit score. It was years ago now and I’m still struggling.’
‘Yeah, but… Come on, you met Eulalie through it. You’ve just inherited—’
‘Co-inherited,’ I interrupt.
He grins. ‘Co-inherited this beautiful place. Maybe it was her magic in the walls. Maybe it rubbed off on everyone she crossed paths with.’
The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters Page 24
