by Jan Ellis
Paul accepted the mug gratefully and pulled out a chair. “No. Once the cognac kicked in I was fine.”
“Sorry – I should have given you one of the guest rooms.”
He gave her a rueful grin. “It was fine. Really. I never sleep well in a strange place.”
“Can I make it up to you with an FEB?”
“A ‘nefeebie’?”
“FEB – ‘full English breakfast’. Speciality of the house.”
He shook his head and smiled. “That would be very nice, but I have to get back and open up the shop.” He put down his empty coffee mug and stood up. “Thanks for supper and everything. It was fun.”
“You’re welcome.” She chewed her lip, thinking that she really wanted to see him again. “And if you could help me finish the website, I would be ever so grateful. You’ve seen how useless I am with computers.”
“Of course. But perhaps we could do it at my place? If you don’t mind the spiders, of course.”
She laughed nervously. Had he sussed her out? “Whatever suits you best,” she said, leading the way to the front door. In the doorway, she wasn’t sure how formal to be with a man she had seen in his boxers just half an hour before. Paul ignored the hand she extended, grasping her lightly by the shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks.
“Why don’t you come over to the shop on Friday evening and we’ll finish everything off?”
“Perfect,” said Rachel, making an effort to remain reasonably business-like. “I have to drop the kids off at their father’s, so I’ll come over after that.”
Halfway to his van, Paul stopped and turned to face her. “If you’re free all evening, perhaps you’d like to have dinner with me?”
Rachel could still feel the pleasant sensation of his stubble tickling her cheeks, and did her best not to beam from ear to ear. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Good.” Paul nodded, and got into the van. “See you on Friday, then.”
Rachel stood in the doorway until the van was out of sight. If Paul had looked back, he would have seen a 30-something woman in a green dress dancing a jig around the courtyard.
The fact that there was an attractive new man in her sights was just one reason for Rachel to be in a pretty good mood. Project Guest House was going well. The Big End had been cleared, anything that didn’t work had been mended or replaced and all the new prints were up.
Jilly had announced that she was coming over mid-morning to help Rachel put the final touches to the rooms. “It’s called ‘styling’,” said Jilly after coffee, “and it makes all the difference.”
Laden with an armful of scatter cushions, Rachel followed her friend through the house as Jilly plumped and tweaked pillows, and draped throws artfully over the backs of armchairs. Irina followed behind muttering darkly about dust mites.
When they were done, Rachel walked her friend down the drive towards the village. Turning back, Jilly looked at the front of the house and pulled a face. “Perhaps you need to call Philippe. Those pots look rather tatty.”
The courtyard had been neglected recently and the flower beds and planters suffered frequent assaults from the chickens who liked to dig in them.
“Hmm, you’re right,” said Rachel, looking at her watch. “I’ll give him a call and see if he can do a mercy dash this afternoon.”
Philippe had offered to come over one day when the florist’s was closed to assist where needed. Mid-afternoon, he arrived with his van laden with pot plants and miniature shrubs. Rachel waved as he arrived and was surprised to see Margot emerge from the passenger seat. “Since when have you taken up gardening?” she asked, after greeting her friends.
“Darling, you know that grubbing around in the soil is not my thing, but I happened to be passing when Philippe was loading up his vehicle, so I offered my help.”
“An offer that I obviously declined,” added Philippe, with a wink. “But Albert wasn’t free and she was determined to come.”
Margot pursed her lips. “Give me a plant, a trowel and some instructions and I shall be fine.”
Rachel gave her a hug. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” She hesitated, looking at Margot’s beautifully manicured fingernails. “I’ll get us some gloves.”
With gloves on their hands and the sun on their backs, the women set to at one end of the courtyard, while Philippe dug out the beds at the other end. They worked in companionable silence for a while.
“So, what’s this I hear about a new man?” asked Margot eventually.
Rachel sat back on her heels. “What new man?”
Margot shrugged. “Philippe heard from Albert’s sister that Monsieur Claude had told Madame Lambert that you had had a visitor.”
“Did he indeed?”
Philippe looked across from where he was pretending to concentrate on the Buxus sempervirens and smiled.
“A ‘handsome’ visitor according to Madame Lambert.’
“Really? Do go on.”
“And Philippe and I thought that it might have been Monsieur Callot’s nephew from the frame shop.”
“Did you, now?” Rachel kept her eyes focused on the deep blue pot that she was filling with compost. “How fascinating.”
Five seconds ticked by. “So, aren’t you going to tell us?” Margot and Philippe were now sitting up like meerkats, eager for gossip.
Rachel sighed and put down her trowel. “Your information was correct.”
Margot clapped her gloved hands together in excitement. “Excellent!”
“But, there’s no need to get excited. Paul just dropped off some work and helped me out with a new website.”
“Ooh, they’re on first-name terms already,” said Philippe.
Margot nodded eagerly. “That is very promising.”
Rachel looked from one to the other of her companions. “I think that you are both getting ahead of yourselves here.”
Philippe shrugged and went back to his flower bed. “So you won’t care that Madame Piquot also heard from Monsieur Seurat’s sister that Paul Callot said that he really enjoyed meeting you?”
“What?” Rachel shrieked.
“It’s just what I’ve heard.”
“You’re making this up.”
Philippe solemnly raised a hand to his chest. “I swear on my Alexander McQueen toe cap boots that that’s the gossip in Dreste.”
Margot took off her gloves. “Darling Rachel, I think this is splendid news,” she said, lighting a cigarette.
Rachel smiled. “Paul delivered my prints and told somebody that he enjoyed meeting me. That hardly amounts to a betrothal.”
Margot waggled a finger at her. “Not yet. But it is an excellent beginning.”
“Exactly,” added Philippe. “You are back on the road to love!”
Rachel laughed but inside she was just a little bit pleased at the discovery that Paul liked her. She wasn’t about to tell her friends that he had spent the night on her sofa or that they had a ‘dinner date’ lined up for later in the week.
Chapter 12: An Evening with Paul
On Friday morning she was up early to check that Philippe’s new plantings had survived the attentions of the chickens, before hurrying into her studio to complete a print of a sunflower that she had decided on for the guest house business card.
She was restless, looking forward to seeing Paul again that evening but also aware that it was a business meeting, not a date. Having the print to concentrate on helped to distract her, but she couldn’t help checking the clock several times during the day.
Rachel was unusually prompt collecting Charlie and Alice from the bus that afternoon. Back at the house, she went upstairs to change out of her work gear ready for her evening out. When she came downstairs her daughter stared at her in silence.
“You’re wearing your best dress,” said Alice, a furrow forming across her usually smooth brow.
“I’ve got a meeting with Monsieur Callot, and I want to look respectable.” Rachel looked down at the red velve
t frock she had chosen. “Don’t you like it?”
“It looks like you’re going to a ball or something.”
“Does it?” This was not the effect Rachel had intended at all. “Oh dear. I’d better change.”
Dashing back to her room, she flung open her wardrobe and pulled out various garments, eventually settling on a loose sea-green top that set off her auburn hair nicely and a long black skirt.
Back in the sitting room she did a twirl in front of her children. “Better?”
Charlie looked up from his phone and grunted in what Rachel took to be an expression of approval. Alice pursed her lips, thought for a second then nodded. “Yup, that’s better.”
Rachel smiled. “Right kids. Let’s get you over to baby HQ.”
* * *
Rachel left the children with Michael as arranged, then walked round to ‘Picture Perfect’ for her meeting.
Paul smiled and looked at her approvingly when she arrived, then led her into the back office where the computer lived. Rachel was properly prepared and had all the prices, maps and other bits of information ready in a folder. Paul was equally well organised, so the official Tournesol Guest House website was completed in a couple of hours.
When they had finished, Paul lent back, stretching his arms behind his head. “I think we deserve a drink, after that. What do you think?”
Rachel nodded. “That would be lovely.”
“Come upstairs to the flat and I’ll see what we’ve got.”
Paul turned off the lights in the shop and ushered her through a back door and up three flights of stairs. At the top, Rachel was surprised to find a large living room under the eaves. From the window she could see right across town to the squat tower of the fortress on the hill opposite.
“Wow, what a great view.”
Paul smiled. “Pretty impressive isn’t it? That’s why my uncle chose to put the sitting room up here and the bedroom downstairs.”
Rachel caught his eye at the word ‘bedroom’. Control yourself woman. “Good choice,” she said, smiling demurely.
“So, white wine? Or I could rustle up a gin and tonic if you’re feeling home sick.”
“That’s a really kind offer, but I tend to steer clear of gin. It makes me peculiar.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Sounds intriguing. Explain.”
“Oh, I don’t dance on tables or anything like that.”
“Shame.”
“It makes me sad and gives me bad dreams.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s all.”
“Well we don’t want to keep you awake all night,” said Paul with a smile. “Not for bad reasons anyway.”
Rachel winced. “Have you forgiven me yet for making you sleep on a sofa booby-trapped with plastic toys?”
“Forgiven and forgotten,” said Paul, selecting a bottle of Viognier. “Oh, I should warn you that I don’t cook,” he said, handing her a glass of wine.
Rachel was enjoying his company so much that she didn’t really mind what she ate. “Pizza, then?” she said, following him into the kitchen.
Paul shook his head and began extracting delicious looking dishes from the fridge. “No, much better than that. I called in at the traiteur next door!”
“Oh yum.” Rachel went over to join him as he placed the cartons on the counter. “This is such a treat,” she said, as Paul brought out aluminium dishes filled with slices of duck, meaty terrines, coquilles san Jacques, fish stew and stuffed artichokes. “I daren’t go into that shop because I spend so much money.”
“I’m glad you approve of my choices,” he said, with a smile.
“I do. I most definitely do.”
“Have a seat in the living room while I put these in the oven, then we can eat.”
Rachel was more than happy to obey Paul’s instructions, and sat on the sofa by the window, gazing out at the roof tops in the moonlight.
It wasn’t long before he called her back into the kitchen where he had added to the shop-bought goodies with a big salad and some local cheeses. They chatted easily over the meal, although Rachel felt that there was something quite business-like about Paul’s conversation that evening.
She wondered what would happen next between them – if anything. Her prints were all framed and the website was done, so there would be no real reason for Paul to see her again. Unless romance was on the cards, of course.
Rachel had come prepared and was wearing her best frillies, just in case Paul fell for her powers of seduction. She was aware of being quite flirty over dinner but, although Paul seemed to enjoy the attention he was definitely keeping his distance.
After the meal, she had taken her glass and gone back to her place on the sofa while Paul cleared up the plates and made coffee. Rachel found his behaviour rather perplexing. He had invited her to stay for dinner and had definitely been flirting with her when they had worked together at her house. Here in the flat, he seemed to be backing away. Paul had gone from what she thought of as potential boyfriend material to a ‘colleague’ again.
What had she done to put him off her? Was she not making it plain that she really rather fancied him? As she sat in the sitting room, feeling nicely woozy after the wine and dinner, she wondered what to do. Perhaps strip down to her smalls and drape herself over the table with the words ‘Come and get it!’ tattooed across her chest?
She was gently chuckling to herself when Paul came into the room. As if reading her mind, he came and sat by her side and gently smoothed her hair back from her face. “You are a very attractive women, Rachel.”
She held her breath waiting for the kiss, which didn’t come. “But?” she asked, the hint of frustration obvious from her tone.
Paul leant back and sighed. “I have heard from my uncle. His shoulder is better and he plans to come back to the shop very soon.”
“Oh, well that’s good, isn’t it?”
“It is, in one way,” he said, smiling. “But it also means that I won’t be needed here anymore so I’ll be going back to Paris.”
Rachel drooped for a moment, disappointed that the one man in Dreste who she actually found attractive was about to leave.
Paul had got up and was standing by the window, gazing at the view. “And there’s something else,” he added, turning back to face her.
“Oh dear.” Rachel knew what was coming. “Don’t tell me – you’re married?”
Paul nodded. “Technically yes.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“It’s a bit like you and your husband. We are almost divorced, but not quite.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry Rachel. I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together and would have liked to get to know you better.”
It might have been the wine or the good food or the conversation they had had, but Rachel felt bold that evening. “So, it’s not that you don’t find me attractive or that you think I’m mad, or anything like that?”
Paul laughed and came back to join her on the sofa. “You are definitely attractive and only moderately mad.”
“Cheeky!” Rachel picked up a cushion and whacked him with it, playfully. “I don’t know whether to be offended or not now.”
“You should be flattered that I don’t just want to sleep with you then disappear.”
She looked at him with the hint of a smile on her face. “When did you say you were leaving?”
“Probably in a week or so.” He looked at her quizzically. “Are you saying that you don’t mind?”
Rachel put her hand behind his head and gently pulled him towards her. “I don’t if you don’t.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “I won’t be coming back to Dreste, Rachel. You do understand that, don’t you?”
She nodded then kissed him. “Let’s not waste the time we have.”
He brushed the back of his hand gently down the side of her neck, running his fingers across the top of her breasts and making her tingle. “If you’re sure.”
; “I’m sure,” she said, grabbing the front of his shirt this time so he couldn’t pull away.
* * *
Rachel hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d married Michael, so she was surprised by the ease with which she’d fallen into bed with Paul – having first dragged him onto the sofa. Even though they barely knew one another, it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to explore each other’s bodies. After his initial reluctance, Paul had launched himself on her with passion and they had had an enjoyable romp.
For Rachel, the oddest part had been waking in the early hours and thinking that she was back in her own bed with her husband. The sensation had lasted just a split second, and she chuckled to herself because the two men had such different builds: Michael was short and stocky while Paul was wiry and tall. Paul had masses of grey hair while her ex had lost his blond curls before he reached 30. Despite their encounter essentially being a one-night stand, Paul had been sweet and attentive, enfolding her in his arms as they fell asleep.
Knowing that Paul was shortly to be heading back to Paris made them both subdued in the morning. It was understood that their relationship had no future and that this encounter was a one-off. There was no question that Rachel would go north with Paul and she wasn’t about to ask him to abandon the bright lights of the capital for their sleepy back-water.
As Rachel showered, Paul went out to get some fresh bread for their breakfast and they chatted about this and that over warm brioches and bowls of milky coffee. It was all very civilised and no mention was made of what had happened between them; it was almost as if they hadn’t made love together that night.
Despite being very grown-up and sensible about it, Rachel did feel a bit sad when she kissed Paul goodbye and trotted off down the narrow street to fetch the children. At the same time, she was aware of a new spring in her step. She felt buzzy and alive, as if a switch had been turned back on in her head – and deep inside her body.
She was still smiling to herself when she arrived at Amelie’s apartment building, a place that generally filled her with gloom. When she had dropped off the kids the evening before, she had been invited in for a drink and to meet the baby. She had declined the offer, explaining that she was on her way to dinner with a friend, but really not feeling strong enough to cope with Michael’s scene of domestic bliss.
