by Jan Ellis
“Actually I was heading out to my philosophy class.”
“Oh, okay.”
Rachel frowned. “That was a joke.”
“Gee shucks.” Josh put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I guess I’m not quite attuned to British humour yet.”
“Sorry, I’m a very unprofessional landlady, tormenting my guests like that,” said Rachel, feeling chastened by Josh’s mocking tone. “Can I make it up to you with a glass of wine?” she asked, getting another glass from the dresser.
“Sure,” said Josh, rubbing his stomach, which emitted a low gurgle. “But I do need to get some food.”
Rachel handed him the glass of Pinot Noir. “This is great with Chinese food. I mean, if you fancy a take-away meal.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Great. I’ll give them a call and you can pay!”
“It’s a deal,” said Josh, clinking his glass against hers.
They ordered a huge meal and chomped their way through it, both ravenous after their day’s walking.
Sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by dishes, Josh smiled. “I’ve had a lot of fun today, Rachel. Thank you.”
“It’s all part of the service.”
“Really? And there I was feeling special.”
Rachel laughed. “Okay. The hiking service is only available for our VIP guests.”
Josh was looking at her intently now, his hazel eyes locked on hers. “I wish I was staying around here a little longer. So we could become friends.”
“That would be nice,” said Rachel quietly. He was attractive and single and there was no one in the house. She could feel the colour rise in her cheeks as, for several long seconds, she actually considered taking him upstairs. If it hadn’t been for the aborted relationship with Paul, she might well have done it. However, she didn’t feel ready to hop into bed with another passing stranger quite so soon.
To break the mood, she began clearing up the dishes. “So, were you serious about buying one of my prints?”
Josh nodded, “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Right. Follow me.”
Rachel grabbed her glass and led the way to the studio. There she showed Josh the stacker filled with unframed prints.
“That’s some of my more recent work,” she said, as Josh began flicking through the images. “I’ve got framed pieces too, of course, but they would be a little more difficult to take back to the USA.”
“I’m sure I’ll find something here,” he said with a smile. “Hey, do you have any views of the spot where we had our lunch?”
“And nearly froze to death?” Rachel smiled, and pulled out five or six landscapes. “These are all views of the valley.”
Josh took them over to the work bench and studied them carefully. “They are really beautiful.”
She watched his face as he studied the prints. He had, she now noticed, a very elegant profile. Her artist’s eye took in his long eyelashes and perfectly straight nose. He had nice lips and the close-cropped beard gave his chin definition, she decided, and made him look older than he actually was. He looked like a handsome conquistador and she had an urge to whip out her sketch pad and draw him.
Josh caught her studying him and frowned. “Do I have noodles in my beard or something?”
Rachel laughed. “No, not at all. It’s just . . . .” What was it exactly? Apart from the fact that she found him quite appealing, there was something more. “This is going to sound creepy, but I feel like we’ve met before.”
Josh laughed. “Well I have been here for five whole days now.”
Rachel sat down on one of the work chairs and swivelled her body from side to side, frowning. “I know, but it’s more than that.”
“And we did spend some quality time together on our walk today.”
“You’re teasing me.”
Josh shrugged. “It’s something spooky, maybe? Perhaps I’m the reincarnation of a Pelette peasant who used to live in your house?”
“Now you’re being silly,” she said, hopping off the chair. “Let’s go back downstairs. It’s getting chilly in here. Bring those prints with you,” she added, nodding at the two he had selected.
Back in the cosy sitting room Josh held the landscapes up in front of him again as she topped up their glasses. “I love them both, but I think I’ll take this one,” he said, turning it over to look at the details on the back.
“Excellent choice, sir,” said Rachel. “That’s from my new collection. There are lots of Rachel Thompsons in circulation, but the Greaves work is pretty rare. At the moment, anyway.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Josh, sitting bolt upright and staring at her hard.
“It’s not that exciting. I mean they’re not valuable or anything.” Rachel looked on amazed as Josh leapt to his feet and began to laugh.
“That’s it,” he said, pacing up and down and chuckling to himself.
Rachel was looking at him strangely now.
“What’s ‘it’? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She was getting quite concerned.
“Nothing’s wrong at all,” he said, but still laughing and shaking his head.
“Josh, what is this? You’re making me nervous. Will you please tell me what’s got into you?”
“Okay.” He stopped in front of her with his arms folded. “You said your maiden name was Greaves, right?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Yes. But it isn’t that unusual a name.”
“And you have a brother in the US?”
“Yes. So what?
“What’s his name?”
“Henry Greaves, though I don’t see what my brother has to do with anything.”
“Ha! You were right.” Josh laughed again and came to sit down beside her. “We have met before,” he said, grabbing her hand.
Rachel looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. “You’ve lost me now.”
“We met at your brother’s wedding.”
Rachel was dumbfounded for a moment. “What, how?”
“I was there. You were there. We met.”
Rachel thought back to that manic day when Henry had married his American girlfriend in Boston six years before. Michael had paid for the family and her parents to fly over for a week’s holiday. The wedding itself had been a whirlwind of faces. She was preoccupied with the children – and keeping an eye on Michael who was flirting outrageously and hamming up his English or French accent, depending on who it was he was trying to impress.
She tried to run the events of the day through her mind’s eye, but she could not find Josh in her memory. “Are you sure? I mean, that you were there?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get invited to that many fancy-schmancy weddings, you know. My girlfriend at the time was a friend of the bride and I went as her Plus One.” He shrugged. “It was one of the last things we went to together, actually.”
Rachel bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he smiled. “It was no big thing.”
“I meant that I’m sorry, but I really don’t remember meeting you at all.” She scrutinised his face, scrolling back in her memory through the people she had met on that day. “I mean, you’re right – I feel it – but I don’t remember seeing you.”
“It’s not that surprising – I was six years younger, about 20lbs heavier and I didn’t have this,” he said, stroking his beard. “But I remember you. And the family.”
“Oh dear, were we that badly behaved?”
He laughed. “No, not at all. The kids were cute. And I think I spoke to your parents.”
“Yes, that makes sense. My dad knows how to work a room.” She jumped. “Oh, I’ve got it now! I do remember you.” Rachel clapped her hands together, laughing. “My folks started a conga line at the reception and I grabbed you and pulled you in. At least I think that was you.”
He nodded slowly, trying to remember the lost details. “Yup, that was me. And you were wearing an orange and purple dress.”
“Oh, God, yes,” said Rachel, squirming. “Susan wanted us to wear ‘Fall’ colours – never again.”
“It was very striking.”
She snorted. “I think you mean bloody awful.”
Josh shook his head from side to side. “You could never look awful, Rachel.”
And when he leant over to kiss her she didn’t resist him.
* * *
When she awoke the next morning she was naked apart from the pink fluffy bed socks. And she was not alone. She groaned inwardly as she looked at Josh and rolled over, hoping to creep out of bed before he woke. Too late.
“Well good morning, beautiful,” he said, turning around and wrapping himself around her. She felt him nuzzle into her neck and gently kiss the tops of her shoulders, his beard tickling her in a not unpleasant manner.
She turned back to face him, pushing him away when he tried to kiss her breasts. “No, we musn’t.”
He pulled back and smiled at her. “I think you’ll find that we already have. Or was that just a particularly vivid dream I had there?”
Rachel wriggled away from him and hopped out of bed, grabbing her robe from the armchair by her bed.
“Nice socks.” Josh lay propped up on his arm, smiling at her. “Come back to bed Rachel,” he said, throwing back the covers and patting the place beside him. “It’s still early.”
“Damn, bugger, bollocks,” muttered Rachel, running around the room, collecting clothes and rejecting them again. “I’ve got to collect the kids at 9am and it’s already twenty-to.”
Josh sat up, attentive now. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Make me tea!”
“I’m on it,” he said, running towards the door.
Rachel looked back from the bathroom. “But maybe put your clothes on first?”
“Sure thing,” he said, coming over to kiss her. “God, last night was great Rachel.”
“Milk no sugar. Go!”
* * *
Rachel and Josh had three more days together before he had to leave for Switzerland and another library before flying back to Atlanta. It was a strange time: because of Irina, the kids and the other guests, they didn’t spend the night together again. Josh spent ages chatting with her in the studio as she worked and they walked around the village a couple of times, but that was it.
Rachel had feared that Josh had just jumped into bed with her because she happened to be there, was available and randy, but he seemed to genuinely like her. When he was leaving, they promised to keep in touch – especially, as he put it, since they were very nearly related!
When she told her friends what had happened, Jilly had looked pained. They were having tea in Rachel’s kitchen, whispering in case Irina was nearby.
“I think all this . . .” Jilly wafted her hand in the air vaguely, “activity shows that you need a man in your life.”
Rachel sighed. “It’s all very well you telling me that I need a man. Unfortunately, all I get are ships that pass in the night.”
“And one or two that occasionally dock,” said Margot, with a smile. She was far less sentimental than Jilly. “A little rumpy-pumpy with handsome strangers won’t do you any harm, darling.”
“There won’t be any more rumpy-pumpy from now on. I can’t cope with the stress.”
Margot patted her hand. “Don’t they say these things always come in threes?”
Rachel puffed out her cheeks. “Not for me. I’m not getting involved with anyone from now on unless they are 100% available.”
Chapter 17: Christmas Eve
The next ten days went by in a blur of Christmas preparations. Philippe and Albert had invited Rachel and the children to supper at their house before midnight mass on Christmas Eve. She was pleased to have the invitation: the house seemed rather empty without the guests. And Josh.
Christmas Eve at Philippe’s place involved lots of eating and drinking, a stroll across town, then more delicious food, drink and conversation at their town house after the fairly short service. The priest was sanguine enough to turn a blind eye to Philippe and Albert’s close ‘friendship’ and would pop by for a drink. They had been together for several years, although Albert kept his own flat in another part of town. Until recently, his ex-wife had only ever allowed their children to visit him there. This was the first year that the youngsters were staying with their dad and Philippe for the holiday, and Albert was overjoyed.
The pair had a broad range of friends and Rachel was looking forward to the evening very much. On Christmas Day itself, she planned to drive back home with the kids for lunch and pressies. In the past, Michael would come to collect them for a sleepover at his flat, but that year he and Amelie were spending the holidays with her parents.
It was going to be a quiet time for the children and she hoped that they wouldn’t be too bored at home with her.
She was on her third glass of champagne and second helping of canapés when she heard laughter and raised voices from the kitchen. Albert came into the room with a grin on his face.
“Rachel, there is someone in the kitchen for you.”
She put down her glass and followed him into the hallway from where she could see a flurry of greetings being exchanged and her children locked in a ‘team hug’ with their grandfather and Connie.
“Happy Christmas sweet pea!”
Rachel dashed over as Harold released Charlie and Alice, and opened his arms to embrace her.
“Dad, Connie! What a surprise!”
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Connie, standing slightly to one side and looking sheepish. Rachel approached and gave her a kiss on both cheeks.
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said, surprised to find that she actually meant it. In the past she had found her father’s lady friend rather overbearing, but she knew that Connie made Harold happy and the pair’s arrival in Philippe’s kitchen had completely transformed the children’s prospects for Christmas.
“Your father was worried that you’d be lonely this year,” said Connie, adding in a whisper, “especially now that ‘You Know Who’ has got himself a new family and everything.”
“We shan’t stay long, love. Just a day or two,” added Harold. “Just to make sure that you and the children are coping with the new guest house.”
“I think you should stay for ever, Grandy!” said Charlie, giving him a hug.
Harold smiled and kissed him on the forehead before Charlie could wriggle free and escape back to the TV.
“We won’t take up any room, either,” said Connie. “I persuaded my daughter Eleanor to lend us her campervan for the trip, didn’t I love?”
“You did indeed.”
Nowadays Rachel was frequently surprised by her father’s adventures. “Good heavens. Did you really drive all the way down here in that ancient vehicle?”
“We certainly did and it was tremendous fun.”
Alice looked perplexed. “What’s a campervan Granddad?”
“It’s like a little house on wheels,” said Harold.
“Yes, you can cook in it and sleep in it. Everything really,” added Connie, giving Harold a coy look that was fortunately missed by Rachel.
“Wow, cool!” said Alice. “Can I see?”
“Of course, darling,” said Harold, as the entire party trooped out of Philippe’s kitchen to admire the lime-green vehicle under the pale orange glow of the street lamp.
Chapter 18: Christmas Day
Before setting off from Devon, Connie and Harold had packed the campervan with gifts and an array of goodies, including the makings of an entire English Christmas dinner. In the morning everything was transferred from the van to Rachel’s kitchen. Among the ingredients were sprouts, which her children had only ever encountered French style, ie. boiled to oblivion and then canned.
They were recreating the entire English experience by starting the day with mince pies, sherry and a brisk walk, despite the freezing weather.
By mid-afternoon, candles were lit, the di
ning room was draped in tinsel and everyone’s thoughts were turning towards turkey with Paxo stuffing when the Ukrainians arrived. Irina had said that she might drop by with the cousins for a drink, but Rachel had not expected them to sweep into the house with vodka and bear hugs all round.
After the introductions had been made, Irina – dressed in a figure-hugging white dress and silver ankle boots – ceremoniously presented Rachel with an enormous cooked carp, while Alexei and Gregor dished out bottles of wine and chocolates to Harold and Connie, as well as gifts for the children that included a rather lurid T-shirt for Alice – which she adored – and a football decorated in City Kiev colours for Charlie.
Having patted their stomachs and declined the offer of lunch, Irina and the cousins squeezed themselves into gaps around the table and joined them for the champagne, vodka, smoked salmon and blinis that now began the meal. This was accompanied by lots of toasts, laughter and back-slapping.
Rachel had already prepared a beef Bourguinon for their lunch, so that went on the table as well as the turkey. To finish, there was fruit and a French chocolate log, but the pièce de resistance was Harold’s Christmas cake, which was decorated with lots of icing swept into extravagant snow drifts.
As Rachel was distributing slices of cake at the end of the meal, Gregor began to sing in a warm, deep voice.
Irina sat humming to herself, swaying gently in time to the music.
“What is he singing about?” whispered Rachel.
“Ah, it is a very sad song, Madame,” Irina looked suitably mournful despite the paper hat on her head. “It is about a man with an unhappy wife who goes fishing and sees a very large fish.”
“Biggest fish in the Dnieper River,” added Alexei.
Charlie, who had done some fishing with his father, perked up at this. “Does he catch it?”
“He follows it many times, but each time it swims further and further away, and the wife – she gets sadder and sadder.”
