Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  “’Tis all out in the open now,” he whispered in Nanthild’s ear, the scent of lavender from her luscious hair playing havoc with his senses. “I promise to be a good, faithful husband. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  She looked at him through half-lowered lashes and nodded. “Thank you, lord.”

  He smiled. “Please say Bellon from now on. We’re betrothed now…Nanthild.”

  The lady cocked her head, her gaze firmly locked with his. “Then please call me Hilda.”

  “I shall, Hilda.” Relief flooded through him. Perhaps he was fortunate, after all.

  Keeping a close eye on the lass for the rest of the evening, it saddened Bellon to see the nervousness in her demeanour. When they were first introduced, before Milo had told her, she had seemed lighter, more self-assured, bolder. He had liked that in her. But this Easter had not gone well for her. To be married to a stranger before the year is out had come as a shock. Bellon prayed that she would, in time, develop the same feelings for him as he already held for her.

  Chapter Five

  On her way back from the notaire, Maddie stopped off at a large Leclerc supermarket on the outskirts of Carcassonne. She needed milk and bread – and wine! Especially after the shock…

  She parked her car outside the big store and entered the lobby, dazzled by its size. Searching for a carrier, she found a small basket-on-wheels-like contraption. Uncertain where to start, she wandered up and down the aisles before she came to a halt by the large area for fruit and vegetables. Cold steam rose from between displays of boxes of loose courgettes and peppers, mushrooms and tomatoes and a great variety of other vegetables. On the other side, a choice of packed strawberries from Spain and other fruit from farther overseas was waiting for shoppers to pick them up. Her basket filled quickly with a selection of healthy foods. Good for her five-a-day!

  The meat counters displayed choices she hardly ever saw in York: rabbit, wild boar, horse. Horse? Maddie stared, then passed by quickly. Other countries, other…umm…choices! She picked up a pack of organic bio beef mince and moved on. Now her basket was filling up fast. Fruit juice, biscuits, coffee, milk. Mmmh, madeleines. As always when she saw the delicious French cake bites that shared her name, she grinned, and grabbed a pack. Sorted!

  Once she had all the items she needed, she moved to the large wine section.

  “Wow!” she whispered, unsure where to start. A French lady passing her raised her eyebrows before moving on, slightly shaking her head. No doubt she was thinking, tourist! Displayed before Maddie were rows of wines from various French regions, with a few small overseas sections thrown in. Up until now, she had not been a wine drinker. All she knew was that she liked Italian wines, easily accessible in York. But French?

  Now, where to start?

  “Puis-je vous aider, madame?” a strong, deep voice asked behind her.

  Maddie turned and found herself staring into Léon Cabrol’s dark grey eyes. She took a step back. Dressed in a biker’s leather jacket and jeans, he exuded confidence. Quickly, she pulled herself together. She was a divorcee in her thirties, and French men were renowned to be great flirts. Still…

  “Oui, s’il vous plaît, monsieur.” She smiled. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I’m clueless. I was too young to appreciate wine when I left France, and northern England isn’t exactly a hotbed for fine Languedoc grape juice.”

  “Yes, I can imagine. I lived in London for a few years, and although they serve French wines in bars and restaurants, they preferred overseas brands. Those imports were often the cheap stuff, with little taste – in my humble view,” he added with a grin.

  Maggie giggled. “I probably have to agree. So, what would you – as a local wine producer and drinker, I presume – recommend?”

  “That depends. Do you prefer red, rosé, or white?”

  “Well, I usually like my white, but I can’t see too many here.”

  “That’s right. It’s because of the grape varieties the vignerons use here. Red grapes grow better in our hot summer climate, as do several kinds of rosé.”

  “Then I’ll be happy to try a red or two. It looks like there are plenty of choices.”

  “Ahh, now, if I may lead you over there?” He pointed further along the long shelf where bottles of red wine stood lined up.

  Maddie followed his lead. “Thank you. So here we have wine from the area, right?”

  Léon Cabrol nodded. “Oui. Most of these here are from our regions.” He pointed at the whole shelf half the width of the store. “The Cabardès is where we are from, as you know; the Corbières lie to the south and east of the Cité; the Minervois reaches towards the Mediterranean; and some others beyond. Many domaines sell directly to local restaurants and stores, and smaller ventures tend to who pull together under so-called co-operatives. It makes the whole business more affordable, especially the smaller your own vineyard is.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of that. Very interesting. Now, which would you recommend? I’m looking for a couple of reasonably-priced wines, where you don’t end up with a sore head after a glass…” She glanced at him with half-closed lids.

  He laughed out loud. “A good point. Now, here we have a light Pouzols, easy to drink, from the Minervois…” He pointed at one bottle, at a surprisingly cheap price, and moved up the aisle. “There we have a delicious Ventenac that tastes of spices and berries. And this is a lovely wine, a Château de Pennautier. Excellent quality. Those last two lie closest to us.”

  Support your local produce. It made sense. “Thank you. They sound lovely.” Maddie nodded, then glanced across the shelf. One label made her stop. She cocked her head. “Oh! And here’s a Château de Minervens. I presume that’s yours?”

  Léon Cabrol shuffled his feet. “Ahh…oui. As it happens, yes. This is one of ours.”

  “You are not embarrassed about it, are you?” His reaction intrigued her. Usually, owners blurt out their credentials from a mile off. Sales tactics. This man suddenly seemed distinctly uncomfortable in his skin.

  “Non! Not at all.” He shrugged his shoulders in a typical French way, matching the stereotype. “I didn’t want to push my luck.” His mouth twitched.

  Maddie raised an eyebrow and laughed. “So, you intentionally veered away from it.”

  “Well, I don’t want to – how do you say – steamroll you into buying my wine.”

  “In that case, I’ll have a Ventenac and two of yours, please. I’ll try the others later. What does it taste like?” she asked as he handed her the bottles. She pushed aside the bag of apples at the bottom of her basket to squeeze in the bottles.

  Léon Cabrol’s face lit up. “Of ripe blackberries and cranberries, the wind and the sun.”

  “Is that your marketing slogan?”

  “Umm, something like that, yes.”

  “Then it works very well, at least for me,” she said. “Thank you for your help. I’ll now know what to look out for next time.”

  “I’m delighted to hear. Please come and visit us for a tour if you’d like. I’d be happy to show you around.”

  Don’t even go there. He’s French, like your father – who left your mother when she was pregnant!

  Reality brought her back. “Thank you. That’s kind of you. I may take you up on your offer one day. I wasn’t planning on staying long, but my mother had other ideas.”

  The smile died on his lips. “I’m sorry to hear. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Maddie tilted her head. “Perhaps. I have to mull it over before I decide.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable.” He fished out a business card from an inside pocket of his jacket. “Please call me or pop in. We’re just a couple of kilometres up the road from you.”

  “I shall.” She took it and tucked it into her bag. “And thank you for your help. I hope I haven’t held you up.”

  “Not at all. It’s been a pleasure.” He winked. “À bientôt.”

  “Au revoir.”

  “Elizabeth did what?
” Brian asked.

  “She stipulated that I have to stay in the house for a year before I can sell it,” Maddie repeated, clutching the receiver to her ear. Her ex could be slow at times. The typical nutty professor!

  “But…whatever for?”

  “I don’t have a clue, Brian. I think she wanted to make a point. Mess with my life. Her last chance to.”

  “Don’t say that, Maddie. She was your mother.”

  “Who never really got on with you.”

  “I know. Guess we’ll never know why, now. So, what are you planning to do?”

  “I’ve no idea. I can do my writing from here if I can arrange decent WiFi. But I’d miss the bustle of York.”

  “I’ve missed York too, for a long time. But, as you know, I still think this move was the best decision in my life.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do. It finished our marriage,” she added drily.

  Brian laughed. “Sadly, it did. Just wasn’t meant to be. But we are both happier now.”

  “True,” Maddie conceded. Their friendship worked better than their short-lived marriage. “But I haven’t lived abroad in years. Almost half my life.”

  “You’ll get used to it, hun. The Languedoc is a beautiful place, full of ancient history.”

  “Ahh, the history professor at the university of Valencia is speaking.” Maddie snickered.

  Their one shared passion, history had been more important to them than marriage.

  “I know, Brian. But no Vikings!” She shook her head. “How am I going to keep up to date with my research?”

  “The worldwide web?” He made it sound so easy.

  Maddie sighed. “I know it would, but…I’m happy in York. It’s a pretty town. People are friendly. Historic sites all around. Lovely pubs…”

  “But the wine isn’t as nice as where you are,” Brian quipped.

  “Ha, cheers!” Maddie clinked her wine glass against the receiver and took a sip of the Château de Minervens. “Mmh…” That man shouldn’t hold back about his business at all. The wine was delicious.

  “Hahaha, you’re on it already. I knew it! But seriously,” Brian sobered, “it’s a great chance to experience life elsewhere. You’ve not done that since you moved to York. Why not take it and see how it goes?”

  “Seems like I have no choice.”

  “Look, why don’t you speak to Jane and see if you can arrange Skype sessions with anyone at the uni you need to talk to? And ask her to take videos of any new discoveries for you. They often do that anyway, to record new findings. In fact, many consultants work like that.”

  “Again, provided I get WiFi here.”

  “It’s a tourist area, the Languedoc. They’ll have WiFi – at least, enough for what you need to work.”

  “True,” she conceded. “OK, I’ll give Orange a call to see what’s what.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it there. It’s hot and dry in the summer!”

  “Trust you to mention the weather. Valencia has screwed with your head.” She laughed.

  Brian chuckled. “Yes, likely too much sun, I admit.”

  “Well, it would be a big change.”

  “You don’t have to decide on the spot. Have some wine. Relax. Sleep it over. Maybe tomorrow it won’t seem too absurd. Though I wonder about Elizabeth’s motivation.”

  “So do I. I’m still going to sell the house when the year’s up. But at least, I can do some cosmetic work to it to make it more attractive to buyers.”

  “Attractive to expats, you mean.”

  “Shh! To anyone willing to buy a 100-year-old French village stone house with wonky electricity and old pipes. Mum has a nice sum of money in her account, but I can’t access it – unless for renovation reasons – until I’ve lived here for a year.”

  “Elizabeth had money? Who’d have thought.” Brian joked.

  “Tell me about it! Bet you wouldn’t have divorced me so quickly had you known I was a rich heiress…” She chuckled and took another sip. The smooth liquid went down like velvet.

  “Now, now!” She could hear the laughter in his voice. “I rather blame the Yorkshire weather.”

  “Muppet! Off you go, then. And thanks for listening.”

  “Always, love. Give me a shout if you need help.”

  “Thanks, Brian. And give my love to Ana and huggles to Felipe.”

  “Will do. Take care. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  She put the receiver down on her mother’s 1990s telephone and sat back. Brian was right. It didn’t matter where she wrote, and she could always contact Jane for updates of the dig. Should they unearth something dramatic, she could fly out at short notice.

  Maddie sipped her wine and looked around. Decorating the rooms would be her priority. She smiled, her head already filling with ideas of how much better the old place could look. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea at all.

  It was only for a year, after all…

  ***

  Arranging to stay took over much of Maddie’s time. The next morning, she visited the post office to apply for an account at the Banque Postale. Then, she popped into the épicerie for some fresh baguette and cheese. Walking back, she was already munching a ripped-off corner off the tasty, still-warm bread. The sun beat down on her back, and, despite the chilly temperatures, the rays warmed her. Maddie welcomed the pleasant feeling of heat and fresh air.

  Passing Bernadette Albert, she saw her neighbour was busy tending flowers in her garden. The grey-haired lady crouched on the ground, her knees on a gardening pad, adjusting a rosebush in a patch of loose earth.

  “Bonjour, madame.” Maddie waved as she closed her own gate behind her, shopping bag in hand, and looked over the fence. “Ça va?”

  “Ah, bonjour. I’m fine, thank you.” Madame Albert returned her smile and rose slowly, pushing herself upright, and brushed off the earth from her hands. “And please call me Bernadette.” She waved a hand at the patch around her. “Some plants toppled over in the storm we had two weeks ago, so I had to tuck them in again.” She proudly pointed at a neat row of cut-back roses planted along her wall, now firmly held in place again, tied to a trellis.

  Come May, her neighbour’s garden would give Monet’s at Giverny a run for its money, Maddie thought. It was already vibrant with colour, and bursting with scent, even this early in the year. She had planted perennials next to big round tubs of lavender, a small grove of olive trees stood on the side of her house, and Maddie knew that she had fruit trees at the back. She’d seen them from her bedroom window.

  “Ah. Oh, thank you. I’m Maddie,” she offered. “Your garden looks beautiful. I can’t wait to see what it’ll look like later in the spring. My mother didn’t seem too bothered about her own.” She shrugged apologetically and pointed at the overgrown shrubs around her. Weeds grew from the gaps in the stone-walled border from months of neglect.

  Bernadette came forward and leant on the fence. “Your mother preferred to occupy herself with other things, like reading. She was forever sitting in a chair on the little terrace over there – before it became too overgrown – with a book in her hands. Gardening wasn’t her priority. André cut the grass and the bushes every few weeks for her over the summer. I can ask him to help you if you’d like.” She put her hand to her mouth, her gaze full of worry. “I’m so sorry. I hope I wasn’t too personal.”

  Maddie laughed. “Not at all. I would be grateful if you could ask him. I’m a useless gardener. I can just about pot a plant, but trying to get it to survive is tricky.”

  “Ahh, I can help you with that. Pas de souci.”

  “I would appreciate it. Thank you. It looks like I’ll be staying here for a while, doing some work on the house, so to have someone keep the garden nice and pretty would be great.”

  Her neighbour nodded, a big smile lighting up her face. “Yes, that makes sense. So you’ve decided to stay? It’s what Elisa wanted the most. And it’ll be lovely to have a neighbour again. The owners of that one,”
she pointed to the large house bordering her garden on the other side, “live in Lille, and they show their faces maybe twice a year for a few weeks.” She tutted to show her disapproval. “C’est une dommage.”

  “Yes, I guess so.” Maddie kept her reply intentionally vague, not wishing to give the woman false hopes. “I must return to York first to sort out some work stuff, but then I’ll be here whilst I’m decorating. The house needs an upgrade.”

  Something in Bernadette’s expression concerned her. She’d barely met the lady, yet she already knew her to be friendly, helpful – and very direct. Maddie promptly received confirmation of her thoughts.

  “Oh, you are planning on selling it?” An eyebrow went up, the smile slowly vanishing.

  Why did the woman have to make her feel bad? This place meant nothing to her. It had Elizabeth’s name written all over it! The memory of her mother brought back unwanted, distant memories. Maddie brushed them aside.

  “To be honest, it’s very likely.”

  Bernadette’s face fell.

  “I’m sorry,” Maddie added. “This was Elizabeth’s house. I haven’t…hadn’t spoken with my mother for years. The reasons go way back.” Maddie felt she had to justify her position.

  Why? I can do what I want with the place.

  A crash made them both turn towards the house. Something had moved. Maddie peered over the shrubs. Several roof tiles lay on the overgrown terrace, shattered into a myriad of little pieces. A shiver ran down her spine as she looked up. How did they get unstuck? The weather was completely calm.

  Baffled, she glanced at Bernadette who was watching her. “Did you see that?”

  “Yes, dear. I was just about to point out that it looked like they were sliding when they fell off the roof. All by themselves.” Bernadette frowned. “Elisa only had it re-done two years ago. It should be in perfect condition.”

  “Well, it’s no longer.” Maddie’s gaze went back to the splinters. “I’ll have to get it checked. Do you know by chance who did the work?”

  It slowly dawned on her that she’d have to ask her neighbour and other villagers about a lot of things concerning her mother’s house – and life here. She knew nothing at all about the place, or how life in France worked these days. Twenty years were a long time to be away. And France was a country where the rules change with the Cévenol winds. Often.