Poppy's Place in the Sun

by Lorraine Wilson

  I don’t trust the current Estate Manager. He’s one of these people who never looks you in the eye or gives you a straight answer to anything. Profits from the Vineyard are down with no obvious explanation, and it feels hinky, as you would say. I’m going to have to get the accountant to go through the books.

  While I was back in Paris my parents sold Madeline’s house and some of the estate land to an English woman. They didn’t tell me until after they had committed themselves. They admitted it was to cover care costs and medical bills for Dad, and also to make up the estate shortfall. Again, they didn’t want to worry me or make me feel under any pressure to leave my Paris practice. I just wish they’d told me before they signed the initial agreement. I don’t think she’ll last long in France, this English woman. It’s all very awkward because I feel sorry for her, and the situation isn’t her fault. Also, it seems her boyfriend has done a bunk and Jacques is sniffing around her. You remember I told you about him? So, you’ll understand why it’s all so bloody complicated. Anyway, I thought if I sell my share in the Paris practice to you then I can buy the house and land back from the English woman when she goes back to England. It’s only right that Madeline’s house will be back in the Chateau Estate where it belongs, owned by the family. That house holds so many memories for me. The fact it’s been sold to a stranger, however nice she is, well, it feels like I’ve lost them all over again. Does that make sense?

  There’s plenty of work for me down here in the Saint Quentin village practice, so I guess that’s it. Decision made. I hope you and Brad make it down south for a visit one weekend. Then you can say ‘I told you so’ in person. You always said I was a country vet at heart. I’ll admit it’s nice to be working with horses and livestock again.

  Take care,

  Leo

  Chapter Four

  ‘When you have a dream that you can’t let go of, trust your instincts and pursue it. But remember: Real dreams take work, they take patience, and sometimes they require you to dig down very deep. Be sure you’re willing to do that.’

  Harvey Mackay

  From mandy-kirkbride72@hotmail.com

  To poppy@daydreamdesigns.co.uk

  Subject: Pete

  So? When were you going to tell me? I had to find out from Michelle’s mother of all people because my own daughter hadn’t bothered to tell me. I bumped into her at the cheese counter at Waitrose as I was getting your dad his Brie.

  It was highly embarrassing, Poppy. She assumed that I knew. I had to pretend I did to save face, but it was all very awkward.

  There’s nothing for it now. You have to put that French house back up for sale and come straight home to us. I’m sure the dogs will get on with Colin if you train them properly. Lots of people have dogs and cats as pets. Maybe we could get one of those dog trainers in if you’re not up to it?

  Anyway, I am sorry this happened, but I think maybe it is all for the best.

  Love Mum

  From poppy@daydreamdesigns.co.uk

  To mandy-kirkbride72@hotmail.com

  Subject: Pete

  I am home, Mum. This is my home now. I’m not coming back to England. I am sorry you had to hear about it third hand. I wanted to process everything in my head before I told people.

  Love from Poppy.

  From Brian-kirkbride72@hotmail.com

  To poppy@daydreamdesigns.co.uk

  Subject: Pete

  Hi Poppy love. You can’t be serious about what you said to Mum. She’s in a real state. We hate to think of you all alone in a foreign country. Have you considered how you can make this work financially? I thought Pete was going to put up the funding for the gîtes conversion. How are you going to manage without him? Also, without Pete’s flat to go back to, you may never be able to get back on the UK property ladder once England is out of the EU.

  You know how worried we were about you moving to France post Brexit, but you wouldn’t listen to us. You kept saying it was your dream, but dreams aren’t real life Poppy. Dreams won’t pay for the upkeep of your property, will they?

  Give us a ring and we’ll help you put that house back up for sale. You know you’re always welcome with us. Forget the damned cat. After a couple of sharp swipes to their muzzles, your dogs will stop chasing him. There’s no need for all this nonsense about getting a dog trainer in. They’ll sort themselves out.

  Love Dad

  My mood plummets as I read through my emails. There’s nothing from Pete. I wasn’t really expecting anything, but still … Will my heart ever stop lurching when I check my emails and texts? And as for the emails from Mum and Dad, well…

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and rub at my temples, trying to relieve the pain of a stress headache and to shut the world out, ostrich style. I need to summon up the fighting spirit I felt last night at the chateau, when I was thinking about the area’s heroic history. Okay, so, facing Mum on the warpath isn’t anything like facing a northern crusader or a gestapo interrogator, but it’s still not a very pleasant way to start the day.

  However, the fact I’m not going to be burned alive or tortured does help me keep my modern problems in perspective. I’m going to halt my plummeting mood in its tracks. I pick my phone back up, find my favourites and phone Michelle. She answers on the second ring.

  “Oh God, Poppy, I’m so sorry. She’s been onto you already, hasn’t she?” Michelle launches straight into an apology and doesn’t bother with a greeting.

  “Hmm.” I chew my lip, unwilling to let her off the hook too easily. I take the phone out into the garden and watch Peanut, Treacle and Pickwick chasing each other in mad circles. Thankfully they’ve not been near the donkey fence yet.

  “It’s just, when Mum came round she asked how you were getting on in France, so I told her.” Michelle sighs. “What were the chances they’d bump into each other? They haven’t spoken for years. Mum’s mortified. She said it was obvious your mum didn’t know, and she wants you to know she’s really sorry she dropped you in it.”

  I exhale. “It’s okay, really. Please tell her not to worry. They had to know sometime. I was just delaying the inevitable fuss.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Oh, you can probably guess.” I rub at my temples again. I think I need some ibuprofen.

  “Was it to tell you to come back to stay with them immediately and don’t let the dogs chase Colin the cat?” Michelle puts on a mock stern voice. “You’re clearly not training them properly, Poppy.”

  “You must be psychic,” I reply dryly.

  “I assume that’s not going to happen?” Michelle asks. I can hear a child crying in the background and hear her moving about attempting to sort things out while still trying to give me her full attention. “Hang on just a sec.”

  She really is a top friend. I wish I could move her out to France. I know we’ve got the Internet and Skype and all that, but it’s not quite the same as being able to pop round. Although, as visiting her used to involve two changes on the Underground and a mainline rail journey, I could never exactly “pop.” I tended only to use the Mini for shopping or getting out of the city and into the countryside. I was never a great fan of driving in London. Given I can now fly back and get to her more cheaply and more quickly than my rail journey used to take, I really shouldn’t be feeling upset. Though I wouldn’t leave the dogs, not yet anyway, and she can’t leave the children, so in reality it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Okay, crisis averted, go on,” Michelle says. “Are you going to come back and stay with your parents like they want you to?”

  “Fat chance,” I sigh again. “And anyway, the dogs are always going to chase Colin the cat. He’s frightened of Peanut for some reason, even though he’s five times her size. But that’s beside the point. My home is here now.”

  I look around at the garden, at the beautiful wild poppies and the butterflies flitting from one flower to another. I take in the happy faces of the dogs after their game of chase. Then I turn back to my elegant French far
mhouse. It’s a little shabby, but it has character. It just needs some TLC.

  A bit like me, really.

  A stubborn streak inside me makes me determined to dig my heels down deep into the rich red Languedoc Roussillon earth and refuse to move. I imagine what Gran’s advice would be to me, and I stand a little taller. I have to give this a chance, partly for her but mostly for me. I don’t want to get to the end of my life with regrets for the path not taken. I have to listen to my heart, to the tug I feel to this place.

  I’m meant to be here, I know it.

  “Maybe I could come out for a weekend on my own sometime,” Michelle suggests.

  “Would that be okay with the great hunter gatherer?” I try not to sound too eager. She’ll worry if she thinks I’m falling apart.

  “Tough cheese if it’s not okay with him. I have the kids on my own all week long. He thinks it’s dead easy and I make too much fuss about it. I’ve got a breast pump now so his excuse about not being able to breastfeed won’t hold. He gets to go away all the time with work and gets put up in hotels. It’ll do him good to have the little blighters for a few days. I mean the little angels, of course.” Michelle laughs grimly.

  “Well, if you can, that would be wonderful. I’d love to see you, and I really want to show you everything. It’s so lovely here.” My throat is tight.

  “Are the locals friendly?”

  “Everyone’s very nice.” My cheeks heat up as I think about Leo, about the glint in his eye when I talked about “the French kissing thing.”

  Arghh. I feel funny every time I replay that moment. As I’ve been replaying it a lot, I’ve been feeling funny pretty much since I said goodbye to him.

  “Have you met someone?” Michelle perks up, her voice taking on a teasing tone.

  How did she get that from “everyone’s very nice”? My tone must’ve given me away somehow. Either that or she really must be psychic. That’s the problem with people you’ve practically grown up with. They have that sixth-friend sense. You can’t hide things from them, even over the phone.

  “I’ve met lots of people,” I reply primly.

  “Poppy Kirkbride, you know exactly what I mean.” Michelle’s tone is stern. “Have you met a particular someone? Someone fit?”

  “No … not really. Well, sort of, I suppose.” I scratch my nose. “My neighbour offered to show me around.”

  “Ooh, and would this neighbour be male by any chance?”

  “Mmm,” I mutter noncommittally.

  “Ah, so he’s fit too, or you wouldn’t be doing all this umming and ahing.”

  I think about Leo’s smouldering good looks, but also about his diffidence; the darkness I sense in him that makes me wary.

  “I’ve only just split up with Pete.”

  “And you clearly fancy this neighbour,” Michelle carries on, ignoring my mention of Pete. “I’m definitely coming out to see you now. I need to check this neighbour out.”

  “Okay, he’s fit. I admit it. You know you’d have been burned as a witch if you’d lived a few centuries ago,” I relent. There’s no point lying to Michelle.

  “I’ll pack my sunscreen so I don’t get burnt, don’t worry.”

  “Ha, very funny. I’m going to maintain a dignified silence on the subject.”

  “Good luck with that.” Michelle giggles. “Look, I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon, yeah?”

  “Okay. Is everything okay with you? Sorry I’ve been hogging the conversations recently.”

  “Yeah but you’ve also moved abroad and been dumped. You’ve got a lot going on. Me? I’ve got kids’ TV and the ironing to do. The big news here is that we’ve moved on from Shaun the Sheep. Sadly the DVD got lost, and the shops don’t have any more, so we’re onto Pixar now.”

  “Are you lying to your poor children, Michelle?” I laugh. “I could order a replacement DVD from Amazon…”

  “Don’t you dare,” she warns. “I know all the scripts by heart, and that can’t be healthy. I need a bit of variety. Have your French adventure, Poppy. Where’s the harm in living a little? I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.”

  “Okay. I’ll try. Bye, love you,” I say, overcome by a surge of affection for her.

  “Love you too, byeee.”

  I feel a bit wobbly once we’ve ended the call. Then I realise I’ve taken my eyes off the dogs. I look around, my sixth sense prickling, telling me someone is watching me. I turn to see Leo in the distance, leaning against the wall of his barn, drinking from a mug.

  He’s too far away to have heard my conversation, surely? I think rapidly back over the conversation and groan when I remember saying “my neighbour’s offered to show me around” and “he’s fit.” He didn’t hear me, please God he didn’t hear me.

  I think about his sister and niece and feel like I’m intruding on his grief. How must it feel for him to see part of the family estate sold to an English woman? Even worse, the actual house and garden his sister used to live in.

  The Duboises have made me very welcome, but I’ve no idea what Leo thinks of me being here. Am I a cuckoo he wants to push out of the nest?

  I sigh deeply. Life is always more complicated than that. It’s never black and white, just many shades of grey; and no, I don’t mean sex. Contradictory feelings and thoughts co-exist side by side quite happily, aided by layers of self-deceit and a reluctance for self-examination.

  He might like me but still want me gone. Or maybe I’m reading too much into those diffident, compelling stares that seem to both reel me in and simultaneously keep me at arm’s length.

  I stare back, refusing to skulk behind a bush in my own garden. Leo doesn’t look away or seem remotely abashed at being caught spying. Well, I’m here and I’m staying, so he’s going to have to get used to it.

  There is no way on earth I am leaving. I’m going to make this work. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. All those hours of day dreaming as I watched A Place in the Sun, desperate to find a place of my own. This feels right. The house itself feels welcoming. As soon as I stepped inside I felt a peace, a sense I belonged.

  I am desperately sorry about the tragedy the Dubois family have been through.

  I even gave Maxi a dog biscuit this morning when he came to wake me up. I am not a morning person really, certainly not a six a.m. person, but when I thought about Maxi waiting outside it kind of broke my heart. So, I suppose I’ll be getting up at six a.m. indefinitely. At least I don’t mind Maxi seeing me in my sleeping T-Shirt and can go back to bed afterwards.

  I meet Leo’s intense gaze, and my stomach lurches like I’m in a lift that has suddenly plummeted. I’d like him to do more than merely accept my presence, but then I also want Pete to send a grovelling message saying he’s on the next plane to Carcassonne. At least, I think I do. I did yesterday. It’s an example of those contradictory emotions and complex desires I’m barely aware of, never mind in control of.

  So I probably shouldn’t make any major decisions right now, or operate heavy machinery and so on. What I do know for sure is that I can’t cope with any more drama.

  At that very moment Peanut decides to make a break for it and darts towards Leo’s barn conversion, doing the limbo beneath the fence despite the branches I’ve looped along the bottom in an attempt to prevent escapees.

  She ignores my increasingly frantic calls and dashes at Maxi, who goes into a play bow stance and then rolls over onto his back while Peanut leaps deftly from side to side over his head. He’s so huge I do worry about him hurting her accidentally, but she’s so quick compared to him that she leaps clear each time. What Peanut lacks in height she makes up for in speed and acrobatic ability. The overall effect looks a little like Scottish sword dancing.

  My cheeks are hot by the time I’ve jogged the long way round and through the gate.

  From what I can see, the two dogs are still rolling about on the grass looking extremely pleased with themselves. Maxi is, thank God, still being unbelievably gentle with
Peanut, and by the time I finally reach them Peanut is lying Sphinx-like between Maxi’s paws, and he’s licking her head. His tongue is much wider than her tiny head. Leo rolls his eyes but seems more entertained than irritated.

  “I think our dogs want to be friends,” he says, humour dancing in his eyes and his lips widening into an amused smile. This side to him is so unexpected, and I’m thrown.

  “Er, yes, looks like it,” I say, trying to hide how out of breath I am. I don’t do running. Hiking, bike rides and swimming, yes. Running? Not unless I’m late for a train.

  Privately I think Peanut just wants another dog paying homage to her. She’s looking to expand her empire. Today Saint-Quentin-surAude, tomorrow the rest of France. She’ll be running for village Mayor next year, I’m sure.

  “I gave Maxi a treat this morning,” I blurt, still feeling awkward despite Leo’s better mood. Not only does close proximity to him does funny things to my body chemistry, but it seemingly reduces my IQ at the same time.

  “I thought so,” Leo says. “He came back looking very pleased with himself.”