Poppy's Place in the Sun

by Lorraine Wilson

  Joanna sighs. “Oh dear, you’ve got it bad then Poppy. I’m sorry sweetheart.”

  Then she does something rare for her, she reaches across and squeezes my hand.

  “You’ll be fine,” her tone is gentle.

  “It’ll all come out in the wash…” I suggest. “And there’s plenty of fish, etc. etc. except who wants a bloody fish? I don’t even like fish.”

  Joanna eyes me steadily. “Let’s have a nice cup of tea then. That’ll make everything better. Come on.”

  “Make it one of your special hot chocolates and you’ve got a deal.” I follow her to the kitchen, wishing it were really this easy to shake off the terrifying knowledge that I think I am … that I am falling in love.

  Isn’t falling in love supposed to feel nice and floaty? Not utterly terrifying like this … like stepping off a cliff. The French have it right – un coupe de foudre – a lightning bolt. Powerful, unexpected and should come with a health warning.

  I’ve only gone and bloody fallen in love with the one man who made it clear on my first day he wants me out of St Quentin.

  Maybe it’s just because we haven’t slept together? I haven’t felt like this before, what do I know? It could just be a case of getting something out of my system. But somehow I don’t think so.

  A frightening thought occurs to me. What if Leo only wants to have sex with me to get me out of his system? And it works for him but not for me…

  I shake my head and can’t help but think it’s much simpler for dogs – boy dog likes girl dog. Boy dog humps girl dog. Boy dog does not make girl dog wait in a frenzy of lust and excitement as some sort of sick power play game.

  I shake my head and follow Joanna. This is not quite the ending I was hoping for tonight but I’m in my own house in the south of France about to have a hot chocolate in front of the fire with a friend and my furry pack.

  So, if Leo doesn’t want me. Stuff him.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘The soul cannot think without a picture’

  Aristotle

  After another fitful night’s sleep I’m glad to be able to sit outside on the terrace for breakfast again. This morning I gave Maxi his treat but then firmly shut the door. I didn’t hunt for Leo in the grey, dawn shadows.

  I couldn’t switch my mind off last night. My body still felt the afterglow of Leo’s touch – the feel of his fingers, his lips and his body pressed against me, skin on skin. My mind, on the other hand, felt pissed off that he’d manipulated my body to fever pitch and left me frustrated.

  I won’t run after him. I won’t beg.

  I sigh, tilting my head back to catch the early rays of sunshine. Okay, so there may be conditions under which I might be induced to beg … pride be hanged. I’ve never had these intense kind of longings before, I don’t know how to handle them. Usually I’d follow my instincts, but they appear to be all over the place.

  If I were a different kind of person I might sext him. Not that I really know how to sext. If I were to honestly tell him how I feel right now I’d text something like “I’m yours – anytime, anywhere, any way you want me.” Would that do the trick? But I’ve never sent a sex text, and while that does describe exactly how I feel, the intensity of the longing scares me. It puts me at Leo’s mercy. But being put at his mercy is part of what makes it so arousing. Gah, it’s so confusing.

  And imagine the shame if I accidentally sent it to my mother, or even worse to Pete? It’s exactly the kind of stupid mistake I’d make and Pete would assume I was begging for him to take me back.

  I’ve never been more certain I don’t want Pete back. We clearly weren’t right for each other, I just didn’t couldn’t see it. I didn’t know this coupe de foudre, lightning bolt phenomena existed. Sex with Pete was always a bit of a duty. At best it was vaguely pleasant but mostly it was a bit of a faff and I just wanted to get back to my book or get comfy on my side of the bed and go to sleep.

  With Leo, well … Not that we’ve gone the whole way yet, but it certainly doesn’t feel like a duty. More like a most amazing, joyous awakening of my body. It’s a present, a gift of happiness wrapped in a ribbon that binds me up with Leo. Just unwrapping the gift feels like something I’d never, ever get tired of. I mentally play back the moment he pinned me to the wall in the outdoor spa bath.

  “Poppy?” Joanna pulls out a chair and sits down next to me. I jump out of my skin. “Hmm, three guesses what you were thinking about? You know I think I only need one.”

  I take a large bite of croissant and signal regretfully to Joanna that I’m unable to reply.

  Today is going to be a painting day. It’s as a good a cure as any for frustration. I want to make a start on the illustration work for Angeline’s donkeys. I need to make a good job of my first local commission. After all lots of people sit in the vet’s waiting room so I may get some follow up commissions as a result.

  It’s then that I spy Angeline making her way up the track. She isn’t walking normally; her gait is awkward and slower than usual. When she comes closer her usually sunny face is pinched with pain.

  “What’s happened? Are you okay Angeline?” I leap up and the little dogs bound after me like they have springs for paws while Barney trots after them, following in their wake.

  Angeline pulls a face. “Ah no, I am not okay Poppy. I have broken my ribs.”

  “How, what happened?”

  “Yorrick the donkey had a sore on his ear. I was trying to reach the wound to clean it out when he head butted me in the chest.” Angeline winces, whether at the memory or by a fresh dart of pain I’m not sure.

  “Oh no, poor you.” I gently execute the three cheek kiss, making sure I don’t lean against her at all in her usual full contact embrace. “You should be at home, resting.”

  I manage the embrace without any accidental nose bumps this time. Maybe I am getting better at French kissing after all. Greeting kissing that is. My cheeks flood with heat, and my body thrums with the memory of Leo’s fingers on my skin. I can’t get him out of my head even now, when Angeline clearly needs me. I’m shameless.

  Or obsessed. Or maybe a little of both.

  “I am going home but I wanted to ask you a favour.” Angeline leans against the gate and manages a smile.

  “Of course, anything,” I promise immediately, still feeling guilty that all I can think about is Leo.

  Joanna stays sitting at the table. She smiles at Angeline but doesn’t come forward. Other than talking a little to Sophie, Joanna is still keeping her distance from people. Which I don’t really get when it comes Angeline. You couldn’t meet a lovelier, less threatening person.

  I’m still confident that Joanna will come out from her hiding places when she’s ready. The idea that I might be able to provide a safe space and kindness to both people and animals who need it gives me as much satisfaction as the kind of illustration that flies from my fingers without flaws and takes on a life of its own.

  “Would you help Leo look after the donkeys? He will have much to do at the surgery if I take a little time off, even if I manage to arrange a temporary replacement. Is that okay?” Angeline has an odd gleam in her eye. If she weren’t in obvious pain I’d accuse her of matchmaking. Although it would be just like her to be thinking about arranging other people’s happiness while in a great deal of pain.

  “No problem, of course I’ll help,” I offer. “I was planning to spend time sketching the donkeys today anyway, I want to start your paintings. What do you need me to do to look after them?”

  “Just ask Leo, he’ll be along at the end of surgery today, assuming there are no emergencies.” She looks down at Treacle. “How is he? Any more problems?”

  “He’s fine.” I pick him up to show her. He’s lively and happy this morning again, as though the seizure didn’t happen the other evening.

  So Leo’s already talked to Angeline about Treacle. Of course he has. How much has he said to her about … other things? Not much if she is really trying to matchmake.


  “I have these for you.” Angeline hands me a paper bag containing a box of tablets. “This is the medication Leo suggested you give to Treacle to help increase the oxygen levels in the blood flow to the brain. They arrived early this morning and he asked if I could bring them over now to give you peace of mind. Treacle needs to take one tablet a day.”

  “Oh, okay. Thank you, what do I do about paying?” I don’t quite dare meet Angeline’s gaze. “Really you shouldn’t have come over. I could’ve walked over to the surgery to pick them up.”

  “It’s okay. Leo didn’t want you to worry and the surgery is obviously very busy this morning so he couldn’t come himself. You can pay anytime. Just pop in when it’s convenient. We know where you live, I don’t think you’ll run away without paying “ Angeline laughs and then grimaces. “I must not laugh, it hurts too much. So it is okay for the donkeys? You will help?”

  “Yes, of course I will. Now go home and rest up.” I squeeze her hand affectionately, remembering how much her hugs had meant to me when I first arrived in St Quentin and was dealing with the shock of being unexpectedly alone and feeling utterly betrayed by Pete’s cowardice.

  Then I kiss goodbye. No nose bumps or accidental lip brushes again. Hooray, I will get the hang of it, however contrary to my English reticence it is to do more than simply shake hands. Not that I have any reticence when it comes to hugging Angeline. She’s simply a very huggy, tactile person. Her appearance in my life at a time when I desperately needed comfort is a gift. Of course I want to pay that back.

  By the time I get back to Joanna she’s grinning like a loon. I can’t help grinning back and sticking my tongue out again. There’s something very freeing about acting like schoolgirls, as though neither of us has anything more to worry about than whether our teenage crushes at school fancy us or not.

  “Leo didn’t want you to worry, eh? How sweet. I don’t think you need to worry about him not liking you.” Joanna hides her giggles behind her cup of tea, as though afraid of her unguarded, unfiltered emotions.

  I suppose if you get so used to hiding secrets and not being yourself then it must be really hard to let go of the filters.

  “Maybe he’s just being professional?” I shrug but it’s nowhere near as cool as a Sophie shrug. Maybe I’ll learn the shrug eventually too.

  “Or maybe he’s giving you special treatment for a reason?” Joanna giggles again. “Perhaps your eyes will meet over the feed buckets and he’ll decide tonight is the night to finally give you a roll in the hay.”

  “Idiot.” I roll my eyes, trying hard not to blush as I put the tablets on the table out of the way of the dogs.

  But already I’m buzzing, my body hyper-aware that I’ll be seeing Leo again tonight. I want him to, need him to do something about the crazy desires he’s stirred up in me.

  With Pete I waited about a month before having sex. Waited to be sure of him. Ha! Look how that worked out.

  So I don’t see the point of waiting, of following someone else’s dating rules. With Leo the only advice I want to follow is my own instincts. Even if those instincts would’ve let him take me up against the wall of the ruin the other evening if it hadn’t been for the fact Treacle needed watching and Joanna had interrupted us.

  I’ve never felt such a strong, magnetic connection before. Anyway, as I seem to be reinventing myself here in St Quentin why should I care what my parents think? Or what Pete thinks, what anyone who doesn’t really know me thinks … Michele would tell me to go for it. In fact, I think she already did. I’m daring to live, the way Gran urged me to. Not as though life were just a thing to be got through, to survive. “Happiness is precious and rare,” she’d say. “When you find it, Poppy, you must grab hold of it and don’t let go. Promise me.”

  She was the one who taught me that surviving and living are two very different things. I want to live a full life, experiencing as much as I can and reaching my full potential. If I make mistakes then so what? It won’t be the end of the world. Mistakes are the way we learn. Mistakes are far better than inaction.

  I don’t know if I can make a go of the guest house or my artwork outside of the Fenella Fairy brand safety net, or even if I can get a publisher interested in my children’s book idea but still, I’m bloody well going to try.

  It’s harder to follow the grabbing hold of happiness maxim with Leo. The risk of having my heart broken does terrify me. What if he betrays me or casually dumps me as though I’m nothing more than another conquest. I never felt this afraid with Pete but then I suppose I wasn’t risking my heart because Pete never had it to break.

  I don’t know where this thing with Leo is going but if I don’t do my best to find out I think it would turn into a lifelong regret. I don’t think he’s deliberately playing me for a sense of power, turning me on just because he can. Surely meeting someone you feel a sense of emotional connection with accompanied by powerful physical desire doesn’t happen that often in life? I mean, I was prepared to give up on the concept forever thinking it was a myth or that if it did exist it had passed me by.

  I find some calm in my work, in the familiarity of the ritual of the preparation of materials. I get the same rush from a blank piece of sketch paper waiting to be transformed and the joy of my fingers moving over the paper, instinctual and bypassing conscious thought.

  Still, not even the magic of my craft can stop my body from practically fizzing with anticipation as I sit on a folding chair in the donkey field later that day, my sketchbook resting on a lap tray. I’m happy I’ve captured the swishing donkey tails and the curious, intelligent eyes. My attention is drawn especially to the cheeky one with a dark nose and white blaze who likes to chase the other donkeys and took longer than the others to convince that I didn’t have any food for them. He’s a Peanut kind of donkey i.e. always on the lookout for trouble. If he’s anything like Peanut I expect he finds it. I wonder if he’s Yorrick and make a mental note to let Leo deal with him if so.

  I’m enjoying sketching, but half my attention is still over the road with a certain vet. I try to distract myself with the seed of the children’s book idea that has been growing, planted in my mind and nurtured in the Languedoc sunshine. I have to do it; it’s like the story insists on being written, pushing itself to the forefront. I can’t help drafting sketches and making notes, as well as planning and starting the sketches for Angeline’s surgery waiting room.

  In the end I’m so engrossed I don’t actually hear Leo coming up behind me, and he makes me jump sky high, even though I’ve been expecting and anticipating him pretty much all day.

  “I love that sketch. It’s fantastic. You’ve captured their personalities so perfectly.” Leo leans over me and points to a sketch of a suspicious Peanut standing up on her hind legs to sniff at the lowered muzzle of an equally dubious donkey. They are locked in a staring competition for dominance.

  My money is on Peanut, every time.

  Leo’s breath is warm against my neck and his scent awakens my senses. I inhale deeply, and I have to resist the urge to bury my face in his chest. There’s a tightening and a coiling in my body, a tense anticipation.

  I’ve decided, whatever happens this evening I plan on taking the initiative. I’m not going to sit around waiting for Leo to decide he’s tortured me enough, or whatever it is he’s doing.

  “Is that going to be for Angeline?”

  “No, that sketch is just for an idea I’m thinking about for a project … um, maybe my own children’s book.” I close my sketchbook.

  “Really? I love it, would you do one for me? I think it would look good on my wall at home.” He casually rests a hand gently on my neck, caressing it, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.

  “Of course, if you’d like.” I turn to face Leo properly for the first time since last night, when he left me confused and frustrated, not knowing if I was experiencing foreplay or a power play.

  When our eyes meet I’m jolted by the connection I feel. Does Leo feel it too? Is
it possible I have the power to affect him the way he affects me?

  I lick my lips, feeling awkward, like a teenage virgin given I’ve never before experienced the things Leo makes me feel. With the overwhelming awakening of a sensual side I didn’t even realise I had I can’t help wondering if tonight will feel like my first time. Because if I possess even one iota of the sway Leo holds over me I intend to make sure it happens this evening. And I’m sure this first time will be a hell of a lot better than when I lost my virginity to my first boyfriend in the back of his Vauxhall Astra.

  Not that we’re supposed to be thinking about that. Not now. Focus Poppy.

  Donkeys. Helping Angeline, that’s why we’re here. Supposedly.

  But when I look into Leo’s dark eyes I see my own desire mirrored there. Are we at the proper kissing hello stage yet? A vivid memory of his hand gripping my hip last night, his fingers pressing into my flesh as I came flashes into my mind and it’s all I can do not to throw myself at him.

  Leo bypasses my hesitancy and draws me towards him, into a firm embrace. What I once dismissed as arrogance seems more like sexy confidence now. I raise myself up so that our mouths meet and our lips and tongue linger, promising, hoping for more…

  Shakily I pull away, sensing we’re stumbling close to the cliff edge and endless drop into the unknown. Will Leo catch me or let me fall? I’m not quite ready to find out.

  Not here.

  Not now.

  Certainly not with Yorrick and company beating a determined path to Leo. I didn’t feed them but they’re hopeful that the new arrival might. Quickly I pack away the rest of my work things into my oilcloth satchel and waterproof portfolio.

  I glance at Leo, at the rapid rise and fall of his chest. It’s a relief to see he is breathing heavily. It’s good to know I can affect him too, that it’s not all one way.

  “Is this where you ask me to muck out the donkey shed?” I ask. “I don’t mind, if that’s what needs doing. Has it been a really busy day with Angeline off?”