Beyond the Arch

by David Evered

  ‘The Carnot family were very generous and are very inclusive but there are so many other things to do here. There’s a wealth of opportunities for listening to music and in the winter the mountains are near enough to go skiing regularly at weekends. There’s also an association which welcomes those new to Lyon and this includes people from overseas as well as French who have worked outside the country. It brings together an interesting bunch of people. Now you know almost everything about me! I shall have to turn the tables on you at dinner and interrogate you.’

  ‘I’ve no problem with that but my life has been much less interesting and adventurous than yours.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that, based on our first encounter. Come on, we have more sightseeing to do. We should explore the Presqu’île.’ They walked through to the Place des Terreaux and the town hall and made their way slowly with many detours down to the Place Bellecour and then to rue Victor Hugo. They finally came to a halt by the station where they enjoyed a coffee and a pastry. They agreed that they had done Lyon comprehensively and returned to Julie’s apartment as it was getting dark.

  ‘I thought we should have something authentically Lyonnais this evening. It’s time to start with a glass of kir before we eat. Try reading the newspaper and let’s listen to some music while I get some food ready.’ She handed him a copy of Le Figaro and put on a recording of La Bohème.

  ‘This is considerably more comfortable that a garret in Paris,’ Peter said as he relaxed with a glass in his hand listening to the music while Julie busied herself in the kitchen. He abandoned his attempt to read the paper after a few minutes and looked round the spacious living room, examining the books on the shelves and the collection of LPs and tapes. Three-quarters of an hour later dinner was ready, a meal commencing with cervelas, a pork sausage stuffed with pistachios served cold with a glass of a sweet white wine. This was followed by a coq au vin and a local cheese.

  ‘Now tell me some more about yourself. I learned a little when we met at Cap Ferret but not very much.’

  ‘Yes, I was very drunk and a little grumpy that evening or perhaps a little drunk and very grumpy. Today has been wonderful. The wine and kir has made me a little drunk this evening but far from grumpy – just mellow.’

  ‘You look very comfortable. I know you’re a lawyer and an author but tell me how you came to be in France.’

  ‘I can scarcely claim to be an author. I think that is an appellation which should be reserved for a published writer. My coming here resulted from a convergence of my fantasies, changes in my personal life and a series of random occurrences.’ He recounted the sequence of events of the previous fifteen months. ‘I’m increasingly coming to believe that much of what shapes our lives is the consequence of random factors, I suppose, a little like the random genetic mutations which are the basis of natural selection.’

  ‘Being carried a little too far offshore when swimming was, I imagine, an example of such a random event.’

  ‘Yes, and still a source of some embarrassment when I think of it!’

  ‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed – we would not be here in my flat this evening if you had not swum out at that point and on that day at that time. Nor would we be here if the four of us had not gone out in the boat to escape the frenzy of activity as preparations for the party were being put in place.’

  ‘Perhaps this is more representative of chaos theory where small changes in initial events can result in substantial and unpredictable consequences in dynamic systems.’

  ‘And how is your girlfriend, or your lady companion who is not your girlfriend?’

  ‘She is currently in Germany reporting on attitudes towards the British as they consider applying again for membership of the European Community.’

  ‘And your status or her status now?’

  ‘Still as indeterminate and nebulous as it was three months ago.’

  ‘Does that unsettle you?’

  Peter thought for a moment before answering. ‘Sometimes, but less than it did. This last year has meant that I have become more ready to accept uncertainty. I’ve also learned to understand that there are aspects of all of us which are simply unfathomable and that I shouldn’t necessarily attempt to interpret the thoughts and emotions of others through a lens which is uniquely my own. I guess our personal lenses are never made of plain glass and all will distort images and this can lead to tensions and misunderstandings. I’m learning to relax and accept people as they are and to avoid the temptation to frame my understanding of them to match my own perspectives or prejudices. My relationship with Sally is both challenging and stimulating but also relaxed and intimate. I’m not sure that I’m making a great deal of sense. I should help you clear the dishes.’

  ‘Well, that is an effective way of changing the subject but the offer is willingly accepted. Let’s do that and then have a coffee and perhaps a digestif.’

  They headed back to the salon and at Julie’s suggestion went to the shelves to select some music. ‘What would you like?’ she asked.

  ‘Anything gentle at this time of the evening.’

  She handed him a tape. ‘How about this?’ It was a collection of Chopin Nocturnes.

  ‘That would be great. It has been just a wonderful day,’ and on an impulse he leant across and kissed her on the lips.

  She came closer. ‘Yes, for me too.’ She put her arms around him. ‘I think that merits a response in kind.’ They kissed for a few moments exploring with their tongues. She leaned back and whispered in his ear, ‘If you go on like that I shall get seriously over-excited. Please don’t stop.’ After a few minutes she whispered in his ear again, ‘Two bedrooms or one? I have a strong view as to which I would prefer.’

  ‘I have learned some key French phrases – je suis en accord!’

  * * *

  Peter awoke the next morning to find himself alone in the bed. Two minutes later Julie returned still naked with a tray bearing coffee and croissants. ‘This is the only civilized way to breakfast in France.’

  ‘You will find I’m a willing student of all things French.’

  ‘I’ve already discovered that – I would even go so far as to say that you’ve reached an advanced level very quickly. I know that you have to leave today but don’t feel that you have to rush.’

  ‘Nothing would induce me to rush today.’

  They stayed in bed until lunchtime and then reluctantly got up and dressed. He whispered in her ear as they did so, ‘If this weekend is a demonstration of chaos theory in the real world, then I’m all for it.’

  She laughed. ‘Me too. It has been a weekend to remember. It would be wonderful to see you again. I’m not applying pressure and I shall have no regrets if it turns out to have simply been a single weekend. If so, this has been one to store in the memory bank and retrieve from time to time and recall with pleasure. So what are your plans now? How much longer will you remain in France?’

  ‘I’m not clear about that at present. I’ll probably go back to London sometime next month. I have a commitment to be in Sarlat until Sally returns which will probably be next week.’

  ‘I have two thoughts – no, I have many more than that but I have two proposals. The first is that you might like to come back to Lyon for the Beaujolias Nouveau on the fifteenth of November or we might perhaps meet in London or in fact do both. Not only do I have to visit two or three times a year but I’ve persuaded my parents to spend the Christmas holiday period in London this year. They will be there from the twentieth of December until the third of January, so I shall be staying in London over part of that period.’

  ‘Either or both. I’ll give you my address and telephone numbers and will call you when my plans are a little clearer.’ He held her tightly. ‘I shall not forget this weekend either.’

  24

  Night fell as Peter drove slowly and contentedly back to Sarlat. He was surprised tha
t he had little sense of disquiet or feelings of angst. Had he been disloyal to Sally? He was not certain. He could not be sure of the nature of the tacit contract which he had with her or even if there was a contract. He was aware he owed much to her intellectually, emotionally and practically. Yet the impulse which had led him first to embrace Julie and then share her bed had seemed entirely natural. The overall impact of the experiences of the last few months had engendered a freedom of thought and action which suggested a number of possible scenarios for his future. The immediate future, however, would be influenced and shaped by events and the interactions between Sally and himself when she returned in two weeks’ time.

  Sally called from London the following week to say she was planning to return to Sarlat just before All Saints. Peter agreed to pick her up from the station. He booked a table for dinner in the restaurant in Beynac where they had eaten on Bastille Day. She arrived that evening and they left for dinner almost immediately, returning home to their separate rooms. Peter left the house early the following day to buy fresh croissants and Sally emerged just before ten to join him for breakfast. ‘I know that I was quite uncommunicative last night but I was simply exhausted after two months on the road and then two days in London.’

  ‘I know. How has it all come together?’

  ‘Generally pretty well. I’ve filed four articles and have promised the editor another four. Three have already been published on a weekly basis. I’ve established a pattern so there are now weekly deadlines for the delivery of the other four. I’ve also got agreement, in principle, that I should go back at a later date as negotiations progress and see the same people again. Your brother’s insights and those of other expatriates were very valuable.’

  ‘What are your plans now?’

  ‘I’m going to stay here probably until the end of November to get these further articles written and sent off. I don’t want to interrupt my work schedule by moving everything back to London. I also want to start sketching out the framework for a book. I shall have to go back to London to access libraries and consult people for some of the historical and political background, which I’ll do over the winter and the first few months of next year. But what have you been up to?’

  ‘I’ve been over to the Brownings again for dinner. I owe them one. Perhaps we could invite them over at the end of next week when the hotel will be closed for the winter?’

  ‘Good idea – will you organise it?’

  ‘Yes, I’d be happy to. I also took up the Carnot’s invitation to visit Lyon and see their lawyer friend. That was helpful. I’m not sure if you know the city but I was very taken with it and the cuisine!’

  ‘No, I’ve only been there once. And now?’

  ‘I thought that I’d go back to London around the middle of the month and set to work there.’

  ‘How has the writing been going?’

  ‘It’s progressing. I’ve now consigned between forty and fifty thousand words to paper. I want to go back and try and transcribe it, using a typewriter and revising as I do. I suspect that I’ll have to resort to a professional typist at some stage but I’m not ready yet to show it to anyone else. What will you be doing when you get back to London?’

  ‘I’ll still have a lot of work to do and I’ll also want to pick up the projects which I had to drop when this Franco-German assignment came up and develop my ideas for a book.’

  ‘Would you prefer me to stay around until the end of November or would I be a distraction?’

  ‘Peter, it might seem unkind to say so, but it’s not important either way. I shall be very preoccupied for the next month. You should go ahead with your plans. I do, however, plan to take two days off now and would be grateful for your company.’

  ‘What will you do over the holiday period in London?’

  ‘I often join the family of a former colleague for Christmas and I shall probably do that again.’

  ‘It would be good to see you in London.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll call you when I’m back and we can get together in London.’

  ‘What would you like to do with your mini-break?’

  ‘Almost anything that will not involve listening to taped interviews or sitting down at my typewriter.’

  ‘It’s a mild day – how about a walk? We also have an invitation to go over to the Brownings sometime this weekend. I’ll give them a call.’

  Peter sensed that there had been a subtle change in the nature of the exchanges between them. Their conversations had become more formal. He was unsure whether this was due to tiredness on Sally’s part or to some reserve on his. He was also conscious that there might have been some change in his demeanour which she had detected. However, it was not the time to explore openly the precise nature of their relationship and it was more than probable that such an exploration would be incomplete, inconclusive and unsatisfactory.

  The following fortnight passed companionably but it was clear that there was a zone between them which neither wished nor thought to enter. Each remained within their own domain, familiar strangers each drawing some comfort from the other. Peter was concerned by the lack of Sally’s customary vitality and the flatness of her affect and general lassitude. Gentle probing was met by non-committal responses, and offers to assist in anything but the most mundane of tasks were courteously rebuffed. They came a little closer one night when each responded to a mutual need for intimacy but this was a union between longstanding friends, pleasurable but lacking passion or urgency.

  * * *

  Peter decided that he would leave by mid-November. He expressed some concern to Sally about leaving when she appeared to be under stress. She assured him that she would be fine and that it was very likely that if thrown back entirely on her own resources she would soon recover her characteristic vigour. He considered the possibility of driving back to London by way of Lyon to see the celebrations which mark the arrival of the Beaujolais Nouveau and after some hesitation he called Julie. ‘Do come,’ was the instant response, ‘and you need to arrive the day before, on the Friday. The day begins at midnight and you’ll miss most of the fun if you arrive on the Saturday.’ He told Sally he would be returning by way of Lyon and that he would be back in London after the weekend. They agreed to keep in touch and Sally promised to call him when she had decided on a date to return to London.

  He drove off with some misgivings about leaving Sally but with a sense of eagerness to see Julie once more. She was right. There was a buzz in the city and he received an enthusiastic greeting. ‘The time for more of that will come a little later,’ she said after they had embraced, ‘but we need to organise ourselves. The day of the arrival of the Beaujolais Nouveau begins one minute after midnight tonight. The barrels will be unloaded from barges at the Quai de Pécherie and then rolled through to the Place des Terreaux outside the town hall where there will be banners announcing “Le Beaujolais est arrivé”. There will be quite a party in the square. It may be a little wet but not too bad, so be prepared.’

  They walked over the river and into the city through the throng. Undeterred by the weather, they joined the crowds outside the Hôtel de Ville. The party was already under way with a band playing on one side of the square. Many people already had glasses in their hands. As midnight approached, the assembly started to count down and prepared to welcome the men rolling the barrels into the square. A cheer erupted as they arrived and within minutes wine was being offered to the onlookers. Julie leaned across to him. ‘This is ideal weather for drinking the Beaujolais – slightly chilled. It’s at just the right temperature. The locals always quote Daudet who said that there were three rivers flowing through Lyon, the third being the Beaujolais!’ She held a glass up so that Peter could inspect the pure garnet colour illuminated by the lights of the square. ‘The advantage of this third river,’ she added, ‘is that it never becomes muddy.’ After two glasses they left and strolled back to Julie’s flat hand in ha
nd.

  Peter awoke late to find Julie bringing him a cup of coffee. ‘You did say that you would be heading for England tomorrow. Can you be persuaded to stay through the rest of the weekend?’

  He was about to say that he had to get back but reflected that there was no necessity for him to do so and that he had made no commitments to anyone. ‘I don’t see why not, if you can tolerate this intrusion into your private life.’

  ‘Good, and I think that I’m sufficiently robust to manage the intrusion. I could scarcely do otherwise since I’ve encouraged it! I have a suggestion for today – how about going out of town for the day?’ Julie drove him out to the mediaeval village of Perouges, a short way to the east, where they wandered along the cobbled streets and had a plat for lunch. He remained concerned about Sally, however, and in the evening he asked Julie if he might call her. She assented and diplomatically busied herself in the kitchen. Sally answered the phone and assured him that all was well and that she was now getting on top of the voluminous material which she had collected over the previous two months. ‘It was kind of you to call – where are you now?’

  ‘I’m still in Lyon and enjoying the city and the Beaujolais Nouveau celebrations were great fun. I went down there with Julie.’

  ‘When are you heading back to England?’

  ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow and will be back in London late on Tuesday. If I may, I’ll call you again in a few days’ time.’

  ‘That would be good.’

  They rang off and Julie came back into the room. She looked at him. ‘It sounded as if you were concerned about her.’

  ‘Yes, I am. She seemed very despondent when I left and quite unlike her usual composed and controlled self. But she sounded much better this evening.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’re very fond of her.’

  ‘Yes, I am although I’m not sure that fond is the right adjective. Equally I’m not sure that I could find the right word, even if I collected my thesaurus from the car and thumbed through it – not that I’m planning to do that! It’s an amalgam of fondness, affection and love. She has been a friend, a mentor and an intimate. My head asks me if I should be talking to you about Sally and hints to me that there might be something disloyal in doing so; nevertheless it seems quite natural to do so.’