She didn’t enjoy this direct questioning. It was one thing having assumptions made about her life and neglecting to correct them. But lying directly felt doubly wrong. ‘It’s complicated,’ she tried.
To her surprise, he seemed to take this as an acceptable answer. ‘Gotcha,’ he said, nodding sagely.
‘So… tea?’ She glanced at her watch. She’d have to put it in her thermal mug, sip it on the train.
‘Oh. Yeah. Sure.’ He turned on the kettle which began to steam almost immediately, then spooned a rather generous serving of her tea into the pot and poured the water in. The leaves swilled in the hot liquid, creating a delicious aroma. They both stopped and simultaneously sniffed the air like animals tracking a scent. Then caught each other’s eye and laughed.
‘Can’t beat that aroma in the mornings, right?’
She nodded.
Brad gestured towards the oak chairs at the small kitchen table. ‘Aren’t you going to sit?’
She shook her head, held up her thermos mug. ‘Got to caffeinate and run, I’m afraid. Work calls.’
‘And you can’t be late?’
‘Don’t want to be.’
‘Good for you.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘You know, in my line of work, it’s hard to get folks to turn up on time. Or at all, sometimes. They’re lucky to have you.’
She managed to avoid another snort, just. ‘Well, maybe.’
‘No maybes about it.’ He took the thermos mug from her hand, placed it on the counter then filled it with tea. ‘Not too strong I hope?’
‘No such thing.’
‘Well, Bella,’ he said after handing it back to her. ‘It’s nice to have some company in the mornings in this place.’
She smiled. ‘Yep.’
‘And sorry, you know, for—’ He waved his hand slightly as if to fill in the gap.
For burning my bed? For scaring me half to death? The whisky? The near-fire on my nightstand?Luckily, she managed not to say any of these things. Instead, she nodded and turned out of the kitchen.
* * *
In Peyrat, she’d used to love walking to the boulangerie early in the morning to buy viennoiseries for their guests. There had been a freshness in the air – tinged with the scent of pollen and grasses and the rich, earthy smell given off by stone houses after a night of rain.
So far, in Versailles, she hadn’t really enjoyed her walk to the station. She’d often been rushing, feeling hungover or tired. And the March and April weather hadn’t always been favourable.
But today, slowed by the tea that she sipped as she walked, she noticed for the first time that spring had finally come into itself. The sky was a clear blue peppered with tiny, almost laughable clouds; people had filled their window boxes and hanging baskets with flowers that had started to bud and bloom.
Cars passed her on the road and people walked in various directions on the pavement, looking purposeful. A woman jogged by dressed in running gear, a golden retriever on a lead bounding gleefully at her side. Bella thought of Juliette and Jolie and felt a pang of nostalgia for her old life. But soon, the walk, the tea, the freshness and newness of everything this morning moved her thoughts on to today, her journey to work, her job.
Since moving, she’d been just about hanging on. Worrying about keeping her job, about the house sale that seemed to be ticking along in the background but making very little progress. About Pete and the divorce and whether she was making a complete mess of things.
But she realised in that moment that she had managed to build a life – albeit with a few falsehoods at its foundation – that she was actually enjoying. Experience or not, she was holding the job down with only a few moments of panic and doubt. She had Henri who despite his youth made her feel safe and secure. She got to go out with people who were young and fun and made her feel better about not having met most of the personal milestones she’d set for herself.
And she was living in Versailles, working in Paris. Two places that many people in the world would kill to visit, and she was immersed in them every day. She looked at the buildings lining her walk to the station – tall and ornate with stone features carved by hands hundreds of years ago. She breathed in the air – tinged with fumes and the scents of the street and far dirtier and less life-affirming than that in Peyrat, but lovely in its own way. It was the smell of life and movement and streets that had been walked on for centuries by people living vibrant, interesting lives.
As she pressed her ticket to the scanner and entered the station, a thought came into her head. Maybe this didn’t have to be a stopgap after all. If she could find a way to untangle the lies without ruining everything, maybe this could be her actual life.
22
2013, FRANCE
It was the eleventh house they had looked at.
