They’d been in France a week and so far, all the properties they’d viewed had been disappointing. Stone houses described as ‘habitable’ had been little more than ruins. Gardens had been overgrown and overwhelming. There had been strange annexes and spider webs, mouse droppings or the smell of damp.
On the surface of it, of course, none of this was that important. Pete had reassured Bella that most things could be overcome. ‘There’s a lot of plastering and pointing needed, but you wait till I’ve done it,’ he’d enthused each time. ‘I could transform this place.’
But she hadn’t had the feeling she was looking for. The sense that that ‘somewhere’ would one day become her home.
They’d met the agent at her car just outside her office and she’d insisted on driving them, before ushering them into the back seat of her car. It had felt odd, childish, for them both to be there and they’d grinned at each other when they’d set off, sharing an unspoken joke. It was a relief to be smiling – the week had been fraught and full of squabbles. Bella had begun to doubt whether they’d ever find anything they agreed on.
Neither of them had been to Peyrat before; the little village close to Aubusson was barely a dot on the map. But as they passed the red-edged sign displaying its name, Bella sat up, a flicker of excitement in her chest.
They entered the village, driving past a somehow familiar green of gardens and fields, the light stone of houses. Some had erected plastic pools for the summer, the water looking blue, cool and inviting. Others had set out their patio furniture. Small children played in the garden of a property they passed, and a dog ran out of a driveway and chased the car, barking joyfully before giving up and returning home.
‘This is really cool,’ said Pete, and she nodded in agreement.
And there it was, the house that might one day be their home. Grey, stone walls, with climbing roses. An iron and glass canopy set over the front door, painted a deep blue. Enormous windows with cream-coloured wooden shutters. A garden stretching forth and crying out for an allotment and chickens and maybe even a goat or two – the whole French dream. The possibility of days and days and days of feeling happy at last.
‘What do you think?’ Pete whispered as they exited the car onto the stone driveway.
‘This is the one.’
23
NOW
The call from reception was unexpected.
‘Isabella? There is a visitor for you.’
‘Really?’ She’d been working on the presentation, something that was drawing ever closer, and had been completely immersed. She checked her watch: midday. ‘Are you sure?’
Mélodie sounded amused. ‘Oui, I am sure. There is a gentleman here to see you.’
‘Oh?’ She couldn’t imagine who it might be. Perhaps it was a courier, something to sign. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’
To her surprise, when she descended in the lift a few moments later, she found Henri sitting on one of the chairs, engrossed in something on his phone. He looked up as she approached, and his face broke into a smile. ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Surprise!’
He stood and kissed her on both cheeks. Bella could feel the receptionist’s eyes on them. ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice dropped to almost a whisper. ‘What are you— Why are you here?’
‘I know you are a busy executive now,’ Henri said with mock seriousness. ‘But even the President of France has to eat,non? And I am sure he must be busy.’
She checked her watch again. ‘That’s so nice. But I was kind of in the middle of something…’
‘Vraiment?’ He looked hurt. ‘But…’ He leant in. ‘Surely it can’t be that important. You are only an intern.’
‘Oh, lunch!’ she said, suddenly and loudly, hoping to drown out anything else Henri might say. ‘Love to!’
He stepped back at her sudden enthusiasm, but then nodded and took her hand. ‘Yes. Let’s eat.’
She turned to Mélodie. ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ she said. ‘Take messages if anyone calls.’
‘Wow,’ Henri said as they exited onto the street. ‘They have you doing real work. When my father had interns, he used to say “They are great for coffee, to fetch a sandwich perhaps. But not much more”.’
‘Oh, I make coffee too,’ she lied. Actually, Yves was keeping up such a steady supply of it that she wasn’t sure where the nearest café was and she was beginning to develop a twitch by 3p.m. each afternoon.
She’d had a call planned in an hour with one of the representatives from Hotel Club to finalise some of their requirements for their visit. But she could hardly tell Henri that without giving herself away. Unless… ‘Look, it’s not exactly an internship. It’s more like a job. I’m not… I’m not at uni.’ She took a deep breath. It was time to tell him everything. She glanced at him and saw him looking at her with interest. ‘And… I’m sorry, but I tried to tell you before. I’m older than you think, too.’
‘Ah yes! I like this!’ he said. ‘The role play,n’est-ce pas?You are an executive in your thirties – an older, experienced woman – and maybe I am your husband. And we are both very successful, successful enough to go to GrandCoeur for lunch.’
‘No, I really mean it, I?—’
