‘Hey, Jacques!’ Tommy called from across the café. ‘You’ll pay for these milkshakes, right?’
‘Yes,’ he called back. ‘Just ask Delphine to put it on my tab.’ He looked to the door. Was he really going to do this? He took a breath and took a step forward.
27
‘How is the photo shoot going?’
Orla jumped at the sound of Jacques’s voice. Her mind had been wandering, still going back and forth on what on earth was going on with her parents. She hadn’t really realised she was still snapping photos of the symbolic wheelbarrow. How many pictures did she really need?
‘OK,’ she answered. ‘You know, trying to envisage a colour spread in the magazine. Don’t think I’ve covered a wheelbarrow before.’
‘No?’
‘I think the nearest I’ve come is doing an interview in a rickshaw.’
‘Well, don’t even think about moving this wheelbarrow. I think the punishment is public flogging.’
‘Who says the French aren’t still suckers for tradition?’ She forced a smile she didn’t really feel.
‘Listen,’ Jacques said, moving next to her and putting his hands in his pockets. ‘I wanted to apologise for earlier. With the foxes. I shouldn’t have tried to push my opinions on to you.’
‘Oh, well, that’s OK,’ she said. ‘I probably shouldn’t have got so angry about it. Or demanded you give me your truck when I really wouldn’t be able to drive here. I mean, it’s like an extreme sport.’
He laughed. ‘Something for the next winter Olympics maybe.’ He paused before carrying on. ‘But, seriously, the photos thing. That’s a me thing, and I shouldn’t have tried to make it a you thing when you’re here to do a job.’
He had said sorry. That was unexpected from someone who never minced his words when it came to expressing his opinions. Another unforeseen quality, to admit when he had overstepped the mark.
‘I appreciate the apology,’ she said. ‘And I apologise if I made you feel like I didn’t understand your point of view, because I really do.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Sometimes even telling people’s stories feels like a violation and I know how that sounds when my whole job is to put this news into the public domain. But I don’t do it without thought. It’s not always about the bottom line and, for me, it’s not at all about sensationalism.’ She sighed. ‘Although, sometimes, I don’t get a final say in the headline and my bosses do usually come down on the side of dramatic.’ She took a breath. ‘I think what I’m trying to say is… I don’t want you to think that I don’t care.’
Why was she telling him this? She didn’t tell people anything unless she had to. She was definitely the narrator of other people’s stories not her own. And why wasn’t Jacques saying anything in response? But then, he did speak.
‘Perhaps we can separate professional from personal and make that work.’
‘O-K,’ she said, a little confused.
‘I know the perfect place. Come on.’ He nudged her shoulder with his.
‘There’s somewhere else other than this village that isn’t all the way back to Grenoble?’ Orla asked.
‘There is.’
‘But what about Erin and Tommy?’ She looked back over at Delphine’s.
‘Have you not experienced one of Delphine’s hot milkshakes yet?’ he asked her. ‘They take at least half an hour to get through and once you are halfway down the glass the only thing you can do is finish the rest with a spoon. And…’
He’d let the ‘and’ trail. ‘And what?’ she asked.
‘And I kind of agreed Erin and Tommy could have a second one. Andpommes frites. And then there is certain to bebûche de Noëlif Delphine has made some.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It looks like wood. It is made of chocolate.’
‘Ah,’ Orla said, nodding. ‘Yule log.’
