‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that… I am afraid the reason you are here in Saint-Chambéry is not because of the reindeer.’
‘Or the mute guy who isn’t mute.’
‘Oh no, thatisthe reason,’ he answered, his finger tracing the rim of his wine glass. ‘I may not be mute. But, Iamthe reason you are here.’
‘Explain,’ she said. ‘Because this time I’m not going to ask permission for questions.’
He cradled his wine glass in his hands and looked into the pale liquid as if in deep contemplation as to what came next. That was when Orla was shot with a dart of concern. This was the body language of someone on the very precipice of the fall to the hard truth and realising that fact made her sit up straighter in her seat.
‘Delphine got you to come here because your writing is possibly the only thing I have looked forward to, smiled about or felt emotional about, since I came to Saint-Chambéry.’
His words jolted her. So much so she vibrated in her seat until she caught herself. ‘What? I… don’t understand.’
He sighed again. ‘Delphine, she is someone who wants everyone to be happy.’ He shook his head. ‘No. No, it is much more than that. She wants everyone to live their lives to the fullest. To reach for their dreams. To let go of anything that is holding them back. To accept what cannot be changed and to move forward.’
She swallowed; his words resonated hard but it seemed a stretch in this scenario. ‘Well, I’m not sure how that relates to making up a story about a pregnant reindeer and getting me to travel all the way from the UK just because you subscribe toTravel in Mindand like my stories.’
‘No?’ he queried, his expression all seriousness for a brief moment until he broke into a small smile. ‘To Delphine it made perfect sense.’ He put his wine glass on the table and elongated his body, putting his hands behind the back of his head. ‘You would come here, the woman who I have talked to her about at length, you would have to move into my house because of her windows suddenly needing to be renovated, we would bond over the reindeer and, with the forced close proximity, how could we do anything else but… fall in love.’
Fall in love. The way he had said it with that endearing somewhat French, somewhat Canadian, accent sent goosebumps slithering across her skin. She needed to focus. She was leaving. Andlove… what even was love?
‘You talked about me to Delphine?’ Orla asked him.
‘I talked about your stories. We would have coffee. She would ask where in the world you were this time. It… sounds weird nowI say that. It wasn’t weird. It was something else other than here. A chance to get Belgium and Germany out of my head.’
She knew he wasn’t talking about Belgium or Germany in the sightseeing context.
‘But, you know, I did not think for one moment that she would do something like this.’ He shook his head. ‘Actually, I do not know why I am saying that. This is exactly the kind of thing she would do. Last Christmas she told a story of ancient, buried cheese to a local reporter so that the next national cheese contest would be held in the village and the local businesses would thrive from the revenue.’
‘But what happened when there wasn’t any ancient, buried cheese?’ Orla asked.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You think there was not?’
‘Youburied cheese! And passed it off as old!’
He smirked. ‘The best cheese is old. We are in France. Thevin rougewas opened. At the end of the day, people believe what they want to believe.’
Orla knew that was true. How many times had Frances made her alter things in her articles to make them slightly more tantalising? Orla hated even subtle adaptations or enhancements of the facts, but she also knew she wasn’t in charge of the bottom line and even a hint of sensationalism sold. As long as the core themes and values of her piece made it intact she knew she had to swallow the slight sculpting of an editorial sweep.
‘Delphine must care for you very much,’ she told him, sipping her wine.
‘That is the thing with people,’ Jacques said. ‘You can try to hold them back but some of them refuse to quit.’
She took a breath. ‘Is that what happened with your girlfriend?’
‘I guess,’ he replied. ‘But, sometimes you have pushed them so far away there is no reaching out to them and perhaps you realise that it is better to let them go.’
She swallowed. Was that kind of what she had done with Henry? She hadn’t responded to his messages and she knew when she did decide to reply it would be too late. Perhaps she needed to own that truth.
‘I think the hurt we feel about things can make us insular,’ Orla told him.
‘Agreed.’
‘I think we can let past damage cloud our judgement on everything.’
‘All the time.’
