‘It’s very kind but, really, it’s just me. I definitely can’t take that on as well. I’m just here for the old mill and mysalon dethé.’
And with that I get up to leave, glad that I’ve stood my ground.Hoping I’ve done enough to make him see how my plan would work.
Chapter 8
Ileave the mayor’s office and return to the mill on foot, letting the warm sunshine soothe my soul as I wonder where to start now I’m here, with the keys in my hand and my documentation for my visa on the mayor’s desk. Scrubbing away the graffiti and painting the walls is probably as good a place as any. The front door needs washing and painting, as do the shutters. There’s plenty of rubbish to get rid of. People seem to have dumped stuff there, like fly-tipping. Or maybe there were squatters. Once the rubbish has been cleared I can clean the floors and start painting the walls. I just hope they won’t need plastering.
It’s a ten-minute walk from the village to the mill, down the single-track lane. Just enough to stretch my legs, enjoy the sounds and smells around me and let go of the mayor’s insistence that I take over the village bakery. That is way out of my league, and not what I came here to do.
I reach the end of the drive and stand by the listing gates to the mill. A car is parked next to the piggery, the boot open, a small figure standing over it. My heart races. I’m not expecting anyone.
I take a few steps down the dusty drive, tentatively approaching the back of the person in green camouflage trousers, sleeveless jacket and khaki bucket hat.
‘Allô, bonjour?’
The figure turns to me and I’m surprised to see a woman, slight, with a beautiful clear complexion under the bucket hat, folded back at the front to show neatly shaped eyebrows andhigh cheekbones, dark hair and eyes. She’s probably about my age and, if anything, the khaki camouflage outfit adds to her seemingly natural attractiveness.
She smiles, her face even more attractive now under the brim of the hat, which is decorated with brightly coloured feathers and hooks.
‘Bonjour,’ she says, reaching into the boot of her car.
For a moment, I pause. I don’t know who she is, or why she’s parked on my drive. She pulls out a long bag, which I can only assume contains some sort of weapon.
I summon my courage, which is trying to leave, and wonder what’s happening at home, where I know who’s going to call and when, and no one parks on my drive without my knowing about it. Where there is always tea in the caddy, a supermarket down the road and a batch of flapjacks in the cake tin on a Friday for the weekend, in case any of the children pop over.
But here it’s different. It’s new. And that’s what I wanted, I remind myself.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask.
The woman shakes her head. ‘Non, merci.’ She smiles again and unzips the bag. I hold my breath, my mind going into overdrive. What if she’s been sent to warn me off, that the mill was ‘promised to someone else’, like I heard in the mayor’s office?
‘Look, it might be a surprise that I’m here, and that someone else may have been interested in the old mill, but … I didn’t know that when I bought it.’
‘Ah. So it’s you who has bought it. I heard someone had,’ she says in English.
She still doesn’t clarify why she’s parked on the drive or what she intends to do with the weapon bag she’s carrying.
‘I had no idea. I saw the place was for sale, contacted the agent and bought it. I didn’t realise …’
‘It’s good it’s going to be restored.’ She unzips the bag and slides it off to reveal a fishing rod. I feel a rush of relief. Of course it’s a fishing rod! What was I thinking? I must try to calm down. This woman is just fishing!
Despite that, the words of the mayor come back to me:It’s a lonely place for a woman on her own.
I look back at the old mill. What on earth have I taken on? It’s a lot for one person to get this place up and running as I want it to be. Was it all a fantasy, a rush of euphoria after the treatment? Thinking I can shoulder anything? Quite possibly, yes.
I turn my attention back to the woman and the fishing rod. ‘So, can I help you?’ I say politely.
‘No, thank you. I’m just going to fish. In the lake. We always park here.’
‘Ah.’ Quite a few habits must have been created while the mill was empty.
‘The lake is owned by the commune. We come here to fish, talk, clear our minds …’ She smiles. ‘Would you like to join us?’
‘No, thank you.’ I reply. ‘I’m not one for fishing.’
‘Well, if you ever change your mind …’ she says.
‘Thank you, but I have work to do.’ I point at the mill. ‘I have to clean and decorate it, get rid of the graffiti, make it more homely.’
