The French for Always (19 page)

‘Are you coming back to the Everetts’ after the service? They’re having a reception and you’ll be most welcome.’

‘Thank you, but no. I’m just going to say my
adieus
to Liz here and then go home. But I’ll see you tomorrow.
Bon courage,
my dear.’

And courage was exactly what I needed half an hour later, as the coffin slid silently through the curtain and my beloved aunt was gone...

L
ost in my thoughts
, I nearly miss the turning into the lane between the vines. I swerve at the last moment, just making the turn.

And then have to stand on the brakes with all my force as the car comes face-to-face with a dark blue pickup that’s coming down the narrow lane towards me. My tyres screech and skid on a patch of loose gravel and, as if in slow motion, the back end of the car slides gracefully into the ditch. The engine stalls and I sit in sudden silence, shaking all over at my narrow miss. So near and yet so far—I’m only a few yards from the driveway to Liz’s house and here I am, disastrously stuck in what I can only wish was a proverbial rut but sadly and incredibly annoyingly turns out to be a real one.

There’s a tap on my window. The driver of the pickup has jumped down from his cab and run over. He peers in at me and I have an impression of warm eyes in a deeply tanned face. I roll down the window.

‘
Excusez-moi, madame
,’ he says, concerned. His French has just a slight twang of the south-west accent that’s so common around here. ‘Are you all right?’

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’m shaken, but unhurt. I nod, covered in embarrassment. ‘Just stuck.’ I open the door and try to clamber out but the angle is awkward with the backside of the car in the ditch and the nose in the air, and I miss my footing and almost end up on my own backside, slipping onto my knees and covering my jeans with mud in the process. Not the most dignified of entrances.

‘
Oopla
!’ says the man, clutching my arm with a strong hand and helping me back onto my feet. He grins widely, obviously highly amused at my predicament and my increasingly dishevelled state, then hunkers down to get a closer look at the back wheels.

‘Don’t worry; I’ll tow you out of there. No damage done, fortunately. You were going far too fast for these small roads. ‘

I bristle slightly. Listen, mate, I want to say, the last thing I need right now is a lecture from a smug, know-it-all Frenchman. I’ve been travelling for twenty-four hours, have lost my job, my boyfriend, and most of my family, haven’t slept properly in months, have had to up sticks and move so far from my comfort zone that I can’t even remember what my comfort zone looks like any more, and now I and all my worldly goods have ended up in a muddy ditch. So it hasn’t exactly been my day, has it?

But I don’t say this, partly because my French isn’t up to it and partly because I manage to remind myself just in time that he is the one with the tow rope and the four-wheel drive. And so, unless I want to leave my car stuck here and carry everything I own up the drive to my new home one cardboard box and bin-bagful at a time, I had better be polite.

I smile and manage a faint, ‘
Merci, monsieur
,’ as he fixes the rope under the car. I clamber awkwardly back into the driver’s seat and then he carefully edges his pickup back, taking up the slack, and the car rights itself as it regains the road.

The man unhitches the tow rope and comes back round to my window, brushing down his dusty green overalls. ‘There you go. A bit muddy on the
derrière
, but no harm done.’ He grins again, his dark eyes twinkling, and I’m not sure whether he’s talking about me or my car. I re-start my engine but he’s still leaning in at the window, giving me an appraising look. In the midst of my confusion and embarrassment, I register that he’s really rather good-looking. Which only makes me blush even harder.

‘Yes, well, thanks again.’

‘It’s my pleasure.
Oh,
et bienvenue en France
!’ He pats the roof of the car and steps back to let me pull away. I glance into my rear-view mirror just before I turn into the driveway and see that he’s still standing in the lane, watching, before climbing back into his pickup and driving off. Almost as if he’s seeing me safely home. Although more likely he’s just having one last laugh.

Thankfully, I pull into the courtyard and turn off the engine, sitting for a few seconds to let the realisation that I’m here—at last!—sink in and to allow both my embarrassment and the engine noise, which is still ringing in my ears, to subside.

It’s early June, but feels like high summer already, and the leaves on the lime trees are a dense, dark green. As my hearing adjusts, I realise the sound I’m hearing is coming from their fresh-scented pale yellow flowers which are abuzz with bees in the golden warmth of the evening. The pots of pink geraniums by the kitchen door, which either Celia or Mireille must have put outside after their hibernation indoors over the winter, are dry and dusty.

I ease my stiff limbs out of the driver’s seat, brushing as much mud off my jeans as possible, and dig in my handbag for the keys. Dragging my heavy suitcase and holdall from the boot, I unlock the kitchen door, pushing it open. And step into the cool half-light of my new home.

‘
T
his book is
the perfect summer read
and has exactly everything that I look for when selecting a book to take with me on vacation. Light and perfectly worded, Fiona does a wonderful job with the flow and the characters are so much fun. I absolutely adored the French countryside as the backdrop and loved the translation aspect of the book. I’ve never taken a French class and that ended up being okay because the author makes it very easy to read between the lines. Overall, this book is so much fun and will definitely leave you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. I highly recommend it.' 4.5/5 —
ChickLitPlus.com

'
I
would definitely recommend
this book as a summer read to anyone. The heat of the sun here would combat any british summer blues, or indeed compliment an unexpected heat wave. This is definitely one to pack in your suitcase.
A little bit of romance, a nice glass of wine and a wonderful summer setting
.' —
Fabulous Book Fiend

‘
A
s Gina learns
to navigate life in Bordeaux (sounds heavenly, doesn’t it?), she finds herself falling in love with Cédric, her dishy stonemason. Well…I won’t tell you the rest.
You should just take my word and dive into this book
. It’s a perfect summer read that will transport you away from the doldrums commuting or the usual rat race and have you longing to move to France and find a ramshackle house of your own.’ 5/5 —
KimTalksBooks.com

'
I
thought
the book was
a fun, enjoyable read in a beautiful setting
.' —
Novelicious.com