Love in a Warm Climate (26 page)

I feel tears coming on and I do not want to cry. I have already cried way too much over this man.

“And then there was the Viagra incident – just the icing on the cake of my total humiliation and hurt.”

“She spiked my drink, Soph. It was meant to be a joke, only it backfired. I just want to talk about this, so we can be sure.”

I turn on my bedside light. Is this what I want? I imagine Nick lying next to me. Do I want him back in my life? In my bed?

I take a deep breath.

“I'm hanging up now, Nick. This is what you wanted and you got it.”

“When the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers,” he says quietly.

“Indeed,” I say and hang up.

I throw some clothes on and go outside. There is no way I will ever sleep now. I hear noises coming from the Sauvignon Blanc vineyard. Kamal is there with the Spanish lads doing some night-harvesting.

“Give me secateurs,” I growl.

“And good morning to you, too,” he grins.

We work by the moonlight, which is so bright that our shadows and the shadows of the vines are thrown onto the ground. I remember Jean-Claude's quote about our nights being like the days up north. The cicadas are quieter but still chirpy. There is no wind. It is a still magical night and it has an immediately calming effect on me. Of course I have wanted Nick to call and beg to come back. It is only natural. We still have three children together and I want what is best for them. But too much has happened now for that to be an option. I would never be able to trust him again and, quite apart from that, I reflect as I look at my vineyard and over towards the Château de Boujan, I have finally moved on.

When I have finished my row of grapes, I tell Kamal I am going for a walk to stretch my legs. I walk over to Jean-Claude's château. It is now 5am. He is unlikely to be awake, but this can't wait any longer. I call his mobile and hope he has left it on.

A very groggy frog answers the phone.

“
Oui?
”

“Jean-Claude, it's me, Sophie. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need to see you. I'm walking over to your house now, can you come downstairs and open the door please?”

“Yes, of course, are you okay?”

“Yes, never been better.”

“But what is so urgent? Sophie, it's 5 o'clock in the morning.”

“I know and I'm sorry about that but I just had to see you right away.”

“Okay, okay, I am on my way.”

I imagine him getting out of bed. What will he be wearing, I wonder? Does he sleep naked? Or does he have striped cotton pyjamas? These are all things I am prepared and eager to find out.

When I get to his house he is standing just inside the door with a white towel wrapped around his waist. I am relieved to see he is smiling as I walk up the steps.

“So,
ma petite vigneronne
, to what do I owe this surprising wake-up call?”

I walk up and stand opposite him. I breathe in his smell; a lavender eau de cologne mixed with something that is all him. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. He is startled but then relaxes and kisses me back. He puts his arms around me and pulls me closer to him; I can feel him growing hard under his towel. I release myself to pull my T-shirt over my head and pull off my jeans. I don't go as far as my knickers and bra (matching, natch), but I do say a silent prayer that the Hitler moustache will be less obvious in
this dawn light.

“
Mon dieu
,” he says. “You're so beautiful.”

I smile and kiss him again, and remove his towel. Luckily there are no neighbours to see us. I am loving the feel of his naked skin against mine and the anticipation of what is to come. I caress his shoulders, his back, his buttocks. He really is gorgeous, toned and firm.

He moves aside to close the door and then slowly removes my bra. He starts to circle my nipples with his tongue. This sends ripples of pleasure and lust throughout my whole body. I suddenly realise how very long it has been since I really wanted to be made love to; right now I could beg him to pin me down and just do it. But maybe that wouldn't be very ladylike? These French are a bit more romantic than your bog Irish.

He kneels down in front of me and removes my knickers. I run my fingers through his hair and hope he is not going to be too amazed by the lack of pubes. Bloody Audrey and her
Madame Figaro
articles. He doesn't flinch but starts to circle my clitoris with his tongue. Now I really am going to explode. I'm having that kind of combination between tickling and ecstatic sensation, I half want it to go on forever but part of me can take no more. I kneel down to join him and take his cock in my hand, enjoying my first touch of it, moving slowly up and down. It is what Sarah would call a porn-star cock. I can barely get my hand around it.

“May I take you to bed?” he says, grinning.

“You may indeed,” I reply and go with him upstairs.

There is a click inside me, a sort of inexplicable and strange physical manifestation of Nick’s wedding. I look at my watch but I know before I see the hands what the time is. It is just after 3pm and Nick will have just said his vows at Chelsea Registry Office. He is another woman’s husband. Will he be faithful to her? Maybe as she’s French she won’t much mind. She’ll be off doing her own thing in her own corner, as Audrey puts it.

I found Cécile’s bra in Nick’s bag less than eight months ago. Only nine months, but it seems like a different life. Nick’s infidelity, him leaving, marrying Cécile, me shagging a French aristo and snogging a film star, me running a vineyard. How is it possible that all that has happened in less time than it does to carry a baby to term?

I am sorting the vines in the
cave
. The children sit outside in a circle. Charlotte is organising a quiz.

“Is it better to be Spiderman or to have a Ferrari?” she asks Edward.

“To have a Ferrari,” says Edward.

“Right answer! Now, what is the nicest animal in the world?”

“Horses,” says Edward.

“Wrong answer! Emily?”

“Sheeps?”

“That’s the right answer,” says the quizmaster. “Now, Edward, what is the best country in the world?”

“Is this the London question?” asks Edward. “I want the London question.”

“I want gets nothing,” says Charlotte.

“France?” asks Emily.

“Wrong! The right answer is England because there is daddy there and Granny.”

“Granny’s here,” says Emily.

“Only for a holiday,” snaps Charlotte. “Don’t argue or you won’t be
allowed to play. Now, what is the best thing for you that you can eat?”

“Apples?” tries Edward.

“Wrong answer. Emily?”

“Is it drinking?”

“No, it’s fruit.”

“But apples are fruit,” protests Edward but gets an old-fashioned look from his sister.

“Now what is the word we should be saying all the time?”

“I know, I know,” says Edward. “Ketchup.”

“Wrong! Emily?”

“Please and thank you.”

“Is the correct answer. Well done Emily, you won.”

“What do I win?”

Charlotte is lost for words for once. I can see tears welling up in Emily’s eyes at the thought of winning for no reason.

“You win the right to come and help me clean the sorting machine,” I tell her.

This has an immediate effect. My most expensive and newest piece of equipment is normally out of bounds. This miraculous piece of machinery sorts the grapes from the stems ready for the fermentation process. At the end of each day it needs careful cleaning, which I am doing with a hose and some cloths.

Emily now joins in. The quizmaster and her friend go off to find my mother.

“How are you darling?” I ask her.

“Fine, how are you?” she responds.

I laugh. “What a polite young lady you are,” I say. “I was just wondering if you missed Daddy or if you’re all right. I don’t really get to talk to you very much.”

It’s strange, I feel almost shy with her. I am so rarely alone with my children; they are always a troop, a gang of three answering back and bickering. For once I am alone with my little Emily and I am able to hear how she feels about things without the others shouting her down.

“I do miss Daddy,” she says. “I miss his jokes and him being here, but I’m used to it now.”

She looks so serious, so brave; I want to cradle her in my arms but am worried I’ll start crying. So instead I keep spraying the sorting machine.

“I know darling girl, I miss his jokes as well. But he’ll come and see you soon.”

He is due to come over after his honeymoon with the new Mrs Nick Reed
to tell them about their wedding and take them back for the celebration party. They decided to keep the actual wedding very small.

“Will he come back and live with us? Or is he staying with Cécile?”

“He’ll stay with Cécile,” I say.

“Will you be lonely? Or will you marry someone else?” she asks, adjusting her cat’s ears.

It’s a good question. I think for a few seconds.

“I won’t be lonely, I’ve got you. And for the moment, no, I don’t think I will marry anyone else. Not just yet anyway.”

I turn off the hose. “Well done,” I say, “it’s all clean and ready for another day’s work tomorrow.”

Emily puts down her cloth. “Good. Sleep well Mr Sorting Machine.”

I join in the yoga session a few minutes late. Kamal has got Sarah and Carla doing sun salutations. He is directing their breathing, making sure it coincides with their movements. I find yoga relaxing even on my own but when you are being told what to do it is even more so. You just abandon yourself to your teacher and the only thing you need to focus on is doing the posture well, a big part of which is breathing in and out at the right time. It’s amazing how connected your body and breath are, how your breath can actually help you get into positions you thought were impossible. Especially things like forwards bends, which we are working on now. We are sitting on the floor with our right leg bent and trying to lean over the other leg as far down as we can.

“Look,” says Sarah excitedly, I can touch my knee with my nose.”

“You have to have a very big nose to be able to do that,” says Carla.

From the village I can hear the tannoy with the disembodied voice of the mayor’s assistant announcing the arrival of the ‘
marchand de coquillages sur la place
’. I love that sound, though we only hear it here if the wind is coming from the south, which normally means bad weather will follow. On Thursday nights it announces that “
Chez Jojo est sur la place
”, Chez Jojo being the red and cream pizza van from which we get delicious Margaritas every week, bringing them home and covering them in rocket to eat like sandwiches.

The wind here is remarkable; you notice it most when it doesn’t blow, because it is almost constant, even if just as a pleasant breeze, as it often is. There is the
Tramontane
that comes from the north and brings clear skies, drying the vines and the land like a hair dryer, and the
Marin
that comes from the sea, bringing mist, clouds and rain but seldom any mud as the wind dries the ground in a day or so.

My forward bend and peaceful thoughts are interrupted by my mother
running towards me shouting.

“Fire, fire, there’s a fire in the vineyard. Come quickly, call the fire brigade!”

We all leap up and run towards my mother, who is frantically waving and motioning for us to follow her. She runs towards the Cabernet Sauvignon vineyard, where we see flames roaring. I immediately think of my favourite olive tree, which is ridiculous – I should be more worried about the vines and all that money going up in smoke.

We get there around the same time as the fire brigade; someone must have called them earlier. I see Jean-Claude showing them where to park and feel total relief. Once again he’s come to my rescue.

Kamal has dragged the hose from the
cave
as close as he can get it and the rest of us work with the firemen to fill up buckets of water and throw on the flames.

Carla, Sarah, Lucy and I stand in a line passing water-filled buckets to Jean-Claude, who throws them on the burning part of the field. It helps a little, but the main fire control is being done by the gallons of water sprayed from the fire engine.

After about half an hour the fire eventually concedes defeat, like a dragon that has lost its battle for life.

We all stand there surveying the damage like Scarlett O’Hara in
Gone with the Wind
. My olive tree is fine – a little bit charred with some damaged branches, but it will survive. However, about a quarter of the vines are burnt to a cinder. I am cursing the fact that we hadn’t yet picked them.

“Don’t worry,” says Kamal. “They will come back quickly. It could have been a lot worse.”

My mother comes and puts her arm around me. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but at least no one was hurt.”

“Are you insured for this sort of thing?” asks Lucy.

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head, still unable to believe what has happened. But it’s true that it could have been so much worse; the fire could even have reached the house with this wind and the dryness right now. But how on earth did it start and what can I do to make sure it doesn’t happen again?

I look over towards the firemen and see Jean-Claude receiving treatment for burns. Poor man, he was here right at the beginning, he must have tried to stop it with his bare hands. He walks towards me when he catches me looking at him. I feel like running into his arms but don’t want to make a spectacle of myself.

“I’m so grateful Jean-Claude. Thank God you were here. It could have
been so much worse.”

Instead of answering he just looks at me with pain and sadness in his eyes.

“Jean-Claude, what is it? What’s the matter? Are you all right? Have you been badly hurt?”

He shakes his head. Oh my God, I think, it looks like he’s about to cry.

“Jean-Claude, don’t worry, it’s over, everything’s fine. We just need to find out what started the fire so we can avoid it happening again.”

He puts his bandaged hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye.

“I started it, Sophie,” he says, before walking away.