The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) (6 page)

Poppy looked up from her basket in the kitchen, her tail wagging expectantly.

‘Want to go out, girl?’ whispered Will, taking his jacket from the peg and putting it on. Poppy hopped out of her bed and trotted over to him, her nails making little click-clack sounds on the tiled floor. ‘Come on, then.’ Will unlocked the back door.

As he walked out into the garden, Poppy scampered on ahead, her nose to the ground, on the trail of a scent. The moon cast its light across the grass. Will looked up at the night sky and the stars scattered like glitter. It was a good night for star gazing and had he been more prepared he would have brought his binoculars with him. Will pushed his hands into his coat pockets and followed the dog out in the blackness of the garden, heading for the fields beyond the outbuildings.

It was the persistent draught tickling the back of her neck which stirred Marcie from her sleep. Through half opened eyes and a sleep fogged brain, she registered the flicker of the flames in the fireplace and briefly questioned why she felt cold, but her mind was resisting being dragged back into consciousness. She pulled the cover higher over her shoulders and snuggled down into the soft cushions of the sofa, allowing her mind to wander as images of Will, his smiling face and injured arm, wove their way back and forth. Will then morphed into a clear image of the young boy she had seen through the window of the wood store. He in the living room, holding her flute, looking directly at her.

Marcie’s eyes burst open and she sat bolt upright. Her mind snapped fully awake. A trickle of sweat navigated its way down her spine as an unpleasant sensation of fear lodged in her stomach.

The draught that had first roused her resurrected itself and looking round the room, Marcie remembered why she was there. She glanced over her shoulder at the sofa and the empty space where Will had been.

She gave a deep sigh and took a moment to calm her breathing, allowing her heart beat to settle to an acceptable level. Checking the Grandfather clock standing against the wall, Marcie saw it was four in the morning.

Last night had been unexpected, yet very much welcomed. She had been growing more and more aware of her attraction to Will, physically and mentally. His initial prickly exterior had gradually softened over the weeks. She liked what she saw. Marcie definitely had no regrets about last night. Noticing that all Will’s clothing was gone, together with his boots, she wondered whether the same could be said of him.

Perhaps he had just gone for a walk, it wasn’t unusual for him to do so. She had heard him several times over the past weeks, creeping out along the landing and down the stairs in the middle of the night. A thread of doubt wove its way to the fore. What if he was actually regretting sleeping with her and had hot footed it up to bed to get away from her?

Dressing quickly, Marcie made her way through the kitchen towards the stairs. As she passed the table, she noticed the milk was out and the fridge door slightly ajar. She pushed it closed, assuming Will had got hungry in the night. The dog’s basket was empty so perhaps he had taken Poppy out for a walk. She’d still just check upstairs, though.

Reaching the landing, Marcie paused outside Will’s room and knocked gently.

‘Will? Are you there?’ she said. There was no reply so she went in.

The curtains were open and from the light of the moon, she could see the bed was empty. Marcie walked over to the window and looked out over the rear garden. The grounds were in darkness and it took a moment for her eyes to distinguish the dark shapes and shadows cast by the trees and bushes. Her gaze travelled the length of the garden and across the hedge to the fields.

A small circular beam of light bobbed its way across the field, travelling towards one of the barns, before disappearing. Marcie strained to see where it had gone but couldn’t locate it again. No doubt it was Will mooching around, probably taking photographs of some nocturnal creature.

Despite being dressed, Marcie gave a shiver as the cold air licked her bare feet and ankles. She padded back downstairs and made herself comfortable on the sofa, drawing the cover around her. The fear she had experienced earlier may have gone, but she still couldn’t settle. The darkness and silence were oppressive. Marcie picked up the remote control and put the television on, ignoring the little voice in her head calling her a wimp.

Chapter Six

‘Hey, sleepy head.’

Marcie felt the dip of the sofa as Will sat down next to her, his fingers moved a strand of hair away from her face and he dropped a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and turned her head towards his kisses.

‘Morning,’ she said, finally opening her eyes. ‘You’re back, then?’

‘I am indeed,’ said Will. ‘I’ve made some breakfast. Poached eggs and toast. I’ve got to shoot into the village to sort the car out but then I thought we could go for a walk. It looks like a nice day. Well, when I say nice, I mean it’s not raining.’

‘That all sounds good,’ said Marcie.

Will went over to the window and opened the curtains, causing Marcie to squint as the daylight flooded in. Getting up, she followed him out to the kitchen. Her phone began to ring.

‘That was good timing,’ she said fishing her mobile from her bag and glancing at the screen. ‘Oh, it’s Ben.’ She accepted the call. ‘Hi, Ben.’

Despite Ben doing his best to put on a cheerful voice, Marcie could hear the concern as he relayed the latest news on Lisa’s mother.

‘Turns out, she had a stroke after her fall. It’s affected her speech,’ said Ben.

‘Oh, no. How awful,’ said Marcie, sitting down at the table. ‘What’s the prognosis?’

‘It’s early days but hopefully she’ll make a good recovery. She’s got her age on her side. Needless to say, Lisa has got no desire to go back to France yet.’

‘I don’t suppose she has,’ said Marcie. ‘Look, don’t worry about anything here. Will and I are just fine.’ She purposefully avoided making eye contact with Will; it would only make her smile and she didn’t want Ben to pick up on that in her voice, not at this moment in time at least. ‘You haven’t got any guests booked in before Christmas have you? No. Well, that’s fine then. You stay there with Lisa, she needs you right now.’

Marcie spent the next few minutes reassuring her brother that it wasn’t a problem and ended the call, sending her love to Lisa and her family.

‘Not good?’ said Will as he put two plates of poached egg and toast on the table.

‘No. Lisa’s mum has had a stroke as well,’ said Marcie. ‘No doubt you gathered how the conversation went. You’re okay with that, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t have to rush off anywhere soon, do you?’ She was aware that the question wasn’t just for the purpose of looking after The Retreat but as much for her own reasons.

Will sat down at the table next to her. ‘I’ve got nothing, nowhere and no-one to rush off for. I’m pretty content with what’s here.’

Marcie’s stomach gave a small flutter. It was what she wanted to hear. ‘That makes two of us,’ she said.

After their breakfast, Will walked back into the village and returned an hour later in the car. ‘All sorted,’ he said going over to the sink to wash his hands. ‘I’ll just have a coffee and then we’ll go for that walk.’

Half an hour later they were leaving The Retreat. ‘Where are we going today?’ asked Marcie. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and put them on as they walked. The sun might be out, but the chill in the air wasn’t to be outdone. Cold plumes of breath puffed out as she spoke.

‘We won’t go too far. What about a nowhere in particular walk round trip of about ninety minutes,’ said Will.

‘Come on, then, let’s go,’ said Marcie picking up the pace in a bid to warm herself.

They were just approaching the corner in the road to head north when Will stopped.

‘Damn it,’ he said patting his jacket pockets. ‘I’ve left my phone indoors. You carry on, I’ll quickly nip back and get it.’ He turned and breaking into a small jog headed back for The Retreat.

Marcie began to walk slowly on. As she rounded the bend she became aware of raised voices. She couldn’t make out what was being said, not least because most of it seemed to be in rapid French, but as the bend flattened out, in front of her she could see Yves, the farmer, wrestling with a child in the middle of the road.

The boy was desperately struggling to free himself from Yves’s grip, turning himself this way and then the other, but he was held tight by the scruff of his jacket. The boy’s arms were flailing wildly, slapping at the older man’s arms. Next, the lad aimed a kick at Yves and caught him on the shins. Yves yelled in pain but didn’t let go of the boy.

He raised his free arm to strike the boy and at this point Marcie saw the stick he was brandishing. He brought it down hard on the boy’s back.

‘No!
Non!
’ shouted Marcie. She broke into a run but before she could reach the boy, Yves was thrashing the boy again and again. ‘
Monsieur
,
Arrêtez
!
’

Yves looked up, noticing Marcie for the first time. Her presence, however, didn’t stop him. The boy by now was trying to protect his head from the blows raining down on him. He was shouting in a language Marcie didn’t recognise. It wasn’t French. It sounded possibly Arabic. Whatever the language, he was clearly begging Yves to stop the beating.

Marcie lunged at the farmer, pushing his arm away. She grabbed at the stick and tried to pull it from Yves’s hand. He was stronger than he looked and easily flung Marcie to one side, sending her sprawling in the road.

Scrambling to her feet, she propelled herself towards Yves, shoulder charging him. This time it caught him off balance. He staggered backwards, somehow managing to stay on his feet and keep hold of the boy. Marcie went for him again.

Yves dropped his stick and threw his arm around Marcie’s back as she hunched herself over the boy to shield him from the savage attack. They were locked in a three way hold with no party wanting to give way.

Will heard the commotion. Raised voices all shouting at once, none of them distinguishable but something told him Marcie was in the thick of it. He sprinted round the corner and was immediately confronted by a tangled mass of bodies and limbs.

‘What the fuck?’ he muttered to himself. He assessed the situation in a split second, recognising Marcie, Yves and what looked like a child in something resembling a rugby huddle.

‘Oi!’ he shouted not breaking stride as he ran at the group. He grabbed at Yves’s arm first. Taking the man by surprise, Will easily pulled it away from Marcie. Wedging himself between Marcie and Yves, he pushed them apart and then, turning to Marcie, walked her backwards.

She struggled against him. ‘Get off, Will,’ she was shouting. ‘Let me go!’

‘Stop,’ said Will. ‘Calm down.’

‘I am calm.’ She was still shouting but she had stopped fighting and pointed towards Yves. ‘Look! Stop him, Will. He’s hitting the boy. Stop him!’ She started to push her way past Will again.

As Will looked back over his shoulder, he could see Yves bundling the boy to the ground. ‘Stay there,’ he said to Marcie. He covered the ground in three strides. ‘Pack it in!’

Will caught hold of Yves’s arm. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yves’s other hand, balled in a fist, coming his way. With lightening and automatic reactions, Will raised his left arm, blocking the blow whilst simultaneously letting go of Yves’s hand and throwing a right hook, catching the farmer on the left of the face. The Frenchman reeled backwards and onto the ground, clutching his jaw.

Will was standing over him, his fist still clenched ready for another attack if needed. The farmer held up his hands in surrender.

‘Piss off out of here,’ said Will pointing in the direction of the field. He took a step back to give the man room to flee.

Yves got to his feet, spouting angry French words at Will and gesticulating in the general direction of Marcie and the boy. As he reached the gap in the hedge, he turned and, looking at Will, spat on the ground before marching off across the field.

Will blew out a long breath and inspected his knuckles. Shame he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. Still, no real damage, just a bit red where they made contact with the farmer’s jaw bone. It had been a long time since he had been involved in any kind of a fight. Certainly, not since leaving the Army.

He turned his attention to Marcie who was kneeling down beside the boy. She had a tissue in her hand and was wiping the boy’s face, offering words of comfort to quell the small sobs. The boy looked over at Will, his eyes wide with fear
. The dark skin and black hair immediately triggered a memory; transporting Will right back to Afghanistan and his last tour. He could taste the dust of the arid land in the back of his throat, the heat of the midday Asian sun on his neck, the dampness of the sweat under his Army fatigues and the weight of his Osprey body armour. In an automatic gesture his body jerked into a hyper state of alert but today there was no assault rifle in his hand.

Marcie stopped what she was doing and slowly stood up. ‘Will? Will, you okay?’ Her words penetrated his thoughts, interrupting the flow of memories. Her hand reached out and touched his arm. She repeated his name again.

Will looked down at her hand and then up at her face. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. She was still there in front of him. He was in the present; the here and now.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m good.’

She gave a hesitant smile in return, her eyes still searching his face, not quite as convinced as he hoped.

The scrambling of feet on the ground brought their attention back to the boy. Marcie spun round as Will looked beyond her. The boy hesitated, looking from one to the other.

‘It’s okay,’ said Marcie. ‘
C’est bon.
’ She took a step towards him. The boy took a step back, briefly glanced at her outstretched hand before turning and sprinting down the road, disappearing out of sight. ‘Wait!’ called Marcie.

‘Leave it, Marcie,’ said Will, coming to stand next to her. ‘He’s gone.’

‘But where? Who is he? Where’s his mother?’

‘Sorry, can’t answer any of those questions.’

‘I’ve seen him before. He was the one at the window of the wood store. He must live round here. Haven’t you seen him?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Will. ‘There’s only The Retreat and Yves’s place here. There aren’t any other houses nearby. Anyway, never mind the boy. What about you? Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Marcie. She rubbed at the palm of her hand.

Will lifted her hand and turned it over. It was red and the skin was broken at the heel. A little bit of grit and dirt had embedded itself under the torn skin. ‘Whilst I don’t think it’s going to hamper your flute playing ability, it could do with a clean,’ he said. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else? Your knees?’

‘No, it’s just my hand.’

‘What was all that about, anyway?’ said Will, guiding her back towards The Retreat.

‘I’ve no idea. I came round the corner and Yves had hold of the boy. He was beating him with a stick.’

‘So you waded in?’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Marcie. ‘I’m not sure what happened. One minute I was looking at them, the next I was Sumo wrestling Yves.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘God knows what Ben will say about me brawling in the street with his neighbour.’

‘Just out of interest,’ said Will. ‘What was your next move seeing as he had got you in a headlock?’

‘I had it under control,’ said Marcie. ‘I was just waiting for the right moment.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ said Will. ‘And then I came along and spoiled the party.’

‘Yep.’ Marcie lifted Will’s hand. It was her turn to inspect for any damage. ‘Looks like your hand could do with a clean-up too.’

‘It’s nothing,’ said Will, he paused. ‘Although, on second thoughts, maybe I should. Who knows what I might catch from the old bugger. I bet he hasn’t had a booster jab recently.’

Back at the house, Will filled a bowl of water with some warm water and splashed a drop of TCP into it. ‘I won’t lie, it’s going to smart a bit,’ he said. He tore off a wad of cotton wool and dipped it into the bowl before squeezing out the excess water. ‘Ready?’ He dabbed at Marcie’s palm. She gave a yelp. Will held her wrist so she couldn’t pull away. ‘Sorry.’

‘It bloody stings,’ she said wincing.

‘Just need to get the dirt out,’ said Will. After a few minutes he had managed to clean the wound and then applied a small dressing. ‘Just to protect it for today. It should be okay tomorrow.’

‘Thanks,’ said Marcie. ‘My turn now. Go and get some clean water.’

As Will rinsed the bowl out and refilled it, Marcie’s phone began to ring. ‘You’re popular today,’ he said. Marcie looked at her phone, pursing her lips. Will stopped what he was doing. ‘Trouble?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ said Marcie. She accepted the call. ‘Emily, hi, how are you?’

Will listened to Marcie’s side of the call as he went about cleaning his own hand. For someone who had been reluctant to take the call, she seemed to be having a very relaxed conversation.

Opening the back door, he let Poppy out into the garden and wandered onto the rear patio. Every now and then he would catch the odd word or sentence of Marcie’s conversation. He walked down to the end of the lawn and looked across the hedge at the fields and outbuildings.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but something made him look round. He got the distinct impression he was being watched. He scanned the terrain. He couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary but the sensation remained. Will paced the perimeter of the garden, stopping at the wood store and poking his head in.