L'amour Actually (42 page)

  'Oh, Madame Mollet, how are you?' I said when I heard the estate agent's voice on the line. 'Do you have some more viewings lined up?'

  'No, actually I have phoned to tell you that we have found a buyer for Les Tuileries.'

  My stomach lurched. From what she had said, houses often took years to sell in France so I had never actually thought it would happen while I was still living there.

  'A buyer? Well, um, that's good news for Monsieur Marin, I suppose. So what happens next? What sort of timescale are we looking at?'

  'I have emailed you a letter giving you one months' notice of the termination of your tenancy agreement.'

  'One month!' I felt my stomach hit the floor. 'I thought the agreement said three months?'

  'I'm sorry, but if you read it again you will see that in the case of a sale of the property the landlord has the right to give only one month. I will bring a copy of the letter to you as soon as I can, but I wanted to make sure you knew as early as possible.'

  I opened up my laptop and clicked on the email from Madame Mollet. It was there in black and white. I had one month to leave my beloved cottage and find somewhere else to live.

  'Well, that's that then.'

  'I'm sorry,' Madame Mollet said. 'You have been a good tenant.'

  'Do you have anything else on your books that might suit me?'

  'I'm afraid not. I don't really do that many rentals, just for some long-standing clients.'

  'Right,' I said abruptly. I knew this day would eventually come, but now it had, it felt like a bereavement.

  'Well, I must go. I will see you soon.'

  'Right,' I replied.

  'Goodbye,
mademoiselle
.'

  'Goodbye.'

  I sat down on the sofa. For once in my life, I had no idea what my next step would be. Should I stay in France? Could I stay in France? I had been clinging on by my fingertips for the last few months. Maybe it was a sign that I should give up this particular dream. The thing was, I really didn't want to. But then, what choice did I have? I had no money, my flat in London wasn't selling; I would shortly have no home, I had no job and my love life was in tatters. My life sounded like a second-rate country music song. My phone beeped to signal the arrival of a text. It was from Charlotte.

'Living it up at the Baftas. Lots of people asking after you. Hope all is good en France. C xxx'

This time last year it would have been me there; glammed up, hair newly cut and highlighted, nails done. I looked at my hands. The blisters had started to bleed and my nails hadn't seen a manicure in months. My feet were clad in muddy wellies and the last time I had tried on a pair of my heels, my feet were too big for them, the end result of months in sandals and flip-flops. Country feet. Outside, I noticed that it had started to rain. At least it would clear the snow but it very much reflected my mood. I sat, staring into space, mentally arguing with myself about my next move. I had always been a fighter. A typical Capricorn, stubborn and unwilling to give in, but for once I felt totally defeated. Whichever way I looked at it, my French dream was surely over.

  As the day rolled slowly on towards evening and the light started to fade, I knew that it was time to give up. I had given it my best shot, no one could argue with that. I had arrived in France as a naive London girl, slightly selfish and self-centred, and clearly with no idea what life in a foreign country involved. How far I had come. I now spoke passable French, I knew a fair bit about keeping chickens and had embraced a new culture. I had developed strong and hopefully lasting relationships with my neighbours and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I belonged in a community. It hadn't always been plain sailing and I had made lots of mistakes along the way.

  I saw headlights coming down the drive. Probably Madame Mollet with the termination letter. With a heavy heart, I stood up and went to the door. No point in delaying the inevitable.

  '
Bonjour,
Madame Mollet,' I said, opening the door. 'That was quick.'

  A draught of cold air blew in.

  'Bonjour,
mademoiselle
,' she held out a letter, 'your notice of termination.'

  I took it wordlessly and shoved it in my pocket.

  'Also, I hope you don't mind but I bought the new owner round. She wanted to have a look at the cottage.'

  'Well, really you should have asked before. I mean, it's a bit of a mess.' I was faintly irritated by her presumptuousness.

  'I'm sure she won't mind,' Madame Mollet said smiling. She stood back and the new owner stepped into the light from the open door.

  'Surprise!'

  'Tracey? Tracey bloody Tarrant? What the hell are you doing here?'

  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but before I had a chance to do either, Tracey threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. Then she stepped back, holding me at arm's length and looked at me.

  'Bloody hell, you look pretty shabby. What's happened to you?'

  Madame Mollet interrupted, 'If you don't mind, I have business to do in Bussières so I'll leave you to it.'

  I led Tracey into the house and sat her down on the sofa.

  'Well of all the people in the world, I never expected to see you again. I texted you, you know.'

  'I know, I did get it but I was in the studio so I didn't have a chance to reply and then too much time had passed. You know how it is. I was too embarrassed to call you.'

  'But not too embarrassed to make me homeless though?'

  'Look, I've got so much to tell you.' Tracey looked round the room. 'God, this place would freeze the balls off a polar bear. Why don't you turn the heating on for God's sake?'

  'Er, Tracey. Look around you. What's missing from this picture? Radiators maybe?'

  'Glad to see that your sarcasm is still alive and kicking.'

  'Just one of my many qualities.'

  She stood up. 'Come on, grab your coat… oh, you're already wearing it. We're staying at a hotel in Villeneuve. I'll get you a room there and you can come and warm up. My shout. Then I can fill you in on what's happening.'

  'We?' I asked.

  'Oh shit. I've left him in the car. Hurry up, grab some overnight stuff, he's probably frozen to the steering wheel.'

  'This is Nathan.'

  'Hi Nathan,' I said, climbing into the back of the BMW four-wheel drive. In the half light I could barely make out his features but his deep, rich American voice, when he greeted me, was warm and friendly.

  'So when are you going to tell me what's going on?' I asked as we purred along the road to Villeneuve.

  'When you're cleaned up and wearing normal clothes. You look like a bleedin' bag lady. I had no idea you'd let yourself go so much after I left.'

  I punched her on the shoulder.

  'Ouch. That hurt.'

  'No more or less than you deserve, just leaving like that.'

  'Yeah, I'm sorry. The thing was, I knew what was going on. You know, with Julien.'

  'You knew? How?'

  'Remember the time we met his girlfriend, what was her name? Jo, that's it. It was at
la danse country.
' She said the last bit with a ridiculously exaggerated French accent.

  'Yes,' I said, curiously.

  'Well remember I went out for a fag while you were getting the licence thingies.' She turned to Nathan. 'Can you believe that you have to have a licence to line-dance in France? Imagine how well that would go down with the Good Old Boys back home!'

  In the glow of the street lights, I saw his face crinkle into a smile.

  'Yes, I remember,' I said.

  'Well he was outside picking her up. He had no idea we were there. He nearly crapped his jeans when he saw me.'

  'You saw him with her? And you didn't say anything?' I was stunned at the betrayal.

  'I tried to, honestly, I really did…'

  'Oh my God. The day when the hunting season started?'

  'Yes, but I lost my nerve. So where did that leave me? I knew he was cheating on you, and on her, but I couldn't tell you. I felt awful. I couldn't be around you knowing what I did. Then the opportunity came up to go to LA and I jumped at it and I'm glad, otherwise I might not have met Nathan.'

  He reached across and grabbed Tracey's hand, pulling it towards him and putting it in his lap.

  At the hotel, Tracey checked me into a room while Nathan parked the car, then sent me upstairs to take a long bath and warm up.

  'Nathan seems nice,' I said to Tracey. She smiled and made googly eyes at me.

  'You really like him then?'

  'Like? It's
l'amour
actually if you really want to know.'

  'I'm really pleased for you, Trace.'

  She smiled. 'It's so good to see you again,' and gave me a big hug. 'Right, better let you get sorted. See you down in the bar when you're ready.'

  The room was sumptuous, not at all what I was expecting. From the outside, it was quite unassuming but inside it could rival the best London boutique hotels. I took off my clothes, stuffing them into a laundry bag I found in a drawer and wrapped myself in huge, fluffy bathrobe that was hanging behind the bathroom door. Pouring in a liberal amount of the
L'Occitane de Provence
bath foam that was on the side of the bath, I filled it to the brim with wonderful hot water. The smells were heavenly. I lay down on the bed while I waited for the bath to run, luxuriating in the deep, squashy mattress, so unlike the lumpy one at the cottage. I hadn't realised quite how much I had missed a decent bed.

  When the bath was full, I slipped off the bathrobe and dipped my toes into the water. It was as hot as I could manage and as I climbed in and slid down, the heat enveloped me and started to thaw out the chill in my bones. It felt absolutely glorious. Ducking my head under the water, I pushed my hair back. I would wash it in a while. First, I just wanted to enjoy the sensation of lying in a bath for the first time since I had arrived in France.

  Hair washed and conditioned, and body scrubbed to within an inch of its life, I climbed out, trying not to notice the dirty grey colour of the water. Tracey was right. I must have looked a sight. I caught my reflection in the mirror. One good thing about 'The Julien Business' and the hours spent chopping wood was that my croissant top had gone. Cleaned and polished, I didn't look too bad. I wrapped myself in a downy, white bath towel, winding another one round my head and went into the bedroom to sit down in front of the mirror. I looked hard at myself. I certainly wasn't a good advert for living the dream in France. My hair needed cutting, I had dark circles under my eyes and my hollow cheeks were just the wrong side of fashionable.

  I tried hard not to think too much about why Tracey was making me homeless. It didn't add up. Sighing, I brushed out my hair – I'd find out soon enough no doubt.

  I walked into the bar and looked around for Tracey and Nathan. They were deep in conversation, holding hands across the table in a quiet corner of the room. They were so obviously in love. I thought of Julien and the great times we had had and all the while he was cheating on me, and on Jo. I had always thought Louis was the one who couldn't be trusted but clearly I was wrong. So far I had proved to be a lousy judge of character.

  I walked over to them and sat down. It was the first chance I'd had to see Nathan properly.

  'Oh my God!' I said excitedly. 'You're Nathan from…'

  He smiled and stopped me mid-sentence. 'And nobody needs to know.'

  'What do you want to drink?' Tracey asked. 'Still on the
rosé
?'

  'Forever.'

  Tracey ordered a bottle then studied me carefully, brow slightly furrowed. 'I guess you are wondering what this is all about?'

  'You could say that.'

  'OK. Well here's the thing. My new album is doing really well over in the States and I've just signed a huge deal with a new record company and they've given me an advance that would make your eyes water. Might even buy you lunch in the café.'

  'Well, you could if it wasn't closed. Stéphane and Claire left months ago,' I told her.

  'Yeah, I heard. Anyway, I know we got off to a pretty rocky start…'

  'You could say that.'

  Tracey turned to Nathan, 'Did I tell you about it?'

  'Yeah, you did. It was pretty full-on,' he replied.

  Turning to me, she said, 'But you became a great friend and you helped me through a lot of shitty times with Warren and that. So I've bought it.'

  'The cottage? Yes I know,' I answered, confused.

  'Not the cottage, the café.'

  'Sorry? You've bought the café?'

  'Yep. You're looking at the new owner.'

  I was puzzled. 'But you live in LA now. What do you want with a café in France?'

  'Just think of it as an investment. Anyway, I've bought it and I'd like you to run it for me.'

  I was stunned. I stared at her, chin in my lap.

  'But I don't know the first thing about running a café.'

  'That's why I've paid Stéphane and Claire to come back and help you for a few months.'

  I was stunned, 'But where does the cottage fit in?'

  'Staff accommodation. For my new manager.' Tracey smiled at me.

  I stared at her, trying to fully comprehend what she was saying. 'But then why the notice? Why are you kicking me out of it?'

  'So I can get it fixed up. You know, proper toilet, central heating. Can't have the management freezing to death in the winter. I've already spoken to Jack and he's really happy to come back and run the kitchen. It's going to be the first
rosé
bar and restaurant in the area. I'm calling it "La Vie en Rosé". The French probably won't get it but never mind.'