Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (35 page)

It took a moment to absorb this news. She still felt a pang of defeat. Carmelita had won. Something else hit her as well.

“Jean-Luc, I get it now. Carmelita is my sister Chantilly! You were right about my being drawn to competitive triangles. If I remove myself from that, I’m actually happy! They belong together. Totally. Nelson finally did the right thing. I’m…I can’t believe I’m saying this…
proud
of him.”

Jean-Luc was beaming, an expression she rarely saw on him. They burst into laughter. How crazy was life?

“Ow! I have to stop! It really does hurt.”

What made her calm down was looking into her own future and seeing nothing. Not even a job.

“Do you feel well enough to make it to school tomorrow?”

“Claire promised a champagne toast at the end. I have to show up.” She focused on him. “I’d like to stay in a hotel tonight. Can you recommend some place besides the
Hôtel Marlaison?
”

“Why not the cottage?”

“I want to be where there are no memories of Nelson. And don’t suggest your bedroom.”

He looked miffed. “Al-
ees
, you just ended an engagement, lost a baby, and had surgery.” He took another sip of his tea. “I know the perfect hotel.
The Bonne Santé.
”

“Good health. Sounds like the right place for me right now.” She stood up, “But first I want to check on my
loirs.
What do you have in the refrigerator to feed them?”

Alone, she carried chopped apples, milk, and water in the same picnic basket they used at the beach. As she approached the old rabbit hutch, her heart pounded. Would they be okay?

The nest was empty. She looked around, called like always by mimicking the sound they made. Had something killed them? Had they moved away? Were they off looking for food?

She placed the apples inside, filled the plastic tub with milk, the other with fresh water.

The birds chirped madly.

Something told her the dormice were in heaven along with the tiny life that had been growing inside her. As she was about to cry, she felt something on her foot. A gray face with big black eyes stared back at her.

“You’re okay!”

She gently lowered herself to the ground and the critter, bigger now, climbed up her chest to be coddled. Another appeared. No more.

She still didn’t name her furry loves. More than ever she didn’t want to become attached.

35

An Offer She
Can
Refuse

Alyce’s low mood sank again when she entered her last class and saw a stack of beautifully wrapped presents on the table. She had to let them know the wedding was off. In French, of course.

When everyone was seated, she stood up. “Before we begin, I have some news. I am no longer engaged.” After the murmurs subsided, she motioned to the table, “I am very happy I’m not marrying him, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness and hope you can return what you bought.”

Claire stepped forward. “Since you say you are happy about this, Al-
ees
, would you object to opening the champagne?”

You have to love the French.

In no time, Alyce the raconteur was standing in front of the room revealing the broad strokes of what happened (minus the swearing, and her ectopic pregnancy that she wasn’t ready to talk about).

Claire said, “We are always weak when we are in love.”

When she reached the fight that followed the Moment of Truth, the class laughed and laughed. She laughed as well. At last.

Liliane poked her head in the classroom door. “I cannot say that I was upset when I heard the news.” She invited the class to come to the cafeteria for a surprise.

When they walked into the large room, thunderous applause erupted. Alyce didn’t know why until she saw in big letters on a banner:
FÉLICITATIONS ALYCE!

She spotted her first hosts, the elderly farm couple Fabien and Fabienne, followed by Solange the widow and Philippe the dancer, and the Devreauxs, all smiling and clapping with the highest regard for her.

With a microphone in hand, Liliane said, “Thank you for coming today to honor Al-
ees
Donovan, who arrived three months ago and came close to leaving us rather quickly.” Everyone chuckled until Liliane said with an approving smile, “But she did not leave. She did not give up. She was determined to master French like no student before her. Al-
ees
, you are a role model now.” Alyce hung her head in a mixture of embarrassment and pride. “And I think you would be a spectacular
teacher
to beginning English-speaking students. When can you start?”

More applause rose around her.

“
Me
teach
here?
” Tears of joy were unstoppable. It was the biggest compliment anyone could ever pay her.

Someone whispered in her ear, “Even I think you would be an excellent teacher.”

In a beige suit and white shirt, the clean-shaven, closely cropped Jean-Luc was
très
debonair.

“You cut your hair! It looks great, Jean-Luc.”

“Will you accept the position, Al-
ees?
” asked Liliane.

She took the microphone and said with a French accent, “But, of course!”

After mingling with admirers she didn’t know she had, and apologizing profusely to her former hosts for behavior they now found amusing, Jean-Luc held out his hand.

“Let us go for a drive and discuss your future.”

She bid
adieu
to all with lots of cheek-kisses, even Julien.

“You are a bad boy,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Not all the time. I am a good bad boy.”

“Then you’ll be a great writer one day.”

Her last stop was Liliane. “I know I said yes to your offer, but I was in a state of shock. I need to think about it.”

She smiled with complete assurance that she would not change her mind.

As they drove off, Jean-Luc said, “Look in the glove compartment for an envelope. I am giving you what I would have paid Pauline for finding a buyer—”

“Stop!”

“—I am also paying you back for your expenditures as promised and throwing in extra for helping with my memoir proposal.”

“You already did that.”

“Raymond has sold it for a staggering amount of money. Between that and the sale of the house, I am in very good shape right now.”

“That’s great about the memoir, but there you go again being too generous. You have to think of yourself, Jean-Luc.”

His voice was soft when he said, “I am going to write about Colette. I must do it. You deserve a million Euros for lessening that pain.”

“It wasn’t me. You were ready to let it go.”

“You’re being too self-deprecating, Al-
ees.
You need to think more about yourself, too.”

She opened the envelope. There was a check from Jean-Luc for €100,000.

“Jean-Luc!”

“Liliane thinks that is fair. I do not wish to hear another word of protest.”

She was still stunned by his gesture when they pulled up to the storefront of a real estate agency, its window filled with pictures of properties. Alyce had walked by it many times and studied the photos, longing to buy one. With all that money in her hand, a wave of temptation to buy her own place rushed in.

No, no, no. That was crazy.

“The Mansfields do not want the property and offered to sell it back to me,” Jean-Luc said. “I am not interested. I have moved on in my head and my heart. Pauline is their broker so she will make her commission after all.”

Alyce liked that he was concerned she got something out of the deal.

“If you are up to it, will you look at properties with me? I value your sensible opinion.” He held her hand with both of his. They were as warm as ever. “You need to put your mind off recent events.”

“No kidding. Let me pop a painkiller and I’m ready.”

Pauline’s first words were, “You look handsome with your new look, Jean-Luc.”

“You can thank Al-
ees
for that.”

She curtailed her flattery.

He had narrowed his property search to the following criteria: view of the Mediterranean, enough land to give him total privacy, at least four bedrooms,
no
swimming pool, a large kitchen and a price tag not one penny over €500,000.

Alyce knew this wasn’t going well when he said, “Let’s see the rest of it” and Pauline said, “There is no rest.”

“Don’t even bother showing me the others. I’ll go to 700.”

Alyce didn’t hide her groan of disapproval. He was going to be broke again. He really needed someone he could trust to manage his money.

Pauline hopped on her phone to line up more viewings as Alyce and Jean-Luc waited in her car.

“Pauline is looking happy these days,” he said. “A most seductive quality.” He ran his hands through his new short haircut. “I cannot get used to this.”

“Neither can I. If you’d like me to leave you two alone, that’s fine.”

“She is not nearly as seductive as you, Al-
ees.
There is not a trace of stress on your face.”

“Wait until the painkiller wears off.”

As Pauline came toward them, Alyce noticed that she walked like a woman sprouting wings that had been previously clipped. From knowing Jean-Luc, Alyce was starting to see life through the eyes of a writer. It was richer, more interesting. Certainly never dull.

Two hours and five houses later, nothing was close to promising. The last one was 20 minutes outside of town.

Alyce awoke from a nap to hear Jean-Luc warily ask, “What is the story on this one?”

“I saved it for last since it is in the opposite direction of the other houses. With four hectares, it is too much land for most private owners and not enough for commercial purposes.”

“Tell me its story,” asked Jean-Luc.

“A British couple used it as their vacation home. The husband died in the U.K. after a long illness. The wife is highly motivated to sell. She hasn’t been here in a year. She said it was meant to be enjoyed by lovers. It would not be the same without him. They had been high school sweethearts.”

“Ahhhh,” was all Jean-Luc replied.

“The price has just dropped.”

As the houses became sparser and farms became more frequent, he approved. “I am looking for serenity the moment I am close to where I live. I can feel it here. It has good emotional karma, too. My former property was bought from a couple who were divorcing. I should have known better.”

Pastures surrounded the property except by the main house, which had been beautifully landscaped. It was a classic two-story Mediterranean villa: roof of curved orange tiles, countless palm trees, rough stucco exterior.

When they walked through the front door, Alyce began to tingle. It was beautifully decorated in a down-to-earth way. Definitely Jean-Luc.

The foyer’s floor was made of yellow, blue, and white tiles. A large Moroccan archway led to the living room that looked out on a vista of the sea. There were just a few fishing boats here and there. The sun-dappled water sparkled as though a net of diamonds was strewn across it.

“Oh, Jean-Luc,” Alyce said softly, “the sunsets must be incredible here.”

Pauline was smiling. Yes, the real-estate cupid had pulled back his bow and struck deep into his target.

“I love the kitchen!” he cried. It was spacious and a soft yellow. “It is even better than mine. I always wished there had been room for a dining table. Now there is.”

They walked through glass sliding doors to the large backyard. There was a
pétanque
court and a small cottage overlooking the water. They immediately inspected it. The wall facing the sea was floor to ceiling glass. Alyce couldn’t imagine a more peaceful place on earth.

“
Merveilleux!
” he said almost to himself. “This will be where I write.”

“There is another guest cottage down the road that is part of the property,” Pauline added.

As they walked to the house, Alyce was jolted by the sight of another Tree of Love just like the one at her former cottage.

“It is perfection,” he said. “How much?”

“It started at 950. It is now down to your magic number, 700.”

“What about the furnishings?”

“Everything is negotiable. I will look into it.”

“Jean-Luc. Your budget.”

He ignored Alyce’s comment as they walked through the rooms upstairs. “I wonder what the master bedroom looks like.” Upon seeing it, “Fit for a king, Al-
ees!
”

The large bed had an ornate carved wooden headboard and a mattress that looked two feet thick. “Yep,” Alyce said, patting it. “You’ll be having fun with someone on this in no time.”

“I will be too busy to have fun.”

Pauline cocked her head. “You are not looking together? I thought—
Pardon.
”

For the drive back, Pauline talked nonstop to Jean-Luc about being single at her age. Alyce’s mind went to visions of herself as a cat-loving spinster who spoiled other people’s children.

And never had her heart broken again.

When they returned to Pauline’s office, she wrote her home number on her business card before they parted. “In case you lost it, Jean-Luc.”

“I will be in touch,” he said.