Page 56 of Salt

I laughed. “I don’t know either. Charles is the only guy I’ve ever thought about any of that stuff with. Why, are you thinking of coming over to the dark side? We’d welcome you on board.”

I got a thump on the arm for that.

Someone must have pinned a visitors welcome sign to the tractor because the man himself appeared not long after Nico left. Aside from at the office, where our conversations had been strictly work-related, I hadn’t seen him at all. I knew my pictures were still up at the gallery because half the folks in L’Escale and most of the salt harvesters were only too keen to keep me abreast, so maybe that was keeping him busy.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

The response never hovered on the tip of my tongue.

“It’s fine. I’m not up to much. We could do with a little more sunshine, to be honest. Last week’s rain has raised the water levels. I was planning on stopping soon to spend a couple of hours shoring up the far bank, instead.”

Was I babbling? Yes.

He took the seat Nico had not long vacated, but arranged himself more awkwardly, being sure to keep a gap between our bodies. He had a small rucksack with him, which he parked at our feet.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m good.” I prodded the ground with the rake. “Glad to be back out here now we’ve got some permanent help in the office.”

“Yes, Pierre is going to be very efficient, I think.”

“He’ll be okay, in time,” I agreed. Childish maybe, but as if I was going to big him up. “Did you come out here to ask me something about the cooperative?”

He smiled, and a touch of colour tinged his cheeks. Mon dieu, he did look well. Rested and calm; I wanted to ask if the nightmares still plagued him.

“No. I brought you lunch. If you’re not too busy, I thought we could eat it together. I’ve always thought this bench is a nice spot.”

I was glad he liked it, it was one of my favourite places in the world, which was why I was loathe to upgrade it, even if it was too narrow and full of woodworm. He brought the rucksack onto his lap and unzipped it.

“You’ve got your appetite back, then?”

He handed me a paper bag, still warm. A Gruyere and smoked ham tart, fresh from the bakery in Ars. “I’m trying. The medications still leave me with a strange taste in my mouth.”

His mouth had always tasted fine to me. “You’re still taking them, then?”

“For life, if I have to. I hope not, but I’m in no rush to stop. The last few months weren’t… pleasant. Not something I’m in a hurry to repeat.”

He chewed steadily, then took a swig of water. I wanted to ask him what colours this conversation stirred up. Whether shades of orange crept around the green.

“Do they think the… um… paranoia will come back?”

He cocked his head to one side and regarded me thoughtfully. “Maybe. But my mother’s death played a huge part in triggering it. I have a grief counsellor now. It helps. There were things I’d have liked to have said to her, you know? But her death was so sudden, I never had the chance. And I’m still finding that really difficult. I take it day by day.”

Is that what Papi did with my grandmother, I wondered? Said all the things he’d never got around to saying while she lived? The pair of them used to rattle to each other for hours, about all sorts of rubbish. I bet they still had plenty to discuss.

“And I’m trying to embrace my synaesthesia, like I used to, before I began working too hard and it became part of the problem. Because it’s not at all. Stress and overworking were the problem, I just have a more… inventive outlet for it than most people.”

“And you think living out here will help all that?”

I scrunched up my paper wrapper and handed it back to him; he stowed it in his bag. The island didn’t do rubbish bins, aside from in the village centres. They were too much of a hazard for wildlife. “You’re not going to get bored in a year or so, and wish you were back in London? There isn’t much to do around here, especially in winter.”

He handed me a shiny red apple, polishing it first, as though he was my mother or something. “I can think of a few things to keep me entertained.”

CHAPTER 33

CHARLES

Sitting opposite Florian in his cramped office, sorting through scraps of invoices and old files and reacquainting myself with how a shredder worked, wasn’t the perfect reunion I’d planned in my head, but I’d take it. At least he was talking to me. Nevertheless, as much as having him in my eyeline was a piece of heaven brought down to earth, it was also like having a caged tiger prowling around the confined space. The love of my life was not designed to be indoors.

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