Page 83 of The Village Cafe in the Loire

She sat up in bed and texted Amber a good morning.

Becky

How are you?

Amber

I’m OK. You?

Becky

Yeah. Pretty good.

Amber

Called your mum yet?

Becky

Told your mum about the soup?

Amber

Good comeback!

She got up slowly, took her odd little bath, and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt. Thoughts kept popping into her mind – work, her mother, Pascal, Amber, the café, Maud – but none of them formed anything coherent for her to hang on to.

A note informed her that Pascal had gone to pick up the fresh macarons and pastries they’d ordered; he wouldn’t be back for a while.

To stop herself spiralling, she decided to go out herself and buy a gift for Maud. Something to brighten up her room at the home, perhaps. A little reminder of the café that she would get some pleasure from looking at. Only she had no idea what. Perhaps a mug? But then the café’s mugs weren’t particularly distinctive. Not something that would spark memories.

She could of course take a picture of the café, have it framed. Maybe get it printed in black and white to make it look a bit arty. But she remembered Maud’s photographs now hanging in the café, and her newly acquired knowledge that her great-aunt was quite a celebrated photographer. A picture taken on her smartphone just wouldn’t cut it.

Then it came to her. She could draw the café herself. Perhaps it wouldn’t be frameable, but it would be personal. Besides, it would take a few hours to do and she really needed to have something to get her teeth into before she descended into anxiety.

She remembered seeing some thick, cream-coloured card down in Maud’s studio, so made her way down into the cluttered space, clicking on the light as she went. Walking in, she felt a little trepidatious, as if she were entering somewhere she shouldn’t. But she pushed on, found the card and a couple of fineliners and made her way back upstairs. She set herself up atthe large kitchen table then took a breath and began to draw, using some pictures on her phone for reference.

‘Becky?’

A voice at her ear made her jump. She looked up and felt her face get slightly hot, realising that not only was Pascal right next to her, grinning, but that he could see the picture she was working on. Which was both unfinished and looked – to her eye, at least – embarrassingly amateur.

‘Oh! I didn’t hear you come in!’ she said, her heart still thundering. Pascal was close to her and she could smell his habitual scent of fresh air, coffee and the clean, soapy smell of his aftershave.

‘Yes, I noticed.’ Pascal was still smiling. ‘I spoke to you two times before you heard me. What are you working on?’ He leaned down.

‘It’s a drawing. Of the café.’ She covered it instinctively with her hand.

Pascal laughed. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said. ‘I mean what is it for? I wondered perhaps for the wall of the café?’

‘This? Oh no!’ she said, hastily. ‘It’s… I’d hate that. Sorry. It’s just a picture I’m thinking of giving to Maud. If it turns out OK.’

‘It looks very good to me,’ Pascal said.

‘Thank you.’ She looked at it again. It didn’t quite match the picture she’d hoped to create in her ambitious mind. But it was OK. With a bit more shading, a little dash of watercolour here and there, it might even be quite good.

‘Anyway, I wanted to know if you wanted to come for lunch? I cannot cook today, so I am going to the restaurant.’

‘Lunch?’ she touched her phone to wake the screen up and saw to her surprise that it was 12.30p.m. ‘Oh my God, I hadn’t realised! I’ve been doing this for, what, about three hours!’ It didn’t seem possible. ‘It felt like about five minutes.’

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