Page 22 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Take no notice of them,’ Isabel said, ‘they’ll soon start ignoring you.’
I paused at the open kitchen door, remembering the last time I was there, when I had still been getting used to doing so many things on my own.
The first trip without Stephen, the first birthday, the first summer, the first Christmas. It felt very different this time, I supposed that the passing of the years had indeed made a difference. Looking back, the decades we had shared together felt as though they had been a long dream, or someone else’s life.
Standing there while Isabel bustled about, sweeping piles of newspaper off the table and looking without success for somewhere to dump them, putting dirty plates and mugs into the sink and then finding two clean ones, I felt quite sad and philosophical for a moment and then I was nearly knocked flying as one of the dogs leapt up to punch me in the back with its front paws.
‘Antoine!Non!’ Isabel shouted, and the dog scurried off under the table where it had spotted something appealing. The other dog followed and there was a brief growling tussle before both of them scooted outside to have a further argument over a bone.
Isabel pulled me inside and closed the lower half of the stable door with a sigh of relief.
‘Worse than children,’ she said, ‘now how about that coffee?’
The kitchen was just as I remembered, a large room with a low, beamed ceiling. There were small windows along one side and the walls been painted a dull russet colour which made it seem smaller than it was. It was also filled with an assortment of mismatched chairs, the huge table I remembered, a painted wooden dresser filled with an assortment of mugs, plates,bols, wicker baskets filled with paperwork and a big stone pot containing pens and pencils. There were iron and copper cooking pans hanging from hooks on the walls and rather oddly a branched candelabra in the middle of the ceiling that someone had raised out of the way with a length of orange baler twine and a huge nail. Felix and the boys were all over six feet tall, and presumably at some point one – or all – of them had grown tired of bumping into it.
‘Gosh, this place is a mess,’ Isabel said, moving around, picking things up and putting them down again, ‘I meant to have a bit of a tidy up before you got here but then – well, I didn’t. Now take your coat off, sit down and tell me all your news.’
I did as I was told, brushing ineffectively at the muddy paw marks on the back of my coat and Isabel switched the kettle on, found a cafetière and spooned some coffee into it.
‘Tell me about this accident,’ she said, ‘was anyone hurt?’
I shook my head. ‘No, and it was all my fault. I was very lucky considering I could have been flattened by a tractor. But then some man in a red truck had to stop because I was blocking the road, and he made me feel like a complete fool.’
Isabel looked up, interested. ‘Red truck? Was he tall, about our age and rather attractive?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said.
Isabel passed me a large mug of proper coffee and I paused for a moment to savour the wonderful aroma. And enjoy the fact that someone else had made it for me.
‘Baseball cap?’
‘Yes. And he laughed at me, which was very unfair because I think I was in a state of shock.’
Isabel nodded. ‘That sounds like the professor.’
‘Professor?’
‘When he first came here someone said he looked like Harrison Ford, you know the archaeology professor in Indiana Jones, and the nickname stuck.’
I thought about it. Yes. I suppose there was a certain resemblance.
‘Jean-Luc Fournier. He’s retired, we started off calling him the professor but in fact I think he used to be a doctor. In Paris. He bought a terrible old cottage from us on the other side of the river some years ago. It’s a nice spot but we weren’t using it and heaven knows we needed the money. It would have cost us too much to restore and no one around here seemed to want it. He’s been renovating it for nearly three years. He’s a nice chap but not what you would call sociable. That’s Parisians for you. They are different.’
‘Never mind him, tell me about your lot. How is Felix?’
‘Back at work in the bookshop, although I think he reads the books more than he sells them. You must go and see the improvements he’s made since you were last here. There’s going to be a whole new section of books in English for the ex-pats. It’ll be very popular. Pierre and Sylveste are still doing the landscaping and gardening business. They get a lot of work with the ex-pats too. Only recently they were helping a pair of sisters clear out their garden and sort out a disused swimming pool. They’re always busy.’ Isabel jumped up and went into the cavernous pantry, returning with a battered tin in her hands. ‘I’ve just remembered, I made a cake in your honour. It’s a bit lopsided but still edible. Now, tell me about Christmas. Was it very awful? You sounded so stressed out whenever I rang you.’
I filled her in on the highlights and she was appropriately horrified, shocked, sympathetic, and amused. Telling her all about the endless squabbles, the noise and muddle somehow made me feel better about the whole thing. Saying it out loud made it almost sound funny rather than the exasperating trial it had seemed at the time.
I finished my coffee and Isabel topped it up again, and then she cut me a chunk of cake, which I think was apricot and honey. It looked as though it had been dropped on the floor, and possibly it had, but it was delicious.
‘And was Vanessa still as exhausted and limp as ever? How she will cope in New York is anyone’s guess.’
‘She did seem to need a lot of little naps,’ I said, ‘and she would spend hours in her bedroom doing her hair. Although she did always look lovely. You can tell John adores her, which is very sweet.’
‘And Sara? Still angry? Still drinking too much? I can understand why she wanted some space away from Martin.’
‘Marty, he’s called Marty now,’ I said with a grin.
