Page 39 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘But everyone around here said you were from Paris. And when we sold you the house, I’m sure Felix said something about that?’
‘Then everyone is mistaken. Although my solicitor is in Paris.’
‘Ah, I see. I didn’t read all the paperwork, not properly I’m afraid. I do feel a fool. Honestly, Felix. He’s hopeless. Which reminds me, I wonder where he is.’
‘Look, perhaps I should go. I can see there has been a mix up,’ he said.
He actually was fidgeting and moving towards the door, and I realised he was feeling just as uncomfortable as we were. He was still holding the flowers and he hesitated for a few moments before he handed them to me.
We exchanged a glance, and I wasn’t sure who felt the more awkward. Which was a shame because I loved being given flowers and it hadn’t happened very often.
I went to put them in a glass vase and made some sort of attempt to arrange them.
‘Do sit down,’ I said, ‘and tell us about your progress with the renovations. It must be a lot of hard work.’ I took a sip of my wine. ‘This is delicious, I love red wine and Bordeaux is my absolute favourite.’
There were an uncomfortable few seconds when I don’t think either of us were sure if he was going to stay or not, and then the kitchen door crashed open and Felix came in, stamping his feet on the door mat and looking as though he might have stopped in the Sports Bar for a couple of apple brandies.
‘Ah!Mon ami!’ he said cheerfully, shaking Luc by the hand. ‘Good to see you. Excellent. My apologies, I am late. I met up with Gaston and you know how things are. Never mind, we are all here now. What a treat. And something smells wonderful. Did I tell you my wife isune cuisinère exceptionalle? A wonderful cook.’
‘You might have told him that, but it would be a lie,’ Isabel murmured.
‘A drink, my friend. I see we are eating in the kitchen. What a fine idea.C’est plus convivial, plus intime,more friendly. Now then, a toast to what I am sure is going to be a wonderful evening. With two elegant ladies.’
I shuffled my feet nervously and the claws on my gorilla slippers scraped against the flagstone floor.
Not entertaining any sort of dissent, he urged Luc to sit opposite me at the kitchen table and went to the sink to wash his hands, while Isabel hissed something to him about his failure to tell her she should have been expecting a guest.
It might not have been an elegant meal, but it was delicious. The chicken pasta dish was brought to the table bubbling away likea dish of molten lava, the beauty of the salad was much praised, and the bread was, as is always the way in France, wonderful.
‘So tell us how you are getting on, Luc,’ Felix asked after people had finished helping themselves.
‘I would be getting on faster if Gaston came to finish off the plastering,’ Luc replied.
Felix slapped himself on the forehead. ‘I forgot to tell you, I saw him just an hour ago, he had just found a broken bicycle chain in the street, and he was taking it back for Mathilde. I expect she will make some earrings. I told him he must get to you tomorrow, or Friday at the latest, or I would publish the photograph I took of him in the bath when he was a baby on the village information page. He was such an ugly baby; you would not believe it. He thought I was joking, I assured him I wasn’t. I think you will find him on your doorstep tomorrow morning.’
Luc laughed, and his face relaxed out of his usual serious expression into something rather lovely. I took a large gulp of wine to settle my nerves. This was the sort of occasion I had been thinking about; meeting new people, taking opportunities to broaden my horizon. Not just sit there as I might have done in the past, dumb with discomfort.
‘When that is done, I can finish the painting and get the last of the electrics fitted. After that the worst will be over.’
‘How long has it taken you?’ I asked.
‘Two years, two and a half maybe. It was slow progress at first for many reasons. I was not then fully retired, I still had work to finish off.’
‘And do you miss it? Your patients I mean?’
Luc looked confused. ‘My patients?’
‘Yes, you know, the people you were treating, helping them through their various illnesses. I’m guessing you had to hand them over to someone, and that must take time. Their prescriptions, and their notes, and operations – that sort ofthing. I know when the doctor at our local clinic retired, it took quite a while, and the receptionists were furious. Not that they weren’t usually because they seemed to think anyone wanting an appointment was deliberately annoying them…’
I realised I was babbling under his gaze and shut up.
‘I am not a medical doctor,’ Luc said.
Isabel chimed in. ‘Everyone around here had the impression you were a doctor.’
‘Well once again, everyone is mistaken,’ he said at last, slowly and very patiently.
We waited to see if he would elaborate, but he didn’t. Isabel broke the silence.
