Page 62 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Go on,’ she mouthed back.
I was just baring my teeth at her in a snarl and making a slightly threatening gesture of my own when Luc turned and saw me.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
I composed myself. ‘Absolutely, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’
Behind him I could see Isabel putting one hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
There had been no sign of the author-on-a-deadline-Bill from one of thegîtes,but just before we left, Marcus and Cathy appeared from their front door, took one look at the weather, and waved at us before going back indoors.
‘I hope they have enough food and wine to keep their strength up,’ Isabel said, ‘perhaps I’ll pop over later with a cake. Make sure they are okay.’
‘You are horribly nosey; did you know that?’ I said.
Isabel grinned. ‘I’m a sucker for young love, or love of any sort really.’
‘I hope you don’t include me in that,’ I muttered.
‘No,’ she said, wiping the mud off her hands, ‘don’t be silly.’
Love. No, I, of course, didn’t need that at all. But what did I need? Companionship? Friendship? Someone to talk to?
I’d spent many long evenings on my own in the last few years. Not sure what I should be doing, still restricted by my old routines, which didn’t really have much meaning any more and then perhaps resenting the times, like Christmas when things were out of my control.
There was no doubt about it, I was getting set in my ways, and if I didn’t do something about it, I would miss out on whatever life still had to offer me.
We drove down the drive at a sedate pace a few minutes later and at the end Luc turned left instead of right towards the town.
‘Thank you for this,’ I said, ‘it’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s fine,’ he replied. ‘After all, as I said, I am local and maybe I have been keeping to myself too much. Perhaps sometimes I need more than my own company.’
‘Me too,’ I admitted, ‘in fact, I’m not sure I even enjoy my own company half the time. But it’s easier that way, I think.’
He didn’t look at me, he was busy negotiating the lane, which was strewn with small branches. He seemed to be keeping to the middle of the road.
‘Let’s hope there’s no one coming the other way,’ I said, and he grinned.
I’m sure we were both remembering our first meeting.
‘The road is not good,’ he said, ‘you can tell a local person round here, they always drive in the middle to avoid the potholes at the edges.’
We turned into his gateway, and up to his house. The skip had gone this time, and the place looked much better, less of a building site and more of a home.
The greenhouse was tucked away behind a high, stone wall in his garden, obviously new, the aluminium struts shining in the winter sunshine that was starting to come out as the last of the clouds blew away.
‘I’m no gardener,’ he said, ‘but I’m willing to try now I have the time. The house is nearly finished, I need things to occupy me.’
‘Gardening will certainly do that,’ I said, ‘there is always something to do.’
‘You like it?’ he said.
‘I have a very ordinary garden,’ I said, ‘mostly lawn with some flower beds. I suppose it’s quite boring really. But my ex-husband didn’t like…’
I stopped. What had I been about to say?
Stephen hadn’t liked disorder, clutter, muddle, or weeds in the garden, and he especially didn’t like going out there to do anything about it. But throughout our marriage he had been very critical if I didn’t. No, not critical exactly, more disappointed.
