An Unexpected Affair (5 page)

She was going to shut down the machine, but something stopped her and her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. She had barely thought of Chevandier in twenty years, but now she had a sudden desire to see the place again. What harm could it do? She took a deep breath and opened up the town’s tourist website, reading the promotional blurb.

“Beautiful medieval town . . . riverside promenade . . . art gallery, blah, blah,” she read to herself. “Yup, that sounds like the place I knew,” she said, taking a sip of wine.

Looking under ‘Food and Drink’ she searched for L’auberge du Sud, Chevandier, the restaurant owned by Christophe’s parents. She was half relieved and half disappointed when the computer came back with no results. Well that’s that, she thought. How silly to think that the place would still be in business after all that time.

“I wasn’t that interested anyway,” she said to the dog at her feet, before deciding to look at images, just for old-time’s sake. A search for pictures brought up dozens of photos of the town that she had once known like the back of her hand: the fortress and riverside park, the shady
place
central
with its fountain and statue of a local dignitary the girls had thought looked like Margaret Thatcher with a full beard. Eleanor smiled at the recollection and stroked Bella’s soft ears.

Switching to ‘Street View’ she discovered that Rosanne’s apartment building looked much the same, although someone had replaced the creaky shutters and generally smartened it up. The gift shop she had worked in was still there, but it was now a store selling handmade soaps and toiletries. The wonders of technology, thought Eleanor as she continued on her virtual tour of the girls’ old stomping grounds. She found the Cathedral and the medieval alleyways around it. She clicked to move further along the street and there it was: ‘Chez Christophe’ in big letters with ‘Auberge familiale du 18ième’ in its familiar place below. She let out a startled yelp, her stomach lurched and she was sure that her heart had missed a beat.

She slammed the laptop closed, got up and walked around the room, went into the kitchen picking things up and putting them down again. Oh my goodness. Damn and blast it. She was amazed by the visceral effect that seeing the image of the restaurant had had on her. It was like opening Pandora’s box: she was pretty sure that if she searched further she would find a photograph of Christophe. Her Christophe, her first true love. “Yup, and the one I dumped for no reason at all,” she said to no one in particular, attacking the dish-washer. Did she really want to find out about him, after all this time? What good would that do? She knew that if she searched further she would probably find photographs of an unbearably chic wife and some adoring children, too. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

She had scrubbed every surface and was huddled in the kitchen door having an emergency cigarette (her seventeenth that year) when the phone rang. It was her sister. After chatting for a while Jenna asked if everything was okay.

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, for one thing it sounds as though you’re smoking,” her sister had extraordinary powers of deduction. “Secondly, I know you very well and you sound agitated. So, tell all – what’s up?”

Putting out the cigarette in a handy pot of geraniums, Eleanor breathed deeply and said, “I think I’ve found Christophe.”

There was silence for a moment as Jenna dredged her memory for the name. “Christophe? That scrawny layabout you were shacked up with in France?”

“He wasn’t a layabout, Jen. He worked at his parents’ restaurant.” With that Eleanor explained what she had found. “I think that Christophe is still living in Chevandier and that he may have taken over the business.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Do?” Eleanor, pulled a face. “Well, nothing. I don’t intend to do anything, Jen.”

“Hey, why not? You’re a free woman with some holiday coming up and no plans. El, get yourself on a plane and go get him!”

Eleanor laughed out loud. “Is that really the sort of advice you should be handing out to your younger sister?”

“No, you’re quite right,” said Jenna thoughtfully. “Eurostar would be more fun and probably cheaper. Now, shall I book or will you?”

Chapter
6: We’re off!

On Monday morning Eleanor’s head was still buzzing with the discoveries of the day before. Jenna had been quite serious about the trip to France and she was right that Eleanor was due some holiday. She hadn’t taken more than a day or two off since taking over the shop, so determined had she been to make a success of the business for herself and the local community.

Thanks to events like the Lavinia Threlfall launch party, she felt much more confident and relaxed about the shop’s prospects and had decided to take a whole fortnight off before summer. However, until the previous night’s conversation she hadn’t known where to spend the time. Now she was allowing herself to be carried along by the whirlwind that was her sister on a mission. Jenna found and booked the hotel and placed Eleanor in charge of the travel arrangements.

A week later the train tickets were booked, Euros organised, undies chosen and legs shaved – she was off. Erika was left in charge of the shop with help from Connie who had promised to tear herself away from Harold to house-sit and look after the dog.

As they drove to the station, Eleanor wondered what adventures the next couple of weeks held in store for them all. She was entrusting her beloved van to her son for a whole weekend. Joe shared her passion for the Combi and Eleanor just hoped that that passion would translate itself into driving carefully and not getting it stuck in a hedge. Since his mother had moved to the coast, Joe had turned into a surfer dude, and came to Devon at every opportunity.

“Look after the van, Joe.”

“Of course I will. We’re going to have some fun together, aren’t we old girl?” he said patting the Combi’s shiny green side.

“Hmm, not too much fun I hope.”

“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, Ma.”

“Well, I expect you to have a bit more fun than that!” she laughed, as he caught her in a bear hug.

“Oh, I’m sure that you and Auntie J will have a brilliant time.”

“Any problems, call me. Okay?”

“Will do.”

“And make sure that the van is back at the shop on Monday morning.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Bye love,” she whispered, watching as Joe turned the van and drove it confidently away towards the south coast and the best beaches.

It was a long way from Devon to southern France, so Eleanor had arranged to spend the night with Jenna and Keith in Islington then catch an early train out of the international terminus at St Pancras. “It’s all timed so that we’ll be in Chevandier in time for an aperitif in the square,” she had explained to her sister. As soon as Jenna had suggested going with her, Eleanor’s view of the trip had changed completely. Her nerves were gone and she was determined to have a great time, visit some museums and galleries, do some shopping, eat excellent food and – just maybe – take peek inside Chez Christophe.

Her sister lived in an imposing stuccoed terrace house in one of the borough’s shady, tree-lined streets. It was now worth nearly a £1 million, but Jenna and Keith had bought it in the early 1980s, well before the area had become popular with City types. Keith was fond of telling people that ‘yuppies hadn’t been invented’ when they’d moved in. It was a big, rambling family home, full of noise and clutter. Just like a house should be, thought Eleanor as she rang the doorbell.

Opening the door, Jenna kissed her sister then led her down the corridor and into the basement kitchen where Keith was busy with his casserole. Jenna loathed cooking but, fortunately for her, Keith was a great cook, and enjoyed experimenting with food. He had retired early, Jenna said, because he had so many cookery books to work his way through.

Keith stopped chopping onions and wiped his hands on his pinny before giving Eleanor a peck on the cheek. “And how’s my favourite sister-in-law?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she replied, hugging him back. “And how’s my favourite chef?”

“Nervous – I’m not sure that I should trust you two to go off on your own,” he said, peering at them over the top of his glasses.

Jenna stopped laying the table to give him a kiss. “We’ll be just dandy, Kiff my love. Now, where’s that cassis? El and I need to get into the spirit of things, and I think a kir royale might be just the thing.”

She poured a little of the fragrant ruby red liquid into three champagne flutes and topped them up with fizz. “Cheers Sis, and happy holidays!”

“Don’t you mean
bonnes
vacances
?” said Eleanor, as they all clinked glasses.

“You see? My little sister will look after the language side of things, and I’ll just hang around looking glamorous.”

“Hmm, that’s what I’m afraid of,” said Keith. “No holiday romances allowed, do you hear?”

Jenna winked at Eleanor, “Perish the thought!”

After supper Eleanor had a luxurious bath and went to bed early, determined to get a good night’s sleep. After a couple of hours she awoke with a start, not sure where she was. She put on the light, drank some water then fell back into a deep sleep.

The next day dawned bright and clear: perfect travelling weather. Keith escorted them to the Eurostar terminal and hugged them both. “Have fun, you two.”

“Oh, we will Kiff, don’t you worry.”

“Bye, Keith,” said Eleanor, kissing her brother-in-law on the cheek. “Don’t worry about Jenna. She’s the sensible one, remember?”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t believe that for a minute. Now hurry up and get on that train.”

Later, when they were in their seats and their bags safely stashed Eleanor smiled over at her sister. “You are lucky, you know Jenna? Keith adores you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s not a bad old stick. Now, do they have trolley dollies on these trains? I could murder a coffee and croissant.”

Chapter
7: Back to Chevandier

As the monotonous northern French countryside sped past, Eleanor looked over at her sister. Jenna had been reading a bodice ripper on her e-reader but had nodded off and was gently snoring. Now in her early fifties, she was still an attractive woman with white-blonde hair cropped short to emphasise her features. Jenna had always been naturally fair and slender like their father, whereas Eleanor had inherited her mother’s colouring and build, which Connie liked to describe as ‘curvaceous’.

On her return to London from Chevandier in the late 1980s Eleanor had decided to shift some of the pounds she had put on in France. Like just about everyone else she knew at the time, she had started to attend aerobics classes to help ‘fight the flab’. She had also taken up jogging, which she enjoyed more than the fitness classes, not least because they didn’t involve wearing a skin-tight outfit and leaping around like an idiot. Reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors Eleanor thought that she and her fellow sufferers looked like so many Liquorice Allsorts in their multi-coloured leotards, leggings and stripy leg-warmers.

Running was different: dressed in comfy clothes with her Walkman clamped over her ears, she loved to pound around London’s parks in the evening after work. When she had more time, she would go down to the South Bank, which was pretty empty of people in those far-off days. Sometimes she would pause to catch her breath and see what was on offer at the second-hand book stalls under the bridge. One or two of the vendors had begun to recognise her and sometimes gave her a few pennies off, not that it was easy jogging with a bag full of paperbacks clutched in her hands, dry leaves and litter swirling around her feet.

One day while running past the old London County Hall building she tripped and fell. Sitting on the grass feeling dazed and slightly nauseous, she was joined by a tall young man with heavy rimmed glasses who stopped to see if she was okay. Her rescuer helped her to gather up her things and hobble to the nearest pub where, after a medicinal spritzer, she felt much better. The studious-looking young man was Alan, and four months later they were engaged.

Alan was different to Christophe in every possible way. Whereas Christophe was skinny with dark curls, Alan was broad-shouldered with thick blond hair and a ruddy complexion. He was short-sighted but hated wearing his glasses, even though Eleanor said they were sexy and made him look like Clark Kent. Unlike the languorous Christophe he was sporty and was prone to leaping out of bed at dawn to row on the Thames. Sex with Christophe had been fast and exciting, almost like a game. With Alan everything was slower and calmer, and Eleanor enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of feeling quite small and strangely ‘girly’ in his rugby player’s arms.

Perhaps the thing she liked most was that she could talk to Alan about all kinds of things because they had similar backgrounds. It had amused her trying to explain the mysteries of English culture such as Marmite and Benny Hill to Christophe, but it was even nicer to have shared interests and experiences with someone.

Alan had a robust sense of humour and they spent many Saturday evenings at comedy clubs or jammed inside smoky rooms above pubs. Having been away for so long, Eleanor saw the city through fresh eyes and quite ordinary things now seemed new and exciting. If she hadn’t gone away, would she have found Alan attractive? He was certainly not ‘her type’, whatever that was. Jenna had seemed surprised when the two of them had got together though, at the time, the sisters weren’t particularly close and there was nothing said until many years later. Her parents were clearly relieved when Eleanor had returned to England, yet she was aware that some of her friends were disappointed that she hadn’t ‘lived the dream’ and settled in France with her exotic lover.

Before they were married Eleanor split her time between her parent’s house and Alan’s musty basement flat in south London. After the wedding, they managed to rent a one-bedroom flat at the top of a Victorian mansion opposite a park. It was noisy and expensive, but from their bedroom they could look out over the tops of trees. Eleanor loved the impression she got of living in a tree house, and Alan would take advantage of their seclusion to wander around the flat completely naked on even the coldest of days.

He had a good job in the City doing something with computers – he had tried on many occasions to explain what, but Eleanor couldn’t help glazing over when he got down to the nitty-gritty. She might not have understood exactly what Alan did, but she knew that he was good at it and well respected by his bosses. Eventually he would earn enough for them to buy a large semi in a leafy part of town along the Thames where he could indulge his love of rowing, but in the early days they lived quite frugally.

Eleanor got a secretarial job in a legal firm and did some translating from French to English to bring in extra cash. They were happy in their eyrie above the park and life was good. They had never discussed having children – there was simply an understanding between them that one day it would happen. When they found out that Eleanor was pregnant with twins, Alan cried and insisted on telling everyone he met, including comparative strangers. It got quite embarrassing when even the people in the corner shop and the guys from the Chinese take-away were familiar with every stage of the twins’ development.

They moved into the big house just three weeks before the birth. After Joe and Phoebe were born, things were chaotic: Alan helped as much as he could before and after work but they were both exhausted. Connie and Jack moved in for a couple of weeks to help, an experiment that came close to ending in tears all round. After many more tears, Eleanor was eventually persuaded that they needed live-in help, so a trained nursery nurse moved in. She cost them a small fortune, but Alan insisted on having her, saying that that was what the money was for. Eleanor cried the first time she realised that she had slept right through the night because someone else had fed her babies, but she accepted that the nurse was necessary for all their sanity, not least her own.

After six months, the babies went to nursery and Eleanor went back to work at the solicitors’ office. She struggled to cope with motherhood and work and had a pretty miserable two years. Many years later she had read an article about post-natal depression and had been shocked when she recognised some of the signs.

Since deciding on the trip to France, she had found that all kinds of memories were being stirred up, but sitting on the train she was surprised when an episode with the twins flooded back. It was something that she had managed to push to the back of her mind, but now it came to her with a jolt. Eleanor closed her eyes, remembering that awful day. It had been a Sunday morning, the au pair had the day off and Alan was out rowing, so Eleanor was all alone.

Phoebe was grizzling, but Joe was screaming and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She couldn’t bear his angry, screwed-up face and the noise that pierced her skull and made her brain throb.

She grabbed her coat, grabbed the keys, looked back once to where the twins stood in their play pen and left the house. Her head buzzing, she ran down the steps to the wide tree-lined street. She could still hear them. Could she? Or was it a radio somewhere? She didn’t know, didn’t care just walked, half running to the Underground station. She got on a train – where to? – she couldn’t remember now. Not sure that she even knew then. Got off. Walked and walked in the drizzle, breathing in the cool, damp air, head down until her breathing settled.

Eleanor looked out at the French countryside that was spinning past the train window, her chest tight at the recollection. She had never told anyone: certainly not Alan. Not even her mother. How could she?

Returning to the house, flying up the stairs and into the bedroom the silence had sickened her. When she’d seen the twins curled up asleep she had wept, gulping for breath and not daring to believe that they were okay.

It had never happened again and she never brought it up. Sometimes she wondered if the children remembered, and years later Joe had had a series of nightmares and refused to be comforted by her. She had felt desolate, but in some way it seemed only fair that Alan should be the one he turned to.

Eleanor sat up and took a gulp of water, wanting to clear her head.

Next to her Jenna stretched and yawned.

“Are you okay, El? You look a bit pale?”

“I’m fine, Jenna, honest,” said Eleanor. “This trip is just rousing a few ghosts, that’s all.”

“Friendly ones?”

“Mostly friendly.”

Jenna looked at her quizzically. “I hope so.” She peered out of the window. “Where are we anyway?”

“Nearly at Lille where we can grab a coffee before catching our fast train south.”

“Then lunch on the TGV? I’m starved.”

Jenna had the good fortune to be able to eat constantly without ever gaining more than a few pounds.

“Why not,” said Eleanor. “We are on our hols, after all.”

Sitting in the station cafeteria later, Jenna caught her sister’s hand. “You know this is the first time that we’ve been away together, just the two of us, since you had the twins?”

“No, really?” said Eleanor, thinking that Phoebe and Joe had recently turned twenty-three. “It can’t be that long, surely?”

Jenna just looked at her. “It’s true – I’ve had to spend all my holidays with Kiff and those darned kids.”

“Whom you adore.”

“Maybe. But it’s great to have a break from them once in a while.”

Eleanor sipped her drink. “If we don’t end up killing each other perhaps we could organise another trip next year. Don’t you have any ex-lovers we could track down?”

Jenna thought for a moment. “Well there was Pete.”

“And where do you think he might be?” asked Eleanor, warming to the idea.

“Last spotted in Watford.”

“Hmm, not classic mini-break territory, it has to be said. Come on. Our train is due in any minute.”

As the TGV pulled into the station, Jenna had a huge grin on her face. “Wowee, El! This, as my pupils would say, is totally amaze balls.” When Eleanor had booked the fast train she hadn’t realised that it would be one with two floors. She couldn’t help smiling as she followed her sister up the stairs to their comfy seats on the upper deck.

As the train zapped along, they got fantastic views.

“The scenery isn’t that exciting, but at least we get to see lots of it.”

“I’m having so much fun, El. Can we get lunch now?”

“Sure. Let’s wander over to the cafe-bar and see what’s on offer. It’s bound to be better than nasty British Rail sandwiches,” said Eleanor, leading the way to the cafe.

They ordered their lunch from the counter and went to stand at one of the high tables where they could watch the French countryside roll by.

“Well, cheers Jenna,” said Eleanor, clinking glasses and taking a sip of chilled white wine. “Ah, this is the life.”

“It certainly is. Let’s drink to Christophe, without whom we would not be having this break together.”

“Amen to that. Ooh, and here’s lunch.”

They ate their
croques
monsieur
– posh cheese-on-toast, according to Jenna – standing at the tables in the buffet like natives, looking out at the countryside. When they had finished their lunch, the sisters were happy to relax on the upper deck for the final couple of hours of the trip. Eleanor was fascinated by the passing buildings and scenery that she had last seen so long ago, while Jenna was happy to snooze by her side.

The train arrived in Chevandier right on time. As they stepped off the train and onto the platform, the heat enveloped them. Arriving from the coast with Marie in mid-July back in 1986, Eleanor remembered that it had been one of the hottest places she had ever been in her life. The heat sat around, heavy and enervating. Now, in the late afternoon of a spring day, the warmth was just divine.

They gathered up their bags and Eleanor let Jenna persuade her to take a taxi to their hotel. It wasn’t far, and the car soon pulled up outside a big old stone house behind the Cathedral.

Their room was huge; in fact it was a whole suite with high ceilings, two enormous beds and a separate sitting room. Best of all was the balcony, which looked over a shady square where some old gentlemen were playing
petanque
and chatting. The muted clank of the heavy metal
boules
on the sand could just be heard from their rooms, where Jenna was laying out her things.

“Wow, look at the bathroom El. This bathtub is huge. Bagsie the first soak.”

“Sure, go for it. Then we should go for a promenade along the riverbank.”

“Perfect,” said Jenna, giving her sister a peck on the cheek, “I won’t be long.”

Eleanor unpacked her few belongings – unlike Jenna she wasn’t particularly interested in clothes and travelled light. When she had finished she went to sit on the balcony and waited for her turn in the big old bathtub.

Clean and fragrant from their ablutions, the women stepped out into Chevandier. Eleanor had copied one of the Baedaeker maps and carried it with her along with a stash of more-recent guide books. They walked arm-in-arm through the park and along the riverbank. On benches, young people still sat kissing, just as she and Christophe had done all those years before.