French Kiss (11 page)

            “God, why did I think that?”

            Still, she had to admit that it was the same feeling she felt in both dwellings. There was a sense of unfinished business in the atmosphere, a sense that she was neither entirely alone nor entirely welcome.

            She shuddered and managed to spook herself so well that she yelped when Gilou finally  beckoned for her to follow him outside.

            “You don't have to walk me home,” she said, amazed that they had slept together and that he still wanted her out. She still wasn't going to get to see the bedroom.

            “I'm not going to walk you home,” Gilou said and beckoned her again.

            They walked across the garden. He led her by the hand, because her night vision was not so good as his. The palms of his hands were rough, not the hands of someone who spent all day signing documents. At heart he was a creator.

            She was disappointed when he let go of her, but then elated when she saw what he had done.

            “I've never ridden a horse before,” she said.

            “You surprise me,” he said and she lowered her head, momentarily embarrassed.

            “A pony,” she said. “When I was a kid. But not a horse. This is a horse.”

            Gilou shrugged. “There are many things you have never done before. This is just another one.”

            “But … what if ...”

            “If you've never ridden before,” he said, “then you've never been thrown. That is an excellent track record.”

            “You're not inspiring confidence.”

            “We'll ride together. He is a strong horse.”

            “Charming.”

            “And you are as light as a feather.”

            “Better.”

            “I won't let anything happen to you.”

            He held out his hand and she took it automatically, just wanting to be touched again, but before she knew it he was leading her up to the horse and then making a platform with his hands in order to give her a bunk up.

            “I think you've forgotten something,” she said.

            “We don't need a saddle,” he said. “All three of us will be more comfortable without it. I've ridden many times before. Don't worry.”

            “You're drunk.”

            “I'm relaxed,” he said. “Use my hands as a step.”

            She did as she was told.

            “Now stand,” he said.

            Gitane was a big horse and despite all of Charlotte's physical work she hadn't had to do anything that required this much flexibility since she had arrived. She put all of her body into the movement, not wanting to look silly, and a moment later she was sort of draped over the horse's back and Gilou's hands were on her backside, shoving her up and on.

            “Now swing your leg over,” Gilou said.

            She did so and Gitane stood calmly as Charlotte positioned herself and repositioned herself.

            “I'm so high right now,” she said and burst out laughing. Maybe she'd had a little too much to drink as well.

            Gilou then produced a large stool and used it to clamber onto Gitane's back, causing her to give a snort of protest.

            “How come you didn't give me the step?” Charlotte said when he was finally on and settled in front of her.

            “You really have to ask?”

            He took the reins.

            “Scenic route?” he asked.

            “Okay,” she said, intrigued and delighted.

            He told her to put her arms around him.

            “For safety,” he said.

            “Of course,” she replied.

            Gitane walked out of her pen and Gilou steered her towards the road.

            He made a clicking noise with his tongue and Gilou the second raised his head and plodded after them.

            “He wants to come,” Gilou said, “but he needs some encouragement. We love you too, Gilou the second.”

            “Yes, we do,” Charlotte said.

            The night air was cool, but warmer than his house had been. The breeze was a contrast to the warmth coming from Gilou's body. She held him tightly. When she began to get used to the rocking motion of Gitane's gait, she was still loathe to let go. For safety, he had said. She certainly felt safe with him. It was as if she were balancing on his shoulders and reaching for the stars.

            It was strange, but he had helped her without making it easy, which had allowed her to accept his help without realising what he was doing. Watching him, as she had to admit she did often, she had learnt a great many things about herself. Gilou had a stillness about him, a self-confidence and certainty that had evaded her all her life, and she had learnt that to find those things she didn't have to look far. They had been within her all along. She was like an archaeologist, digging for the remains of a ruined temple. In the background of her fantasy, her mother and Mark sat in identical cranes swinging demolition balls.

            She wondered if Gilou knew how much he had done for her, just by being there and just by being him. She wondered if it was safe to tell him yet.

            “Duck,” Gilou said.

            “Probably an owl,” Charlotte said.

            “Watch out for that branch!”

            “I know,” she said, leaning to one side and giving his waist a squeeze. “I'm kidding.”

            “I'm determined to get you home in one piece,” he said.

            The thought of going home made her sad. She wanted this ride to go on forever. Unless that is, he was talking about taking her to his home. His home, like his heart, was a fortress. It was seemingly unguarded, but whenever she attempted to cross some threshold or other, he was there, distracting her, giving her something to do for him. There were only so many times she could pretend to take a wrong turn after visiting the downstairs bathroom. He'd always been there to prevent her getting 'lost'.

            “This is the most relaxed I've ever seen you,” Charlotte said. She rested her head on his broad back.

            “You too,” Gilou said.

            She thought that he might suggest doing this again, but there was only the sound of Gitane and Gilou the second's hooves on the steep road home.

            “Leaning forward helps her balance the weight,” Gilou said. “Although, of course, you are still as light as a feather.”

            Later, he led the horses down her drive and stopped them in front of the cottage where he had done his speedy turn and had wheel-spinned away in his 4x4, destroying a section of the drive. She'd left a light on for herself, but she was sad to see it again so soon.

            He advised her on how to get down and she followed his instructions, sliding gracefully to the ground. Not bad for her first dismount. He gazed down at her, impressed.

            She thought that he looked like a true cowboy now in that hat. His face was all shadows, a mountain range of experience.

            “I don't suppose you'd like to come in?” she said.

            “The horses,” he said, excusing himself. He tipped his hat at her.

            “Until tomorrow,” she said and watched him turn the horses and go, walking up the path, swallowed by shadows.

            She woke the next morning to the sound of chopping wood. The rhythmic strike of an axe against wood punctuated her morning routine of brushing her teeth, throwing on some clothes and tussling her hair to make it look like she'd done something with it. The sound was coming from the direction of La Gaillarde and, unable to wait until her workday started; she brewed her coffee and took it up the drive.

            When she arrived on Gilou's property, she saw that he had discarded his shirt over a wheelbarrow and was bare-chested as he raised the axe high and brought the head down and through a vertical log, splitting it deftly in two so that each half flew aside and the axe became wedged in the chopping block, an old tree stump. He wrenched the blade out of the stump and set up another log to be split.

            Charlotte cleared her throat.

            “Merde!” he said. “Don't do that.”

            “I didn't mean to scare you,” she laughed.

            “I was concentrating,” he said and set the axe aside before retrieving his shirt. “I'm thinking that I will fix that fence today, but then I got distracted.”

            “I can see how that could happen,” she said. “Don't stop on my account.”

            “You're early,” he noted.

            “I've come to watch you work for a change.”

            “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

            “Oh yes,” she said.

            “Well, I hope you watched carefully, because this is what you will be doing today.”

            “You want me to chop wood?”

            He passed her the axe.

            It was heavy and she almost dropped it on her foot.

            He set her coffee safely on the ground and then positioned himself behind her.

            “May I?” he said.

            “Okay,” she said.

            He reached around her, taking her hands in his, showing her how to grip the axe handle and how to let it slide through her fingers as it passed overhead.

            “Legs apart,” he said. “More.”

            “This doesn't seem all that safe,” she said.

            “Concentrate,” he told her. “Look at the log, not the axe, not at me, and split it in two.”

            He took a few steps back and she raised the axe high and brought it down, taking the corner off the log.

            She hissed.

            “Good,” he said. “You hit it. Now try again.” He set it back on the tree stump. “This time, pretend that it is someone you hate.”

            A month ago, that person might have been Gilou, but that was far from the case now.

            “I don't hate anyone,” she said.

            “Keep thinking,” he said patiently.

            More than once, Mark's face floated into her mind. She didn't hate him, but he was probably the person to whom she felt the most animosity. He hadn't called her once to see if she was okay, content instead to pass messages through her mother. He was a coward. He was a ...

            “Now you have someone,” Gilou observed.

            “Yes,” Charlotte admitted.

            “A man?” Gilou asked.

            “I suppose so,” she said.

            “Break his face,” Gilou said.

            Charlotte took a deep breath before raising the axe.

            “Good.”

            She slammed it down and chopped the log in two. The pieces flew in opposite directions, as they had when Gilou had chopped the log. She was so pleased that she jumped. She felt elated. She hadn't realised how much anger she'd been carrying until now.

            “Can I do another one?” she asked.

            Gilou looked at the log pile.