Love in a Warm Climate (25 page)

Trust the French to come up with a phrase to describe the time you spend with your lover. And it's such a perfect amount of time: two hours, neither too little nor too much. This truly is a country of seducers. And the funny thing is that they have such respect for the whole concept of seduction here; they treat it with the same reverence they approach a good wine or a Brie de Meaux, the best of bries.

It is true that since I got in touch with my inner French woman I have had a lot more offers of sex. The question is: which, if any, of those offers do I want to accept? I suppose I can accept them both. It doesn't tie me down to anything.

As if on cue, Jean-Claude appears. “
Bonjour mes amis
,” he says jovially and bows, taking off his Panama hat.

“
Bonjour
,” we chorus back.

“Ah, Jean-Claude,” says Kamal, standing up, “this is perfect timing. I propose a toast, on this, the first day of the harvest.”

“A toast to what?” asks Calypso.

“I think it's time you shared our little secret with the rest of the class,” says Kamal to Jean-Claude, who looks furious.

“What little secret is this Jean-Claude?” I ask.

He doesn't respond but just glares at Kamal, who answers on his behalf.

“I think you should know, now that the harvest is upon us, that
Jean-Claude
is the generous but anonymous benefactor who has been paying me to help you.”

“Jean-Claude?” I leap up and throw my arms around him. “I can't believe it, I am so grateful. You saved my life, thank you, thank you.”

Jean-Claude is dismissive. “It was nothing,” he says, patting me on the arm rather like you would a pet dog, “really nothing. Just some neighbourly
amitié
, think nothing of it.”

I look at him. How could I never even have suspected that he would be the one behind Kamal? I mean, he was my knight in shining green tractor when the mildew almost hit, and he has been supportive all the way through. I can't believe how I underestimated him.

“Jean-Claude, I am truly touched,” I say, taking his hands. “Thank you again, really.”

Before he has a chance to respond we hear the sound of a car horn beeping. A dark blue Citroen is making its way towards the house. It stops and Sarah jumps out. I run to her from the lunch-table to greet them.

“Hey scrawny, what the hell happened to you?” she laughs. “Don't they let you eat in France?”

“
Ciao bella
,” Carla gets out of the car. “What a place,
che meraviglia
. It is wonderful.”

“Hey darling.” Two long limbs ease their way out of the hire car followed by a figure in a floaty dress. Lucy hugs me.

“It's so good to see you all,” I say, almost crying with happiness.

My mother gets out and gives me a big hug.

“Sophie,” she says beaming. “What a perfectly gorgeous place you have here. And you're so thin! What have you been doing? Running after Frenchmen?”

“Granny, granny!” we are interrupted by the children running to greet my mother.

Kamal and the other helpers follow. I notice with some disappointment that Jean-Claude has slunk off. I was looking forward to introducing them
and finding out what the girls think of him. After the Kamal revelation I am more keen than ever. Especially now Johnny wants us to move to California. California or Boujan? For most people the choice would not be a tricky one, but then most people would probably not fall in love as deeply as I have with this place.

“This is Kamal, Calypso, Colette, Rafael and Juan-Carlos,” I say as they approach. “This is my mother and Sarah, Carla and Lucy, my oldest and dearest friends.”

“Less of the oldest,” says Carla, holding her hand out towards Kamal and practically eating him up with her eyes. “Do you play tennis?” she purrs.

“Embarrassing,” says Sarah to me under her breath. “She just gets worse.”

Kamal smiles his best
namaste
smile and says hello to the rest of the guests, who manage to be a little less obvious about how gorgeous they think he is.

I can see the two Spanish boys blush as they shake Lucy's hand. She has that exquisite English-rose like quality about her that sends men mad, a kind of perfection that they only expect in porcelain dolls. I remember Lucy was even perfect when she was pregnant; she was one of those really annoying women unaffected by industrial weight gain, swollen ankles and water retention, rather like a superhero impervious to fire, bullets or any other calamity life throws at them. Lucy just grew a neat little bump that sat there, perfectly poised and firm, until a perfect little baby popped out and she popped back into her skinny jeans. It was almost enough to chuck her as a friend for, but she is the only one of the four of us who knows how to read a map.

“Come into the house,” I say to them, leading them up the stairs. “Mummy, I put you in with the kids. You three will have to slum it between Edward's room and the spare room. And NO sneaking over to the barn in the middle of the night.”

“As if,” says Sarah. “I'm far too mature for that kind of behaviour these days.”

We all look at her but feel the statement is too stupid to warrant any response.

Sarah and Carla, as predicted, are sticking close by Kamal. They maintain it is because they need Kamal to keep an eye on their picking technique. The fact is, Colette could easily do that, but neither of them is that way inclined.

Kamal goes off to take the trailer full of grapes to the
cave
.

“So,” says Sarah, forgetting about her picking for a minute. “Tell me everything. How are you?”

“Well, considering my divorce came through this morning and my estranged ex-husband is getting married in two weeks' time, I'm in pretty good shape.”

“He's marrying that woman?” Carla shrieks. “That French
puttana
?
Non é possibile
. Why?”

I sigh. “I really don't know. He must love her, I suppose. Oh, I know it's stupid, but this really means it's over, there's no going back. Nick and I are an item from the past. On September 15
^th
he becomes Cécile's husband.”

“But what about you,
cara mia
. I understand you have been very busy?”

I quickly stop feeling so sorry for myself and smile as I remember my kisses with Jean-Claude and Johnny. “I have actually, yes. Well, that is I have found two possibilities. One French, the other English.”

“What she's not telling you,” says Sarah, “is that one is a French aristo and the other a film star. I tell you girl, I am NOT feeling too sorry for you right now, even if Nick is marrying Miss Tiny-Tits.”

“A film star? An aristo?
Porca miseria
,” says Carla, “What the hell have I been doing all this time? And I still can't play tennis. Details please…”

“There's not much to tell really,” I begin.

“People always say that when there is,” interrupts Carla.

“She's slept with them both,” laughs Sarah. “At the same time,
à la française
.”

“
Bien sûr
,” I joke, cutting another bunch of grapes. I am finding it easier and easier to multi-task here; only a few hours ago I couldn't imagine chatting while harvesting, but I now feel quite comfortable. “Obviously now I'm in touch with my inner French woman, one man is not enough.”

“Enough for what?” says a deep voice behind me. I drop my secateurs on the ground.

Jean-Claude is standing there beaming down at me. I introduce him to the girls, who stop picking and smile as he reaches through the vine to take their hands.

“How
charmant
,” says Carla, visibly swooning. “I have so missed continental European men.
Enchantée
.”

“Sophie has told me so much about you,” says Sarah. “It's lovely to finally meet you. I gather you have been a bit of a knight in shining armour.”

“Even more than I imagined,” I add, giving Jean-Claude a hug. “I found out just before you got here that Jean-Claude is the mystery benefactor behind Kamal. Isn't that wonderful?”

Carla, Lucy and Sarah all nod. “Any friend of Kamal's is a friend of mine,” says Sarah. “Where on earth did you find such a lovely young man?”

Jean-Claude looks at the ground for a split-second, reminding me
fleetingly of the way Edward does the same whenever he has done something wrong. “That, my dear ladies, is my secret. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to see if I can help him with the sorting.”

“Very nice, very nice,” says Carla as she watches him walk away. “Really Sophie, I'm impressed, he's sexy, and obviously adores you.”

“Yes, I agree, a real hottie and sooooo French, good enough to eat,” adds Sarah.

“However did you manage to seduce him? What's your secret?”

“It's all about matching underwear,” I laugh. “Once you've cracked that you can seduce anyone.”

Lucy is the only one who is not overjoyed with the presence of the hot frog, as Sarah immediately dubs him.

“What do you know about his past?” she asks. “He might be married for all you know, or have a terrible secret in his cellar.”

“Yes, or maybe he has a trail of mistresses from here to Marseille,” adds Carla.

“Don't judge everyone by your own standards Carla,” says Sarah. I can see this is going to get ugly. “It is perfectly possible that the man has never been married because of some tragic saga or long-lost love.”

“But you have to admit, he's too glamorous to be single and just wandering around the vineyards,” says Carla.

“If you like older men,” says Sarah, grinning at Kamal who has come back, and gently placing a bunch of grapes in the white bucket.

“He was in love with an Englishwoman,” I say. “But his brother ran off with her.”

“Oh poor thing,” says Sarah. “These Englishwomen, you just can't trust them.”

“I would rather blame the brother,” says Lucy. “God my back hurts, how much longer do we have to do this?”

“Only another two weeks to go for you ladies,” laughs Kamal returning with some empty buckets.

He seems to inspire them and they pick with renewed vigour.

“So what has happened with this Frenchman?” asks Carla. “Is he your lover?”

“No,” I say, embarrassed to be talking about it in case Kamal overhears. “No, he's, well…”

“But you have snogged, I know you have, several times,” says Sarah.

“Yes I remember you telling me about the first kiss,” adds Lucy. “You said it was… hang on, it was a great quote, I even stole it for my book. You said it was ‘like the first sip of champagne, utterly fresh, exciting and delicious.'
That was it.”

“You're writing a book?” asks Kamal who has come closer to help Lucy separate two vines. “What about?”

Lucy blushes slightly. “It's a kind of a memoir, about a love affair between a young man and an older woman.”

Kamal grins at her.

“But really it's mainly fiction,” she adds. “I mean I didn't… well, you know.”

“What Lucy is saying, is that it's erotic fiction,” says Sarah, gazing at Kamal before adding. “I did most of her research.”

“Well, if you ever feel like researching any erotic non-fiction, let me know,” says Kamal to Sarah and winks before wandering off to get the trailer.

Lucy and I make big eyes at each other in the manner of silly schoolgirls. Sarah looks like the cat that's got the cream as she watches him walk away. Carla looks like she's about to stab Sarah with her secateurs.

It's going to be a long harvest.

At dinner hardly anyone has the energy to speak, let alone flirt. We eat pasta and drink red wine and by 9pm we have all collapsed into our beds. I fall asleep within seconds and am woken by my phone ringing. I reach for it with closed eyes, assuming it must be Johnny from LA again, with some scheme or other.

“Johnny, it's the middle of the night, you are not good for my beauty sleep,” I groan.

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Soph, it's Nick.”

I sit up in bed and look at my clock.

“Nick, it's 3am. What are you doing? The kids are all asleep, why are you calling?”

He sighs. “You know, Soph, Cécile and I are getting married in less than two weeks' time.”

“You called me at 3am to discuss your wedding plans?”

“No, not at all. I'm sorry, Soph, I just really needed to talk to you. I mean, we never really talked about the reality of us splitting up and me getting married and all that, and well, I just couldn't sleep and was lying here fretting and so just thought I would call and just…”

“Just what?”

“Well, just make sure this is what we really want. Make sure that we're sure this is the best thing. That there really is no chance for us to get back together.”

Is he for real? I say nothing.

“I mean it's all happened so quickly, Soph,” he goes on. “We had a life, a future, and I know I'm the one that messed it up, but is there really no chance for us?”

I am still speechless.

“Nick…this is all…too late,” I manage finally.

“Is it though, Soph?” He has warmed to his subject. “Is it really too late? Do we want to throw everything away? Is it not worth trying again, for the kids, for us?”

“Nick, you're having pre-wedding nerves. Did you call your ex-girlfriend before we got married too?”

He laughs. “No. Soph, I am deadly serious.”

“And so am I. Forget it Nick, you created this situation, it's all of your making.”

“I know, I know, but that doesn't make it any easier for me.”

“Easier for you? How the fuck do you think it's been for me? Coping alone and being dumped for a French woman with small breasts? But I have coped and I am trying to make a success of things and I think it's bloody selfish of you to phone and put a spanner in the works just as I am getting things together.”