Bonjour Cherie (6 page)

Finally, closing time came and I sorted out my till. Naturally, I was $5.70 short. It had just been one of those days. I didn't hang around, because, face it, nobody wanted to talk to me. I got into my little car, looking forward to the time, ten minutes later, when I would be home. I decided on a Lean Cuisine meal in the microwave tonight. This was not a time I felt like having a whirl with French cordon bleu.

Half an hour later I was settled in with my spicy pumpkin risotto and the longed for glass of Beaujolais, watching
Master Chef
and hoping to pick up a few pointers. I found I wasn't in the mood for
Chocolat
after all, no matter that it was a classic.

My iPhone rang.

‘Hi.' A male voice that sounded awfully like Zach's shattered my peace.

‘Zach?'

‘None other. How are you?'

‘I'm fine. How did you get my number?' I hoped my voice indicated that I wasn't pleased, even though my stupid heart jumped up into my mouth. Jeez, I hated biology.

‘Got a list of everyone's email addresses and numbers in the class when I enrolled. Everyone did.'

I remembered. It was supposed to be in case we wanted to contact each other about assignments and stuff. At the time I hadn't given it a second thought. Now, I thought it was a terrible intrusion into people's private lives. ‘Hmm, what do you want?' I said ungraciously.

‘That doesn't sound very friendly,' he said.

‘It wasn't meant to be. What do you want?' I repeated.

‘I thought you could help me catch up with French. After all you did offer to share your notes on Saturday night.'

There was no way I wanted to be reminded about Saturday night. ‘There isn't a French class this week,' I said.

‘Yeah, I know. All the more reason to catch up before I get left behind.'

‘I think you'll manage. We haven't done that much.'

‘Come on. I did give you a ride home on Saturday and help you when your car was broken down. An hour, tops, that's all it will take. Surely you can fit me into your busy schedule.'

There was no way I wanted anything to do with Zach Mills. He was trouble with a capital T. But, damn it he had come to my rescue when my car was broken down, even though I hadn't wanted him to. I did kind of owe him a favour. I had a mental image of my mother telling me off for being so rude. Parents have a lot to answer for.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘When do you want to meet?'

‘How about tomorrow night? It was supposed to be French class, but since it's been cancelled, we could meet then.'

I sighed. ‘Fine. Where?'

‘How about I pick you up and we go to my place. Dave's been missing you.'

‘Yeah right. Haven't you fed him lately?'

‘Now, now, don't be like that. He's friendly, that's all. Wouldn't hurt a hair on your head.'

‘Sure, every dog owner in the world thinks that. Isn't there somewhere else we could meet?'

‘I could come to your place.'

There was no way I wanted Zach Mills on my territory. At least if I went to his place, I could control when I arrived and when I left. I would give him an hour, no more. ‘No, I'll come to you around seven tomorrow. I can only give you an hour. I have an early start the next day.'

‘Do you want me to pick you up?'

‘My car's fine. I'll come to you.'

‘Great, I look forward to it.'

‘Right, see you then.' I was about to hang up, when he spoke again.

‘And Beth, thanks. I probably acted like a jerk on Saturday night, so I appreciate you giving me a second chance.'

‘This isn't a second chance. I'm only catching you up in French, nothing more.'

‘Sure, got you.'

Afterwards, I found myself staring at the TV blankly. Who would have thought Zach Mills would apologise? I didn't want to go, I shouldn't go and yet, a small part of me was looking forward to tomorrow night already.

Nights started to close in early in April, so by the time I rolled up at Zach's house at 6:45pm it was dark. I was early, keeping with the premise that the sooner I got here, the sooner I could leave. The outside light was on and I looked around warily for Dave. I wasn't all that convinced by Zach's assurance that his dog (more like a small horse) was harmless. I stepped out of the car cautiously. No dog in sight. Shifting my French book and notes to the other arm, I closed the car door and headed for the house.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the front door. To my surprise, the tall, gorgeous brunette I had seen the other night with Zach opened the door.

‘Hi, you must be Beth. Please come in,' she said. ‘Zach's just outside feeding Dave. He'll be in shortly. I'm Charlotte, Zach's sister, by the way.'

‘Hi, nice to meet you,' I said. Her long dark hair skimmed her shoulders and she was wearing a dove grey silk blouse over Sass and Bide jeans. Black heels and a chunky silver bracelet completed the picture of someone who seemed as opposite to Zach as possible. Perhaps he was adopted.

She led the way down a broad hall to the lounge room, which was comfortably furnished with a brown leather sofa and a couple of armchairs. A red Persian rug covered the tile floor and a couple of watercolour landscapes were on the wall. Obviously, Charlotte must have had a hand in the decorating too. I sat down on the sofa and Charlotte took one of the armchairs.

‘Would you like a glass of wine or maybe a cold drink? As you can see, I already have one.' She pointed to the quarter glass of white on the coffee table.

‘No thanks. I'm all right for the moment. It's not long since I've eaten,' I added, not wanting to sound rude or standoffish. But wine and Zach Mills would be a bad combination.

‘It's really nice of you to give Zach a hand. He's keen to brush up on his French, but hasn't had a lot of chances to practice it lately, especially since I haven't been home much over the last year or two. And, of course, he'd be far too shy to ask for much help in class.'

Zach, shy? Were we talking about the same person here?

My disbelief must have shown on my face because she said, ‘Oh, I know he comes across as very confident, but that's just a front.' She laughed and added, ‘I'd better be quiet or I'll ruin the good impression you have of him.'

We were definitely not talking about the same person. I picked up on another tidbit she had mentioned. ‘So, you don't live here all the time?' I asked.

‘No, I actually live in Sydney, but I fly up every now and then to see how my kid brother is going, especially since our parents died.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. Your parents passed away?'

Her face clouded, ‘Yes, but it's been a few years now. It was hard at first, especially for Zach, but we've coped.' Then she made an effort to smile, ‘But, tell me about you. What do you do?'

I hated when people asked me that question because, although I had my ambitions, they weren't immediately obvious to people who didn't know me. ‘I work at the local IGA.'

She nodded politely, clearly unimpressed but not stupid enough to say something like—‘Oh, that must be interesting'—because obviously it was not.

At that point I heard a door open at the back and footsteps come up the hall. Perhaps this was one of the few times I was relieved to see Zach. His face brightened when he saw me.

‘You came.'

Did he think I wouldn't? I wasn't quite that rude.

‘I see you've met Charlotte.' He sat down next to me, laying a casual arm across the sofa back, a gesture that managed to stretch his dark T-shirt even more tightly across his broad chest.

‘Yes, I've been telling her all sorts of things about you.' Charlotte smiled at him wickedly.

‘Don't believe a word she says. My sister loves to get me in trouble.'

‘How do you know it was all bad?' I asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Oh, well, if you're singing my praises, sing away, Sis. I need all the help I can get.'

Charlotte laughed and then stood up. ‘I think you'll manage, Zach. Anyway, I have to go. I'm meeting some friends tonight for dinner. It was nice to meet you, Beth. No, don't get up. See you later, Bro.'

As she left and the front door closed, I became aware of how close Zach was sitting to me. And also how he was looking at me. I edged a little away from him. ‘Shall we get started, then?' I said in as business-like a tone as I could manage.

‘Sure,' he said, moving closer. ‘What did you have in mind?'

His arm dropped around me, pulling me closer until I could feel the heat of his body and the steady beat of his heart. ‘We could pick up where we left off on Saturday night. I'm sure there's an awful lot you could teach me,
chérie
.'

For one moment, as I breathed in his clean soap scented, masculine warmth, I felt like showing Zach just what I did know about kissing, French or otherwise. But then reason and common sense kicked in, not to mention a memory of his inflated opinion about himself on Saturday night. Shy? I think not. I moved away from him and stood up, placing a safe distance between us.

‘I seem to remember you apologising for Saturday night.' I gave him a level stare.

‘Only for what I said, not for what I did. I could never be sorry about kissing you. It was a memorable experience.' I saw a teasing glint in his eye.

I bent down and picked up a large cushion from the chair Charlotte had been sitting in and aimed it at Zach. It hit him squarely in the face and then it bounced off lightly onto the floor.

‘Get over yourself, Zach Mills.'

All he did was grin more broadly. ‘You know, it's almost too easy teasing you, but it doesn't make it any less enjoyable.' He stood up too. ‘Come on, let's go to the kitchen where we can sit at the table and you won't be so temptingly close.'

I grabbed my books and headed down the hallway. I don't think there was a person alive who didn't annoy me more than Zach Mills and not only did he know it, he positively delighted in it.

I sat across from him at the broad pine table and opened my French book. ‘You've missed three lessons and part of the fourth one. So far we've learned the days of the week, months of the year, some basic vocab, as well as a few common phrases, including how to introduce and describe ourselves. So, do you know much French at all?'

‘A little, but I've forgotten most of it. Charlotte's pretty good at it, but she's not here usually.'

That's right, I thought, remembering she had said something about how she wasn't here for him to practise with. I could understand someone like Charlotte wanting to learn French, but I wondered why Zach wanted to. I was tempted to ask him, but I didn't want to get into anything personal at the moment. I wanted to get this lesson over with as soon as possible.

I ran over the first couple of lessons, and Zach listened carefully, obviously deciding to behave himself for a while. His accent was surprisingly good and he caught on very fast. I suspected he knew more than he let on. However, I just ploughed on determinedly, not wanting to get sidetracked from my goal of finishing this quickly.

We were on the last lesson where Zach had to describe himself. Another ten minutes, max, and I would be out of here.

‘How about I describe you instead,' he said.

‘Red hair, green eyes, pretty standard,' I said tartly.

‘Oh no, not standard at all. I don't know if the French have a word for that particular tint of auburn hair, which catches the sunlight and glows like fire, or those green eyes that change with your mood. I've only got to look at your eyes to know what you're feeling.'

I didn't like the way this conversation was heading. I closed my book. ‘I think we've had enough for now. You should be fine in French class.'

‘I agree. Let's have a glass of wine and sit down somewhere more comfortable.'

‘I've had enough teasing for one night, and it's getting late.'

‘Yes, eight thirty at least, very late.'

‘I've got work in the morning.'

‘I'm sure you can manage a glass of wine, or a coffee if you don't want to drink and drive. I'm not teasing now. I'd just like to get to know you better, no strings attached or hidden agendas. Come on, let's be civil to each other for a change.'

I sighed. It seemed ridiculous to protest any more without sounding immature and rude.

‘Okay. A coffee. And I'm quite comfortable in here.'

‘Your call.' He got up to put the kettle on.

He sat down again. ‘So tell me why you like French so much. And I am being serious here, no jokes about the French teacher intended.'

I considered a moment. ‘I don't know really. From the very first moment I started to learn French at school, I loved it. It was the one area where I was better than my sister, Lauren, who sucks at languages. She was all over maths and science and a straight A student.'

‘I'm sure you would have been okay in other areas too. You seem pretty switched on to me.'

‘Yeah, mainly Bs and the occasional A or even the occasional C—average really. Mum and Dad never made me feel badly or that I was in any way not as good as Lauren. But it was obvious. And I couldn't hate her for it. Lauren's a great sister and she would do anything for me. But I just knew not to even bother compete academically. So I started to get into French—French food, French music, French anything really.' Including French men, I thought. It was there between us. I knew he was thinking it, but to give him credit, he didn't say it.

‘So why didn't you go to uni and do something with it?' He got up to turn the now boiling kettle off and turned to look at me.

‘I probably will, eventually. I just wanted a break from the whole studying and academic thing.'

He looked at me, considering, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw more than I wanted him to. I hadn't realised until just now how much I resented my sister's success. How, because I couldn't compete, took myself out of the competition altogether. I couldn't blame Lauren or my parents. They hadn't made me feel badly. I had done that all by myself.