Out of Sight (8 page)

Unexpectedly, Leonie really enjoyed catching up with Audra. They compared one another's latest clothes and
shoe purchases, chatted about random stuff, laughed over nothing much. She started to relax properly for the first time in weeks, and was on the point of ordering two more glasses of wine when her mobile chirped. She looked at the screen. Apologising to Audra, she moved away so she could speak in private.

‘Patrice?'

‘Hello. I realise you're with your friend.'

‘Yes.'

‘But I thought maybe you could come here afterwards.'

‘Oh!' Leonie was confused. Maybe it was the wine on an empty stomach, but she resented his assumption that he could summon her like this. Yet a ripple of desire told her she would go anyway. It also reminded her that she did not have her contraceptive cap with her. ‘I could be a while,' she hedged. ‘I haven't seen Audra in ages, and we've not even ordered any food yet.'

‘Doesn't matter. I'll be waiting.'

The insubordinate ripple made itself felt again. ‘Okay.'

‘See you soon, then. Bye.'

She returned to her companion, making out the call was work related, but her earlier lightness and ease had gone. They ordered, and, while they ate, Leonie asked diligent questions about Audra's business, what she'd managed to buy at a recent auction, whether the Dutch were still chasing after old enamel cookware. But all the while she couldn't help wondering how late it was, and when she could decently leave.

When, at last, Leonie parked outside Patrice's house, she sat in the car, trying to work out why she was feeling so ambivalent about going in. It was already eleven o'clock, and they both had to work the next day. He hadn't wanted to fix an arrangement for another night, yet invited her now when there was no time for anything other than sex. Was that all he wanted? On the other hand, she could hardly blame him: she wanted to be in his bed every bit as much as, it would appear, he wanted her to be there. She reminded herself that this was exciting, a midnight assignation with her lover.

She thought back to when she had last doubted him, remembering the restored bicycle. She had been naïve then in assuming that because he didn't call straight away it was over, never going to happen. But it wasn't. And two or three times since then they'd taken their bikes at weekends and pedalled to various places together: nowhere special, but it had been lovely to cover some distance yet cycle slowly enough to look at hedgerows and clouds, the immaculate
potagers
and sloping vineyards. One day, returning home, they had stopped at the gates to the local cemetery, set among fields of mown hay. Patrice dismounted and, holding out his hand, had led her to a simple headstone.

‘My grandfather, Patrice Broyard,' he told her.

‘Your grandmother, too,' Leonie had said, pointing out the other name, the newer letters below carved more sharply into the stone.

He sighed. ‘I idolised his memory when I was a kid, but now I wonder what the true story was – about his death.'

Leonie had been surprised. ‘Does it matter now?'

‘Josette was always disappointed in me, as if I could never measure up to him. But then once, when she was really cross, I remember her shaking me, scolding that I was just like him.' With the toe of his shoe, he nudged the stone edging around the grave. ‘I'd never seen her so full of spite, like I had something really bad and evil in me. So maybe he wasn't such a hero after all.'

‘Grief makes people angry. Maybe it was just that. Nothing to do with you.'

He had shrugged and turned away. ‘Maybe.'

There, surrounded by the sun-kissed fields, she had taken his arm to walk back to where they'd left their bikes, following his lead in talking of other things. Now, in her darkened car, she breathed more deeply. There was nothing bad in him. Whatever his demons, he was not trying to conceal them from her. She had doubted him before, and it had been all right: he had wanted her to have the bicycle so she could ride beside him. She must try not to let herself get into quite such a state. Patrice would surely have heard her car draw up and must be wondering by now why she hadn't come inside. If she wasn't going to turn around and go home, she must resolve to take what he offered at face value.

When Patrice opened the door, Leonie was touched to find that he seemed as nervous as she. Greeting her with
little more than a peck on the cheek, he made for the kitchen, asking if she wanted coffee. It occurred to her how, once he'd made his phone call, he'd had to wait alone for her arrival. Maybe he'd been having similar doubts about the interpretation of his impulsive action. The insight empowered her, and she stopped on the threshold. ‘I've had my dinner, thanks.'

She cast her gaze provocatively up the stairs, but he gave a short laugh, deflecting her, and said, ‘I guess maybe I need a drink.'

Determined to enjoy this erotic adventure, she leant stagily against the door jamb. ‘And I'd like a kiss.'

Still edgy, he came to her. She was beginning to understand how, despite his passion, he nevertheless sought to evade responsibility, to repudiate the role of seducer. She wondered if maybe he feared repeating whatever erotic decision or mistake had led to the end of his marriage. And so she chose to be reassuring, slow, seductive, and in the almost frantic sex that followed allowed herself to forget all about having no contraception.

Although she resolved never to take such a stupid risk again, the few days of uncertainty and forbidden hope that followed opened a door on her thorniest sorrows – that she was thirty-four and desperately wanted to be a mother, and that it was her desperation to have a child that had driven Greg away.

Leonie's period arrived bang on time a fortnight later. The familiar stomach cramps made her shift around in the car seat as she drove to pick up Stella from the airport. She had taken a couple of days' holiday herself so they could spend time together. Although fewer of Gaby's rental properties were occupied in mid-October, there was still plenty of work to do. Inventories had to be checked, repairs organised, recalcitrant owners persuaded to refurbish. Photographs and other details on the website needed to be updated and costings revised, all before the new booking season opened for the following year.

The autumn colours of the landscape chimed with her dragging sense of regret, of life passing too quickly. She couldn't wait to set eyes on Stella, the one person in whom she could confide. Leonie had to admit that she was exhausted, strung out. Life was full of intensity and novelty, which was wonderful, but there were too many nights when she and Patrice didn't sleep until after midnight, when his bed was ridiculously narrow for the two of them.
Too many nights when, alone in the more spacious bed in her own apartment, she stayed awake, hoping past all reasonableness that he'd call. She had imagined she would feel more settled by now, more entitled to his consideration, though she wasn't sure she would care to admit that even to Stella. Besides, this obscure dejection must surely just be hormones. She should buck up and make the most of her friend's brief weekend visit.

‘Lennie!' Stella, a big, graceful woman wearing untidy clothes, hugged her fiercely. ‘I can feel your ribs. I hope you're eating!'

‘I'm absolutely fine. But oh, I've missed you!' Finding relief in the effortless expression of a simple emotion, Leonie bit back the insidious reminder of how she still felt the need to be guarded with Patrice: neither had yet used the L-word, for example, though sometimes it hung in the air between them.

‘Well, I can't tell you how good it is to be here. I'm shattered.' Stella surrendered possession of her carry-on case and let Leonie lead the way out of the terminal.

‘But you're still glad you took the job?'

‘Oh yes. The more I get into it, the more fascinating it is. I'll fill you in, don't worry! But first, how soon do I get to meet the man?'

‘Tomorrow probably.' Waiting for the automatic doors to open, Leonie avoided Stella's glance. ‘He's not a great one for arrangements,' she added, making light of Patrice's rather trying and, if she was honest, hurtful refusal to be
nailed down on when he'd come over to meet her oldest friend.

The women postponed the big topics until they were on the road to Riberac. ‘If I tell you all about work now, then it's out of the way and I can forget about it 'til I go home,' said Stella. ‘But I am so pleased I made the change.'

Stella's previous job had been to match children in care to optimistic couples who tended to have little idea of the problems they were taking on, and who, despite her best efforts, seldom wanted to be told. Stella had watched helplessly as some adoptions broke down under the stress of extreme behaviour which comprehensively trashed both parties' dreams of happy family life. Leonie could only admire Stella's pragmatism and fortitude when she'd had to step in and send already damaged children back to inadequate children's homes or temporary foster families, and she'd seen how Stella's close involvement in such guilt and disappointment took its toll. She had hoped her friend's new role would carry less emotional attrition; now Stella assured her that it did, as well as teaching her unexpected detective skills in tracing birth parents and other lost family members. Not every story ended well, Stella explained, but she spoke enthusiastically about the rewards of negotiating the boundaries of first reunions, and the joy and relief to which she was often witness.

‘It's so great, what you're doing.' Leonie was hotly proud of her. ‘Makes me question what the hell I'm up to being a glorified holiday rep.'

‘Is that all it's turned out to be?' asked Stella, disappointed for her.

‘No. Actually I love it. Much more than I expected.'

‘Really?' Stella sounded sceptical.

‘Yes,' answered Leonie robustly. ‘I like being out and about, and it's great having to use French so spontaneously. And what more innocent pleasure than ensuring people enjoy their holiday?'

‘Think you'll stay another season?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘Burying yourself out here … is any man worth that?'

Leonie ran through several attempts before formulating her answer. ‘It's not just Patrice. I like the rural life. Even if I came back to England, I'm not sure I could face living in London again, especially not in the winter.' She kept her eyes on the road, but couldn't escape awareness of Stella's steady gaze.

‘If you stay away too long, it'll be tough getting back in.'

‘Into what?'

‘Publishing. Translation. Academic research. Jobs are scarce.'

Leonie shook her head. ‘I don't miss any of it. Truly. I enjoy it here.' She caught Stella's doubtful look, and laughed. ‘I won't throw myself away. Honest.'

‘So go on. Tell me all about him.'

‘He's like no one else I've ever met. So much going on beneath the surface, so much still to understand. Though
no wonder Romeo and Juliet were teenagers. Once you get to our age, this stuff is exhausting!'

‘You do look a bit haggard, I must say.'

‘Oh, time of the month, that's all. I couldn't be happier. Honestly.' Leonie fought the urge to pull the car over and weep.

To Leonie's delight, Patrice rang that night to ask if he could join them the following evening. He arrived freshly shaved, with flowers and a bottle of wine. He had never given her flowers before, but she quickly replaced the disloyal idea that he had done so now in order to make a favourable impression on Stella with the conviction that, an undemonstrative man, he wanted to display his affection in front of her friend. Throughout the evening, he was charmingly solicitous of them both, encouraged them to reminisce, to talk about the subjects that flowed naturally between them, without seeking to insert himself unnecessarily into the conversation. After insisting gallantly on helping to clear up, showing himself to be at home in Leonie's kitchen, he took himself off, wishing Stella all the best for the remaining two days of her visit.

After a lingering farewell kiss, Leonie watched him cycle away then returned to grin at Stella. ‘Well?'

‘He's certainly intriguing. And very beautiful – I can understand why you're so hooked!'

Leonie waited for more. Stella licked her lips. ‘He's pretty self-possessed, isn't he?'

‘He knows his own mind,' she agreed. ‘It's one of the things I love about him. If he doesn't want to do something, he doesn't do it. You always know exactly where you are with him.'

‘Off on your bikes together?' Stella teased.

‘It's fun!'

‘Making vegetarian food?'

‘He's very principled. I still eat meat.'

‘And since when did you start buying into homeopathy?'

‘I'm not saying it's serious science, but I reckon there's a role for it. Even if it is just a placebo effect.'

‘You're really besotted, aren't you?'

Leonie tried to laugh but she couldn't help being offended by Stella's lack of faith. ‘Patrice is a good man. He helps people because of who he is, not necessarily because of what he does. That's what alternative medicine is all about, isn't it? Treating the whole person, not only the disease.'

‘But why does that mean he has to denounce hospital medicine? What's “allopathy” when it's at home?' Stella saw she'd gone too far. ‘Sorry, Lennie.' She went to give her a hug, which Leonie halfheartedly returned. ‘Go on, fill me in. What's the rest of his story?'

‘I told you. He spent quite a bit of his childhood here, and came back when his grandmother died, after his marriage broke up.'

‘He's a Euro-brat, right? If his folks were multinationals.'

‘Yes, I suppose he is.'

‘What about his other exes?'

‘He's only mentioned his ex-wife.'