Page 25 of The Riviera House Swap
THEN
‘You are Brigitte’s pen pal, oui?’ said a voice in her ear as she stood against the wall and tried to complete a worksheet on a clipboard that seemed determined to fly away in the light breeze.
‘Yes,’ she said, not looking up. ‘I mean, oui.’
The boy laughed. ‘It is OK, I understand the word “yes”,’ he said, in perfect English.
Blushing, Nina lifted her head to look at him. The first thing she noticed was his smile – his neat, even teeth, dimples, full lips. Then his hair – dark, shiny with frosted tips messily gelled.
‘I’m Pierre,’ he said.
‘Nina,’ she replied.
He took her hand for what she thought was going to be a small shake, but in fact, he put his lips to it and gave it a kiss. Her face felt hot. ‘Enchanté,’ he said before disappearing across the courtyard into a crowd of boys, with a teacher at its helm.
‘You alright?’ Bess said moments later, exiting the chateau’s gift shop.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
She never did manage to complete the worksheet.
13
NOW
Dear Jean-Luc,
Welcome to my humble abode. I hope that you enjoy your time living in St Albans. My two friends, Sal and Bess (contact details attached), are on hand make sure you’re OK. Or you can always drop me an email if you’d prefer.
I’ve left some takeaway leaflets on the kitchen counter and a map of the area, showing the Roman ruins and with a few nice restaurants marked. The cathedral is well worth a visit too – as is the gorgeous lake. Train timetable is there, but you can always check online for more up-to-date info. Usually, there’s one to London about every half hour.
Many thanks for trusting me with your house in France!
Best wishes,
Nina
Nina checked the letter one more time. Then looked in her handbag and checked her passport, tickets, itinerary, phone, charger, adapter and all other journey essentials. This was the worst part of travelling for her – the moment when she had to trust that she’d got everything she needed and that she wasn’t going to fall at the first hurdle. These were not the moves ofa risk-taker, she realised, but a paranoid, infrequent traveller. Still, it was better to check one more time before the taxi came. The letters were in her suitcase with her clothes, but she slipped Pierre’s necklace into her pocket – not wanting it to get lost en route.
The trip to the airport was half an hour long, and as she slid into the back of the taxi, she felt a sense of dread at the prospect of potentially having to make small talk about her travels with the driver. Usually, she didn’t mind the benign queries about her destination and her plans – but usually, she’d be heading to a package holiday with her husband, with the sole intention of laying by a pool like most other normal people. This time, her plans were a little more left field.
It started almost immediately.
‘Going somewhere nice?’
‘Yes. France. Near to Nice.’
‘Oh, lovely.’ The driver signalled and turned out of her estate. ‘On your own, or meeting friends?’
‘Just me,’ she replied.
‘Ah,’ he said admiringly, ‘I’d love to do that one day – just head out somewhere on me own. Three kids though.’ He indicated a slightly tattered picture of three little children sellotaped to his dashboard.
‘Oh, lovely,’ she said. ‘I expect they keep you busy.’
He snorted. ‘Just a bit,’ he said affectionately. ‘Ah, but it’s worth it, right?’
She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t know, that she didn’t – might never – have kids and that it was none of his business in any case. But he meant well; he just hadn’t thought.
