* * *
Flick purposefully parked the car on the edge of town. Her head whirled and she hoped a stroll in the fresh air would help calm her mind. She might have come to a decision about the chateau, but with both her head and heart still arguing over which was right, seeing that decision through felt just has hard as making it.
She made her way along the street, the one road that led in and then out of town. She stopped for a moment at thePlace de la Résistance et de la Déportation,where a huge, bronze statue of a soldier holding a French flag high in the air commemorated those who died in the two world wars. Flick read the words engraved into its giant marble plinth –Aux enfants morts pour la France. Pro Deo, pro Patria. With no translation necessary, it was a sobering moment. Definitely enough to put her own troubles into perspective. “Do I sell my chateau? Do I not sell my chateau?” Yep, her current dilemma was definitely the first world problem of all first-world problems.
She carried on up the street, still mocking herself as she clocked thePapeterieon the other side of the road. Crossing, her spirits lifted as she looked in the window before heading inside. Glancing around, it was typical of any stationers, her surroundings as familiar as the tingling sensation she always experienced in shops such as this. It might not be an actual art store, but since meeting Matthew it had become as near as damn it.
“Bonjour,” said the welcoming young girl behind the counter, her smiling face being a far cry from the surly shop assistants Flick came across in the UK.
“Bonjour,” Flick replied.
She headed for the sketchpads, carefully examining the various paper grades and textures and, making her choice, moved on to the pencils. Flick was in artistic heaven, not that she considered herself an artist. Such aspirations had gone out of the window the minute she’d left university. Like Matthew always said,doodlingdidn’t pay the bills. She thought back to their conversations about her creative ambitions. He hadn’t meant to be so condescending, she was convinced of that. Like he’d said, he was just being realistic.
Flick laid her purchases on the counter, at the same time checking her watch. “Merci,” she said, handing over her money.
Back on the street, she continued her stroll and nearing the heart of the town, was pleased to see it was market day. Taking in the numerous stalls, she revelled in the goods on offer – the cheeses, the colourful fruit and veg, the smell of freshly caught fish. French conversation came at her from all directions as locals inspected the wares on offer before handing over their hard-earned cash. Flick almost laughed when she spotted a merchant selling nothing but ladies’ housecoats just like her grandmother used to wear. Long sleeved, short sleeved, no sleeves at all, all coming in various colours and patterns. It was like stepping back in time to the 1950s. Flick watched on as neighbours laughed and greeted each other like long-lost friends and Flick’s heart suddenly panged. Scenes like this were why her father loved France as much as he did. This was the life he’d wanted her to experience.
Refusing to dwell on her dad, Flick checked her watch again. The place she was looking for had to be around there somewhere. Her eyes scanned up and down both sides of the street and finally locating Jess’s little bar, Café Ange, Flick headed over.
A cute little place, it had an outside seating area with little, wooden tables and high-backed ladder chairs, the perfect set up for anyone wanting to watch the world go by, and taking a seat, Flick positioned herself so she could continue to watch the market’s comings and goings.
“Flick! What a surprise.”
Flick turned as Jess, cloth in hand ready to wipe down tables, appeared at the doorway. Flick watched her look down at her attire and tossing the cloth to one side, hastily run her hands down her jeans. Flick felt embarrassed that Jess was embarrassed. She obviously thought people who owned French castles were posh, which in her own case, couldn’t be further from the truth. “Don’t mind me,” she said, trying to put her host at ease. “You should see the state of me when I’m at work.” Although as she put a hand up to the tatty bobble keeping her unkempt hair in place, she realised she didn’t fare much better outside of her employment.
It seemed to do the trick and Jess appeared to relax a little as she took a seat at Flick’s table. “What is it you do?”
“Much the same as you really. I work in a coffee shop.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. It’s nothing as nice as this though.” She took in the scrolled signage of Café Ange. Set against a pale blue background, its white lettering undulated, perfectly in keeping with the three swirls of the Breton logo. Looking through the window, the interior appeared bright and inviting, the traditional tables and chairs continuing within. “And I certainly don’t own the place.”
“Ah, but you do own a chateau.”
“So, we’re equal then,” Flick said.
Jess laughed. “If you put it like that. You’re probably sick of everyone asking, but any idea what you’re going to do with it yet?”
Flick didn’t answer. She still hadn’t told her mother what she planned, so she wasn’t about to tell anyone else.
“If you need any help when you do decide just give me a shout.”
“Thank you.” Flick appreciated the offer, however, at the same time doubting she’d ever need to.
A harassed-looking Pete suddenly appeared in the doorway. “There you are,” he said to Jess. “Oh hi, Flick. Nice of you to stop by. How’re you settling in?”
Images of the morning’s events in the bathroom flashed through her mind, along with the layers of clothing she’d taken to wearing indoors and the speed at which she threw them on each morning. “Okay, thanks.”
“It’s great to see life return to the big old place. When I think how long it’s been stood empty.”
“That explains why nothing works. I haven’t had a hot shower since I got here.”
“What better way to blow off the cobwebs than standing under a bit of cold water though, eh?” Pete suggested, something Flick couldn’t quite bring herself to agree with.
“You’re welcome to come and use ours until you get yours sorted,” Jess offered. “Your mum too. I can even throw in some dinner, if you like.”
Pete turned his attention back to his wife. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need your help. The computer’s crashed again.”
