JACQUES MET US AT TOURS train station, and as we drove to his bed and breakfast, I had the most glorious flashback to when I’d fled Paris to come here and meet Serge, and of our perfect first date that had followed.
Marie welcomed us warmly and ushered us into her garden, where she’d set an outdoor table under a large chestnut tree. Little posies of wildflowers set off the cream tablecloth, and colorful cushions lined the chairs. I felt my shoulders soften as the sun speckled and warmed my skin. Clotilde and Jean arrived shortly after in Jean’s convertible.
The wine flowed over lunch, although not in my direction, as Marie dished up leeks in vinaigrette, followed by a plump roast chicken and a decadent tray of local cheese, which mostly taunted me.
“It must be such a relief to get out of Paris,” Jacques said to our group. “I don’t know how you cope living like sardines.”
“I was saying the same thing to Ella recently,” Serge agreed.
“But Paris has everything we need,” I said, defending my city.
“Except easy access to local wineries,” Jacques said.
“Isn’t there a winery in Montmartre?” I asked.
“Only one?” he said with a chuckle, and I had to restrain myself from listing off the other million things I loved about living in Paris.
I’d just bitten into Marie’s fruit tart with pears fresh from her garden—and was thinking to myself that I now had the perfect excuse for accepting seconds, thanks to bébé—when Marie asked Serge, casually and out of the blue, “And how is Françoise?”
I nearly choked on my rather large mouthful. Why is she bringing up Serge’s ex-wife in front of me? Perhaps she thinks I’m not listening, or that I might not understand her French. I tried not to take it personally, reasoning with myself that it was only natural that she’d come up in conversation every now and then, especially here, considering her family was also from the Loire.
Still, even the prospect of Françoise made me nervous because I knew so little about her. Other than a few general discussions about their marriage, Serge preferred to, as he would say, “leave the past in the past.” And I didn’t push the topic because I understood the desire to not rehash old relationships. Just thinking about Paul or Gaston was enough to send me into a rage.
I surreptitiously watched Serge’s face for a reaction as he finished chewing. He avoided looking at me and then said, somewhat sharply, to Marie, “I have not spoken to her recently.” I appreciated the sense of finality in his response, but it also managed to kill the vibe around the table.
Clotilde gave me a look and, clearly trying to dissipate the tension, announced, “Ella, want to help me with these?” She got up and started to gather the plates.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the rest of the group, she asked, “So, Ella, what’s going on?”
Is it that obvious how uncomfortable the mere thought of Françoise makes me? I wondered.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said and attempted a smile.
“Bullshit,” she said.
“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’m just being stupid. I don’t even know why I’m getting so worked up.”
“Well, it’s kind of a big deal,” she said.
I panicked. Is Serge’s ex-wife that big of a deal? Should I be more worried?
“You think?” I asked.
“Well, yeah. When I saw you skip the unpasteurized cheese, I pieced together what was going on,” she said.
“Huh?” I asked, suddenly confused. What does Françoise have to do with me not eating cheese?
And then I twigged.
“Oh, you’re talking about the pregnancy,” I said, almost relieved that my anxieties about Françoise weren’t totally transparent.
“So, you are pregnant? Ella, this is huge!” Her voice was a mix of excitement and concern.
“In a few more months, I’ll be huge . . .,” I said, attempting a joke.
She gave me an obliging chuckle.
“I haven’t quite gotten my head around it all yet,” I continued. “I shouldn’t even really be telling people.”
“Gosh,” she said.
“Is it a terrible thing?” I asked anxiously.
“Do you think it’s terrible?” she countered.
“Perhaps a little premature,” I admitted.
“But are you unhappy about it?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said honestly.
“Well, then, it sounds like congratulations are in order,” she said, kissing both my cheeks.
It was nice to have somebody close to me, other than Serge, celebrate the news. Especially after my own mother’s reaction had been so reserved.
“Thank you,” I said, wholeheartedly. “Now I just need to initiate my plan to get you to move back to Paris so you can help me get through all this pregnancy stuff.”
“You might not need to try too hard. I’ve been considering coming home. I’m sick of travelling back and forth,” she said seriously.
“What? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” I asked. “I thought everything was going well.”
“I miss life here. I miss you, I miss Papa. For now, I’m just mulling it over,” she said, looking out the window. “Anyway, we should probably get back to lunch.”
I squeezed Clotilde’s hand as we returned to the table. Her levelheadedness and positivity were comforting. I could do with a dose of her French poise right about now, I thought, sitting back and trying to relax.
I caught the tail end of an intense-looking conversation between Jacques and Serge: “. . . and with the low interest rates, it probably makes more sense to buy rather than rent,” Jacques said.
“Are you planning on moving, Jacques?” I asked, trying to join the conversation.
“Me?” he asked, looking at me blankly and making me wonder if I’d misunderstood what they’d been talking about.
“Jacques was telling me about a goat farm that’s just gone on sale in the region,” Serge jumped in. “Apparently it’s on a beautiful piece of land, and it’s not too expensive, either.”
“And?” I asked, confused.
“Well, Jacques is planning to go visit tomorrow morning. Perhaps we could join him,” he said.
I was about to suggest to Serge that we should probably spend some time talking about our future when Clotilde piped up cheerfully, “I’ll come. I love looking at properties,” which led to our whole group agreeing to the pre-lunch outing.
As everyone discussed logistics, I worried about Serge. Could he seriously be considering a move to the country at some point in the future? I wondered. I knew he wanted us to live somewhere with more space, but here? Really?
When the discussion turned to politics, I quietly asked Clotilde what she thought of the whole situation.
“It’s a common phenomenon,” she said.
The confused look on my face prompted her to clarify: “Many people in Paris, at least those who weren’t born there, dream of returning to where they grew up when they have a family. Maybe Serge has had this plan for years. I guess he just didn’t need to enact it until you came along.”
“Seriously? You think that’s what’s going on? I couldn’t live in the country. What on earth would I do all day?” The thought of all that fresh air was terrifying.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just a flight of fancy. Is that the right expression?” she asked.
I nodded. “So, it’s something he might get over?” I asked nervously.
She gave me the type of French shrug that made a confusing discussion even more ambiguous.
After lunch, Marie showed us to our rooms and told us to enjoy the property for the afternoon while she and Jacques ran some errands.
As soon as I’d shut the door, it was impossible not to notice the lack of sirens, car horns, and general noise that I’d come to expect in Paris. All I could hear were birds and the wind. The silence was almost ominous.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about why we’re going to look at a farm for sale tomorrow?” I asked Serge.
“Do not worry, Bella. Jacques had already lined it up before I told him we were coming to visit. Maybe we can just go so we do not offend him,” he said, rubbing my shoulders.
“So, it’s just for Jacques, then? Or is this what you had in mind when you said we needed to move out of central Paris?”
“There is no harm in looking, right?” he said, avoiding my question.
“Serge, are you sure everything is OK? I’m starting to worry that the news of the baby has made you feel like we need a complete life overhaul,” I said as gently as I could. Meanwhile, I was furiously trying to figure out why he was even entertaining the idea of looking at property out here. I certainly didn’t believe that it was only for Jacques’s benefit.
“But you agree we need to make changes, yes?” he asked.
“We’ve got plenty of time before the baby comes,” I said. “I don’t think we should rush into anything.”
“But you will at least come?” Serge asked. “Everybody else seems interested.”
“I guess. I’m just not sure if there’s much point. I thought we were out here to clear our heads and come to terms with the news of the baby. This farm visit seems like an unnecessary distraction.”
“We can probably taste some goat cheese,” he added, obviously having kept this selling point up his sleeve.
“Why didn’t you lead with that?” I joked, resigning myself to the fact that Serge would be going, with or without me. At least if I was there I could do damage control if need be.
Seeing Serge’s face relax now that I’d agreed to join them, I felt even more skeptical of his motives. He seemed oddly attached to us both going. Perhaps he was nostalgic for his father’s old goat farm. Or maybe he just needed to see firsthand what running a farm would entail in order to reinforce that we had things pretty damn good in Paris.
“What should we do now? Fancy a walk?” I asked.
“I actually have some work I need to do,” Serge said.
“I thought Fanny was looking after things in the store,” I said, frustrated that we couldn’t at least enjoy the afternoon off together.
“I just need to figure this one thing out. Why don’t you lie down,” he suggested.
“I am exhausted, come to think of it,” I said.
Just before falling asleep, I saw Serge pull out a pencil and a calculator.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the breeze that gently slipped through the window. Serge was still hard at work, tapping away and jotting something down. I called him over for a hug, and he was wrapping his arms around me within seconds.
“Everything is going to be perfect,” he said, excitedly.
“What’s going to be perfect?” I asked.
“Everything,” he reiterated unhelpfully.