It took Delphine a week to recover, not only from the injuries she had sustained in the crash from her moped but from the shock, which made her afraid of getting another bike.
‘You’d better learn to drive a car then, much safer,’ Richard said. He had put together a salade niçoise and set the table outside under the group of trees in the shade. On the other side of the garden, a hoopoe pecked about for grubs under the hedge. Delphine sat quietly, cutting a slice of bread but not eating anything yet. He poured her a glass of the dry local rosé he had taken to, a couple of bottles of which were always in the fridge, but she did not pick it up.
She sat, her nose still slightly swollen, bruised and scarred, not seeming to want to engage with him. He mixed the salad dressing and poured it.
‘What do you think,’ he said, ‘about driving lessons? You wouldn’t have to go far but it would be much better all round. If you’re worried about the cost …’
Delphine brushed the comment away with a gesture. ‘I don’t like the car.’
‘You’re happy enough to go in mine.’
‘That’s different. I mean I don’t want to drive a car. Maybe I get the Velo repaired.’
‘It’s pretty badly damaged, Delphine, they’ll probably write it off.’
‘OK, well, never mind. I’m tired of it anyway and it will be very cold in winter.’
‘Then you will have to learn to drive.’
She shrugged.
‘It won’t happen again, you know. There are so few cars coming down here and nobody else is likely to drive so dangerously.’
‘It made me very scared.’
‘Of course, but you’re much better.’
‘I do not feel it.’
‘Yes, you do, stop being childish. As soon as you go back to work you’ll forget all about it.’
‘So, how do I go back? No Velo, and even if I learn with a car, it will take some months. Besides …’ She was looking not at him but at some fixed point at the end of the garden.
‘Besides?’
‘I don’t know … maybe I don’t want to go back to work there.’
‘You should be looking for something better, Delphine. You’re a clever girl, you’re too bright to be waiting at tables.’
‘So, I go like all my school friends to college and end up with a degree and still no better job. We are all working in bars and cafes, you know. Or in the supermarché.’
Richard poured himself another glass of wine. The sun had gone down and the air in the garden was velvety, the little anti-mosquito candles glimmering, giving off their acid-lemon smell. A nightjar churred.
He looked at the girl, resting back in her chair, her hair on her shoulders. Yes, he thought. But no. After all, no.
‘So, have you any other ideas?’
She glanced at him. ‘Oh yes. I could stay here. Look after you.’