In the market at Cahors they had bought olives, four different cheeses, fresh bread, oil, pâté, salami, farm eggs, fruit, and two small zesty lemon tarts from the patisserie in the side street. Now, they sat at a cafe table watching the throngs around every stall and the groups of old men shaking hands before sitting down to their mid-morning pastis and tiny glasses of rosé. The sun was bright. It would be much hotter by lunchtime.
‘Bliss,’ Judith said.
Richard nodded, and raised his café crème to her. ‘Why put up with an English summer? Shall we just stay as long as we feel like it?’
The South-West, like everywhere else in France, was suffering badly from the recession and a poor spring and early summer which had deterred visitors. The area was half empty, though the morning market looked as busy as ever. The small hotel they had stayed in for a couple of nights on arriving had directed them to a gîte owned by the proprietor’s son. Usually, it was booked solidly between April and October. Now, in June, there had been a rash of cancellations. It was small, airy, white-painted, pale-blue-curtained, with a stretch of garden and a pool, shady trees and a terrace. They had taken it on the spot.
Richard looked across the table. ‘Better here than in the Dordogne. Haven’t seen an English car other than our own.’
‘Everything changes. France was the land of eternal sunshine and cheap property to convert. Cheap food and drink, good restaurants, and every village had a cafe. Now? Expensive food, most villages haven’t a cafe or a shop, restaurants are poor … don’t they know any meat but duck?’
‘And the weather has only just bucked up. Do we still love France?’
‘Of course, but I could never live here.’
‘Expats? No.’ He suddenly patted the pocket of his linen jacket, took out his phone and checked the screen.
‘Is there any signal here?’
‘Not bad. None to speak of at the gîte.’
‘Have you sent a message to Cat? She’d probably like to know where we are and what we’re doing … and that we’re both fine.’
‘Why wouldn’t we both be fine? You’re not likely to suffer any after-effects of that damned bug, you know.’
‘No.’ Judith looked at him for a long moment. But it was all right. It was as if a switch had been thrown and he was again the Richard she had loved and married, occasionally brusque, occasionally silent, but otherwise good company, funny. And loving.
There was no point in wasting a precious holiday in the French sun wondering about the other Richard.
‘Have you brought your phone?’
‘It’s in my bag. Not sure if there’s any battery life though, I do tend to forget about it. Why?’
‘No particular reason. But you’re right – being permanently available is a bad thing. People become surgically joined to these damn things.’
‘Don’t switch yours off as well, Richard. There are always the children.’
‘The children.’
‘Oh, I know – not one of them under forty. Still … you haven’t heard from Simon?’
‘Don’t expect to. Simon never bothers to contact me – and especially not when he’s gone underground.’
He got up and held out his hand to her. ‘Let’s stroll into the covered market and buy one of those fresh pizzas and some salad. Nice simple food and a good bottle of St-Emilion.’
Judith took his hand.
She woke to find the white muslin curtain at the bedroom window blowing gently into the room on a faint breeze. It was half past six and the afternoon had been hot. They had swum, eaten, gone to bed, slept. Now, she was on her own. She went to the window. Richard was sitting in a deckchair in the shade of the terrace reading. His phone was on the small table beside him.
She had not realised how worried he must be about Simon, though she was fully aware that he would never admit to it or show it, but he was clearly anxious for some news, even just a quick ‘I’m fine’.
She made citron pressé with ice and went outside. Richard glanced up and closed his book over his forefinger to keep the place. The gîte had several shelves of paperbacks left by previous visitors, mainly in English, and he had found Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, a novel he had enjoyed greatly the first time round. Cat and Judith had loved it too, Simon had not.
‘Any news darling?’
‘What do you mean, any news? What about?’
‘Sorry, don’t bark at me. I was just wondering.’
‘I don’t like being interrogated.’
‘Richard …’ She handed him the drink. ‘Enjoy this. Don’t let’s spoil the day.’
He frowned but then raised his glass to her. ‘Quite right. I could stay here for a long time.’
‘While the weather lasts. I think I’ll swim again in a little while.’
She closed her eyes and turned her face to the late-afternoon sun. Happy. Yes. Probably. More than for some months, certainly.
Let this last. Let it last.
She shivered slightly.