‘Slippery, madame. Dangereux,’ I advise her as she sits watching me. But at least she has a little more colour in her face now. For one awful moment I thought she was going to faint. I lift the kettle, glad to feel it has water in it. ‘Thé?’ I enquire, thinking that there’s no point in doing anything about the tap until the floor has dried out a little more.
She nods. ‘I make. Je suis très reconnaissante… thankful. Please to call me Renée.’ She stands, giving me a warm smile, and begins bustling around the kitchen. Opening cupboards, Renée pulls out cups, a delicious-looking homemade tart and some beautiful little china plates decorated with roses.
I continue running a dry mop over the dampest part of the floor, as I’m worried it’s still a bit of a hazard, but at least she seems calmer now.
‘I wish my French was better,’ I admit out loud. ‘I can understand a little more if you talk slowly. But when it comes to replying I’ve forgotten a lot of what I learnt at school.’
She gives a little laugh and I turn my head to look at her, realising she got the general drift of what I was saying.
‘Please. Thank you. Hello. C’est tout ce que je peux dire en anglais!’ she explains.
Now we both laugh. I gesture towards the tap, using my hand in a turning movement and frowning. She walks across to show me the problem. Picking up the hammer, she indicates a swift blow and shrugs. It looks as if she wasn’t able to turn it off for some reason, so she used a little force. The tap is very old and if it was as stiff as the stopcock in the cupboard, then I doubt her wrists would have been strong enough; goodness, even I struggled and thought for a moment I wasn’t going to be able to shift it.
‘Plumber?’ I make a gesture of holding an imaginary phone to my ear and suddenly her eyes light up. She turns and walks over to one of the units, pulling open the drawer. When she walks back to me, she has a pair of glasses and a phone in her hand. Well, that’s a good place to keep your phone if you don’t like being interrupted. Within a few minutes Renée has made a call and gives me a huge smile, nodding her head very happily.
‘Oui. Il arrivera dans une heure,’ she informs me. It’s followed by several sentences obviously telling me something about the plumber she called, some of which I do manage to piece together. Mainly that he lives close by, but he’s at work at the moment.
Over tea and a slice of meltingly gorgeous pear tart, we have a conversation of sorts, using odd words and hand signals. It causes much laughter between the two of us. But as I tune into her voice, I find I can understand a lot more of what she’s saying; the frustration is that I can’t talk back to her as fluently, only in part sentences.
Afterwards she takes me out into her little garden. Both cottages on this side have similar sized plots to the rear and Renée’s garden has a spectacular display of spring bulbs. Daffodils, lily of the valley and even wood violets create a wonderful splash of colour.
As far as I can tell, Renée lives here alone, but she does go on to tell me about the other neighbours. The property adjoining hers – number two – and numbers three and five are simply pieds-à-terre. Renée, it appears, is employed as a housekeeper, keeping the properties clean and checking them on a regular basis in between infrequent visits throughout the year.
Number four is empty right now. The man who lived there, whom she refers to as simply Pierre, died a few months ago. I can sense the sadness in her and maybe I misconstrue her babble of words, but I feel she was close to him. His family haven’t decided yet what they are going to do with the property and her frown tells me it is a change she isn’t looking forward to.
‘Et numéro six?’
It’s a holiday let, and it’s run by a management company. She rarely sees the owner, a young man who lives and works in Paris.
When we part, she gives me a very warm hug and I point towards her phone. She passes it to me, and I pop in my number.
‘Call me, any time. Appelez-moi si vous avez un problème,’ I say, handing it back and holding my left hand up to my ear so she understands. ‘If you need water – de l’eau.’ I mime turning on a tap and filling a jug.
As she sees me out, she doesn’t say anything further, simply placing her hand over her heart for a moment and giving me a look of sincere thanks. I make a mental note to visit her tomorrow and I’ll make sure I bring my phone, so I can look things up if I struggle to find the right word.
Heading back, I prepare a quick chicken salad and work while I eat, re-reading my notes for tomorrow. When, eventually, I slip into bed, I’m feeling very sleepy and it doesn’t take long before dreams claim me. I’m back at Versailles. Laughing, I launch myself into the Grand Canal, splashing around as if I am a child with no cares in the world. In my head, the only sound is that of running water.
9
I’m Living the Dream
It’s shortly after seven a.m. when I lock the front door and set off. The birds are particularly noisy this morning, a little group of them chasing in and out of the small trees in the courtyard. Every day it’s more evident that winter is over, and nature is already awake and showing the world its glory.
I glance across at number one, but there’s no sign of any movement and it’s too early to knock on the door. I did hear a car pull into the courtyard around six o’clock last night, so I think it’s safe to assume that Renée’s plumber managed to fix her tap.
Taking a left turn, I walk past the little boulangerie, called La Cuisine des Boulangers, waving when one of the ladies appears in the window as she leans across with tongs to grab a couple of croissants. I get a hearty wave back, and the tempting smell of freshly baked bread and pastries filling the air makes my feet long to take a quick detour. Instead I take a deep breath, which makes my mouth water, and keep walking.
All the staff are very friendly and the café on the other side of the gateway is owned by the same family; it’s only second generation, but it’s a thriving little business and is always heaving with locals.
I’m beginning to feel very comfortable now I’m actually doing some real work. As I walk, I’m excited about today’s interview, but I’m also anxious as it is still early days. And despite feeling as if I’ve settled in, I’m still missing home a little; just the chance to pop in and see Maisie and check on my sister or drop in for a coffee with Mum. Just then my phone pings, and I grab it from my pocket to see it’s a text from the lady herself. She must have been thinking of me at the exact same moment!
✉︎ Morning, honey. Just to say good luck today and I hope the first interview without your lovely interpreter guy goes well. Ring me tonight if you get a chance and tell me all about it. Break a leg! x
Sidestepping a metal sign outside the last little gift shop on the Avenue de Paris before the three roads converge at the Place d’Armes, I hear my name being called out. Glancing around, Solange is waving at me and I stop so she can catch up.
‘Bonjour!’ I greet her with a smile. I didn’t realise she lived within walking distance of the palace.
‘Bonjour, Lexie. What a beautiful day again.’