She had stoked the range, unpacked and put away her clothes and the provisions, cleaned the kitchen and explored the rest of the house, apart from the bedroom which Richard Field had commandeered.
As Gale had rightly said, the farmhouse, while structurally sound, needed a considerable amount of work doing on it.
‘No way will that one antiquated bathroom be enough,’ she had told Livvy, ‘especially if we invite friends down. I’ve told George we’ll need at least two extra bathrooms, one for us, one for guests, and possibly a shower-room as well.’
‘I’ve spoken to the local builder—he’s Monsieur Dubois’ cousin. Of course, he pretended at first that he would be too busy to do anything for months, but they all try that on… I want you to go and see him, Livvy, and remind him that I want work started on the alterations this summer. I’ve given you a list of the bathroom fittings and the sanitaryware. When you order it, make sure the plumber gives you a firm delivery date…’
It was a great pity that Gale herself couldn’t have been here, Livvy reflected feelingly. With her cousin to contend with, Richard Field would have found himself in a very different situation indeed.
Since she was here for the whole summer, she did not really need to tackle the list of instructions Gale had given her immediately, but she suspected that her cousin would expect her to deal with them with the same gusto and determination which she herself would have exhibited, and besides, she felt too tense and on edge to relax properly and too off balance still to want to be here when Richard Field got back.
Gale, typically well organised, had supplied her with maps and even given her a list of places of local interest, the hill town of Rocamadour, the caves and under-ground lake aptly named River Styx of Gouffre de Padirac. She had been looking forward to exploring the region, to enjoying its richly wooded countryside and famous rivers; she had been looking forward to peace and solitude, to an opportunity to replenish her spiritual and mental resources. Now…
Now she was a seething, agitated mass of jangling nerves and tensions.
She drove first to the farm, to thank Madame Dubois for her kind welcoming gift and to submit herself to the older woman’s appraisal and inspection.
It would have been an affront to madame were she not the first to be able to report on the new visitor.
Livvy’s French ancestry, already known to madame, was re-examined and discussed, madame’s probing enquiries as to the reasons for Gale’s and the children’s non-appearance gently sidestepped, and Livvy was on the point of leaving when madame commented to her that monsieur, her friend, also spoke excellent French.
Did he too have the benefit of French blood in his veins? madame asked her.
Livvy checked. It was obvious that Monsieur Dubois had told his wife that they were lovers, and Livvy had the frustrating conviction that, no matter how much she tried to tell the older woman the truth, she would not be able to convince her.
The countryperson’s mind was an earthy one, Livvy knew that, but nevertheless it galled that already in the minds of local people she was seen as Richard Field’s lover.
Resisting the impulse
to tell madame that she neither knew nor cared what Richard Field’s ancestry was, she took her leave of her.
Her next port of call was the home of Monsieur Dubois’ cousin, the builder. As Livvy had expected, he was out, but his wife made her welcome, listening while Livvy explained her mission.
Armand, her husband, had only the previous day mentioned the work he had promised to do for madame, her cousin, she told Livvy.
From the village, Livvy drove on to the local market town, not because she was reluctant to return to the farmhouse—and potentially Richard Field, she assured herself—but she was after all supposed to be on holiday, enjoying herself and relaxing, and she certainly could not do that with such an antagonistic, overbearing, judgemental and totally impossible man about.
The market town was small and pretty, surrounded by heavily wooded countryside, its dominating architectural feature the stone bridge spanning the river. As she drove across it, she saw half a dozen men fishing on its banks. George was a keen fisherman, part of the reason he and Gale had opted to buy the farmhouse. But now it seemed there would be little chance of her cousin and her husband spending long family summer holidays here.
Sadly, Livvy parked her car, a fresh anger stirring against Richard Field for adding to the stress Gale must already be under. From his comments, it was obvious that he was well aware of the discord between Gale and George. As George’s friend, he should be advising him to repair the damage to his marriage, not seeking to take advantage of the situation by trying to push through an underhand deal to buy the farmhouse.
However, from the opinions he had expressed to her, it was obvious just how he looked upon her sex, Livvy acknowledged, and as she headed towards the small market square her face burned as she recalled his comments to her and how he had reacted when she…
She stopped walking, her body tensing as she tried to reject the sharp thrill of sensation quivering through her.
She was not really sexually responsive to him, she denied. That had just been a momentary aberration, a brief heartbeat of misjudgement by her bemused senses. It meant nothing, and if just now, remembering, she had for one unnerving second actually felt her body quiver into unexpected awareness, her mouth soften as though it could actually physically recall the intense sensuality of his kiss, then that meant nothing too.
The small town was very quiet. Good French housewives did their shopping early in the day, when things were still fresh and choice abundant. Now the town drowsed in the later afternoon sunshine, the small group of men seated outside the bar on the edge of the square watching Livvy with admiring interest as she crossed their line of vision.
Tempted by the cool shade promised by a narrow alleyway leading off the square, Livvy walked down it, pausing outside a small bookshop.
In England she had not given much thought to how she would occupy her evenings; she had plenty of work to do preparing things for the new school term; she had her radio and tapes, and had assumed that, after long, lazy days spent exploring the countryside, she would be only too glad to have some early nights.
That, though, had been before she had discovered that she would be sharing the farmhouse with Richard Field. Somehow she could not imagine herself feeling relaxed enough to do that while he was around.
She would need something to occupy her time, to put a safe, uncrossable distance between them. She went into the bookshop, emerging over half an hour later, after an enjoyable conversation with the proprietress, carrying a parcel which contained the two novels she had bought.
Yes, they should keep her well and truly occupied for the next few evenings, and make it clear to a certain wrong-headed male that she was quite definitely not interested in him. All she had to do was to sit tight and wait for him to leave. He couldn’t be planning to stay very long—could he?