don’t have a business card on me today. We must stay in touch,’ she said, handing the paper to Beth. ‘Give me a shout next time you’re in town. I’ve got a spare room since my flatmate moved out, so I can even offer you a bed.’
‘Are you looking for someone else to share with?’ Beth asked. ‘Only I know someone who’s desperate for somewhere to live. They’re having to couch-surf right now.’
Tina shook her head. ‘No. After having a few weirdos apply, I’ve given up on finding anyone suitable. Besides, I’m getting used to having the place to myself.’
‘Shame,’ Beth said. ‘I think my friend is having a really hard time at the moment. Never mind. I’m sure she’ll find something soon. Bye.’
Once home, Tina unpacked her shopping, gave the flat a quick tidy and pushed the hoover around, with the niggling thought buzzing in her mind all the time – had she been too hasty in refusing to even meet Beth’s friend who was having to resort to couch-surfing as a way of life?
It had been hard finding somewhere decent to live when she and Jodie had first arrived in London. It had taken them months of living in a less-than-desirable bedsit before they’d found this flat. Telling Beth she was getting used to having the place to herself was the truth but that didn’t stop it being lonely in the evenings and at weekends. Particularly at weekends. And the rent was quite high. Jodie’s contribution had definitely helped there. She couldn’t go on making up the deficit from her savings so she should really think about looking for a new flatmate. There had to be a non-weirdo out there somewhere looking for a place to live. Having someone new living in the flat would be a start to climbing out of the rut she was in. Maybe she should at least see what Beth’s friend was like?
Opening her laptop, Tina typed in Beth’s email address from the card she’d given her. ‘No guarantees but I’ve been thinking. If your friend wants to come and see the flat sometime, maybe we can work something out.’
Half an hour later her email programme pinged. ‘Hi, Beth says you possibly have a spare room I could rent. I’m desperate to find somewhere so please may I come and see you later today? Beth’s given me the address. Maisie.’
Tina sat for a moment, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Whoever Maisie was, she was clearly as desperate as Beth had said. She wouldn’t turn out to be yet another weirdo, would she? No, Beth wouldn’t have suggested her if that was the case.
Tina started to type. ‘Sure. Seven o’clock would suit me. Look forward to meeting you.’ She hesitated a fraction of a second before pressing the send icon. She could always say no, once she had met Maisie.
Time to ring Jodie for their weekly chat – at least this time she had a little bit of news to tell her.
‘Au revoir, Jodie. Same time next week,’ said Madame Colbert as she showed Jodie out.
‘Merci,’ Jodie said, her head buzzing from the effort of concentrating for the last hour on the difference between regular and irregular verbs. Dragging up vocabulary from her schoolgirl French had been painful and Madame Colbert was a hard taskmaster. She’d even given Jodie a page or two of homework to do before the next lesson.
There were a few people wandering around the village as Jodie walked through, making her way towards The Taste of the Countryside. Chairs around the tables on the pavement outside the village café were occupied with people enjoying coffee or an aperitif before lunch.
Further on from the café, Jodie stopped to look in the estate agent’s window. Apartments, villas, cottages, even a donkey shed were offered. The picture of a small, red-roofed cottage with wisteria climbing over the front porch caught her eye. Jodie squinted, trying to make out the price. €350,000. A quick look at other cards told her it was one of the cheapest properties for sale in the area. Only the donkey shed appeared to be cheaper.
Was the cottage in their price range? Was it the kind of house he even had in mind? She had no idea of the answer to either question. Standing there, it struck her for the first time how little she really knew about the man who’d swept her off her feet. Oh, she knew how kind he was, how generous, that he loved animals – that he loved her.
She knew the little everyday things about him, of course: the food he liked, the way he drank his coffee – typically French, black and strong – the clothes he wore, that he adored his mother. There were still some major things they’d not discussed yet, though. Houses and money being two of them. The question of children was another topic they’d never discussed. She knew she wanted at least two, but Ben? Did he want a family eventually? That was a question a sensible woman would have raised before leaping into marriage.
She didn’t really have any idea of Ben’s income either, other than that he never seemed worried about money. His books regularly hit the bestseller lists, which had to be good money-wise, didn’t it?
Looking at the property pictures she began to wonder where they’d live when they did buy something. Their current cottage was rented furnished and had been a typical bachelor’s home until she’d moved in and introduced a few pictures, candles and cushions into the sitting room. Ben, though, had flatly refused to sleep in a bed with pink sheets, her favourite, so she’d bought some pale-blue ones instead.
Impulsively Jodie opened the estate agency’s door and went in. Taking the details home to Ben for his reaction would at least solve two mysteries: the kind of house they both liked and the price range they’d be looking at.
The man at the desk glanced up from some paperwork on his desk, muttered ‘Bonjour’ and then returned to his paperwork. No ‘Can I help you?’ No ‘I’ll be with you in a moment’. Zilch.
In England Jodie would have simply coughed and said loudly, ‘Excuse me, can you help me?’ But here she was lost for words and had to stand there waiting until the man deigned to look up and ask if he could help. At least it gave her time to frame a basic question.
‘S’il vous plaît, la petite maison annoncée dans la fenêtre?’ Jodie said. She had no idea how to continue. How to tell him which particular house she was interested in. The man stared at her, waiting for her to carry on. Getting crosser and crosser with him, her right foot tapping the floor impatiently, she finally found the words she needed. ‘La petite maison pour €350,000.’
The man opened a file on his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
‘Make a rendezvous for next week if you wish to see it,’ he said in heavily accented English before returning to his paperwork.
Friends had warned her that French customer service could be somewhat lacking, but this was the first time she’d experienced real rudeness first hand.
Jodie took the paper, muttered a sarcastic ‘Thank you’ now she knew the man spoke English and walked out. No way would she be making a viewing appointment with this agency.
Leaving the village behind her she walked along the main road to The Taste of the Countryside. It was further than she thought and she began to regret not driving down from the cottage. Ben had promised to buy her a small runaround but so far he hadn’t found anything he thought she’d like. In the meantime, he’d urged her to use his large 4x4. Only she couldn’t.
It was bigger than anything she’d ever driven before and the thought of having to get used to it while driving on the wrong side of narrow roads
