The Hunter

  I reached into the glove box and pulled out a folder.

  ‘Registration papers are with the Prefecture for the new number plates and my driving license is being changed to a French one...so it’s not there either. But I have photocopies and a letter.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ he said snapping his notebook shut and pushing the unopened folder back. ‘I do wish that you English would behave like proper citizens. Now....Be on your way and drive very carefully. Take some french lessons....and perhaps I won’t have to see you again….Will I?’

  ‘I’ll do that sir, thanks for your help.’ I said, waving as I drove off. ‘Whew! Shouldn’t like to meet him if I’d done something wrong.’ I muttered.

  ~ ~ ~

  That’s it, home at last. Oh, but that bread smells good, nothing quite like the smell of a fresh baguette. Bread and cheese for lunch I think.

  ‘Now, first things first, let’s check the new telephone....see if there’s any messages. Nope. Nothing yet. Hope it’s working properly. I’m sure it is, but I’ll test it later with the mobile.’

  Better smarten the old place up a bit too, don’t want the visitor getting the wrong impression. I’ll start outside.

  I went out, dragged the mower from the tool shed and set about tidying the front patch of grass before I moved on into the orchard. Realising I wouldn’t hear the phone ring if the club secretary called, every now and then I went inside to check the voice mail. But there were no calls that day.

  It looked as though Tuesday was going to see a quiet telephone too, the day had started with a misty drizzle but in the afternoon had brightened to be warm and humid. Storm clouds began to build at the edges of the sky and by evening they gave the air a heavy, yellow-purple feel.

  ‘Bit of rain. Bit of sunshine....You can almost hear the damned grass growing.’ I muttered, turning away from the window. I frowned at the silent phone.

  ‘I’ll get the mobile and test it again.’

  But before I’d finished dialling the number on the battered Blackberry the sleek new phone began flashing and trilling its urgent tone. I stared at it in surprise, then rushed across the room to grab it.

  ‘Allo’ I said, perhaps a little too loudly.

  ‘Oui, this is William Blake.’ I answered. Then frowned with concentration, but couldn’t pick out a word of what was being said. The french words were spoken so fast, they all seemed to run into one.

  ‘I’m sorry ma’am. My French isn’t very good yet. Could you repeat that please? Perhaps more slowly...er, I mean...plus lentement s’il vous plait?’

  I smiled with relief at the reply.

  ‘Your English is spot-on Bridgette....Thanks. And I’m sure tomorrow afternoon at half-past four would be just fine. Perfect in fact. Do you know who will call?’

  ‘You don’t....Oh well. We’ll just wait and see. Thanks for calling...Au revoir.’

  I touched the button to break the connection. ‘Sounds like a nice woman. Guess I’ll be meeting her soon.’

  Well...I’ll get some stuff in for nibbles and a bottle of good wine, they’re keen on good, old-fashioned hospitality. White or red I wonder? That’s easy enough I suppose. I’ll get two of each.

  The lights flickered and went out. A strobe-like flicker of bright ice-blue light probed the room making surfaces and edges appear extra hard and cold. A crushing roll of thunder wandered through the sky, shaking the windows. It was so close that I could feel its pulse deep within my body.

  This has happened before, I thought. Usually at a life turning point. When I have a choice of roads to take. So often these storms have arrived, bringing with them what seems to be a message from Thor, that something good or bad is about to happen to me. There have been many storms that have meant nothing, but the ones that feel close enough to touch, always seem to hold an omen.

  There was the one when I joined the Marines, then during the Saudi affair. Oh...and the night before I was married to Janet. That one was a real belter, I’d stayed at a local pub overnight and the house directly across the street was hit by lightening. Smack in the middle of its roof....Perhaps I should listen to what they tell me. But not all of these portents have been bad, Rachel was born just after an electric storm that hadn’t been on anybody’s forecast. Of course, I know that it’s all nothing more than coincidence, but it’s weird nonetheless and seems to be strangely consistent.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, for no special reason, I woke late and seemed to spend an age over coffee, it’s just difficult to get going sometimes. Not for the lack of enthusiasm or because I’m bored, I just seem to get lost in my thoughts, daydreaming I suppose.

  Everything smelled fresh and clean after the storm, even the air felt lighter and thankfully the electricity supply was back. Being all-electric for cooking and hot water is clean and convenient, but a bit of a disaster if you lose supplies. Something else I’ll have to look into, when I’ve time. Maybe a small, gas camping stove for emergencies would do the job? Sounds like an operation for Monsieur Google. But that’ll be later, must get on, dusting, polishing and cleaning first. Everything ship-shape and Bristol-fashion for this afternoon. And the rest of the morning disappeared with the roaring of my new vacuum-cleaner and the buffing of woodwork so that it shone like new.

  ‘Ah...That sounds like postie’s van.’ I said to myself, and listened for the crunch of gears it always made as it moved off. She’s a nice young woman is our postie, a pretty blue-eyed blonde, can’t be much more than eighteen. Doesn’t understand a word of what I try to say, even when I use my best french, but there’s always a lovely smile and a cheerful wave.

  I went out to check the new mail box, squinting in the bright sunshine.

  ‘Hm...what a nice day. Late lunch in the garden today I fancy.’

  But the heavy brown package in the mail box effectively quenched my cheerful thoughts. It was postmarked UK and had that careful, solicitor look about it. I knew instantly that it was the divorce petition from Jerry Gryce, Janet’s solicitor.

  Chapter 7

  His first thought was to throw the package of paperwork into a corner and look at it another day, but of course he couldn't. William sat at the dining table with the pack of documents spread out before him. A quick scan told him more or less, what he had expected, Janet took almost everything - he got almost nothing. Except of course, all of the bills. Lunch, in the garden or not, was forgotten.

  The weight of it, as he read it properly, pressed him into his chair and he was slumped in thought when a bright voice called from the open door.

  ~ ~ ~

  ‘Helloo....Is anyone home?’

  A startling vision of dark, smiling eyes, glossy hair and a slim athletic body leapt into my mind.

  ‘Oh....Yes. I'm here....er....just coming.’ I pushed the papers into a heap and went to the door.

  ‘How nice to meet you again William.’ Marie leaned ever so slightly forward, offering her cheek for the traditional greeting.

  I had to struggle to keep my hands under control. Mustn't touch her - other than cheek to cheek kiss, I commanded myself.

  Her subtle perfume and smooth soft skin was dazzling and I was pleased to see that she hadn't used any makeup. Marie was dressed in a semi-formal light-grey business suit with knee length skirt and a cream coloured shirt that looked like smooth silk, a double string of pearls glowed at her throat and her elegant, low heeled shoes were a shade of grey that matched the subtle pinstripe of her suit.

  ‘What a lovely surprise....Marie.’ my mouth stumbled a little over the words and I felt suddenly conscious of my comfy sweater and denim jeans.

  ‘Oh....I thought our sec had spoken to you.’ she said, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘She has arranged the time….non?’

  ‘Oh crumbs....Yes, yes. Bridgette phoned yesterday. It's just that I didn't expect you to be my caller.’ I smiled stupidly. ‘What am I thinking....Please, please come in Marie.’

  ‘What a lovely old house you have.’ she said looki
ng around the lounge. ‘I can see you've been busy too. And no television....unusual these days.’ she crossed the room and sat in my favourite fireside chair.

  ‘I have a nice white Chardonnay, already chilled, if you'd like a glass?’

  ‘Oh, yes please. It's been a long day. But you needn't to have gone to any trouble.’

  I brought the wine and small tray of nibbles from the kitchen and set it down on the coffee table and passed her a soft, white linen serviette as a plate. The fire was already laid and flames happily danced around the dry wood when I put a match to the firelighters.

  ‘Well, well.’ smiled Marie. ‘You have prepared well. I didn't expect to be served apero...it's very welcome though. Thank you.’

  I was about to say something stupid like, "It's my pleasure" or "You're welcome", but it sounded lame and too formal for how I felt. So I smiled, said nothing and we fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, sipping and nibbling.

  I found myself gazing at her, perhaps as you would a painting by one of the old masters. Her hair just as I remembered, glossy and dark with maybe just a tiny hint of copper that I hadn’t noticed before. Her skin was creamy smooth, very slightly olive in colour as though she maybe came from the Mediterranean regions, far to the south. The top two buttons of her silky shirt were undone and I fancied I could just discern the beginnings of a small cleavage. I glanced up and found that she was looking at me, studying almost, a smile dancing on the corners of her mouth. Embarrassed, I dragged my eyes away to look at the flames in the log fire.

  I realised that I was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, tense and ram-rod straight. With a conscious effort I sank back into the leather upholstery and made myself relax. The fire crackled, light from the flames flickered on the walls and played among the smoke-dark beams. My imagination wickedly played with the vision of making love to Marie on the thick rug in front of the burning logs - but in fright, I pushed the image away before my blushing cheeks and tightening erection gave away my delightful thoughts.

  Marie opened her clipboard and took a small gold fountain pen from her jacket pocket.

  ‘I'm sure you know that the main reason for this formal visit is simply to verify your address. So I think we can tick that box as ok.’ she smiled.

  The other questions, such as next-of-kin and so on were quite straightforward and the business part of the visit was completed quickly.

  ‘Your entry into the Hunting and Shooting club will be delayed until the first Sunday of the new hunting season.’ Marie said, as she scribbled some notes on her pad. ‘Just two weeks away, so not too long a wait. Henri will be your sponsor of course and, on the Saturday before your initiation, he'll show you what will be required. Let's hope for good weather.’

  ‘An initiation....I hadn’t expected that.’ I said. ‘What will I have to do?’ I asked, surprised by the thought of a ceremony.

  ‘Oh, don't worry about it. Henri will tell all....women are not invited.....so I don't really know what goes on. But it seems to be fun...I think.’ she reached across and patted my hand, ‘I wouldn't be able to come anyway, I've got to go to Paris that weekend. But I'll be back Sunday evening and no doubt Henri will phone to let me know how things went.’

  Our conversation became quite lively and moved on to recount some of the amusing episodes from my service life and to chat about my hopes for a future in France. I told her all about Rachel and, in passing, mentioned the looming divorce proceedings.

  ‘Ah, that explains much.’ Marie commented thoughtfully, her eyes twinkling in the firelight. ‘I'd love to meet Rachel, perhaps when she visits you'll bring her with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes...I'm sure she'd like that. Her french by the way, is so good that it puts me out of sight, well over the horizon. She'll enjoy the practice.’

  I glanced at my watch ‘Oh look, time's getting on and I've not given dinner any thought.’

  ‘Oh....that's ok. Time I was going anyway.’ she stood and smoothed her skirt.

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow for lunch....if you're free?’ There....I’d said it. Without thinking I’d said the thing that was uppermost in my mind. I really wanted to see her again and I held my breath while I waited for an answer.

  ‘That would be nice William.’ her smile lit her face. ‘There's a new restaurant in town, opposite the Chateau de Rohan. It only opened last week...I've been wanting to try it.’

  ~ ~ ~

  Over what was left of that week, I saw Marie for dinner or lunch every day and our relationship steadily grew in its intimacy. Our growing bond gave my poetry writing a much needed kick too and I was on the point of calling my agent's office with some thoughts of a new collection, when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello William.’ came Marie’s voice.

  ‘Hi Marie….You sound tired, is everything ok?’

  ‘Oh yes, all’s fine, but I am a bit weary.’ she said. ‘I need to go to Paris this weekend, quite unexpected and I'm in the middle of getting ready. I'll have to be on my way really early tomorrow morning....Would you mind coming here for dinner tonight - rather than meeting at the restaurant?’

  ‘Poor old you....Home with you sounds just great to me. Shall I bring a couple of pizzas from the store down the road....save you cooking.’

  ‘Hey....less of the old.’ I heard her chuckle. ‘But that's a really good idea, plain Maguerita for me please. About seven ok?’

  ‘That’ll be fine Marie...see you later. Take care.’

  As I put the phone back on its pod, I’d only just let go of it, when it started its excited, compelling trilling again.

  ‘Hello.’ I answered, half expecting it to be Marie calling back to say she'd changed her mind.

  ‘Hi Dad. Who've you been nattering to....you've been engaged for ages.’ Rachel's voice was bubbly. I could imagine her face bright with excitement.

  ‘Hi Rachel, you sound good. I was just chatting to a friend. Hope you'll meet her when you come over.’

  ‘Wow! Her eh? French I hope.’

  ‘Yes, she's French.’ to change the subject I added. ‘How are you doing? Start of the new term is getting pretty close now isn't it?’

  ‘Yeah it's just around the corner already, time seems to be flying by.’

  ‘Tell me about it, but you'll do ok....I know you will.’

  ‘Yeah...Anyhow, the reason I'm calling is, I've booked a ferry and will be across with you next Thursday morning....If it's ok that is?’

  ‘Of course it's ok....more than ok. How long can you stay d'you think?’

  ‘The return trip is booked for the end of the following week - night crossing on the Saturday from Roscoff. But, the day after I arrive, the Friday, I've promised to meet a friend down in Nantes. I've got some books for his studies. But I'll be back with you for Saturday afternoon though.’

  ‘Him eh? French I hope.’ and we both laughed.

  ‘Yeah, you'll meet him someday....maybe. Anyhow will all that be ok?’

  ‘Of course it will. I'll look forward to it. Could well be a good excuse to pop a bottle of bubbly.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Haven't had champagne for ages. Got to rush now, see you next week then. Take care....Byeee.’

  ‘Bye Rachel....Let me know when you're on the way.’ But she'd gone already. ‘Ah well there's kids for you.’ I smiled.

  Oh crumbs. I had the sudden realisation that I now needed some urgent help to sort out that spare bedroom. I'll speak to Marie tonight, she’s sure know a good store in the town, I thought.

  The call to my agent's office was quite forgotten.

  Chapter 8

  It was a clear night and bright points of starlight were beginning to shine through the dusky gloom as William drove down the lane to the Pizza take-away restaurant that was on the outskirts of Pontivy. The first chill of the approaching autumn was drawing a soft haze of mist from the wide, empty fields that he passed. The restaurant’s hostess could speak good English, so William had phoned his order ahead and didn’t have too long to w
ait in their tiny lounge.

  It was just on seven o’clock as he drove into the sweeping gravel driveway of Marie’s elegant house, he’d been past the place, but had not been inside before and was nervously looking forward to seeing how she lived. Lights showed from uncurtained windows and, feeling a little like a voyeur, William experienced a twinge of guilt as he tried to see into the rooms as he passed them.

  As he walked up to the entrance, shadowed by its handsome portico, a row of courtesy lamps flickered into life and the door opened, spilling a golden light onto the pale gravel. And there she was, with light shining through her hair like a halo.

  ~ ~ ~

  ‘Hi Marie, hope I’m not late.’

  ‘Ah non, cheri.’ she smiled, ‘You are not late.’ She sounded tired and oddly sad.

  ‘Poor you. You sound really shattered. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Oh this and that. But you’re here now....let’s talk about you. What have you been up to?’ she took the pizza boxes and led the way into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, the usual. Gardening, cleaning, some laundry.’ I gazed about me at a kitchen that could have come straight out of the deluxe end of an IKEA catalogue. ‘Wow! What a kitchen, makes mine look a bit like an antique. Must be good to work in here.’

  ‘Ah...it’s ok....The oven’s warmed, shall we pop the pizzas in to keep hot? Perhaps you would like a drink first?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Marie led the way across the well polished wood floor of the hall and into a surprisingly minimalist lounge. A couple of white leather, chesterfield type sofas, a long coffee table in front of a modern log-burner stove and very little else.

  ‘Hope Sauvignon’s ok.’ she said as she poured.

  ‘Mmm...thanks.’ I forced myself to unwind and sit back. ‘I had some really good news today. I told you about Rachel....well she’s coming to stay next week – arrives Thursday morning.’

  I must have been grinning because she laughed as she handed me a glass and sat beside me. And that was nice, I’d expected her to sit on the sofa opposite.

  ‘That must have been a surprise, I’m looking forward to meeting her. Will she be staying long?’

  ‘Only a week. But it gives me an urgent problem.’ I turned to face her. ‘The room that I was going to prepare as a guest room...Well, I haven’t started it yet. I was going to ask you if you could recommend a good furnishing store in town.’