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‘Oh yes, I know.’ Over the years she had heard about him, he was something of a character.
Elodie grinned. ‘Freddy gave me some money so I could get here. I mean, he did,’ she admitted, ‘at first, try to talk me out of coming, to carry on and go to university and all that – but when he saw my mind was made up, well, he gave in.’
Freddie had become a real friend as well as a brother over the years. She laughed, remembering his face when she told him why she wanted, needed, to come here. After she’d described Lemarin, the restaurant, the village… and Jacques, after a while, he had stared at her over the pot of Earl Grey tea they’d ordered in a tiny teashop near Westminster, where he worked, as a junior secretary in the prime minister’s office. ‘Blimey, El, now I want to come too,’ he’d muttered with a grin, his dark blue eyes so like hers, sparkling.
‘You must!’ she’d replied.
Now Elodie told her grandmother, ‘Actually, he said he might come for a visit if that’s all right?’
‘Of course. It was good of him to help you.’
Elodie nodded. ‘He said he’d try speak to father too, but I’m not holding my breath.’
Then she looked at Marguerite, realising she’d never exactly asked her permission. ‘It is alright that I came? I mean to help you… not be a burden or anything.’
Marguerite picked up her hand and squeezed it. ‘It is more than alright.’ She grinned. ‘So you’ve truly done it,’ and then she couldn’t help herself, she jumped up and squealed, and started to bounce on the balls of her feet. It was all she wanted if she was honest.
‘I did!’
They did a kind of jig together on the flagstone floor.
‘Shall we celebrate with a swim?’ asked Marguerite.
‘Yes! We can have croissants after, I just baked some.’
And together they raced to get changed and then with their arms around each other they made their way to the river, in the early spring sunshine.
The crow took to following her most days. He was there at dawn when she and Grand-mère went swimming, flying up into the willows on the riverbanks, and then coming out to join her at the restaurant in the afternoon, forever hopeful of some tiny morsel she had on offer.
Whenever she saw him, she smiled. It was like having Jacques with her. She wondered about him often on that small island.
She could picture him in the marshes, as he made his observations, sketching, a world far away from theirs. But it was spring there too and they both dreamed beneath the same moon, there was always comfort in that.
His letters helped, though the news that was coming out of Germany made her worry for him too, what with this new leader of the country stirring up all kinds of trouble, and spreading all kinds of hate, particularly towards Jewish people. She hoped he was being careful. In his letters he never mentioned the mainland, and when she asked, he was always quick to tell her how little the island played a part in those affairs, which was some comfort. She couldn’t wait for him to come home, though.
Freddie visited in the first week of May, bringing the first taste of summer. He arrived, wearing linen shorts, his knees bony and pale, with a straw boater in one hand, his luggage in the other, and a look of wonder on his face as he stared at the roses and lavender hugging the farmhouse walls. ‘Well, this is paradise. No bloody wonder you absconded.’
Elodie grinned, then stepped forward to embrace him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of a suit,’ she observed.
He looked down at his knobbly knees. ‘Yes, well… I was born with one on, you know?’
She laughed, and called out for Marguerite. ‘Grand-mère, come quick, we have a visitor.’
Marguerite hurried outside, wiping her floury hands on her apron, then her warm amber eyes crinkled at the corners into a smile. ‘Oh! This must be Freddie,’ she said, warmly. ‘Welcome.’
‘Grand-mère!’ he said, dropping his bag and giving her a very un-English bear hug.
Marguerite chuckled and embraced him too.
Within moments, they were old friends.
Elodie had never spent more than a few hours at a time with Freddie, but she’d always enjoyed them enormously. Their visits had mostly consisted of him dropping by her old school, while her school chums cricked their necks to get a look at the handsome, tall blond. Sometimes they used to have the occasional lunch in Oxford, followed by a walk along the canals, watching the narrowboats, which they both loved, until he graduated and moved to London and a life in politics. He’d got much busier, but he used to phone every week, no matter what.
Harriet, her older sister, hadn’t reached out quite as much, but Elodie didn’t mind. She and Freddie had just clicked, despite their differences.
But now they had a full two weeks. For someone who was used to a rather grander lifestyle with servants and a rambling estate, he took to the simpler life with aplomb, she thought. And Grand-mère found everything he said or did charming, which helped.
He quickly fell into their routine, rising to swim with them, in the little stream, then sunning themselves on the banks, Elodie picking wildflowers, Freddie dusting off his Wordsworth and Grand-mère tantalising them both with what she was thinking of making her customers for lunch, which made Freddie groan and say he may never fit into his dress trousers again.
