A Year of Taking Chances. Jennifer Bohnet

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 terrified her, but it would have to be done and soon. Maybe next time they went out together she’d suggest she drove some of the way.

      The Taste of the Countryside was set back from the road and next to a pretty cottage with the name plaque Le Jardin de Dominique. As she pushed open the large shop door and stepped onto a mat, a buzzer buzzed. Jodie smiled as she saw two small children playing on a rug near the till.

      ‘Bonjour, Madame Delahaye,’ the woman behind the counter said, smiling.

      ‘Bonjour,’ Jodie replied, surprised. ‘How do you know… sorry, umm… comment savez-vous mon nom?’

      ‘It’s a small village. I know everyone. It’s too early for tourists so you had to be Ben’s new wife. I’m Nicola Bongars,’ the woman said, holding out her hand for Jodie to shake.

      ‘Your English is very good.’

      ‘That’s because I am English,’ Nicola said, laughing. ‘Married to a Frenchman.’

      ‘Like me!’ Jodie said, judging that Nicola had to be older than her, probably in her late thirties or early forties. ‘Are these your children?’

      ‘Two of them. I have an older son also. Olivier. I don’t usually bring the twins to work but today I’m standing in for the assistant, who has an emergency.’

      ‘It’s a very inviting shop,’ Jodie said, looking around at the array of things on offer. Conserves, wine, pottery, apple and other fruit juices, sweets and biscuits, fresh vegetables, flowers and plants. A stand by the door held booklets and pamphlets about the local area. ‘Everything here is made or produced locally?’

      Nicola nodded. ‘Within a fifty-kilometre area. Were you looking for anything in particular?’

      ‘No, I was just curious to see what you sold,’ Jodie said. ‘I’ve just had my second French lesson with Madame Colbert and needed a walk to clear my head. My schoolgirl French is very rusty and Madame Colbert is very strict.’

      Nicola laughed. ‘She’s a good teacher though. The main thing you have to do is speak French at every opportunity. Do you and Ben speak French at home?’

      ‘Not really.’ Knowing her understanding of French was poor, Ben always spoke to her in English.

      ‘Talk to him in French every day for at least an hour and you’ll be surprised at how quickly you improve.’

      ‘Mmm. That’s a thought,’ Jodie said, not wanting to say how little she actually saw of Ben at the moment or that, when they were together, she wanted their conversation to flow freely, which, if she was struggling for foreign words, it wouldn’t.

      ‘I see you’ve met Herve,’ Nicola said, looking at the estate agent details Jodie was holding.

      Jodie pulled a face. ‘Isn’t he a ball of fire! Sorry, he’s probably a friend of yours but I found him to be very rude. Maybe it was just me?’

      Nicola shook her head. ‘No, not you. He’s like that with everyone.’

      The door opened and the buzzer sounded as a couple entered the shop.

      ‘Bonjour,’ Nicola called out.

      ‘I’d better get going,’ Jodie said. ‘I’ll be back though.’

      ‘I’m here three or four mornings a week,’ Nicola said. ‘If I’m not here, I’m usually next door. Le Jardin de Dominique,’ she said, seeing Jodie’s puzzled look. Come for a coffee. It’d be nice to chat to someone in my native language for a change.’

      ‘Thanks, I’d like that,’ Jodie said.

      Later, as Jodie waited for Ben to join her for lunch, she looked at the cottage details again. She loved the photo of the sitting room with its French doors opening out onto a terrace. The views of the distant mountains were beautiful too. Maybe Ben would recognise the cottage and know where it was.

      ‘I see you’ve met the man who annually wins the title “Grumpiest Villager”,’ Ben said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.