The French for Love by Fiona Valpy Read Free Book Online Page A

taken my hand.
    And we sat there for a while as the tears poured silently down my face and she waited patiently and calmly until the torrent turned to a trickle.
    Then, releasing my hand, she pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from her sleeve and passed it to me. ‘My poor darling girl,’ she said, which set me off again, but I was almost cried out now, so after a minute or two I blew my nose and found that the oppressive weight of my grief, which had been crushing my heart into a lump as dense and heavy as lead, had been washed away in the flood and now I was left empty and exhausted, but calmer.
    ‘I’m going to have to sell Liz’s house,’ I blurted out, gazing sightlessly at the blue of the southerly skies before us. ‘If I sell it, I can pay off the mortgage on the flat, so at least I won’t lose that as well. Then hopefully my redundancy money will tide me over, if I’m careful, until I can find another job.’
    My mother looked at me appraisingly. ‘I see. Is that really what you want to do? It doesn’t sound much fun to me.’
    Fun? I bit my tongue in order not to snap her head off. Overwhelmed with self-pity, I sniffed and then blew my nose again on the crumpled handkerchief which I was clutching in my fist. ‘Well, I don’t exactly have any choices at the moment,’ I said bitterly.
    ‘Nonsense, darling. Choices are exactly what you have. This is a wonderful opportunity for you.’ I started to interrupt, but she held up a hand. ‘Now hear me out. I know you’ve been through a horrible time, and I’m not surprised you’re knocked sideways. You must feel as if you’ve lost absolutely everything just at the moment.’
    A sob escaped me and she took my hand again.
    ‘But in reality you’ve gained enormous freedom and that’s not something that happens to everyone in life. This is a chance for you to take yourself off and do something completely different.’
    ‘But I can’t sell the flat here,’ I protested. ‘The way things are right now, nobody’s buying.’ I’d felt a flash of irritation towards my mother. It’s okay for her, sitting here in her comfortable cocoon protected from the economic gales that are howling just beyond her front gate, I thought. She honestly hasn’t a clue about managing money and the reality of other people’s financial problems.
    ‘Well, darling,’ she’d replied brightly, ‘I don’t think it’s the time to sell the house in France either. If des-res properties in commuter belt Arundel aren’t selling, then tumbledown farmhouses in the depths of rural France are unlikely to be going like hot cakes either. And with the euro so strong against sterling at the moment, you won’t have queues of Brits lining up to buy over there.’
    I turned to look at my mother in astonishment. Blimey, not quite so clueless after all, it seemed.
    ‘Let’s face it,’ she continued. ‘This isn’t just a little economic blip; it’s likely to be a serious recession for at least a year, maybe more. And despite the resulting increase in the number of people drowning their sorrows, the wine trade is going to be going through rocky times for the foreseeable future. So if the prospect of mouldering in your flat wallowing in self-pity appeals, then by all means go ahead. I just think you can find a more positive solution to all this, a bright girl like you.’
    She was really getting into her stride now. ‘You’re right that no one’s buying at the moment, so why not rent out your flat? That way your mortgage will be covered. And apparently the rental market is booming, especially in places like Arundel. Go and spend some time in France. You have somewhere to stay that you love. Your redundancy money will tide you over for a while and I’ll help out too if need be. You’ve always said you wanted to get your Master of Wine qualification and you can easily do it from there and come back to sit the exams when you’re ready. Indeed, what better place could there be to