Free The French for Christmas by Fiona Valpy Page A

blazing fire with a mug of weak tea and another of the cookies. How wonderful it is to feel well again, or at least so much better.
    I wonder whether Didier will call in today. Of course he’ll be working as it’s a weekday. But it would be nice to thank him properly for his help and his kindness. And, if I’m honest, to have a chance to get to know him better. Now that my head is no longer a confusion of fever-induced dreams, certain questions come to mind. Such as, is he (a) married or (b) gay? Those seem to be the two most likely options for a guy that good-looking.
    And, as I sip my tea and savour the softly spiced cookie, which is almost as therapeutic as a hug from my Mamie Lucie, I realise that I may just be getting better in more ways than one.
    So, I muse, the recipe for curing grief turns out to be as follows: take equal measures of sadness and pain; mix together with some words of comfort, the kindness of strangers and some memories of happier times; bake at a high temperature for some length of time; then allow to rest, until well-risen and lighter than before.
    ‘ Coucou! ’ My train of thought is interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, but it’s not Doctor Didier.
    ‘ Entrez!’ I call, and in walks a tall, elderly lady whose pure white hair is tied back in an elegant chignon. She wears work clothes, corduroy pants and a thick sweater, and her hands, which are holding a heavy-looking cast-iron casserole, are work-roughened, the bare nails cut short.
    ‘ Oh, pardonnez-moi, Madame , I wasn’t sure whether you’d be out of bed. Didier said the door was unlocked. He asked me to check on you this morning. I’ll just put this in the kitchen, if I may?’
    I scramble to my feet and come to show her the way, even though it’s clear she knows the layout of the house well. She sets the casserole down and then proffers a hand. ‘Eliane Dubosq. Pleased to meet you at last, Madame Brooke.’
    ‘Please, call me Evie. I’m so delighted you’ve come. And I’m sorry I haven’t thanked you for your lovely Saint Nicolas Day gift—I assume it was from you—but events rather overtook me.’
    ‘I know,’ she smiles and nods. ‘Didier told me. No need to apologise. And it’s good that you are back on your feet again now. I’ve brought you some soup, made with vegetables from my garden. You will need to regain your strength.’
    ‘Please, will you have a cup of tea? And I can offer you one of these delicious cookies, which were clearly baked by an expert!’
    We settle down in the sitting room and she gazes about her. ‘It’s nice to have the house lived in at this time of year for a change. Usually it’s sad and cold here in the winter. I like looking out of my window and seeing the smoke from the chimneys of both the houses over on this side of the road, seeing signs of life. When I heard Anne and Gilles Lebrun were off to La Réunion, I thought Mathieu and I were going to have a very lonely winter indeed at Les Pélérins—the last ones left! Having you two young people here is a sign that there’s still hope for the countryside. Most people want to live in cities nowadays.’
    She shakes her head sorrowfully. ‘The rural way of life seems to be dying out, just at a time when the world needs it more than ever.’
    I nod. ‘My grandmother always used to say we should live our lives with the seasons. I guess in the city, people are less tuned in to that rhythm. It’s easy to become disconnected from it.’
    ‘Precisely. When we begin to take Mother Nature for granted, it’s no wonder she gets angry and takes her revenge on us with all this strange weather. She is a woman, after all, and we women don’t take kindly to being ignored!’
    It’s another beautiful day today, so it’s easy to forget the leaden skies and the dense fog of a day or two ago but, now she comes to mention it, the weather has been pretty changeable.
    ‘Is this more typical?’ I ask her. ‘This lovely sunshine?’
    ‘ Oui