What Happens in France Read online

  ‘Do you get to choose who?’

  Bryony pulled a face. ‘No. The production team will decide.’

  ‘Hope they chose somebody good.’

  ‘Me too.’ She glanced at her mobile and checked the time. She spoke absentmindedly. ‘I hope Lewis made it through.’

  ‘Lewis? Whoa! Wind back a bit. Where does Lewis come into all this?’

  ‘I bumped into him at the audition. Oh gosh, I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  Melinda barked a laugh. ‘That’s brilliant! You both went to the same audition for What Happens in… Neither of you mentioned it to us, your best mates.’

  ‘We had no way of knowing if we’d be picked. Please don’t say anything to him if he hasn’t been chosen. I don’t want to embarrass him.’

  Melinda’s mouth opened as a thought struck her. ‘If he has been selected, you reckon he could be your teammate?’

  ‘I suppose he could be.’

  ‘It’d be pretty awesome if he is.’

  ‘I wish I could get hold of him. I’ve rung him three times but I keep getting the message service.’

  Melinda, lost in her own thoughts, honked with laughter. ‘You two would be hilarious together. I wonder if one of the challenges would be for Lewis to wheel you about France in an old barrow with a flat tyre.’

  ‘Unlikely. It’s a quiz show.’

  ‘There are challenges. You said so yourself,’ Melinda said, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Even if there are crazy challenges, we’ll face them sober not hammered out of our brains thanks to too much red Bulgarian wine.’

  Melinda grinned at the memory.

  ‘I’ll try phoning him again later.’

  ‘I think Sean mentioned something about him going to a technology exhibition or event in London. He’s probably turned off his phone.’

  ‘Oh! That’s right! I’d better leave it until later then.’

  Melinda clapped her hands together. ‘I can’t wait to find out. You have to be teammates. You’d be brilliant together. Can’t you wangle it so he is your partner in this?’

  ‘I don’t see how. Laura, the producer wants to talk to me on Skype. I could mention Lewis, I suppose.’

  ‘No. I’ve got a better idea. You convince Lewis to be your teammate first, then both of you persuade Laura.’

  ‘He might not want to partner up with me.’

  ‘Get out of here! Of course he will. You two are like Ant and Dec or French and Saunders or Phil and Lil.’

  ‘Who are Phil and Lil?’

  ‘Twins from Rugrats… never mind, you get the idea. You bounce off each other so well and you’d smash every challenge.’ Melinda was becoming more enthusiastic with each word.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I just am. You’d be wonderful together. Bryony, you need Lewis for this. He’ll win over every woman watching the show and between you, you’ll get that opportunity you need to talk about Hannah on national television.’ She squirmed in her seat. ‘Find out and if he got through, ask him. Go on.’

  ‘I’m not convinced…’ Bryony began.

  ‘If you don’t, I’m going to.’

  ‘No! Don’t do that. I’ll ask him.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Melinda rubbed her hands together. ‘I have a good feeling about this.’

  Bryony rubbed the back of her neck thoughtfully and decided Melinda might be right. With Lewis on her team, she’d be even more sure of getting through to each round. She just had to hope the producer thought he was an ideal contestant too.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THURSDAY, 13 JULY – MORNING

  The front doorbell emitted a feeble warble. Bryony felt awkward coming here but the part that was currently in control of her emotions urged her on. Hearing nothing from within, she rapped at the door again – rat-ta-tat-tat-tat-tat – a friendly knock. Nothing. She tried once more before deciding Lewis must be out. She plodded back down the path, her enthusiasm waning. She opened the gate. It made the same neglected whine it had made a few minutes earlier. As she fumbled for her car keys, she heard a shout. She turned. Lewis was hanging out of an upstairs window, his naked torso revealing sculpted shoulders and the upper part of a fine six-pack ‘Don’t leave!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  She grinned up at him and wandered back to the front door. Within seconds she heard someone rattling the door chain and Lewis appeared, his dark hair slick with water and a towel around his waist.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m disturbing you,’ she stammered, trying hard not to gawp at his taut physique.

  ‘I was in the shower. I didn’t hear the doorbell. I was singing too loudly,’ he replied with his customary grin. ‘Come in. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll dry off and get dressed.’

  He showed her into a sitting room and noted her expression as she took in her surroundings. ‘I’m just staying here temporarily so don’t judge me by what you see. Not my usual taste but it came fully furnished. I’m more caretaker and custodian than tenant. You should see what’s been left in the attic,’ he said with a grin. She stared at the shabby, red, patterned sofa, and collection of friendly pottery owls on display in a large glass cupboard – eyes watching her as she moved about the room. Among the many paintings that covered the walls was a framed photograph of the Shepherd family who owned the house: the two curly-haired children sat cross-legged in front of their parents, displaying toothy grins while the mother and father adopted more serious poses. The mother had one hand on her knee; the other held her husband’s. Her large green-blue eyes were focused on her children, pride etched on her radiant face, her head tilted as if listening out for them. The father, a sandy-haired man, sat relaxed, one leg thrown over the other. The overall impression was of contentment. Bryony wondered what her own family portrait would have displayed had it ever been taken.

  ‘There, I’m decent again. Coffee?’ asked Lewis, his perfect physique now encased in a T-shirt and trouser combo that could only be described as a second skin.

  ‘I’d love one. Thanks.’ She followed him into the kitchen. A coffee machine stood next to the kettle. ‘This is my favourite kitchen appliance,’ he declared. His strong arms flexed as he brought the machine forward, grabbed a small capsule and fitted it into a slot. ‘I don’t object to using other people’s settees, televisions or beds but I draw the line at their jars of instant coffee. I can’t function until I’ve had proper coffee. I treated myself to this machine. I’ll take it with me when I find a more permanent place of my own.’

  ‘This is only temporary then? Will you be moving away?’ Bryony tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. She liked having Lewis in the neighbourhood.

  ‘Not sure yet. Got quite a lot to sort out first. I like it in this neck of the woods, so I’ll probably hunt for somewhere in the vicinity. I don’t mind renting for a while but it’s weird living with somebody else’s memorabilia around you. Strong, medium, cappuccino?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I should stick to a medium coffee. I knocked back an entire cafetière at breakfast – Oromo Limu – so I’m hyper enough.’

  ‘Aha! You know something about coffee. Can’t say I know that one.’

  ‘I can’t resist decent coffee. It’s the smell of the beans that does it for me. I discovered Oromo Limu by chance. It comes from the south-west region of Ethiopia, has a good body and is smooth with a long, chocolatey finish. It should really be drunk after dinner but I prefer it in the morning.’

  The machine spluttered into life. Lewis waited for the water to heat and drip through, filling the cup beneath it. ‘It’s rare to find fellow coffee connoisseurs these days. So, what’s brought you here? Although it probably is only for my fantastic coffee.’

  ‘First off, sorry about all the missed calls you got from me yesterday. I was a little over-excited. I had an email from the What Happens in… production team.’

  ‘I forgot to take my phone with me. I was so hungover I left it behind in the kitchen and t
he battery ran down. It’s been on charge since I got up this morning. I wasn’t aware you’d phoned or I’d have called you back. So, was the email inviting you to participate in the new show to be filmed in France? As I recall, I was selected because of my “energy and charisma”,’ he added, removing the white Villeroy & Boch Newwave Caffe mug from the base of the machine and passing it to Bryony like a magician presenting the denouement of a complex trick. ‘Voilà!’

  Her spirits lifted. ‘You got chosen too! Sounds the same wording as my email.’ She admired the curved handle and breathed in the aroma of the coffee, taking her first sip, all the while collecting her thoughts. ‘Ah, perfect,’ she sighed.

  ‘Superior coffee should always be served in proper coffee mugs,’ he replied, pressing a button on the machine for his own coffee. It made a comforting burbling noise. As he waited, he placed his hands on the back of a pine kitchen chair and studied her face. ‘Are you going for it?’ he asked. ‘The show?’

  Bryony nodded. ‘Definitely’

  ‘What about work commitments?’

  ‘School’s broken up and I’ve nothing until September.’ She opened her mouth to ask if he’d be willing to try and partner her but he spoke first.

  ‘To be honest, I’m a bit hesitant now. Especially since I found out we get a teammate. I’ve just been propositioned by a new client – it’s a lucrative contract – and I ought to get started on that project. I’m not sure I should spend time away.’

  Bryony’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ was all she could say.

  Lewis took his cup and stared at the dark liquid. ‘Are you disappointed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He gave her a curious look. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was hoping you would consider partnering me. I thought we could maybe Skype Laura together and ask her if we could be teammates. After all, I need somebody else with the same amount of “energy and charisma” as me,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Getting work is important. I was being… selfish.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute. You don’t strike me as someone who is self-centred and I’ve met plenty of people who are. Come on, tell me why you want me to be your teammate.’ He gave her an encouraging grin.

  ‘No, it’s not important.’

  ‘It must be or you wouldn’t have come over to find out if I’d been selected. You almost burst with excitement when you heard I had. Don’t deny it.’ He raised a finger to silence the protest she was about to make.

  ‘I told you. I hoped we’d be able to be on the same team. Melinda thinks we’d be good together.’

  ‘Melinda knows?’ he laughed. ‘Of course, she knows. She’s your best friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell her about you being at the audition. It slipped out.’

  ‘I forgive you.’

  ‘I was just so excited. I really really wanted to get onto the show.’ She stopped. She was doing it again, saying more than she should. Lewis picked up on her words.

  ‘Why’s it so important? It’s only a game show.’

  She’d told everyone the reason at the audition, surely, he couldn’t have forgotten already. Maybe he thought it was a silly idea, after all, he didn’t know her very well, not like Melinda. Suddenly she felt embarrassed. Melinda had planted the idea of him partnering her in her mind and now it seemed vaguely ridiculous to be asking him. She’d got carried away believing she and Lewis could be a team on a game show, just because they got on well at Sean and Melinda’s impromptu barbecue. He might not even want to be teamed with her. ‘Forget it. It sounds a little crazy now I think about it.’

  ‘I’m a terrific listener and I promise not to tie you up in a straitjacket – even if you do sound completely crazy. Go on. I’m all ears.’ He flapped his lobes.

  Bryony smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He tapped the side of his coffee machine. ‘We have all day and I have lots of coffee. I’ll even crack open a packet of my best, most expensive, chocolate-covered biscuits. Surely you can’t resist that offer?’

  He emptied his coffee mug, pulled out a kitchen chair from under the table, brushed some imaginary crumbs from the faded cream cushion and said, ‘Come on. Convince me. Tell me all the good reasons why I should nip off to France for a week. If you can sell the trip to me, I’ll go along with it and we’ll both talk to Laura, persuade her we’re an ace team. Can’t say fairer than that. Take a seat. I’ll grab the biscuits.’

  Somehow that seemed an easier proposition than going over the whole Hannah ordeal. Bryony brushed at an invisible stray hair and began. ‘We get along well, so we should have a laugh doing this. It’s an all-expenses paid trip. How many people go to France for free? It’ll be quite an adventure because we don’t know what to expect. We’ll be on national television. We might even get our hands on the prize – £10,000. And,’ she said hoping to produce her trump card, ‘you told everyone at the audition you were considering buying a vineyard in France. Surely, you’d relish the opportunity to spend some time checking out pretty villages and potential areas to settle in?’

  His smile widened. ‘Got to stop you there. I only said that nonsense at the audition to stand out from the crowd. Most of the others wanted to win money for a holiday or to give to their children. I didn’t want to appear to be the same as them.’

  Bryony slapped her coffee mug onto the table. ‘You lied! And I believed you. I honestly thought you wanted to head off to rural France, grow grapes, harvest them and turn them into bottles of Château Lewis. You were so persuasive and enthusiastic, I even fancied doing something similar. Does that mean you don’t want to own a vintage Citroën 2CV either?’

  ‘I prefer German-built cars like my BMW.’ He shrugged an apology. ‘So, you see, I’m not as keen on France as you thought.’

  Bryony crossed her arms, suddenly irritated by his apathy towards her suggestion and towards being her team mate. ‘Fancy lying to everyone at the audition. That’s no way to carry on.’

  ‘And you really wanted to win some money to buy shoes,’ said Lewis, a smile of self-satisfaction now resting on his lips. ‘I have difficulty believing that.’

  ‘Why? Don’t I look like a woman who likes nice clothes?’ argued Bryony, her face flushing at being caught out.

  ‘Nice as your clothes are, you don’t look like a fashion mogul, and footwear is clearly not high on your radar,’ he continued, nodding towards her comfortable trainers. ‘In fact, I’ve not seen you in anything other than trainers or sensible flat shoes in the time I’ve known you.’

  Bryony went scarlet. ‘Okay, so I didn’t want new shoes. As far as I’m concerned, my shoes need to be practical and durable. I spend most of my days on my feet teaching and I don’t fancy getting fallen arches. As it happens, I’d give any winnings to a charity I have long supported. I have personal reasons for being involved with it and I try to raise funds for them in as many different ways as possible. That way, I’m not always dependent on the generosity of the same people each time.’

  Lewis popped another capsule into the machine, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Is that why you went diving with sharks and did those other daredevil activities?’ he asked after a while. ‘You were sponsored to do them for your charity? I should have guessed. Difficult to imagine you actually wanting to abseil down buildings for fun, nuts as you are,’ he added.

  There was a fractional pause and then Bryony said, not wholly with conviction, ‘Yes.’ She pondered her dilemma. She really ought to confess that her charity interest was only a part of the reason she was desperate to be on the new show.

  He sat down beside her. ‘Tell me about this charity of yours and I’ll stop behaving like an idiot,’ he stated, placing a warm, comforting hand on top of hers. The contact reassured her. His eyes were compassionate and she felt a sudden longing to talk. ‘It’s not good to keep things bottled up inside you. Tell me all about the charity and why you support them.’

  Convinced of his sincerity, she unburdened herself.
r />   ‘When I was six years old, I contracted a streptococcal infection. Most children would have got over it but I didn’t. The infection interfered with my basal ganglia – a collection of brain cells located deep within the brain that play a role in controlling movement and emotional responses. I developed what is known as Sydenham’s chorea, also called St Vitus’ dance. In essence, it’s a horrible thing. Any child who contracts it loses control of their muscles – arms and legs jerk without the person having any control over them. I was like a marionette. One minute I’d be okay but the next, my arms would fly about as if being operated by invisible strings. My eyes would suddenly start twitching or I’d lose control of my hands. It was pretty scary at times.’

  Lewis maintained his level gaze. His hand stayed on top of hers.

  ‘Initially, I was so ill with the infection I was bed-bound for a few weeks. I recovered enough to begin to move about but I developed these tic disorders and would stumble or even fall over. You can imagine the reaction from other kids when I finally returned to school. I lost the few friends I had made. I was laughed at and bullied. Even little kids get bullied,’ she commented, registering the look of surprise on Lewis’s face. ‘I didn’t mix with the others after that and became withdrawn. I lost all self-confidence. I was so miserable. Sometimes, I’d sit in the corner and sob my heart out.’ She took a deep breath. The memories always brought a lump to her throat.

  Lewis patted her hand and Bryony dragged herself back to the present. ‘My teacher often had to telephone for someone to come and collect me. Worse than that, I felt so tired all the time and I became needy. I didn’t want to go outside. I wanted to stay at home with my family, especially my sister, Hannah. She was the only one I wanted to spend any time with. I became a really screwed-up, anxious child. Apparently, it’s all part of the illness although at the time, it drove my mum mad. She didn’t understand what was wrong with me. She tried to help and coax me out of my bad moods but I only wanted to be with Hannah.’ She shook her head sadly at the memories.