French Kisses Read Free Page B

them. Her parents were clearly embarrassed by their daughter turning into a home-breaker and went out of their way to be generous to their newly acquired grandchildren.
    Michael was as good as his word about the money, and Rachel got a regular lump of cash every month to help with the children. But she found herself more and more uneasy at the idea of being a ‘kept woman’. She also discovered that losing a husband – unsatisfactory though he might have been – left a big hole in her life. She seemed to have more time on her hands for some reason. She channelled a lot of energy into her work, occasionally stabbing right through the sheets of lino and imagining Michael’s sensitive parts under the roller as she worked the heavy press.
     

 
    Chapter 3: An Unexpected P roposal
     
    It was the beginning of November and Rachel was busy completing orders for her regular customers. That morning she decided to drop off a box of small framed prints and greetings cards at ‘Jolies cadeaux’. After the usual polite chit chat the shop’s owner, Madame Piquot, caught her firmly by the wrist.
    “It is time for lunch. Come with me.”
    Rachel was surprised. She knew Madame Piquot quite well, having supplied the gallery for many years, but they had never socialised. Now Madame indicated to her assistant that she was going out and led Rachel to a quiet restaurant in the next street.
    The owner greeted her warmly and led the women to what was clearly Madame’s usual table in the window, from where they could watch the world go by.
    “Pastis for Madame, and what may I bring the young lady?”
    Rachel didn’t really like the old-fashioned aperitif with its strong anise flavour having got very drunk on it with Michael many years before, but she ordered one to be polite.
    The women sipped their drinks and Rachel ate an olive and looked across the square aimlessly, wondering what Madame wanted to speak to her about. After several minutes of silence, she couldn’t bear it any more.
    “Madame, is there something that you wanted to say to me?” She suddenly felt anxious. “Is there a problem with my work?”
    Monique Piquot put down her glass and looked at her steadily.
    “There is nothing wrong with the work, my dear. But I am worried about you.”
    “Worried? About me?” This was not at all what Rachel had expected to hear.
    “I can see from the prints that you are not happy.”
    Rachel looked puzzled and said nothing, waiting for her to go on.
    “Your work has taken a somewhat, let’s say ‘Gothic’ turn lately. Fortunately people like black and white prints, and your starlings and crows are very striking.”
    Rachel ran through some of the recent work in her mind’s eye and had to concede that she had become rather fond of stormy skies, jagged mountains and black, silhouetted birds. She bit her lip, but before she could speak Madame went on.
    “The work is strong, but it is not . . . ,” she looked up to the ceiling, searching for the word. “The pictures are not joyeux .” She raised her hands as if grabbing something. “Your work used to be joyous!”
    Rachel felt her throat tighten and feared that she was going to cry. Madame Piquot saw this and patted her hand.
    “You have had a difficult time, I know.”
    Rachel never discussed her personal life with any of her customers, but Dreste was a small town and Madame Piquot was at the centre of it. As well as the gallery, she also ran a pension that was always full of regular guests who loved its old-fashioned charm. With all her contacts it was inevitable that she would have heard about Michael and the new baby.
    “I have a proposal for you.” Madame waved over the waiter and ordered a carafe of chilled rosé wine and two omelettes. Rachel had an agonising wait until their meal was brought out and Madame was ready to continue with her speech.
    “I can no longer manage the gallery and the pension . My guests are always delightful – I choose them well – but I