believe you have a phrase: why have a dog and bark yourself?”
At first, Charlotte thought that he was referring to her as a dog, but then she realised that he was talking about the women in reception and she smiled at last, feeling a measure of friendliness growing between them. What she had thought on the way up the hill still stood: it would be good to have him on her side.
At that moment, as if thinking that Gilou had referred to him, a little French bulldog with a face only Gilou could have loved ran out of the house, padded down the steps and jumped on Charlotte's leg. It had claws. She screamed.
Gilou picked it up.
“This is Patrick,” he said. “Isn't he beautiful?”
Charlotte laughed. This was the funniest thing she had heard in a long time.
“He needs feeding and walking, twice a day,” Gilou said.
Charlotte scowled.
“The animals keep me busy,” Gilou said, turning his back on her. There was an air of sadness in his voice, as if he was admitting to a grave secret in a village that refused to let them lie. “It has been good to be busy, but now I need to spend my time working for the village. It's a very important time.”
“So why are you not at the mairie, if you don't mind me asking?”
“I'm always at work,” he replied. At that exact moment, his telephone rang inside the house. “You hear that? It even rings in my sleep. I'll be back.” He left her with the horses and chickens and the dog. The dog growled at her.
The entire property was surrounded by tall trees that kept it hidden from view. She tried to see her cottage from the grounds, but it turned out not to be possible without venturing deep into the forest. She was about to do that when she heard Gilou's voice.
“I must go,” he said. He was at the top of the steps, wearing his cowboy hat now. He looked heroic until he handed her a pair of rubber boots and a shovel. “This will keep you busy until I get back.”
“What about the paperwork?” she asked. “I don't know if I'm even allowed to work yet.”
“I'm the mayor,” he called, getting into his 4x4. “I'll fix it.”
“These boots won't fit!” she called after him.
“Then wear your pretty shoes,” he said. “It's not my problem.”
“You want me to muck out the horses?”
“Yes.”
“Into the compost?”
“Yes.”
“But you also want me to move the compost.”
“So move it.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you think is best.”
And he was gone.
She threw the shovel to the ground and the boots too. She called him in idiot.
That all felt good.
She strode towards the house and climbed the steps to have a peek inside while he was gone, curious as to whether the house was as simple on the inside as it was on the outside, but before she got across the threshold Patrick was there growling up at her furiously. He yelped once. Twice.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I'll muck out the horses. But you owe me.”
Chapter 4
Over the next two weeks, she learnt very little about her employer, except that he really was the mayor and that he really was every bit as obnoxious as she had initially thought him the first couple of times that they had
At first, Charlotte thought that he was referring to her as a dog, but then she realised that he was talking about the women in reception and she smiled at last, feeling a measure of friendliness growing between them. What she had thought on the way up the hill still stood: it would be good to have him on her side.
At that moment, as if thinking that Gilou had referred to him, a little French bulldog with a face only Gilou could have loved ran out of the house, padded down the steps and jumped on Charlotte's leg. It had claws. She screamed.
Gilou picked it up.
“This is Patrick,” he said. “Isn't he beautiful?”
Charlotte laughed. This was the funniest thing she had heard in a long time.
“He needs feeding and walking, twice a day,” Gilou said.
Charlotte scowled.
“The animals keep me busy,” Gilou said, turning his back on her. There was an air of sadness in his voice, as if he was admitting to a grave secret in a village that refused to let them lie. “It has been good to be busy, but now I need to spend my time working for the village. It's a very important time.”
“So why are you not at the mairie, if you don't mind me asking?”
“I'm always at work,” he replied. At that exact moment, his telephone rang inside the house. “You hear that? It even rings in my sleep. I'll be back.” He left her with the horses and chickens and the dog. The dog growled at her.
The entire property was surrounded by tall trees that kept it hidden from view. She tried to see her cottage from the grounds, but it turned out not to be possible without venturing deep into the forest. She was about to do that when she heard Gilou's voice.
“I must go,” he said. He was at the top of the steps, wearing his cowboy hat now. He looked heroic until he handed her a pair of rubber boots and a shovel. “This will keep you busy until I get back.”
“What about the paperwork?” she asked. “I don't know if I'm even allowed to work yet.”
“I'm the mayor,” he called, getting into his 4x4. “I'll fix it.”
“These boots won't fit!” she called after him.
“Then wear your pretty shoes,” he said. “It's not my problem.”
“You want me to muck out the horses?”
“Yes.”
“Into the compost?”
“Yes.”
“But you also want me to move the compost.”
“So move it.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you think is best.”
And he was gone.
She threw the shovel to the ground and the boots too. She called him in idiot.
That all felt good.
She strode towards the house and climbed the steps to have a peek inside while he was gone, curious as to whether the house was as simple on the inside as it was on the outside, but before she got across the threshold Patrick was there growling up at her furiously. He yelped once. Twice.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I'll muck out the horses. But you owe me.”
Chapter 4
Over the next two weeks, she learnt very little about her employer, except that he really was the mayor and that he really was every bit as obnoxious as she had initially thought him the first couple of times that they had
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