You Got It Wrong - Part Seven

Chapter Seven

Nina loved driving in France, it seemed so much less frenetic than in Britain, not that there weren’t some fraught moments and places, but in large, the roads were long and straight, the traffic light, and in Normandy the scenery was pleasant. Since they’d left the cafe, Mansell had been quiet, but then this was a huge thing for him, this was a step back in time, but there was a finality to it too.

She’d promised to detour along the coast on the way back to their holiday home, a chance for him to see some of the places he may remember but his silence hinted that maybe it was too much for him.

                “Are you ok Mansell?” She asked, glancing to her right.

His response was delayed. “I’m just remembering. We travelled this way...” Then he reached out and gripped her forearm, “STOP!”

She literally dragged the car off the road much to the annoyance of the driver behind her who passed waving a fist and shouting “crazy English!”

                “What is it Mansell?”

But he wasn’t listening; he was getting out of the car and crossing the road away from her.

Securing the vehicle, she jogged after him, catching up to him as he stood at the gate to a small stone cottage. She laid a hand on his shoulder, “Mansell?”

He looked up, “Hélène. She lived here.” He closed his eyes for a moment, “oh Hélène.”

This was something she hadn’t bargained for, “who is she?”

Finally he met her eyes, “we came past this way, and a few of us were stationed in this village, to secure it, keep it safe. Her father put us up...they were so relieved that we’d rescued them...”

                “You had a relationship?”

He laughed a derogatory sound, “we had sex Nina, as a naive eighteen year old I thought that meant something, but she was dues to marry someone else, and nothing I said changed her mind.”

                “But you’ve always remembered her.”

He nodded, “she was so amazing, I mean she really was the first woman I’d ever felt a real attraction to. I’ve compared everyone to her since; no one lives up to an adrenaline fuelled memory, do they?”

Nina felt sad, “not even your wife?”

Shrugging he looked up at the sky, “a dream doesn’t argue or shout...not that I didn’t deserve it, but Hélène became some sort of icon, some perfect memory that no one could ever lessen, and I don’t think I was fair to my family, don’t think I appreciated what I had, I was ruing what I didn’t have.”

                “Don’t be so negative...”

Mansell laughed, “You think it’s a coincidence that my son barely talks to me, and my grandsons don’t care?”

                “You want to knock the door, don’t you?” It was a statement, not a question and met with a nod.

                “What have I got to lose?”

As it turned out, everything.

The house was owned by someone who claimed to be no relation to Hélène Dubois. But had heard of her family. As soon as he mentioned her sister Ines, Mansell’s eyes lit up. And the woman true to form gave them an address for the woman. Another village a few miles away.

Mansell had wanted to visit immediately, but Nina insisted on going home, this was a huge thing to do, and she needed him to think it through, plus she was worried about him. He was constantly tired, and she really didn’t want him to become ill with the stress and shock. He protested that he was strong, that he could cope with it, but no sooner were they back at the house than Mansell went to bed. She heard him snoring as she picked up her sketch pad.

Alone, Nina contemplated the day. What had become a chance to visit an important place for Mansell, had suddenly become so much more. Now she could understand why he’d never come back to Normandy, why he was still scared. This was more than his brother’s grave, this was confronting love lost. It was life changing, and could affect every relationship that he had; it opened cans of worms that he wasn’t sure he could deal with.  But he couldn’t see that.

Nina was angry that he hadn’t been honest, after all, he had lied to her about the whole story, but then the look on his face when they passed the house...she honestly didn’t know if he’d have said anything to her if they hadn’t happen to drive past there, but the impact was massive, and she wasn’t about to ignore what he wanted.

Sat on the patio she worked on some ideas, sketching hints and snippets of the environment she was in that could be incorporated into items of romance.  Swirling winds, sand storms and heads of wheat. Those were the basis of her current thoughts. Crude, a million miles from what would be suitable for a ring, but it she was all about collecting thoughts, emotions and mood. It maybe a random theory, but it worked for her...and it was the lynchpin behind her success. 

But she was too distracted, her mind was wandering, and she knew one thing, thinking got her nowhere, she needed to expel a little energy, there was only so much sketching and designing that she could do in a day.

The house along with the three adjacent neighbours shared a small sun terrace and swimming pool, it was an enclosed courtyard, private, but a sun trap. Perfect place for a pool. Claudine and Gerard the caretakers of the houses had assured her that the water was warmed several degrees above actual temperature, which meant that later once she’d changed, and dived in to the blue water, her gasp of response was OMG, rather than OMFG! As she surfaced she ignored the shock of the cold and started to swim. She’d seen an interview with an Olympic swimmer earlier in the summer who had said that ice cold water was the ideal condition to train competitively. It made you function better. That was her mantra as she swam a dozen lengths of the small pool. Then hauled herself out on to the paved terrace.

It was a sunny day, but being early June it wasn’t tropical. Hence the coolness of the water. But on a sun lounger she was able to stretch out to warm up in the rays that were available. It was almost five so she couldn’t hang around for too long, but she wanted to take advantage of the moment, so she closed her eyes, hoping the sun would warm the goose bumps from her chilled skin.

It was the first time in ages that she had nothing else to do, nothing but lean back, relax, and try not to focus on anything taxing, despite the thoughts that were battling with each other to reach her conscious level. Warm sun...no agenda...her favourite place of France. She concentrated on those things in a loop until she felt as though she was letting go.

She must have fallen asleep, because she was woken by a hammering noise and shouts. It took a moment to realise where she was. As the courtyard she was in came into focus, the chill of her skin, the warmth of the sun, then that same hammering, shouting. She was only wearing her swimsuit, a once piece that she used for serious swimming...not that she was a bikini kind of girl.  So she reached for the zip up hoodie that she’d worn down to the pool, and dragged it around her wet and cold body. Then jumping to her feet, she rushed through the door that led to the kitchen of the house, wanting to get to the door before the racket woke Mansell. Dampness seeped into her jacket from her wet swimwear, and as she caught her reflection in the hall way mirror, she was aware that her hair looked like she’d been electrocuted, and also that she was woefully underdressed for any confrontation. But she didn’t care about that, she was angry that someone was battering the door so aggressively.

As she reached the door Mansell, who’d been napping, appeared at the top of the step.

                “Go back to bed Mansell, I’ll sort this out.” She gave a hopefully encouraging smile, then turned back to the door and pulled it open, “can I help you?”

On the doorstep was a man, she imagined he was in his early thirties, at well over six foot he towered over her, his collar length blonde hair unruly, with no warmth in the icy blue eyes that were staring at her. She could imagine he’d be a handsome man, if he wasn’t scowling, then she gasped as he launched in her direction.

                “Where is he?” The man stormed past her almost knocking her off her feet. Nina had no idea who he was, but she also wasn’t about to let him rush up to Mansell, who was both elderly, and more recently appeared frail. Instead of letting him barge past her, she grabbed his arm, and whilst she wasn’t very strong, he stopped dead at that gesture, eyes cast down staring at the fingers wrapped around his forearm. “Get your hands off me, you...you...” His nostrils flared, and she wondered if he was about to blow steam out of them he was that angry as he obviously deliberated a name to call her. She had no idea who he was, why he was so angry and why he wanted to refer to her as some presumably nasty name, and she wasn’t about to let him in.

Poking him in the centre of the chest, punctuating her words, she confronted him, “don’t come in here shouting and throwing your weight around. Who the hell are you?”

The voice from behind made them both spin around, “Nina, he’s my grandson Theo.”