This story is set in the same 'Universe' as my Beth's Summer Break series but is completely independent. Probably less explicit than some of my stuff, it is a bit of a slow-burner. Eagle-eyed readers with long memories may recognise some of the little cameos from characters in earlier works.
*****
One
I walked through the village with a sense of dread, cursing my mother for her kindness.
Ok, I would be going to Brighton University in a few months to study Modern Languages, but a personal French tutor? Really? Six hour-long sessions with a Mme. LeClerc. Oh what fun!
"I saw her flyer in the village shop - it will be good for you dear. Think of it as an extension of your eighteenth birthday present."
At least that had been fun - a fortnight on an exchange visit to Nice just after I left school and turned eighteen.
I walked up to the pretty little row of ten or so cottages on the edge of the village and thought that sometimes you have to take the rough with the smooth. I found the right one, crunched down the short gravel path and knocked on the door with a sinking heart. My best friend Leanne kept telling me to expect a wizened little crone with bad breath and penchant for Absinthe and Gauloises.
She couldn't have been more wrong. I recognised the woman standing there with an amused expression on her face. I had occasionally seen her cycling around the village, her long black hair and scarf flowing behind her. I immediately felt a little more at ease.
I looked up at her. "Oh hi, I'm Tess Prior. I'm here f-"
I didn't get and further as she held her hand up towards me as if to say, "Stop!" She had a quizzical look on her face and shook her head vigorously making her thick hair flow around her head.
It took me a moment to realise what she meant and I felt myself blushing a little. With my pale skin I blush very easily. "Oops, pardonnez-moi! Bonjour - je m'appelle Tess. Je suis ici pour la lecon avec Mme. LeClerc."
The woman smiled and clapped her hands together. "Parfait! Bonjour, Tess. Je m'appelle Virginie." She held out her hand and I shook it. "Mais je prΓ©fere Ginny!"
Her voice was soft, warm and sing-song. The way she said it in her lovely accent it sounded like "Djinny."
Still holding onto my hand she ushered me inside. It was a compact little cottage, cosy and homely. She gestured to a seat. "CafΓ©?"
I sat, trying to think of the right response. "Oui, merci beaucoup - noir, une sucre s'il vous plait!"
She made coffee and we sat making small talk as we drank. It was typically French - strong and pungent and I was glad I had got used to it on my exchange trip to Nice with Nathalie.
I would have put Ginny in her mid-twenties, though at eighteen no-one is very good at aging someone older than themselves. Her black hair framed a round face with a very striking wide mouth. Her lips were full and a lovely pale pink colour. When she smiled - which was often - she showed lovely white teeth and the whole effect made me feel very relaxed and comfortable with her. Her dark eyes were warm and sparkled with life. There were little folds beneath them giving her a very exotic look.
Her black jeans were not so much distressed as distraught. My jeans were out at the knees but hers seemed to be holding together more by good luck than judgement and there was plenty of her long legs on show through the rips and tears. Her sleek, elegant grey cashmere top was a complete contrast and she curled her hands around her bare feet as she snuggled into a comfortable armchair. She made my replica Sussex county cricket shirt seem a little prosaic by comparison.
She was what my mother would call buxom - something I could never call myself, being built like a racing snake. I envied her those ample breasts and wide hips as I recalled a snogging session with a guy from school a while back. It had felt good to me but Leanne had heard him telling his friends I was a good kisser but it was like holding onto a fashion store mannequin.
We finished our coffee and got down to the real business of the day. She said she wanted it to be nice and informal - more a conversation in French than a lesson. She started by explaining to me that she was a French teacher at Newton's, the local Public School in the nearby town of Amberdown. She had been there for two years and loved it. She also did translation work and had branched out into personal lessons in the holidays.
In return I gave her a potted history of me and my family; my Mum and Dad and my sister Charlotte. Then I went on to my schooling and plans for University. I stumbled a few times, but she helped me occasionally and it felt nice to be conversing purely in French, not like my visit to Nice where Nathalie and I spoke in both English and French.
I found her very easy to relate to and we got on well. It seemed to fly by and at end of the hour, I thought I had done ok.
She rose, smiling. "That was a good session, Tess. You speak very well - very naturally. Not sure about your Nice accent though!"
"Sorry I didn't even realise I had one!"
She laughed. "Not to worry, I'll have you talking like a true Parisian by the time we are done!"
I was about to leave when a furry little ball of fluff bounded down the hall and almost knocked me off my feet.
She put her hands on her hips. "Roly, c'est très empoli!"
The dog looked round at her and with a little whimper sank to the ground crestfallen. I knelt down and tickled him. He was a labradoodle pup and was cute as a button.
"Il est fou! Tess, this is my new best friend Roly. Eight weeks old. I think he likes you!"
I waggled his ears and he growled contentedly. "I think I like him too! He can probably smell our dogs on me. We've got two Labradors - a black and a golden. Anyway, mad dogs are the best sort!"
She opened the door to let me out, keeping a tight grip on Roly's collar. "Well this little fellow is certainly mad as a hatter! Until next time, Ginny - that was a pleasure!"
I was relieved to be able to say, "Yeah, I enjoyed it too!"
My spirits were high as I wandered back home in the sunshine. Ginny was lovely and Roly was a babe. I could see myself volunteering to walk him when he was old enough as I took Ben and Mollie out. It was a lovely day so I did a wide circle of the village green. I could still taste the coffee Ginny had made for me so I decided on a cappuccino to mellow things out and ducked into Village Grind on my way around.
Leanne had a summer job there and she quizzed me about the lesson as she made my drink. "So was she the old witch we thought?"
As she spoke I heard the tinkle of the door-bell as it opened behind me. I was about to respond when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I heard a soft French accent. "Careful how you answer that, Tess!"
I looked round and Ginny was grinning at me, white teeth showing between those full lips, a cycling helmet on her head. I smiled and turned to Leanne. "No - lovely lady as it turns out. Very friendly, makes nice coffee and has the cutest little puppy!"
Leanne looked at Ginny, giving her one of her trademark toothy grins. "Hi Gin. The usual I take it? How's Roly?"
Ginny pouted and wiped away an imaginary tear. "Oh his sad little face - I've just left him with Ellie next door for the afternoon while I go into Amberdown." She handed Leanne a re-usable cup. "Yes, the usual thanks Leanne. Just dashing to the station - need one to go!"