Terroir Read Online Free PDF

bike smelled of hot metal and oil and cow shit that had caked onto the exhaust. He leaned it on the side stand and they laid their helmets down. She unzipped the jacket, smiling, her lips glossy. He wanted to put his mouth to hers, to feel her hands on his neck. She was wearing a perfume he hadn’t noticed before. Faint honeysuckle. It reminded him of something. Someone. She shook her hair out, fluffing it with her fingers. They walked the woodland path, past stands of primroses and cowslips where shadows deepened between the trees. They didn’t speak. Silence arced between them like stifled lightning. They paused to watch the sunset and his breath was tight in his chest. He saw her swallow awkwardly and tried to meet her eyes, but she was already heading back, walking casually with that neat turn of the hips. They reached the bike, tilted and cooling on its stand as a furtive breeze was whipping at the larch boughs. By the time they were halfway home, drizzle was darkening the road.
    André rode carefully. Light rain was always the worst, the most treacherous. It raised a patina of grease on the road without washing it away. He was a fool not to have checked the forecast. It was probably just a summer shower, but the last thing he wanted was rain when the vines needed a few more days of sun. Luckily, the shower was localised and hadn’t reached Place de l’autel. When they turned the driveway and approached the house Ghislaine’s hands tightened around him. The downstairs windows were brightly lit against the dusk and Gaspard’s Mercedes was parked in the driveway. He was sitting on the low garden wall with his legs crossed smoking a cigarette, watching the clouds gather.
    André parked the bike with exaggerated care. Ghislaine took off her helmet and handed André the jacket. Then she ran towards Gaspard and kissed him lightly on the cheek, her short hair falling over his face. André’s heart was hammering at his throat. He stroked away the goose pimples on his arms. Shit, shit shit! What a fucking mess! By the time André had got his helmet off and walked over to where they were sitting, Gaspard was smiling.
    â€“ What have you done to Ghislaine? She’s put on weight.
    André smiled and took his hand. It was sweaty at the palm and the scars on his arms seemed suddenly livid where they’d been stitched.
    â€“ Oh, she’s been working with the rest of us. Tending the vines.
    â€“ Well, it suits her.
    Ghislaine laughed, putting her hand on his shoulder and touching her head to his.
    â€“ You always wanted a woman who was some use didn’t you?
    Gaspard said something in reply, but André was only half listening. Gaspard would have seen the food in the kitchen, the wine in the fridge. Not that anything had happened. Had it? Something and nothing, maybe. They’d ridden up with his wife’s arms around him. He realised he was being spoken to.
    â€“ André’s cooking tonight. Will there be enough for three?
    â€“ Sure. I’ll just clean up and make a start.
    She made it sound normal. Easy. It was weird Gaspard hadn’t mentioned them riding the bike together. Unless he’d said something to Ghislaine in those first few seconds. André was going to have to tread very carefully from now on.
    At the house, he rinsed his hands and face quickly. Ghislaine and Gaspard were still in the garden, seated on the wall, her head resting on his shoulder. André washed the steaks, patting them dry, then fried them with thinly sliced shallots. He’d de - glaze the pan with a little wine to make a sauce, then steam the cous cous , mixing in butter and steamed baby carrots. He called them to table and they started with salad and bread, following it down with white wine as André updated Gaspard on the harvest. As the evening went on, André gradually started to relax, avoiding Ghislaine’s eyes, trying not to see her hand touching against her