The Virgin Blue Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyes.
‘ Merci ,’ I mumbled.
‘ Au revoir, Madame .’
I turned to go, then stopped, thinking there must be a way to salvage this. I looked at her: she had crossed her arms over her vast bosom.
‘ Je – nous – nous habitons près d'ici, là-bas ,’ I lied, gesturing wildly behind me, clawing out a territory somewhere in her town.
She nodded once. ‘ Oui, Madame. Au revoir, Madame .’
‘ Au revoir, Madame ,’ I replied, spinning around and out the door.
Oh Ella, I thought as I trudged across the square, what are you doing, lying to save face?
‘So don't lie, then. Live here. Confront Madame every day over the croissants,’ I muttered in reply. I found myself by the fountain and reached over to a lavender bush, pulled off a few leaves and crushed them between my fingers. The sharp woody scent said: Reste .
Rick loved Lisle-sur-Tarn when he saw it, and made me feel better about my choice by kissing me and spinning me around in his arms. ‘Hah!’ he shouted at the old houses.
‘Shh, Rick,’ I said. It was market day in the square and I could feel all eyes on us. ‘Put me down,’ I hissed.
He just smiled and held me more tightly.
‘This is my kind of town,’ he said. ‘Just look at the detail in that brickwork!’
We wandered all over, picking out our favourite houses. Later we stopped at the boulangerie for more onion quiches. I turned red the moment Madame looked at me, but she directed most of her remarks at Rick, who found her hilarious and chuckled at her without appearing to offend her in the slightest. I could see she found him handsome: his blond ponytail in this land of short dark hair was a novelty and his Californian tan hadn't faded yet. To me she was polite, but I detected an underlying hostility that made me tense.
‘It's a shame those quiches are so good,’ I remarked to Rick out on the street. ‘Otherwise I'd never go in there again.’
‘Oh babe, there you go, taking things to heart. Don't go all East-coast paranoid on me, now.’
‘She just makes me feel unwelcome.’
‘Bad customer relations. Tut-tut! Better get a personnel consultant in to sort her out.’
I grinned at him. ‘Yeah, I'd like to see her file.’
‘Positively riddled with complaints. She's on her last legs, it's obvious. Have a little pity on the old thing.’
It was tempting to live in one of the old houses in or near the square, but when we found out none were for rent I was secretly relieved: they were serious houses, for established members of town. Instead we found a place a few minutes' walk from the centre, still old but without the fancy brickwork, with thick walls and tiled floors and a small back patio sheltered by a vine-covered trellis. There was no front yard: the front door opened directly onto the narrow street. The house was dark inside, though Rick reminded me that it would be cool during the summer. All of the houses we'd seen were like that. I fought against the dimness by keeping the shutters open, and caught my neighbours peeking through the windows several times before they learned not to look.
One day I decided to surprise Rick: when he came home from work that night I'd painted over the dull brown of the shutters with a rich burgundy and hung boxes of geraniums from the windows. He stood in front of the house smiling up at me as I leaned over the window sill, framed in pink and white and red blossoms.
‘Welcome to France,’ I said. ‘Welcome home.’
When my father found out Rick and I were going to live in France he encouraged me to write to a cousin several times removed who lived in Moutier, a small town in northwest Switzerland. Dad had visited Moutier once, long ago. ‘You'll love it, I promise,’ he kept saying when he called to give me the address.
‘Dad, France and Switzerland are two different countries! I probably won't get anywhere near Switzerland.’
‘Sure, kid, but it's always good to have family nearby.’
‘Nearby? Moutier must be 400, 500 miles from where we'll