Cider Without Roses 20

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CHAPTER 20
That was a joyous evening, and Benoit actually seemed somewhat embarrassed to be brought into the middle of such an intimate moment for the two families, at least until I took his hand again and smiled at him. I did not think I could ever tire of his face, not with that smile.

Margot had the ring on her finger as soon as she could open the box, and she was in tears so many times that evening Maman found a box of paper handkerchieves and placed them by her plate with a smile and a press of her hand. There were toasts, and smiles, and my potential stepfather, for that surely was Maman’s desire, held her hand throughout. After dinner, oh, that was fun. We had but the sofa and one armchair, so we had to compromise, and that compromise was for Margot to sit on the knees of my brother, and what else could I do but prevail upon my boy to do his duty in a similar way?

Maman laughed at the sight. “I am too old for such silliness! I will bring a chair from the dining room”

Guillaume took her hand once more, and with the words “No you are not, and no you will not!” he pulled her onto his own lap, and I heard my mother giggle as girlishly as Elle at her most excited. I think he had consumed some calvados by then, and I started to worry about his ability to drive, for he did not seem a man overly fond of alcohol, unlike my sperm donor. I brought up the subject when Maman and I went to refresh the drinks.

“Benoit’s papa will collect him in an hour, but surely Guillaume is not safe for driving?”

“We shall make room, my sweet. Margot can take my bed, and I shall sleep on the sofa. Guillaume, well, we can arrange some blankets and a duvet or two in the dining room. You are absolutely right”

And so it went. Benoit’s papa was on time, and of course I had to meet him and receive his kisses, and then Benoit left me with a very chaste kiss of his own, which was acceptable given that we had spent some twenty minutes outside awaiting the car. That time had not been wasted, not at all, and I returned to the house with a smile and began to collect the bedding for the more mature people. As the hours seemed to have run their course and Sunday would soon arrive.

There were noises in the night; a creak of floorboards, some low conversation, a soft moan, or perhaps the wind. Margot was seventeen, and in love. It was not my business. Besides, I had my suspicions about my mother’s nocturnal activities. Where was the sin? Two were to be married, perhaps the other two as well, and as somebody who was not exactly of a type of which the Church approved it was hardly my place to condemn. The next morning, I made sure that I sang as I made my toilet, and again as I went down the stairs to prepare the morning’s food. Maman came into the kitchen as I began to make coffee and chocolate, and she looked slightly ashamed. I kissed her cheek and squeezed her shoulders, and she smiled, and it was as if her face shone. I laughed.

“Not too old then?”

“Oh! I am not an ancient!”

“No, silly Maman, HIM!”

She laughed , heartily, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “No, my sweet, he is most definitely no too old, even after the drink. Oh, oh, oh!”

She wriggled with what seemed like delight, and then shook her head. “No. I have said too much already”

“But not done enough yet?”

“Cheeky girl! Anyway, how were things with that boy, that Benoit? Oh, I need no words then. He is a good type, that one. Sophie…do not tell him yet. It would not be wise. Here, I will take him some coffee, go and warn Roland that he is awake”

I made unnecessary noise as I ascended, and when I reached the top the door of Maman’s room was just closing. I knocked at Rollo’s door, and on his word entered. The bed was disordered, and there was an aroma…he looked shamefaced. I smiled, and told him I had heard.

“Sophie, it wasn’t me, yes? She came to my room, and then she was naked, and…”

“Hush, my brother. You are to be married, so it is the sort of thing that is expected these days, but perhaps not with her father asleep downstairs”

That brought one of his more normal grins. “From what I heard, he did not sleep much”

“From what I heard, I was the only one who did sleep! Come, I shall leave you to dress and go and…wake the sleeping beauty from the bed she has not just entered”

Margot was sitting up, looking slightly lost, as if in a dream, and when I spoke she gave me a look so similar to my mother’s that I no longer had any doubts as to what had disturbed me in the night. I smiled, as gently as I could.

“I know where you lay last night, my dear friend. It was no wrong, and my brother is a good man”

There was a twitch to her face. “Elle would have an opinion on that, I am sure, but yes, oh my, a very good man indeed!”

“What was it like?”

She sighed. “Wonderful! So wonderful…but a little painful, and there was all sorts of messiness, and…”

She blushed. “Sophie…I must ask. He was my first, and, are they all, men’s pieces, are they all so big? I mean, you sort of have a knowledge of this that most girls lack”

I snorted. “I never once tried to have a look at the penis of my brother, girl, and the only other one I have seen…”

I trailed off, for it was painful. The only penis I had ever seen close up was the one hidden under two pairs of knickers, the one I would prefer never to have seen at all. I had now felt Benoit’s, not in the manner of Elle, not with my hand, but as we pressed together for a kiss, and suddenly the pain was there. How could I ever know such things? When would my time come, if it ever did? Margot saw, and held me.

“Some day, little one, some day. What is the English song, some day your prince will come? Now, I have to ask: does your mother have sanitary items, plugs? I…I bleed a little still. I used mine last night, to spare your sheets, but if I am to use the bidet I will need another. Before breakfast, yes?”

I helped her to the necessities, and then I found myself laughing. If Margot had only understood the joke the English made of those words.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with many looks exchanged across and around the table, and then the visitors took their leave, with embraces and kisses. We waved them off, and as soon as the car had left, Maman turned to my brother.

“Well?”

He looked at his toes. “Yes, but she came to me”

“Oh, my darling, be careful. She has her schooling to finish, and if she is to go further she must not be with child. That girl can be more than someone to keep a house, not so?”

“I would be wed tomorrow, Maman”

“No, you would not, for it would not be fair on her. So…”

She stared into the air for a moment. “I will speak to Guillaume–no, Sophie, be silent this time. I shall speak to him and see if we can arrange some contract or other. Roland, you will sleep with this girl, or she with you, whether or not we approve, but I would rather it is done safely, in all senses. Listen to me…I loved your father–shut your mouth for now, girl---I loved your father, and I did not take the necessary care, and while I do not regret you, my son, my choices vanished with your conception. This must not be with Margot. Promise me that, and I will speak to Guillaume”

Rollo looked embarrassed, but at the same time determined to be as open as he could be. “Mother, I promise. Perhaps I have not made it clear to all, and I know she is yet young, but that woman I love with all that I have, as I love you, and my sister here; and not forgetting that if it were not for Sophie, I may never have met Maggy. I have debts, I have duties. They shall be honoured”

Three of us embraced.

Monday morning was cold, and I boarded the bus wrapped in many layers of wool. The girls were there as ever, and it was with amusement that I saw that Margot retained her gloves. Small matters were spoken of, until the doors opened to admit our boys, and seats were exchanged for knees and kisses. That was when Margot winked at me and removed her gloves.

There was a piercing shriek from Elle, and then a crowd formed around our seats as everybody fought to catch sight of her ring. Matty laughed.

“That means we have one girl off limits now, Benoit!”

Elle turned to give him a very black look. “Only one girl is not off limits to you, and that is this one!”

Benoit smiled again. “I don’t care who’s off limits. I have what I want right here”

The bus was stopping, so we had to disembark, which meant that the kiss I gave him was before the whole school. Margot was not the only one off limits.

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Comments

Young love ...

Young love ... and not so young love; truth is there's little difference cos' it's all in the heart (and the head,).

Poor Sophie, how long must she wait, are the rules the same in France? Living in the role for so long and stuff.

Nice story Steph and I love the comparisons of the different cultures and life styles. Methinks you must have had an intimate aquaintance with France and the French at some time.

Lovely story,

Bev.

XZXX

bev_1.jpg

France

Worked there full time for a decade, spent loads of holidays there, rather like Alex in 'Sunlight and Shade'. Weeks at a time speaking nothing but French. I am fluent in the language, and have friends there, which means much exposure to three-hour or more meals.

There is fluent and there is fluent

A neighbour's daughter has lived there for nearly 20 years, has a French husband and two children. They live near Bordeaux. I understand that you might struggle to converse with the locals if you learned your French in, say, Normandy.

Back to the story. I love the gentle way that life goes on in this community; there is an all-pervading feeling of 'demain'.

Susie

Dialect

Funnily enough, my French has a very southern accent, and I studied at the University in Caen. That caused all sorts of fun, as the vowels are so different. C'est le vin qui fait du bon, c'est le vent qui fait du mal. In the North, the two v-words are (very) roughly "vanh, vonh". In the South, they are "veng, vang"

sweet chapter

full of love, and wonderful things ....

Dam, I think I'm going to cry now.

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Oh my ears!

Stunned bats are falling from the skies...

Made Me Go All Gooey

joannebarbarella's picture

Aaaah! The power of love and creaky floorboards and bongy bedsprings.

Poor Sophie, that she must keep her secret for who knows how long.

I also remember the three-hour meals....and they were working lunches! One trip I was over there with a couple of colleagues working on a tender for a large project with our French Joint Venture partner. We were used to working non-stop when the time was critical, but the security gate at our Partner's HQ operated automatically at 5 p.m. on Friday and wouldn't let anyone in until 9 a.m. on Monday, so "le weekend" was enforced.

At one lunch I was told I simply must have the profiterole and I agreed, expecting the bite-sized pieces that one gets outside of France, instead of which I was served with this monstrous affair about the size of a soccer-ball (well, it seemed like it), and naturally every meal had wine. Try working after all that!

Joanne