That Woman Next Door

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Marie

I’ve been in Brittany for five days and I’m already bored out of my skull. I’ve called my mother every day and my sister every other day, making them worried about me because I can go weeks without talking to them.

The only company I’ve had is from my antisocial neighbour’s cat, which has clearly taken much more of a shine to me than its owner. There are the birds in the sky and the occasional cow in the surrounding fields. The other day, a tractor rumbled past and the noise was a welcome relief from all the silence. Traffic is so scant that every car that drives down the road is almost an event. Yesterday, zero cars drove past.

If Cranky Olivia goes anywhere, she doesn’t drive past my house to get there. While I understand I interrupted her run, she could have been a touch more friendly. She could not have been any ruder. There goes my so far only hope for any human contact. On the way back from her house, I had to remind myself that human contact is not what I came here for. If that’s what I’d wanted, I’d have travelled to the south, where people spend winter in the sun and might be more up for a chat.

The problem is that I’m not used to having so much time alone with my thoughts and I have to remind myself that I came here for that very reason. To no longer hide from myself. But I’ve had to resort to taking a sleeping pill every night since I’ve arrived, otherwise I wouldn’t sleep at all. I keep seeing the devastation on the husband’s face when I had to tell him his wife had died on my watch. It’s etched into my brain and his inconsolable grief shows up every time I close my eyes.

Even so, the days have taken on a certain rhythm. I sleep until the effect of the pill has worn off, which is usually well past nine—another new experience for me. When I open the bedroom curtains, I can’t help but see Cranky Olivia’s house and wonder what her deal is. After a leisurely breakfast and shower, I like to drive into Bonneau to buy groceries and go for a little stroll. I spend my afternoons reading, walking if the weather permits, watching excruciating daytime TV and cooking, until I declare wine o’clock at the ridiculous time of five in the afternoon.

Evenings are long and lonely. I often find myself toying with my phone, scrolling through my contacts, daydreaming about what would happen if I called someone and asked them to join me. I haven’t called anyone yet so far, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stop myself.

A rustling noise captures my attention—the smallest sounds do, which is why I often let the TV play in the background. It’s probably Olivia’s cat again, scurrying through the bushes to the side of the house. She didn’t even give me its name. I don’t even know if it’s male or female. Although friendly, the cat hasn’t let me come close enough to figure that out. Maybe today it will. To my surprise, there’s a knock at the front door. That can’t possibly be the cat. My heart leaps into my throat at the prospect of another human calling at my house.

I rush to open the door. To my even greater astonishment, it’s my inhospitable neighbour with a bottle in her hands.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says. “I was going to leave this at your door, but, um, then I figured I’d give it to you in person.” She thrusts the bottle in my direction. “It’s a locally fermented cider. The distillery that produces it is just outside of Bonneau. You can visit and take a tour of the premises.”

I open the door wide so she can’t possibly mistake my invitation. “Come in.” I make it obvious I won’t take no for an answer. “And thank you.”

“Only if you’re not doing anything important,” Olivia says, but enters anyway.

“You’re very welcome here.” I hold out my hands to take her coat. She peers at them with a puzzled look in her eyes.

“It’s nice and warm in here. Best take off that outer layer.”

“Are those doctor’s orders?” A tiny grin appears on her lips.

“Correct.” I forgot I mentioned I’m a doctor. I’ve never been shy about announcing my profession. The number of women I’ve been able to talk into bed just by using that line is vast. I take Olivia’s coat and hang it up before escorting her into the living room.

“Wow.” She takes in the room. “Those renovations took forever, but they were worth it. I’ve been curious to see the inside of this house ever since.”

“Feel free to have a look around.”

She casts me a wide-eyed glance, as if I’ve given her the keys to a long-lost kingdom.

“I—I actually wanted to apologise for the other day. You caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry I was so impolite.”

“Thank goodness.” I heave an audible sigh of relief. “That’s not who you really are.” I briefly touch her shoulder and she all but flinches. Not the touchy-feely type then. “I’m so glad you came over. I’ve been going a bit stir-crazy.” I lead her to the lounge and invite her to sit.

“Why?” she asks matter-of-factly after she has taken a seat.

“Because there’s no one around. It’s just me.” I study the bottle she’s brought. “Do you want to drink this or would you prefer a glass of wine?”

“Whatever you have open is fine.”

At least she’s not asking for coffee. It’s only four in the afternoon but it’s Saturday and on Saturday wine o’clock comes early.

“Your cat came to visit me a few times.” I go into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of red.

“Huppert likes to wander,” Olivia says, as I return with a bottle and two glasses.

“Huppert?” I c**k an eyebrow. “After Isabelle?”

Olivia nods and I get a vibe. That kind of vibe—the kind I’d previously always have acted upon. I take my time pouring the wine. I study her face when I give her the glass, but it doesn’t give much else away.

“My other cat’s called Deneuve, after you-know-who. She’s not as sociable. She’s more like me.” Olivia chuckles as she holds up her glass.

“You’re plenty sociable now,” I say, “I’ll drink to that.” I don’t tell her that I would have invited the postman in for a drink if he ever had any mail for this address.

“Santé.” Olivia takes a sip and nods approvingly. “Not bad.”

“Do you live here permanently?” I look her in the eyes. They’re brown and intelligent.

Olivia nods, but doesn’t hold my gaze.

“Did you grow up around here?” I ask.

“My family are from Normandy, so not too far away. About a two-hour drive.”

“Any particular reason you ended up in Bonneau of all places?”

“Probably the same as you.”

Olivia’s going to make me work for it. Even though chatting is not that big a part of my job, I’m missing the contact enough to put some effort into getting this conversation flowing. “It’s gorgeous here in spring and summer. My family’s been coming down for a long time.” I send her a warm smile.

“Yeah.” She rests her gaze on me for a split second. “This house is usually empty this time of year. Why does a doctor need to get away from her life?” For someone so reluctant to listen, she seems to have remembered all the details of what I said.

“That’s a long story.” I need to do some more soul-searching before I can share my error with an uninitiated party.

“Okay.” She gazes into her wine glass. “Are you expecting any other people or will it just be you?”

“Just me.” At least that’s the plan.

“I’ve always appreciated that you don’t rent out your house to god-knows-who in summer.” She narrows her eyes. Olivia is quite fond of her privacy, that much is obvious. “Where are you from?” she asks.

“Brussels.” The vibrant memory of the life I’m used to stings less now that I have company.

“Ah, the city the wealthy French love to flock to in droves,” she says. “Or so I hear. I’ve actually never been.”

“You’ve heard correctly. Brussels is full of French people. It’s like a much cheaper version of Paris, minus a lot of the charm, of course.” I give a quick nod. “I lived in Paris for a while, but things didn’t really work out for me there.”

“What kind of doctor are you exactly?”

“I’m a neurosurgeon.” For the first time since I qualified, it feels strange to say it. Of course, I am still a surgeon. I’m still qualified. I wasn’t even suspended. I could go back to work tomorrow if I wanted to—if I hadn’t suspended myself.

“Oh, wow.” Olivia’s eyes grow wide—the usual reaction. “Cutting into people’s brains?”

“If you want to put it like that.” I’m keen to change the subject—also a new sensation for me. I’ve never been the humble kind of surgeon, if one even exists. It takes a lot of confidence to, as Olivia just put it, cut into another human’s brain. “What do you do?”

“I’m a translator. English to French. I do a lot of crime.”

I chuckle at how she expresses herself.

Olivia looks at me funnily.

“It sounded like you’re the one committing the crimes,” I clarify.

“Oh, uh, right—” She seems a bit thrown. “No, I don’t commit them. I just translate novels about them into French.”

Perhaps our senses of humour are not exactly the same. Maybe because she’s French and I’m Belgian. Or maybe she doesn’t think a lot of things are funny.

“Working on anything gruesome at the moment?” I ask.

She pulls her lips into a tight smile. Good heavens. Even if that vibe I briefly caught earlier is correct, I’m not sure she’s someone I want to deploy my charm on. She seems like she would be far too much hard work. Before, I might have risen to the challenge, I might have even relished it, but part of my mojo seems to have died along with the woman on my operating table.

“I’m actually working on a romance at the moment. After ten years of almost exclusively translating crime fiction, I thought I’d try my hand at a lighter genre.”

“And? Is it raunchy?” Ha. I surprise myself. Maybe the incorrigible part of me simply can’t help it. I perk up even more.

Olivia’s cheeks redden. Because she comes across as so guarded, it’s definitely the most adorable sight I’ve seen this year so far. “Quite. It’s an adjustment. Some words… I have to look them up because I’ve never heard of them.” She takes a sip of wine and hides her face behind her glass as best she can.

“Straight romance?” I might as well take the opportunity to see if my earlier hunch was correct.

“Gay. Two men.” She gives a full-blown chuckle now. “It’s kind of funny, actually, because I spent the better part of last week working on a chapter that involved a lot more p*****s than I like to deal with in my life.” Her gaze skitters away, then returns. “I’m a lesbian and, um, not very well acquainted with the male, um, organ.”

I hadn’t expected her to just come out and say it, but why the hell not? Maybe this wouldn’t be so much work after all. Maybe I can have some fun with Olivia. It feels like the clouds have opened and cleared a huge patch of blue sky, especially for me. I’ve seduced many straight women in my life, but put a lesbian in front of me—or better yet, in my lounge, in this remote house in Brittany—and it’s like a red flag to a bull.