Джонатан Коу - Middle England

‘I’ll give you the tour in a minute. Have a drink first. You look hot. Good flight? Long drive from Marseille?’

‘Not too bad. About an hour and a half. Motorway mainly.’

‘I’ll get you a beer.’

Benjamin and Sophie sat in the sunshine for a few minutes, savouring their drinks and exchanging news. He forgot that his sister was upstairs working.

‘So you’re all ready for the first students?’ she asked.

‘Not quite. There’s still a few things to be done. Anyway, there’s only one.’

‘Only one?’

‘Bookings have been a bit slow, to be honest. I suppose that was bound to happen at the beginning. I’m sure it will pick up. Of course, it would have helped if Lionel Hampshire could have been here for the opening. Thanks for contacting him, by the way.’

‘He’s not coming? When he emailed me he sounded quite keen.’

‘Oh, he was keen all right. I’ll show you the letter he sent us.’

Benjamin fetched a sheet of paper from the kitchen and handed it to Sophie. She took off her sunglasses and started to read.

Dear Mr Trotter,

Mr Hampshire is in receipt of your kind invitation to be the guest of honour at the opening ceremony of your new writing school, forwarded to him by your niece.

He would like to convey his sincere thanks for the invitation, and in principle would be delighted to attend. As a keen European, who deplores the political direction his country has taken in the last two years, he applauds the gesture of Anglo-French cooperation represented by your school.

Mr Hampshire would be willing to visit Le Vieux Moulin for three or four days on and around the evening of Sunday 16 September, as specified. He would be prepared to give one reading from his works (duration 45 minutes) and his terms are as follows.

– First-class travel by train from London to Avignon for himself and his assistant (myself).

– Transfer by car from Avignon to Le Vieux Moulin.

– Double room with river view, and the same for his assistant.

– All meals to be provided, including unlimited visits to local restaurants.

– Copies of all of Mr Hampshire’s books to be on sale to students, in French-and English-language editions. He will be happy to sign them.

– Excursions to Aix-en-Provence and Manosque to be arranged, at Le Vieux Moulin’s expense.

– Honorarium of 10,000 euros, to be paid by bank transfer before arrival.

Assuming these terms are agreeable, Mr Hampshire looks forward to his visit, and to your prompt reply.

Sincerely

Ella Buchanan

Sophie let out a low whistle and handed the letter back.

‘What, and you’re telling me the terms weren’t agreeable?’

‘Sadly not. Lois didn’t seem to think it would be a good idea to blow our entire annual budget on one celebrity guest.’

‘I can see her point. Talking of Mum, I’d better go and say hello. Is she around?’

‘She’s upstairs. Tell her I’ll be up in a few minutes to do the electricity.’

‘OK.’

Sophie was just about to leave on this errand when Grete emerged from the kitchen carrying a mop and a bucket. They greeted each other warmly, like old friends.

‘Ah, you’re looking well!’ Grete said, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Better than I’ve ever seen you.’

‘I agree,’ said Benjamin. And when they both turned to look at him, he added: ‘You’ve put on a bit of weight. It suits you.’

Sophie chose to ignore this remark, and Grete asked her: ‘You’re not tired after your journey?’

‘Not really. And how are you? And Lukas and Justina?’

‘Very well, all very well. I think we’re going to like it here very much. They’ve just gone into the town, into Avignon, to buy some things. Paint and so on. He’s about to start painting the barn.’

With all this activity around him – Grete washing down the terrace, Lukas and Justina on their shopping expedition, Lois fitting the sheets, Sophie unpacking – it was a wonder that Benjamin could get any relaxing done at all. But after pouring himself another beer, and allowing the sun to beat down for a few more minutes on his closed eyelids, he began to sink into an agreeable state of calm. He was on the point of falling asleep, in fact, when he heard the noise of another car approaching down the lane.

Two minutes later, Charlie and Aneeqa appeared on the terrace.

‘Ah!’ said Benjamin, getting up. ‘You found it, then.’

‘Hello, mate.’ Charlie gave him a hug. ‘Yeah, no problem. Long drive from Calais, though. Bloody long. What a place, though, eh? This is absolutely gorgeous.’

Aneeqa was lingering in the background. Benjamin shook her hand, feeling a sudden shyness. He had only met her once before, more than two years earlier. She looked much more mature now, and had grown very beautiful.

‘Well, welcome to Le Vieux Moulin,’ he said to both of them. ‘We’re happy to have you here. Stay as long as you like.’

‘She has to be in Segovia on Tuesday,’ said Charlie. ‘It’ll take us a couple of days from here, I reckon. But we’ll stay till Monday, if that’s all right.’

‘Perfectly all right. Come on – let me get you both something to drink.’

He poured Charlie some beer and Aneeqa a citron pressé . It was a great stroke of good fortune, he thought, that he was able to offer them somewhere to break their long journey: she was on her way to begin a year’s course of study in Spain, and Charlie had offered to drive her all the way there – for the sheer pleasure, it seemed, of being in her company for five or six days. They looked tired from their long day’s travelling, all the same, so before long Benjamin directed them upstairs to their rooms.

‘My sister’s up there somewhere,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure where she’s decided to put you – you’ll just have to ask.’

He contemplated going down to the cellar to check the fuse box at this point: but really, he hadn’t had his twenty minutes’ break yet. With those two interruptions, he’d barely been able to rest for five minutes. Oddly, however, his beer glass did seem to be empty, so he poured himself another drink and sat down again at the wrought-iron table. The sun was losing some of its intensity now, and the shade from the biggest willow on the riverbank was starting to steal over the terrace. The temperature was perfect, at this hour of day. If he couldn’t get inspiration for a new book in these conditions, it was never going to happen. Thankfully Grete had finished cleaning the terrace and there was nothing to impede his train of thought, or disturb his tranquillity. Not, at least, until he heard another car approaching from the distance down the poplar-lined lane.

A few minutes later, two more people appeared on the terrace. It was Claire Newman, one of his oldest friends from King William’s, and her husband Stefano. They had driven all the way from Lucca, via La Spezia, Genoa, Nice, Cannes and Aix.

Claire and Benjamin had not seen each other for about fifteen years. It had been an impulsive decision to invite her here for the opening party. ‘After all, in European terms, we’ll more or less be next-door neighbours from now on,’ he had emailed, facetiously, not expecting her to be swayed by this argument. But here she was, after all. And just as he remembered her: grey hair cut into a stylish bob which made her look younger – much younger – than he or Lois did, perfect cheekbones, crow’s feet and laughter-lines drawing attention to the open and generous shape of her eyes. After kissing her tenderly on the cheek, and releasing himself from Stefano’s firm, protracted handshake, Benjamin went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of Prosecco in their honour. He called for Lois to come down from the first floor but she didn’t seem to hear him. He brought four glasses outside anyway, but the fourth one remained empty, and then, after Claire, Stefano and Benjamin had all clinked glasses and wished each other ‘ Santé! ’, Claire looked at him with that searching gaze that he remembered so well (and which always made him slightly fearful), and said, ‘Well, Ben, you’re looking wonderful, but what we all want to know is – what the hell is going on in Britain at the moment? All the Italians think the Brits have gone completely crazy.’