Page 34 of The Bordeaux Book Club

Hello Alfie,

Nice to hear from you. Don’t worry about rushing off. Hope everything is OK.

Leah has chosenPride and Prejudicefor the next meeting. Don’t forget to think about your own book choice in a couple of months! I’ve got a spare copy of the text if you want it? Let me know.

Monica’s hosting – she’ll send the address through to you soon.

Best,

Grace

To: Alfie

From: George

Subject: Re: Sorry

No worries, mate.

See you next time.

To: Alfie

From: Leah

Subject: Re: Sorry

Hi Alfie,

No probs. Hope your mum’s OK?

Leah. x

To: Alfie

From: Monica

Subject: Re: Sorry

Hi Alfie,

Don’t worry at all. It was great hearing your thoughts onWuthering Heights. You really made me think!

Lots of love,

Monica

Monica sat back in her chair and took a sip of decaf. Outside the enormous, ornate window of the apartment building, she could hear the buzz of the city as it came to life: voices and carengines, the occasional sound as someone leant on their horn. When Peter had said they were moving to Bordeaux, she’d told him straightaway that she wanted to be right in the heart of things. Having lived in London all her life, she had grown up feeling she was at the centre of the world. She wanted theatres, shops, restaurants, parks and more than anything else: people. She’d loved seeing Grace’s house – it was pretty, and not particularly cut off. But she’d have hated the evenings, the nights in that location. Too much silence had always made her feel uncomfortable.

She set down her cup on its delicate saucer and looked around the immaculate kitchen. ‘It’s perfect,’ Peter had said when he’d told her he’d found an apartment for them. ‘Old, historical Bordeaux on the outside, all the mod-cons on the inside.’ When he’d shown her the pictures, she’d squealed.

Despite the building being a couple of hundred years old, inside it was newly renovated to what the estate agent had called a ‘high spec’ – polished, wooden floors, bright-white walls. White, gloss kitchen cupboards that reflected the light. Counter tops made of white marble, with a patina that sparkled like diamonds. ‘We’ll start off renting,’ Peter had enthused, ‘get settled. But the landlord’s up for an offer if we decide to buy.’

As usual, she’d trusted him. Had relied on the photos he’d shown her on his phone. And, just as he’d hoped, she’d absolutely loved the place when they’d first arrived – that feeling of being in the centre, yet in their own private enclave all at once. The bath, which bubbled and frothed on demand and was so big, she could almost have swum in it. The balcony, with its polished tile and teak table that looked over the street, was both private and in the heart of things at once.

Three bedrooms – one, the master, with fitted wardrobes and en suite, another, smaller room with a double bed wherefriends could stay. And the final one, a smaller room, still with the same wooden floor and white walls, where the cot would go.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she’d said, and she’d meant it too. And she’d put her hand to her stomach and felt Bella somersault and kick her approval.

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