Five French Hens. Judy Leigh
puddles of water. Eddie took her hand in his gloved fingers. ‘No, I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with it, Jen.’
She glanced up at him; his handsome craggy face and serious blue eyes held an expression of concern. She took a breath. ‘I’ve researched it on the Internet. We can get a taxi to the airport and a plane directly to Paris, then another taxi to the hotel. We can leave on the Wednesday morning and come back on the following Monday. That will give me four whole days here to prepare for our wedding.’ She gave him a hopeful smile. ‘And there won’t be much to prepare – the date is booked, March thirtieth, and the Olive Grove have agreed to do the meal. We’ll just pick up the ring from the jewellers on Thursday, and the flowers – that’s all there is to organise now.’
He sighed. ‘Call me a bit old-fashioned, Jen, but the idea of you in Paris with four other, well, let’s say, older women – it worries me, quite frankly. I mean – I’m just concerned for your safety because I care…’
‘Oh, we won’t go off the rails.’ Jen giggled. ‘A gallery, a show – we’ll behave ourselves.’
His frown deepened. ‘It’s not just that. Paris is a huge city – there are all sorts of people there who will see you as – basically – five naïve women whom they can take for a ride. You’ll be sitting ducks. Do you all speak the language? Do you have any idea about the price of a taxi? And what about the scammers and the thieves on the Metro? What if the hotel is awful, next to a strip club, or there are bugs in the bed?’
‘I’ve picked one out – the Sirène – it seems a nice hotel.’ Jen had started to feel worried. ‘I’m sure we’ll be all right. We’ll be very careful.’
‘Five vulnerable women in their seventies.’ Eddie shook his head. ‘I’d be worried sick. I wouldn’t even be in the UK to help you if you got into trouble.’
‘But you’re going to Las Vegas. That can’t be the safest place…’ Jen heard the whine in her voice and felt annoyed with herself.
‘That’s different, it’s just me and Harry, and we’re both capable of taking care of ourselves. We’re…’ He paused. Jen wondered if he was about to say, ‘We’re men.’ Eddie breathed out. ‘We’re more experienced in the ways of the world. I’d just be so worried that something might happen to you.’
Jen stared ahead at the cliffs, reds and ochres merging against a dappled sky flecked with milky clouds. She didn’t want to upset Eddie; she had no idea what to say next. She had already paid the deposit.
Tess sat in the bath listening to music on the tinny radio as she squirted huge spurts of essential lavender in the water. Little pools of oil floated, thick and iridescent on the surface. She lay back in the darkness, hazy candles flickering on the window ledge, the smell of sandalwood hanging on the air. She breathed in, determined to relax. She was still furious. Alan had gone out to the clubhouse. She suspected he was in the bar, still complaining to Cliff about his foolish wife.
She had told him she was going to Paris. He had replied that she could go where she liked but it was a waste of money and it would be wiser to spend it on some new curtains for the lounge. She had argued that he was always out playing golf and it was her turn to have fun. He had grunted, suggesting that the last time she went out with her four women friends she had drunk too much and he thought that once she was in Paris, she wouldn’t know where to draw the line. Basically, she was a social liability to her friends – if her friends were, indeed, the sort of women she should be going away with at all.
Tess had retorted that she never went anywhere with Alan, she seldom enjoyed herself and she was determined to go. It was Jen’s hen celebration and she, Tess, would do as she pleased. Alan had raised his hands in the air; he was not about to stop her – he wasn’t that kind of man. But he thought the whole escapade was pretty silly, if the truth were told; she was far too old to go gadding about, behaving like a foolish teenager. He added that, although he’d never met any of her new friends, he imagined them to be loud, flighty types and Tess would be a lot better off to try to pal herself up with some of the golf wives, like Cliff’s wife, Celia, who was very dull and frumpy and in need of a good friend. Tess had told him to go to hell and he’d replied that he’d go off down the golf club for a drink instead and give her time to come to her senses.
Tess closed her eyes and sank beneath the bubbles, letting the water swirl over her face and into her nostrils. Under the water, she could hear the low vibration of the sounds –moving water thudded; music from the radio thrummed, dull and low. She slid upright, blinking until her eyes were clear, and reached for a bar of scented body scrub. Suddenly, she laughed out loud, a heady peal that rose to the ceiling and filled the bathroom. Tess thought her laugh was maniacal, hysterical, a laugh of abandon. But she couldn’t help it. As soon as Alan had left, she’d phoned Jen and paid the deposit. That was it. She couldn’t turn back now – she was off to Paris.
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