L'amour Actually Read Online Free
Author: Melanie Jones
car out of the ditch. As we waited, my phone suddenly sprang to life, emitting a symphony of beeps. Well, at least I now had a signal. I looked at the list of texts, mainly from my friends, wishing me luck in my new life. To them, my new life was just going to be one long round of sunshine and chilled rosé . Not so far, I thought. There was one from Madame Mollet, the letting agent:
I am afraid I have a meeting and cannot come to Les Tuileries today. The key is in the post box. I call tomorrow. Cordialement .
The knight in shining armour came and sat down beside me.
  'Julien d'Aubeville,' he said offering me his hand. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, I took his hand and introduced myself, holding onto it for just a moment longer than necessary. He pulled it away. 'Ah, you have a good French name, hein ?'
  I'd never really thought about it but, rolling off his tongue, it certainly sounded French and maybe even a little bit sexy.
  'So where are you going?'
  'To St Amans de Pierrepoint. Do you know it? I've rented a cottage there.'
  'St Amans? Yes, I know it well. Our farm is only about half a kilometre from there. If you like, when we've got the car out of the fosse, the ditch, I will take you there.'
  'Would you? That would be really kind. I don't think Gérard's car will be going far.'
  A loud chugging engine and a whiff of diesel signalled the arrival of the tractor to pull the car out of the ditch. A young man jumped out and strode purposefully towards us. I did a double take, turned to Julien and then back to the newcomer. I took in the same wavy, chestnut hair, hazel eyes and slight look of Channing Tatum. Hmm, things were really starting to look up. Julien noticed me looking from him to his brother and back again.
  'Yes, we are identical twins. Well, nearly identical. I am of course much better looking. This is my brother, Louis.'
  'Enchanté,' Louis said putting out a work-roughened hand and giving me the once-over in a way that made me ever so slightly uncomfortable again.
  I watched, fascinated, as the two brothers hitched up a cable to the back of the old Peugeot and then Julien leapt nimbly into the cab.
  'Vas-y,' shouted Louis, giving his brother the thumbs up. Slowly and carefully, they started to winch the poor old car out of the ditch. It creaked and groaned arthritically as it inched out and I could hardly bear to watch. I was sure that the newly redesigned Peugeot wouldn't make it in one piece, but despite all indications to the contrary, within minutes it was upright and back on the road.
  Julien stopped the tractor, climbed down from the cab and Gérard walked round the car to inspect the damage amid much huffing and scratching of his head.
  'C'est foutu,' he announced sadly.
  I looked to Julien for a translation. 'He said it's fucked.'
  I resisted the urge to smile at his use of an Anglo-Saxon expletive, but looking at the damage to the car, I had to agree he had a point.
  'You speak, er, good English,' I commented.
  'No, I swear good. My English is actually quite shit. Me and Louis worked in Ashford in Kent for a while but it's the trou du cul of England so I came back.'
  Trou du cul ? I guessed it wasn't a compliment.
  'Right. Yes, it's not a great place really,' I replied, making a mental note to Google Translate trou du cul as soon as I could fire up my laptop.
  'OK, are you ready?'
  'Yes,' I replied. 'Oh, wait a minute. My suitcase.'
  Julien retrieved it from the back of the car and then put it in the cab of the tractor. He offered me his hand to help me to my feet and motioned for me to get in. I rated my chances of successfully climbing onto the tractor in heels as somewhere between nil and not a chance and in any case, my precious Louboutins were now ruined beyond any hope of repair. 'Oh well, new life,
I am afraid I have a meeting and cannot come to Les Tuileries today. The key is in the post box. I call tomorrow. Cordialement .
The knight in shining armour came and sat down beside me.
  'Julien d'Aubeville,' he said offering me his hand. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, I took his hand and introduced myself, holding onto it for just a moment longer than necessary. He pulled it away. 'Ah, you have a good French name, hein ?'
  I'd never really thought about it but, rolling off his tongue, it certainly sounded French and maybe even a little bit sexy.
  'So where are you going?'
  'To St Amans de Pierrepoint. Do you know it? I've rented a cottage there.'
  'St Amans? Yes, I know it well. Our farm is only about half a kilometre from there. If you like, when we've got the car out of the fosse, the ditch, I will take you there.'
  'Would you? That would be really kind. I don't think Gérard's car will be going far.'
  A loud chugging engine and a whiff of diesel signalled the arrival of the tractor to pull the car out of the ditch. A young man jumped out and strode purposefully towards us. I did a double take, turned to Julien and then back to the newcomer. I took in the same wavy, chestnut hair, hazel eyes and slight look of Channing Tatum. Hmm, things were really starting to look up. Julien noticed me looking from him to his brother and back again.
  'Yes, we are identical twins. Well, nearly identical. I am of course much better looking. This is my brother, Louis.'
  'Enchanté,' Louis said putting out a work-roughened hand and giving me the once-over in a way that made me ever so slightly uncomfortable again.
  I watched, fascinated, as the two brothers hitched up a cable to the back of the old Peugeot and then Julien leapt nimbly into the cab.
  'Vas-y,' shouted Louis, giving his brother the thumbs up. Slowly and carefully, they started to winch the poor old car out of the ditch. It creaked and groaned arthritically as it inched out and I could hardly bear to watch. I was sure that the newly redesigned Peugeot wouldn't make it in one piece, but despite all indications to the contrary, within minutes it was upright and back on the road.
  Julien stopped the tractor, climbed down from the cab and Gérard walked round the car to inspect the damage amid much huffing and scratching of his head.
  'C'est foutu,' he announced sadly.
  I looked to Julien for a translation. 'He said it's fucked.'
  I resisted the urge to smile at his use of an Anglo-Saxon expletive, but looking at the damage to the car, I had to agree he had a point.
  'You speak, er, good English,' I commented.
  'No, I swear good. My English is actually quite shit. Me and Louis worked in Ashford in Kent for a while but it's the trou du cul of England so I came back.'
  Trou du cul ? I guessed it wasn't a compliment.
  'Right. Yes, it's not a great place really,' I replied, making a mental note to Google Translate trou du cul as soon as I could fire up my laptop.
  'OK, are you ready?'
  'Yes,' I replied. 'Oh, wait a minute. My suitcase.'
  Julien retrieved it from the back of the car and then put it in the cab of the tractor. He offered me his hand to help me to my feet and motioned for me to get in. I rated my chances of successfully climbing onto the tractor in heels as somewhere between nil and not a chance and in any case, my precious Louboutins were now ruined beyond any hope of repair. 'Oh well, new life,
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