Sense and French Ability Read Online Free Page B

so it seemed. In all directions, there was no sign of human movement at all. There were no houses, no cars, no electricity pylons, nothing but vast expanses of fields and thickets of trees across the undulating landscape. Stopping the car again, and switching off the engine, Fliss listened. Silence! Then, close by, a skylark rose and with its piercing voice it soared higher and higher. Its small body disappeared into the blue and only its voice remained on the still air.
    After a very satisfying lunch in a restaurant, off a bar in a very tiny hamlet, Fliss followed a different route but headed back towards her own village. She smiled to herself. She had been here twenty-four hours and already she was at home. By the time she arrived it was the middle of the afternoon, and it seemed alright to go back to the B and B.
    Madame Altier offered her coffee, but Fliss couldn’t cope with another denunciation of the neighbours. She took the remains of her bottled water and headed for the bench seat that she had spotted at the front of the house. The sun continued. Her book remained closed on her lap as she sat idly and looked across the village. Once or twice a tractor passed and the occupant nodded at her. An old man staggered along the road, Fliss supposed towards the churchyard. He had a pot plant in one shrivelled hand and a stick for support in the other. She heard chickens and a dog in the distance, but other than that all was quiet and still. Her eyes strayed to the farmhouse just down the road, but there was no sign of life there.
    This brought thoughts of Edward creeping back into her mind. Part of her felt cruel and guilty, yet the rest of her was annoyed. Edward had broken into Fliss’s isolation when he knew that she needed time alone to sort herself out. After all, before she had left, he had finally, reluctantly agreed that she should have this breathing space. Was he going to cause trouble after all?
    *
    The days progressed. Sometimes Fliss wandered the lanes around the village, and other times she drove out to explore the region. She gathered bits of information during her stay relating to houses, banking and car registration. She was feeling increasingly in-tune with the village.
    Plentiful sites related to both history and culture. She visited the large city of Arras and marvelled at its city hall and beautiful architecture surrounding each of the two large squares or places . She even visited the boves under the city; the network of tunnels used during the 1st World War, now a museum. The wax that had melted on the chalk pillar used as an altar was still sadly apparent. There was a staircase, hacked into the rock, leading up to a tunnel and on through 60ft of chalk towards the outside world; almost one hundred years ago the staircase to hell.
    That evening there was to be a lotto night in the little village hall, the Salle des Fêtes . Fliss would not normally have enjoyed the thought of bingo, but this seemed different.
    “Oh, you must come,” Madame Altier had said. “Everyone will be there. It will be a chance for you to meet most of them. People know you are staying here now, they will expect you. We shall go together,” she added, which brooked no argument.
    As the evening drew closer, Fliss discovered that she felt excited to be going out. She sussed out that the relaxed dress code meant that wearing her jeans and a shirt was acceptable.
    “There’s a chill in the air tonight,” Madame Altier said as she closed the door behind them. Fliss agreed and was glad she had on her wool jacket.
    The Salle was down the road and, as they entered, it enchanted Fliss. Inside the wooden building there were oak beams and a huge pot-bellied wood burner pumping out remarkable warmth and a welcoming glow. Tables and chairs filled the room, and at the furthest end a bar already boasted of locals with glasses of wine and beer. Tables were being reserved here and there by those present. Madame Altier took her by the arm