Dear Natalie
I found this email (see below) in my inbox this morning and I immediately thought of you. It’s quite remarkable. It could have been tailored specifically for you. See what you think. If you decide to reply to the lady, I feel sure you’re exactly what she’s looking for.
Good luck
Kathryn
P.S. Let me know if you apply for the job and get offered it and I’ll contact Jim Hunter. If he says she’s kosher, you should have no problems.
Intrigued, Natalie scrolled down and read the original email. It was from somebody called Evelyn Markeson and, as she read it, Natalie realised that Kathryn was right. It couldn’t have been more perfect for her.
Dear Professor Garner
It has been suggested to me by my old friend Dr James Hunter that I should contact you in the hope that you can help. I am in the process of writing a novel based around the Cathars of southern France. I am looking for a research assistant familiar with the history of thirteenth-century France to assist me for one, maybe two months. I would be happy to offer whatever remuneration the candidate requires as well as a generous living allowance, as the job would mostly involve spending time in the Languedoc and Roussillon regions of southern France.
Dr Hunter has very kindly offered to act as a referee and will vouch for my bona fides. Any help would be gratefully received.
Kind regards
Evelyn Markeson (Dr)
Natalie read the email twice and very quickly made up her mind to apply. She spent an hour composing a response to Dr Markeson, mentioning her background and the fact that she had just finished a PhD on the very subject that interested her. Natalie had been fascinated by the Cathars ever since she was a little girl, particularly as they had been based here in this very region. They were a religious sect who, to the modern eye, weren’t that dissimilar to mainstream Christians. And yet, they had been on the receiving end of no less than a holy crusade, called by the pope, to eradicate them and their beliefs. She could well imagine that they would make a fascinating subject for a book.
She told Dr Markeson that she was currently staying near Perpignan and offered to meet up. Finally, she clicked Send and then replied to Kathryn, thanking her most warmly and promising to keep her informed.
That evening, she was on duty at the restaurant once more. To her surprise, and secret satisfaction, the handsome man from the yacht came in on his own for dinner. It was less manic this evening and Natalie found she had a bit more time to stop and chat with him. Although she still couldn’t chase the idea of his being gay from her head, she could see that his main reason for coming to the restaurant had been to see her. He took his time over his meal and took every opportunity to talk to her. By the time he reached his coffee, he was one of the last of the customers in the place and Natalie and Laure were already preparing the tables for the next day. As she went back into the kitchen with a tray load of dirty dishes, she found Dominique waiting for her, a broad smile on her face.
‘That’s fine, Natalie. You can go any time you like. Laure and I can finish off. Once you’ve given your boyfriend the bill, you’re free to go.’ She winked suggestively. ‘With him or without him.’
‘Boyfriend? I don’t think so.’ Natalie set the tray down and absently started sorting the dishes from the cutlery. ‘I don’t even know the man’s name.’ She caught Dominique’s eye. ‘Besides, apart from anything else, he’s quite a bit older than I am. And I think I’m taller than him as well.’
‘Age brings experience.’ Dominique’s expression was still conspiratorial. ‘Maybe he could teach you a thing or two.’ She grinned. ‘And, like Alain says, we’re all the same height when we’re lying down.’
‘Dominique, really!’ Natalie pretended to be shocked but, even so, she had to admit that she did find him rather appealing, although not in a horizontal sense. He just looked and sounded like a nice man and she needed friends. She swilled her hands under the tap and dried them. ‘So, where’s his bill then?’
She picked up the bill and took it across to him. He paid in cash, adding a generous tip. Then he stood up and made a suggestion. ‘My boat’s out there at anchor. I’d be delighted to offer you a drink, maybe a glass of champagne, if you’d like to come and see her.’
The invitation sounded innocent enough, but Natalie had absolutely no intention of going off alone with some random man in a boat anchored out in the bay, where anything could happen. At the same time, she did rather like him, so she cast about for a satisfactory way of putting him off. It came to her in the nick of time.
‘That’s very kind, but I’ve got to go back home to take care of my grandmother.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had relatives to look after.’ He sounded as if he was sincere and she took that as a good sign. She avoided telling him that her ninety-year-old grandmother was still well able to look after herself and made an alternative suggestion.
‘I’ve got a little bit of time. I’m sure Alain and Dominique would let us sit at a table on the terrace if you feel like a chat.’
He must have realised this was the best he was going to get, so he accepted gracefully and the two of them went out onto the now deserted terrace and sat down at the far end table, from where the view out across the bay was uninterrupted. The sun had set by this time and it was quite dark, particularly as Alain chose that moment to turn off the outside lights, no doubt, Natalie thought to herself with a secret smile, on the orders of his scheming wife. As her eyes got used to the dark, Natalie was soon able to make out the outline of the cliffs that stood out quite clearly above the dark of the water.
‘That’s my boat there. She’s called Amphitrite. She was the wife of the Greek god Poseidon, the goddess of the seas.’
‘What a lovely name. Now, you’d better tell me yours. I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are.’
‘Of course, how remiss of me. My name’s Philippe, Philippe Chevalier. And I know your name is Natalie, but I know nothing more than that, apart from the fact that you’re English, you speak French like a native, and you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.’
Of course this outrageous flattery was all an act, but it was quite some time since Natalie had been on the receiving end of this sort of charm offensive and, phoney as it no doubt was, she rather enjoyed it. She was glad the shadows on the terrace prevented him from seeing her face as she replied. ‘In fact, I am sort of a native. My father was English and my mother was French, from Port Renard. I used to come here often as a little girl. My name’s Natalie Dryden.’
He gave a little bow. ‘Could I offer you something to drink, Natalie?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but no. I’m fine, but don’t let me stop you.’
He gave a little wave of the hand. ‘That’s fine, your company is intoxicating enough.’
Natalie almost giggled out loud. Where did he get his lines? But, nevertheless, she had to admit that it was a perfect evening. The view across the bay was now punctuated by the tiny flashes of fireflies, the distant hiss of the wavelets across the sand was soothing, there was resin as well as salt in the warm night air. Above them, the canopy of stars in the deep purple of the sky was captivating. She sat back and chatted to him, pleasantly surprised to find him caring, interested, but not in the least bit predatory, more like a big brother than a potential partner. Her feeling that he might be gay lessened as they spoke. Somehow, the way he looked at her and the things he said made that seem ever more unlikely. He was just a very nice man and she enjoyed chatting to him. Half an hour later, she glanced at her watch.