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working on his laptop, which placates me. He says he’s, “Mucking around with the website for the gîte,” and doesn’t comment that I’m late and so I don’t mention the rally. As I lower myself into the hot bath, though, I wonder why this is, and decide that if not mentioning the rally seems like omission, mentioning the rally but not mentioning Ricardo would seem like a lie.
    But once I’m warm and dressed, I return to the lounge and sit next to Tom so that our thighs touch. It would be the first thing I ever purposely failed to tell him and so I decide against it. “I met a really nice
pompier
today,” I say. “There was a rally and I was stuck and I spent a while chatting to him. Straight but dead sexy.”
    Tom murmurs an, “Uhuh,” but continues looking at the TV.
    I stare at him and wait for a reaction, and then when none comes, I laugh at the anti-climax. Honesty is the easy option after all.
    â€œWhat are you laughing at?” he asks.
    I shrug. “Nothing,” I say. “Just being silly… How’s the web site going?”
    Tom shrugs and glances at the screen. “I need new photos,” he says. “Did you take any?”
    â€œShit,” I mutter. “I forgot. I took the camera as well.”
    â€œOh Mark!” Tom whines.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “I was kind of distracted – what with the snow and the fact that the place was allclosed up, and the rally. To be honest, it looked a bit cold and desolate. I’m not sure it would be that good for sales anyway.”
    â€œYou still could have taken a
couple,”
Tom says, glancing at the TV, then at the laptop, and then finally at me.
    â€œWell, if I had remembered, I
would
have,” I say. “You could have come and taken some yourself,” I point out.
    â€œI can’t do everything,” Tom counters. “I can’t do that and this.” He flourishes a hand before the screen.
    I sigh and realise that we’re at one of those crossroads – pointless conflict or not pointless conflict – I choose the high road. “Yeah, well, never mind, eh?” I say, running a hand across his back. “We can go up together another day and take some photos. Maybe even stay a night if she opens the place up.”
    Tom clicks and adds a drop-shadow to the
Le Gîte
logo he’s working on on-screen. “Not bad huh?” he says.
    I nod. “Yeah, it’s good,” I agree. “Looks like a TV thing, you know,
Chaos at the Castle
or something.”
    Tom smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I bet it will be too. You and me trying to run a gîte.”
    â€œYou must come and see the place though Tom,” I insist. “While there’s snow. It’s a bit bleak. It makes you realise just how isolated the place really is.”
    Tom pauses, saves his work-in-progress and then looks sideways at me, his brow wrinkled. “So what are you saying? Are you having doubts?”
    I shake my head. “No, not at all,” I say. “I just think, well,
you
need to see it – to be prepared.”
    Tom stares into my eyes, seemingly deep in thought. For a moment I think he’s going to say something important. But then he just shrugs and turns back to the TV. “If the holdup on the sale goes on much longer, I’ll probably go back to the UKanyway,” he says lightly.
    â€œYou got stuff to do?” I ask.
    Tom shakes his head but still doesn’t look at me. His sudden interest in the TV strikes me as suspicious. “No, not really,” he says. “But I might as well get some temp work, get some money coming in. And I kind of miss the nightlife.”
    I remove my hand and sit back on the sofa, a separate being again. “I thought you meant just for, you know, a visit,” I say. “For a few
days
. How long are you thinking of going for?”
    Tom shrugs. “How long is a