Chapter 5 chapter Five

Simon left the hotel early, ready to fight to the death with the rush hour traffic in Paris. The death squad drivers in the Renault 5, as if inspired by caffeine, were determined to compete with the drivers of other brands of cars and swear to the death regain French supremacy.This time, he chose the most comfortable black Porsche among his three cars, with a top speed of 160.He also knew that this car was a ridiculous machine in London, with almost no gears changed except the second gear, and it was nothing but an advertising man's toy.But now it was different, as long as he was on the motorway, he could let it go all the way. With a little luck and a hard pedal under his feet, he could reach the south of France in less than six hours.

When Simon broke out of the siege of Paris and got rid of the surrounding traffic, when he saw the truck approaching, all the cars obediently dodged aside, and at this time he increased the speed to 120.The cellphones that rang in London to report news of a client crisis or a rescheduled meeting went silent.He pressed the dial button to see if he could pick up Lisa.This service cannot be provided.Can't do anything but drive and think. He has no family, is in good health, and owns shares in an advertising company. He can be called wealthy, which is enough to be envied!As long as the company thrives, even if Caroline spends endlessly, he will still have tens of thousands of pounds on him.He also remembers when her Amex card was stolen.He hadn't reported the loss for weeks because the thief had paid less than Caroline.While she was always a source of trouble and expense, there was always money to spend.

His career was less straightforward.The challenge of starting an advertising agency single-handedly is over.The company is already on track, and now it just needs to maintain it and continue to develop new customers.In the early days, a business of five million pounds was a gratifying victory, but now it is only a small bone thrown into the City of London.Gone is the passion, replaced by well-paid, monotonous and hard work. Next came New York and Jigler.When Simon was forced to go to the United States with Sakis and Lowe to open up territory, he had an agreement to exchange equity with the quite ambitious Global Resources Advertising Group.And the operators of global resources are pretty nasty.No one admits that they like Ji Gele.But no one will deny his efficiency.He always has a way of threatening to lure customers into buying his account. The bait he uses is nothing more than higher sales and better profits.Simon has seen his usual methods no less than a dozen times. He is strict with his subordinates, but he relentlessly pursues and beats his clients, which is almost crazy.Fear is the magic weapon he uses to rule the company, and he pays high salaries to intimidate employees.Yet another fear—fear of losing market share—sets the tone in his presentations to clients.He can use his favorite theme: sales is war, and everyone wants to beat you!Delivers a sixty-minute tirade that often leaves difficult clients shuddering to listen to his brilliant theories before increasing their budgets.

The relationship between Simon and Jigler has been described as two dogs fighting for a dog house that is too small (of course this is not said in front of them).Everyone is afraid of losing the territory they own, but they also want to own the whole dog house (here, the dog house is the whole world to them).Their dislike for each other, although concealed by office politeness, can't deceive anyone, and often turns into tit-for-tat literary battles, and in public, they pretend to be their colleagues' love.It's not yet time for a decisive battle, but there will be such a day.Simon knew very well that thinking about it, which had once lifted his spirits, now only bored him.

Like other ad people, he often thought about leaving the industry.But what to do instead?He has no political ambitions at all, let alone being a simple farmer, or making money to become a customer, and start a company selling beer or washing powder.What's more, what industry is as profitable as advertising?He's so established and has so much that it's hard to replace him with another more attractive target.So he, like the rest of his peers, counteracts this feeling of dissatisfaction by finding new pastimes—a faster caravan, a bigger mansion, or some other expensive hobby.Enjoying life well is not only the best way of revenge, but also the easiest way.

He had reached the winding hills of the Burgundy countryside and wanted to stop for lunch at Lameloise in Chagny.Too dangerous.He stopped at a rest stop, drinking bitter coffee and looking at a map.He should be able to reach Yavij in the afternoon, sitting in the shade of the hanging trees, drinking anisette.He filled up his Porsche and continued south.The place names flashed one by one, Vonne, Vin, Valencia, the light became stronger and stronger, the sky became more and more open, the blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see, and the countryside seemed a little bit like it was full of rocks and small oak bushes. uncoordinated.In the vineyards across the mountains, small figures scattered among them are bowing their bodies, picking a good harvest of grapes.This is the Cotes du Rhone, and the wines produced here are favorites of consumers who enjoy the outdoors.Simon was looking forward to the first bottle of wine soon.

Just as he was hesitating whether to follow the original plan and go straight to the beach, or follow Mu Lie's advice, Yaweiyi's landmark had already flashed by.Why not just go to nearby Cavillon?As long as you don't like it, you can continue on the road tomorrow. He exited the interchange at Cavillon and passed the bridge over the Durance River.The river was only a thin trickle after the summer drought.After entering the city, you will see coffee seats under the shade of trees, tanned faces and cold golden beer mugs.He parked the Porsche, stretched his muscles, and carefully performed the exit stunt.Staying in the car with dark glass and air conditioning, when you get out of the car, you will be hit by strong light and heat.He felt the blazing sun on his head, making him want to flinch.It's already autumn in Paris, but here, it still looks like a sunny day in August.

He could close his eyes and know that he has arrived at the French black tobacco, the strong aroma of coffee, and the anisette glass on the bar counter, and there are bursts of strong anise aroma from the aroma from the cafe.People were playing cards at the tables, most of them in tank tops and faded hats, looking up at him through the gray smoke they exhaled.He knew that his overly clean clothes seemed inappropriate. Give me a beer. Bottled, or cupped.The bartender had a hoarse voice with a heavy accent.It sounded a lot like French, but not Parisian or seaside, with a thick nasal accent.

Simon took the wine and sat alone by the window.All the people coming and going here seem to be large trucks, carrying fruits and vegetables produced in Provence.Simon listened to the French spoken by the people around him and wondered how his own French would communicate with their honey accents.For the first time in years, he understood that no one really knew where they were.He himself didn't know where he was going to spend the evening, and he couldn't help but laugh at the thought that he was just another unknown stranger. A newsboy came into the café to sell papers, and Simon bought a copy of Le Provencal.The headlines on the front page are about the ball game, and the other pages are filled with local hamlets, celebrations in Lourmarin, wine tastings at La Rogue, and more ball game news .While the layout is modern and the headlines are delightful, the overall tone is that of the old-fashioned and sleepy British press.

Simon finishes his beer.Where does Mu Lie want him to go?Appletown?He leaves the cool café, the card players give him another look, and he returns to the Porsche.Beside the car were three children watching, and he saw one of the boys tap tentatively on the thick curve of the tires, as if the car would bite.As soon as they saw Simon, they backed away and watched him open the car door.Is it easy to drive?gentlemen.The bravest boy of the three poked his head into the driver's seat. Yes.Simon pointed to the speedometer.140, sometimes it doesn't stop when it floats up! The little boy shook his hands as if he had burned his fingers.All right, now.

All three kids waved to Simon as he drove away, like three grinning brown monkeys.He slowly entered the traffic circle, following the underground road leading to Aipu Town.To his right, behind the landmark jutting out from the edge of a small French town, could be seen the low, greenish hills stretching into the distance, the gentle slopes of the Luberon Mountains.He turned off the air conditioner and lowered the convertible hood.It was four thirty, the sun shone on his shoulders, it was warm, and the breeze blew through his hair.He should be able to have a nice dinner on a porch somewhere.Life is getting better and better! He turned onto Highway N100, avoiding the owners of expensive cars trying to overtake others, and headed for the side road leading to the mountains.Above him, you can see the snow-white stone and old-fashioned tile houses in the village, and he shifts gears and speeds away.Maybe there would be an inn, with a fat cook, and a veranda overlooking the mountains. When he was driving through a steep curve, he had to apply the brake lightly to avoid hitting the tractor in the middle of the road.The tractor driver looked down at Simon from above, his red face under the hat was expressionless.He suddenly stuck out his thumb and pointed to the huge container he was dragging, full of purple grapes.He shrugged his heavy shoulders, and he didn't want to turn around. Simon exited the road and retreated into the farmland when he heard a strange rattling sound behind the car, which is the kind of sound that all Porsche owners are terrified of because it is a strange sound that costs money.Damn it, Simon stepped out of the car, the tractor driver raised his hand and walked away. He looked at the exhaust pipe of the car, which was crooked by the rocks protruding from the grass.He had to go on the road cautiously, advancing in low gear, and the shaky exhaust pipe creaked against the ground along the way. The small village of Basille (with a population of 702 in winter and nearly 2,000 in summer) is located on a hill on the southern slope of Mont Ventoux.There are two churches and a cafe in the local area.A butcher's stand, a bakery, the city hall, which is open for two hours on Tuesday afternoons, a grocery store, a Citroën garage, and a good view over the Luberon.Apart from plans to build public toilets (which have been under discussion for four years), nothing has been built in response to tourism.Regular summer visitors usually stay in individual, restored houses in the village, though these are often closed and empty during the other ten months of the year. After the Porsche slowly drove into the maintenance shop, it stopped.Simon could hear the radio coming from the small studio.He stepped over an Alsatian wolfhound that was sleeping in the sun and was lying all over greasy, and looked at Galaki.Garage Duclos works under the darkened car.The greasy canvas shoes of the owner of the maintenance shop are beating to the music on the radio.Except for the shoes, his entire body is under the Citroen van.Simon knocked on the van door, and Duclos, who was lying on the trolley, slipped out. He lay there, looking up, with a screwdriver in one hand and a rag in the other.What's up? Good afternoon, sir.I've run into a little trouble. This is not unusual, Duclo sat up and wiped his hands.What's wrong? my car Duclos got up from the trolley and pulled out a pack of Basons as they walked up to the Porsche.Simon knew his French vocabulary didn't include exhaust pipes, so he bent down and pointed out the problem.Duclos also bent over and stood next to Simon with a cigarette in his mouth.The wolfhound woke up from sleep and came to join them, squeezing his way between the two of them, sniffing the Porsche's trunk thoroughly before raising his legs. Liar, get out!Duclos shooed the dog away and bent closer to the already bent tube.Damn it!He reached out, patted the twisted metal, and shook his head.This has to be replaced.Then he lit another cigarette.Ah, I'm screwed! He explained to Simon that German car parts like this are not common here, so it will take a while.A new set of exhaust pipes would have to be ordered from Avie or even Paris.It takes about two or three days to arrive.Then there is the assembly work, sir, can you come over on the weekend?Under normal circumstances, it will be fixed by then. Simon's first instinct was to make a phone call.All the problems in life can be solved by phone.But who is he calling?How can this help?It was almost evening, and it was not an easy task to find a taxi in this remote place.He looked a little embarrassed.Duclo looked at him and shrugged.Simon smiled at him and shrugged.After all, he was only here for vacation. He took out his bag from the car and walked to the square in the town.Four skinny old men were playing sports in front of the cafe with a few faded blue letters on the goal.Simon dropped his bag on a tin table and went into the bar. The bar was empty except for flies buzzing around the ice cream case in the corner.There are plastic tables and old chairs scattered randomly in the room.Behind the long bar, a curtain that looks like it's made of dead caterpillars hangs over the doorway, waving slowly in the warm still air.Well, Simon thought, well, this is not the Ritz.He walked to the large thick glass window at the end of the room, whistled softly, and watched the scenery. It is completely southern in color, overlooking the plain that stretches for about five miles until the foot of the Luberon Mountain.The evening sun, slanting in from the west, cast dark shadows on the hills, in contrast to the bright purple-gray fog on the rocks and the emerald green of the pines and oaks.On the plain, the well-ordered vineyards are disturbed by scattered farmhouses, which seem to be painted flat, sharp and shiny dots on the landscape.A bright yellow tractor that looks like a toy car slowly moves along the black ribbon-like mountain road.Everything else seemed to stand still. gentlemen? Simon looked around and saw a girl behind the bar.He ordered anisette and was still intoxicated by the situation Mu Lie had mentioned.This is what he described as a girl, a mature young Provençal woman with dark eyes and olive skin.She took a bottle of wine from the display at the back of the bar and filled his glass, and Simon watched the muscles in her arms dance.If Mu Lie was here, he would definitely bite a rose on his mouth. Thank you, miss, helped Simon add some water to his glass and went outside.It was strange how, somehow, he became so enamored of ouzo in the south of France, when he never drank it anywhere else.He remembered ordering it once at Kono, but it tasted very different.The taste of this wine here is so perfect, sweet, stimulating and slightly headache.He took a sip and began to imagine himself in such an unusual situation. He didn't have a car, he didn't have a room, and, from the looks of the town, there were probably no hotels, and certainly no Lisa and Ennis.He was left alone, completely cut off from the human support system that took care of his day-to-day life.However, to his own surprise, he actually began to enjoy the novelty and fun of it.Now, he is alone in a remote place in a foreign country, except for starvation, with only a wallet full of five hundred franc notes.This is not a major disaster.Anyway, there's nothing to be upset about watching those old people laughing and arguing about the ball game. The girl came out of the cafe and saw that his glass was empty.She walked to his table with the slow, languid gait of people who live in the sun. Continued Cup? Okay, thank you, she smiled at him, and he watched her walk away twisting her hips wrapped in her cotton skirt, her rope-soled espadrilles tapping softly on the soles of her feet.Simon wondered what she would look like in another twenty years, whether she would have changed from a peach to a dried plum. When she returned to his table, he asked her if there was any place nearby where she could spend the night. She made a French grimace, her eyebrows raised, her mouth pursed and then lowered.I'm afraid not.There's a Madame Defour, but it's closed and won't open until Easter.Otherwise, Gould has a hotel.She waved her brown arms and pointed to the west, as if Gould was on the edge of civilization a thousand miles away. All right!The girl thought for a while, bit her lower lip with her white and petite teeth and nodded.She proposed that Simon just spend the night at her house, and since there were no other restaurants in town, he could eat with the family and use the family's shower facilities, all for three hundred francs.That `s a deal. Simon took the bag and followed the girl up two narrow flights of stairs, trying not to be fooled by the beautiful ass not inches from his face, but in vain.Close your eyes and think about the hair on her mother's mouth.They came to a narrow landing, and the girl opened the door, leading him into a loft not much bigger than the outside, with a low, sloping ceiling, dark inside, and as hot as an oven.Hot as an oven, right?The girl opened the window and drew the shutters, revealing the beauty that Simon had been so intoxicated with before.He looked at the room with a single bed, a light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and worn linoleum on the floor.It reminded him of his boarding school dormitory in middle school.Of course, the scenery in front of me is an exception. Extremely Beautiful!He said.He put down his bag and stretched his limbs. The girl smiled and said: This is not a big bed, but luckily you are alone. it's a pity!Simon found himself shrugging, contracting this partial spasm that seemed to be contagious in France. The girl becomes efficient and dinner will be ready in the kitchen an hour later.The bathroom is downstairs, just through the blue door.If sir needs anything else, my mother and I are downstairs. Simon remembered calling and decided to talk about it tomorrow.He took his things out and went to look for the blue door, hoping to take a shower. In France, a country full of sophistication and style, its plumbing arrangements often surprise the British who are used to hidden pipes, silent flush toilets and fixed tank covers.It took Simon several minutes to figure out the intricate design of the plumbing and how the nozzles of the water pipes worked.In the end, he finally completed the washing work step by step with the accompaniment of the manual plastic switch, the switching of hot and cold water, and the gurgling echo of the pipeline.As he was leaving the bathroom, he saw a sign behind the door, apparently stolen from an inn on Lake Annessy, which read: Dogs Welcome.They don't wipe their hooves with the front curtain, and they don't urinate in the potty.We implore our dear customers to follow their lead. He went downstairs and followed the conversation to the kitchen.On a long table covered with tartan oilcloth that can seat four people, there are bottles containing wine and water, a huge stick of bread, and a plastic bowl the size of a washbasin containing salad. On the other side of the table At one end is a TV with the volume turned down extremely low.Mom and the girl were rubbing olive oil and garlic on the steak, and the man washing his hands at the sink, with a brick red face, was the last time Simon had seen him, the tractor driver, and it turned out that he was Dad. He turned from the sink, his hands still wet, and held out his hand to Simon. My name is Poneto. My surname is Xiao, Xiao Simon. Have a glass of wine? He filled two thick glasses and motioned Simon to sit down.Mom placed a plate of sliced ​​salami and gherkins between them, and Simon's first experience of Provençal hospitality began. After the sausage, the next dish is pizza, followed by steak and roasted peppers, salad, cheese and homemade lemon pie.The three liters of red wine produced by Pornetto's own vineyard were consumed in the blink of an eye.During the meal, Dad made a conversation in his unintelligible accent (partly because of the French accent, partly because he was eating soup), accompanied by mother's rumbling laughter and the girl's giggles, Simon couldn't help it. Can't keep up with Pornetto's growing guttural and nasal sounds.Finally, Simon finally understood some fragments, like a ray of light in the fog: it turned out that Pornetto was not only the owner of the cafe, who owned several hectares of vineyards, but also the mayor of Basier, a socialist, and a hunter. A true rich peasant.The farthest he has been has been to Marseille, which is a hundred kilometers away, and he was still carrying a gun at that time, because it is well known that Marseille is full of criminals.He proudly said that in Basiya, no one committed crimes at all. Simon nodded and smiled, saying hello now and then when he thought it appropriate.The wine and concentration made him drowsy, and when Pornetto offered a bottle of viscous yellow wine made from grape marc, Simon tried to decline.But it didn't work at all.Ponetto's guests were not allowed to go to bed thirsty.By the time the women left to wash the dishes, the wine in the bottle was running low, and Simon had reached a very comfortable unconscious state, and it didn't matter whether they knew each other or not.Finally he got upstairs under a breakup slap from Pornetto (a blow that nearly knocked him down) and slept like a rock. It was rare to wake up to the sun on his face, and for a moment, Simon didn't know where he was.He looked out of the window, the plain was white and cloudless under the shroud of morning mist, and to his own surprise, he didn't have a hangover. He politely thanked his mother for the sausage sandwich and took a cup of coffee outside.It wasn't hot yet, and the air smelt fresh and pleasant. The air in France was so pure, so Pornetto said he seemed to have arranged it.In the village square, two women put down their shopping baskets and started chatting, and a dog ran out of the alley, looking guilty, with a loaf of bread in its mouth.Simon is determined to explore on his own before heading to the garage.There will always be time to call back to the office later. He walked down the main road that left the square, past the corner grocery store and the small building that served as town hall, and stopped in front of an abandoned house.There are no windows, no shutters, and no doors.Hanging on the wall is a signboard that has been exposed to wind, sun and rain. It says the police station, and some names and license numbers are listed below.Through the arched stone door, Simon saw the Luberon, which looked like a framed photograph of the far side of the house.Walk past a pile of rubble to a long clearing strewn with old beams, bags of plaster, empty beer cans, and stacks of flagstones.Some bugs crawled out of the wires. At the end of the wide stone steps, there was a cement mixer, and beside it was a drum full of sewage, which was waist high.One of the walls has openings at intervals, through which the sunlight shines in, illuminating the room with its strong light. He walked over and looked out one of the openings.Below him, there is a steep terrace.He could see steps leading to a rectangular swimming pool that wasn't finished yet, still in the concrete stage, the plumbing still exposed, and the beauty all around.Simon thought, probably there is no better swimming situation, and he felt a little envious of the owner of the swimming pool.But what will it be used for in the future?The place is vast and boundless, too big for a house.The sun rose a little higher, making the mountaintops a faded purple, and Simon took one look at the mountains before leaving to check on his damaged Porsche in the garage. He found that people in Provence looked like they were dancing aerobically when they talked enthusiastically, and Duclos was no exception. Almost covered by a hat.The woman Duclos spoke to seemed unimpressed.She looked in disbelief at the price on the piece of paper she held in her hand, and Simon heard her interrupt Duclos's justification for his hard work and fair price.No, impossible, too expensive! Ma'am, but Duclos noticed Simon standing by the pump and took the opportunity to slip away.Ah sir, here I come, here I come.Ma'am, please allow me to excuse myself. The wife lit a cigarette, exhaled angrily, and walked across the front yard.From the looks of her, Simon thought, she was probably not from here.She has blond hair, a slender figure, and is in her thirties. She is probably an elegant lady who is used to wearing Alemanni fashion on weekdays. Germanic Tribal Confederation of the Upper Inn.), wearing a handsome silk shirt, light-colored trousers, a pair of moccasins and a bag of the same material.Doesn't look like the type to haggle over a bill in a garage. As Duclos and Simon walked up to the Porsche, the woman stopped and looked at them.Judging from her clothes, she should be from Paris. Before her ex-husband's new girlfriend got involved in her alimony, everything went well.Now, however, the checks are coming in irregularly, or not at all, and some problems have arisen. Nicole.Either Bouvier already felt the urgency, or he was about to face this dilemma.How to maintain her house in Basiya and her apartment in Zaoza Square has become a difficult problem.To add insult to injury, another repairman in a repair shop ran into such a brazen ripping off.She wanted to walk away and pay the bill next time, but curiosity stopped her.Porsches are quite rare in Basseyer, and the owner is a rather attractive man, a bit scruffy and unshaven, but with a rather interesting face.She moved closer to the two men to hear what they were saying. Everything is as Ducloth expected.He had already called to order a new exhaust pipe. He held out his greasy left hand, thumb and pinky to his ear in a telephone gesture.Under normal circumstances, it will take a minimum of three days, and most likely a week.However, this is usually the case with foreign cars.If the husband is driving a more common French car, such an unfortunate incident can usually be resolved within twenty-four hours. Simon thought for a while.Could Duclos possibly rent him a car? He shrugged apologetically, clicking his tongue between his teeth.No way, I'm afraid I have to go to Cavillon to rent a car. Is there a taxi? Duclos wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of oil.Only Piette was driving the ambulance, but by this time he had gone to the vineyard.No! Mrs. Bouvier looked at Simon, who was biting his lip thoughtfully with his hands in his trouser pockets.She thought, what a refreshing face, maybe he is also a kind and kind person.She kind of sympathized with him. gentlemen?Simon turned to look at her.I can drive you to Cavillon, which is not far from here. wife but nothing, let's go!She walked over to the car. Before Simon could push back, and before Duclos returned to her argument, Mrs. Bouvier got into the car and opened the passenger door sideways, revealing her sun-tanned cleavage under her silk blouse.Simon hurriedly said goodbye, but before Duclos had time to respond, the car sped away. The people here are so kind, Simon thought, and he turned to the lady who had come to his rescue.It is very kind of you, madam.When the car drove into the mountainous area, she jerked a bit, changed the gear, and changed the language at the same time (originally spoke French, but now speaks English).you are British?I can tell from your license plate.That's right. I once stayed in England for three years, in London, near the city of Yarlow (Ar︱rods).She spoke with a tone in which Simon wished his French were as charming as her English. I have an office in Knightsbridge. Yeah?So in Provence, where do you live? I live in a suite in the attic of a cafe in Basiya. Mrs. Bouvier was so surprised that she let go of the steering wheel that the car almost fell into the gutter.No, you can't stay there any longer. When Mrs. Bouvier regained her grip on the steering wheel and the car drove to the middle of the road, Simon's hands were tightly gripping the dashboard.He said: I think when I pick up the car this afternoon, I should be able to find another place to stay. Just do it.She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, then said emphatically.I know of a little place, Ancro's, just off Gould.Very quiet and the restaurant is very good.I'll take you there first, and then I'll go to Cavillon. Simon shifted his gaze from the road, which narrowed as the speed increased, to Mrs. Bouvier's better-proportioned profile under her blond hair.He never dared to expect such a beautiful driver.Look, I've taken up too much of your time, but if you're not busy, let me treat you to lunch.Without you, I'd have to wait for Duclo's friends to get me in the ambulance.never mind!Forget about that little robber!It was the most expensive repair shop in Provence.You know, they greet you with a smile on their face, but their hands are already in your pockets.Not everyone is honest. When the car reached the intersection, Mrs. Bouvier slowed down.The road sign reads: Gould, four kilometers.Here she turned right, onto a wide stretch of asphalt, and looked at the gold watch on her wrist.Well, let's have lunch together!Thank you. They followed the mountain road towards Gauld, turned left before reaching the village, and walked onto the road marked for Senak Abbey.There are signposts here and there, and the scenery here is posed for a postcard photo. It's beautiful, but it seems too perfect.Simon prefers the less artificial aesthetic of Basier. They passed the stone door of Barrier Ankro's shop, and Simon suddenly felt unkempt.This was not the country hotel he had expected.The ground is extremely clean, the trees are neatly trimmed, and there are some small stone houses around the main building of the hotel.He felt as if he were in Bel Air, not in the French countryside. Mrs. Bouvier pulled into the shady parking lot, between a Swiss Mercedes and a British-registered Jaguar.Here it is, I think, and it will be much more comfortable than a café. I'm amazed that such a place exists.They walked through the shade to the hotel entrance.How is their business?Where do customers come from? You will be amazed!The guests here come from the north of France, from all over Europe, and some from the United States.The high season is long, from Easter to Christmas.Next time, you must come by helicopter.She pointed to a large clearing among the trees, where the helicopter pad was. Next time I come, Simon thought, I'll have to shave and bring a decent suitcase.What a disgrace to come to such a good hotel in such slovenliness! The counter lady smiled kindly and said that he could live in that small stone house for a week, and there was room for them to have lunch on the veranda over there. Simon breathed a sigh of relief and was starting to feel hungry.He said: A good hotel always makes you suspicious. Madame Bouvier frowned.Suspicious?you mean look at me, simon touched his chin, unshaven, no luggage, coming with a beauty like you What would happen if it were in the UK? Oh, they're going to be contemptuous, maybe make me change into a coat and tie, it'll make me feel bad anyway. Madame Bouvier sniffed disapprovingly.Here, there is no formality.Nobody was wearing a tie.She looked at Simon and smiled.However, they sometimes shave.bring it on!She leads the way to the dining veranda. They enjoyed the beautiful scenery in the direction of Luberon while eating, and the topic of formality and informality had long been thrown out of the sky.When the main course came they called Nicole and Simon, and when the second bottle of pink wine arrived they compared their divorces.Simon thought Nicole was an easygoing and fun companion, and when he touched her hand to his while he was lighting her cigarette, he felt a surge of love.He had to stop here, he was still paying the price for the last time he was so excited!He ordered coffee, and then moved the conversation to a safer place, so as not to steal the fire. What's next for that big open lot in Basiya, where they're building? Nicole dipped the sugar cube into her coffee and chewed the cube.Did you mean the old police station?That place was vacated five years ago, and they built a new police station on the N100.Basille isn't a crime-ridden place, save for the garage robber.She took a sip of coffee.However, an architect from Aviyi bought the police station for a pile of waste. Wasteland? Just dust, nothing.I think, probably less than a million francs!It was a large building with two floors above ground and a basement.He also bought some land behind and planned to build an apartment with a swimming pool. Of course, the surrounding beauty is the most precious added value. What a great idea, when will it be finished? Nicole shook her head.It won't be finished.那建築耗光了他的錢財，像這樣的老舊建築，有很多未知數無法預期。你把一面牆打掉，結果整個天花板都掉了下來。她又拿出一根菸，傾向賽蒙為她點著的火柴。她襯衫的一顆扣子繃了開來。 Thanks!她坐回自己的座位，抬起頭，對空呼出煙氣，賽蒙發現自己盯著她纖柔光滑的粉頸瞧。在妮珂繼續陳述時，他為自己點了根雪茄。於是他又借了更多的錢，愈借愈多。他還需要更多的錢蓋屋頂。而游泳池的建造成本又加倍，因為根本沒有容卡車出入的通道，所有水泥石頭都必須以人工運送。最後，他終於沒有錢了。她把一根手指橫在自己的脖子上。他破產了。這兒常見這樣的戲碼人們太樂觀了，當泥水工跟他們報價，他們竟然信以為真。等到一開工妮珂的兩根手指在空中做攀爬狀，而後聳了聳肩。 賽蒙說：在英格蘭，也是相同的情況。他記起自己在肯辛頓廣場的房子，賬單簡直令他欲哭無淚。室內設計師更是心狠手辣。 妮珂笑了。我在倫敦時，有座小花園，比床大不了多少。我想要種些草就是英格蘭人的草坪，結果我就查字典，結果查到了草皮（turf）這個字彙。接著我就跑到卻爾喜一家小店，裡頭全是男人，我告訴他們我要買六公尺的草皮，結果他們把我當成瘋女人。 Why? 那家店是賽馬（turf亦可當跑馬場之意）會計師事務所。她又笑了，為自己的無知扮了個鬼臉。賽蒙心想，生活中的一大樂趣，便是欣賞耐看的女人，愈看愈美，愈有趣，而午餐就這樣繼續延長。 妮珂把他丟在卡維隆，而他就開著租來的車，慢慢地開回巴西耶，拿回自己的包包，再回到旅館。他在原地走來走去，打消了打電話回倫敦的念頭。他已經跟他們失去聯絡兩天，但是他卻享受著這兩天中的每分每秒。回到小屋之後，他望著彷彿在責難著他的矮胖型塑膠電話。他拿起話筒，撥了能讓他與現實搭上線的電話號碼。 你人在哪裡？麗莎聽起來像是個擔心的母親。我們一直在試畢布羅的電話，也嘗試聯絡在巴黎的穆列先生，但是 穆列怎麼說。 哦，他說得好可怕。他說你跟瘋馬歌舞團的女生跑掉了，他似乎覺得這很好玩。你還好吧？ 我很好。我只是一路改變心意，然後車子出了問題不礙事的，我已經慢慢理清情況了。我會待在高爾德直到車子修好。 他給了麗莎旅館的電話號碼，聽見她跟辦公室裡的人講話。 麗莎？ 等一下，恩尼斯要跟你說話。講完後不要掛斷，季格樂先生有些急事要跟你說。 恩尼斯說：喂，喂，不管你在哪裡，我不能不告訴你這裡簡直像是世界大亂，高階人員驚慌得不得了，你人就這樣不見了，麗莎幾乎一夜白髮，我們到處找人 我走了不過才兩天。 我就是這個意思。我告訴他們說，總得讓那個可憐的人有機會打開牙刷吧！但是你也知道，他們是什麼模樣，根本不能離開你五分鐘。現在，你想聽好消息嗎？ 我一向喜歡好消息。 來看房子的那個音樂家，是個麻煩的小人，全身上下幾乎全埋在皮革裡，不過，他出了一個好價錢，下個月就可以搬進來。 只要支票不跳票，他明天就可以搬進去。他出多少？ 比訂價少了十萬元。 二百四十萬？ 包括那張床，他愛死了那張床，我猜他有自戀狂。 我可以想像，好吧，告訴仲介公司，可以辦理過戶手續了。 我馬上就去辦。我最好把話筒交還給麗莎，她在對我扮鬼臉了，好好玩。千萬不要做任何我不會做的事。 麗莎說：我想你不會高興聽到這個，但是季格樂先生要你立刻回到倫敦。摩根公司總經理明天在回紐約之前，會順道過來，季格樂先生認為 賽蒙說：我知道季格樂先生怎麼想。季格樂先生認為，應該拍拍總經理的馬屁。 That's right.當他發現你不在辦公室，相當不悅。 賽蒙看著窗外，太陽悄悄地爬到一大片橄欖樹上，把它們的葉子染成銀綠色。在樹的後面，盧貝隆在溫熱的霧靄籠罩下顯得柔和，有人在游泳池裡滑水的聲音，凝結在寂靜的夜空中。 麗莎，恐怕要讓季格樂先生心臟病發了，我要留在這裡。 你要我這樣告訴他嗎？ 賽蒙嘆了口氣。我最好打個電話給他，別擔心，我很快就會撥電話給你。 他放下話筒，看了看手錶，這是他今天第一次看錶。該死的季格樂。他踢掉腳上的鞋子，打電話到紐約。 季格樂的聲音聽起來有點回音，賽蒙聽得出來，他把電話調到免持聽筒的裝置。他一向喜歡在大吼大叫的時候踱來踱去，他這種習慣令賽蒙非常不安。 鮑伯，告訴我，你的祕書在旁邊嗎？ 當然，她就在這裡。做什麼？ 你還是無情地壓榨她嗎？ God!接著是短暫的停頓，然後是一聲咔嚓聲，季格樂切換掉免持聽筒裝置，拿起了話筒。他的聲音聽起來比較接近了。這是你天殺的玩笑話嗎？ 現在我可以聽得比較清楚了。有什麼好驚慌的嗎？ 有個價值三千萬的客戶明天要來倫敦，而你卻在法國逍遙。這就是你的經營之道？ 鮑伯，我這是在度假。記得嗎？vacation. 去他媽的度假！你最好立刻收拾行李。 我哪兒都不去。客戶要的不過是頓晚餐，順帶要人哄哄他。這個交給喬登就行了。 我真不敢相信我所聽到的。三千萬呢，你就不能犧牲一天假期？God! 你和我一樣清楚，業務相當穩定。沒有必要在客戶每回到倫敦時，都要上演一齣活生生的猴戲。我是在經營廣告公司，不是伺候服務。 讓我告訴你，你在那兒，什麼也經營不了。 鮑伯，我不去。 那我只好去了。 電話掛了，賽蒙感受到一絲滿足。這麼多年來，他一直遵循著廣告人的反射動作，只要有客戶出現，立即上演形容很不甚貼切的娛樂戲碼。這事一點也不好玩。那通常是件刀叉伺候還要假裝興致高昂的苦差事。幾乎沒有例外，賽蒙耗費大部分的生命所陪伴的人，往往令他感到無聊透頂。有些人甚至仗恃著手中的廣告預算而耀武揚威，這種人正是他引以為鄙的。只因為他們是付錢的大爺。他也開始瞧不起這樣的交易。難道是他變得溫和、疲憊，還是他有所成長？ 他身處於有綿延十里美景相伴的臺地上，獨自享用著晚餐，一想到季格樂塞在往甘迺迪機場的車陣中便興奮不已。搭協和客機到倫敦，和那人握握手，再搭協和客機飛回紐約。這又是公司與客戶關係的一大勝利。賽蒙拿出雪茄，漫步回到他的小屋。空氣還相當溫暖，天空晴朗無雲、繁星閃爍，灌木叢裡的蟬吱吱地鳴唱著。他在睡前的最後一個念頭，便是期待明天的到來。 白晝很長，卻飛快地消逝。賽蒙好好地探訪了各個村落，還開車到旺圖山的頂峰，還行經位於拉寇斯特的薩德侯爵城堡遺址，此地現在已成為咖啡館。每天晚上回到旅館，都有來自倫敦的留言，當他光著腳丫坐在臺地上看著這些留言，一切顯得非常不真實。他周遭環境的平和，與公司裡誇大成危機的瑣碎事情恰成對比，他愈來愈常去思索這樣的對比。一邊是生活、一邊是事業。 該是回去的時候了。現在杜克洛總該把他的保時捷修好了吧，不過，奇怪的是，他並沒有打電話過來。賽蒙決定隔天早上前往巴西耶，也許取車之後，可以和那位有著古銅色乳溝的美女共進午餐。他找到妮珂寫在火柴盒上的電話號碼。 妮珂嗎？我是蕭賽蒙。 啊，就是那個消失無蹤的英國人啊！你都到哪裡去了？ 很抱歉，我一直都想打電話的，但是妮珂沒吱聲。這就是普羅旺斯人的毛病什麼都等到明天做，也許是這樣吧！ 一星期在這裡根本不算什麼，不過你的午餐邀約，我欣然接受。 他們相約在咖啡館，賽蒙開心地花了半個小時參閱《高特米魯美食指南》（註：Gault Millau是法國最有影響力的餐廳評鑑指南之一。）。他應該早點打電話給妮珂的，不過紐約的事還是應該先解決。他發現自己又聳了肩，不禁笑了。 隔天早晨，他到了巴西耶，而杜克洛又和他第一次看見他時一個模樣又藏身在車子底下。看起來似乎是同一部車子。賽蒙對著油膩的靴子道早安，靴子主人的身體躺在臺車上滑行了出來。 先生，你好！ 杜克洛報告了好消息：零件下週會到貨一定，保證，沒問題。他本想打電話，但 換了在倫敦，賽蒙老早就發火了，可是在這裡，一切都顯得無足輕重。這是美好的一天，他等會還要跟美女共進午餐。等車子修好，他可以派恩尼斯過來取車。他十分驚訝於自己冷靜從容的態度，現在開始，他不僅會聳肩，在心態上，很多事情也變得無所謂。他向杜克洛道謝，徒步走向咖啡館。 太陽把通往廣場的道路劈成兩半，一半光燦耀眼，另一半發冷陰暗。賽蒙又被舊警察局深深吸引。他上了階梯，二樓看起來比一樓大得多，很大的空間，清理得很乾淨，準備迎接下一個階段的工事。更上一層樓，視野更佳，那滿山遍野的葡萄，已經變成了紅棕色，松樹覆蓋的山巒，可見石屋從群樹中冒出，在陽光的映照下，呈現出背光的身影，而在其後，山巔滿布。空氣潔淨無比，賽蒙甚至可以看見最高的山脊上的樹影，雖然渺小，卻異常明顯。他聽見樓下的臺地傳來陣陣笑聲，還有曳引機的聲音。時間已是晌午，該是每位普羅旺斯人離開田園回家用餐的時刻了。 等賽蒙回到咖啡館時，妮珂正坐在室外的一桌。她主動獻上了雙頰，讓賽蒙親吻了，既清新又帶點辛辣的香氛，是賽蒙所熟悉的。 車子怎麼樣了？我希望你沒照單付賬。 還在等零件。沒關係，我會派人從倫敦到此拿車。 妮珂探進自己的皮包內搜索香菸，她穿著一件無袖的灰色亞麻洋裝，襯托出她曬得均勻的手臂與雙腿。賽蒙後悔自己沒早點打電話給她。 她遺憾地說：所以，你必須回去了！ 他們在辦公室是這樣告訴我的。賽蒙向上下打量妮珂衣著的女孩點了飲料。她對賽蒙報以微笑，接著一扭一扭地進入咖啡館。 賽蒙說：漂亮的女孩！ 你見過她母親了？妮珂呼出煙氣，笑了。 你是個邪惡、善妒的女人。只因為你的唇上沒有汗毛，也不開曳引機。 那就是你喜歡的？妮珂透過呼出的煙氣看著賽蒙，賽蒙感覺到一股吸引力在他倆之間游移。那可不，我喜歡的典型恰巧就在我對面。 他說：我喜歡唇上有汗毛的女性，我覺得這就是她們吸引人的地方。 妮珂一把拉過自己的頭髮，擺在鼻子底下，就是這樣？ 賽蒙點點頭。棒呆了！你可以維持這個模樣吃飯嗎？ 他選了一家靠近高爾德的餐館，是由農舍改建，餐桌設在庭院，《高特米魯美食指南》指其主廚為明日之星。他們的午餐時間很長，但是很輕鬆，他們談笑風生，還喝了不少酒。上咖啡的時候，妮珂詢問他，何時想回倫敦。 賽蒙看著自己吐出的雪茄煙霧，冉冉飄上庇陰著他們免於日曬的簌懸木枝葉間，心裡想著，明天的午餐時間，他會做什麼。也許喝著沛綠雅礦泉水，聽著客戶訴苦，抱怨自己的市場占有率不夠高。 他說：我並不是說，我期望回去。問題是，所有的事情我都已經歷客戶的問題都一樣，同事又令我厭煩他停頓下來，往雪茄末端吹氣，直到灰色的菸灰下出現火星。我想就是這樣了。我厭倦了。我曾經熱愛我的工作，現在熱情已經熄滅了。 但是人在江湖，身不由己啊。 我的性格中就是有這麼一個小缺陷我愛錢。他苦笑了一下，看了看錶，暗示著該買單離去。很抱歉，我得走了。 他買單時，他們就這樣靜靜地坐著，接著他從皮夾裡拿出一張名片，遞過桌面。這是我在倫敦的電話號碼。如果你到倫敦，記得通知我。也許我們可以共進晚餐。 妮珂在戴太陽眼鏡時，停頓了一下，眼鏡就停留在她的鼻頭，她就這樣看著他。我以為你只跟客戶吃晚飯。 你也可能是潛在的客戶啊！她挑高了眉，賽蒙露齒而笑。這是廣告人打混摸魚時拿來搪塞的說詞。 他開車回旅館拿行李，妮珂打道回府。他們彼此都很確定，一定會再見。