The nights have turned cooler. And the hot social season is giving off heat…like a pond in the autumn. Last night we went to a dinner under the stars. Without mentioning names, the crowd with mixed…and interesting: the widow of one of the greatest admen of all time…a descendant of Jacques de Liniers, who sank the English fleet at the battle of La Plata, thus protecting the Spanish possessions in Argentina, and a few members of the world’s most celebrated banking family. What were they doing in the middle of nowhere in France?
“There’s no explanation for it…I was surprised as you,” explained one of our companions. “You don’t expect it. The whole area is as dead as a doornail 10 months of the year. Then, in the summer it really comes alive. I’ve been to several cocktails…and several dinners…and concerts. Last night, there was an English choir – a big choir of more than 30 people – performing at the church in Montmorillon. There’s something going on almost all the time…
“Maybe it’s because the countryside is so quiet. And there aren’t many restaurants. Not much to do. So when you come here for the summer you just have to organize something yourself.
“The nice thing about it is that we all have friends here that we see nowhere else…and only once a year. So, we catch up.
“And I hear your children are making friends,” she said with a wink.
Word gets around.
“Yes, it has been a summer of awakening, I think.”
Our sons have discovered that the little girls across the street have grown up. And the little girls across the street have discovered that they can charm young men. They hardly knew each other until this summer – though we’ve all been practically next to each other for nearly 15 years. But we were only here in the summer. And they were only there in the summer. And until this summer they never took much interest in one another.
This summer, they’re going back and forth from one house to another. They swim in our neighbor’s pool. They ride horses at our house. They play tennis. And it goes on all-day and late into the night.
We left the party at about 1AM. When we got home, we spotted a campfire beside the pond.
“Let’s go see who’s still up,” said Elizabeth.
“Do we dare? I don’t think they want us intruding…”
“Let’s do it anyway…”
Next to the gypsy wagon, there was a group of about 10 teenagers. There were some we didn’t recognize. There were our three sons…and a couple of their friends. And there were the girls from across the road, with their friends. And one of their brothers, too. One of our sons was sitting very close to one of the girls from across the road – a charming 17 year-old. In the light of the campfire, he looked very pleased with himself.
“Don’t you girls have to go home?” we asked.
“At 1:30 AM…” they replied.
It was 1:25. Why waste a minute…when you are 17…and the summer is coming to an end?
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