Sorry, got a bit sidetracked! Also I haven't done French for a while so it may not be perfect. Thanks to bijou156 and This Is. for reviews.
Branson was certainly looking forward to going. He had been slightly jealous of William and the others because they had been abroad and he had not. Now his chance had come and it was for much more pleasant reasons than war. In preparation he had found a 'teach yourself French' book in the Downton Library, which he read in his spare time. He had been reading it and muttering discontentedly to himself whilst waiting for Sybil who was having another dress made for their holiday.
"Oh dear, is it that bad?" Branson jumped and snapped the book shut upon hearing her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump."
"That's alright" Branson held the door open, "and yes, it really is that bad!" He shut the door behind her and climbed into the front, discarding the book next to him. "So how was the fitting?"
"It went very well." Branson noticed a small grin flickering across her face.
"More trousers?" he asked light-heartedly.
"No, not this time," She laughed "but I doubt mama would be fully supportive of my choice." she sat forward, her hand snaking into the front of the car to retrieve the discarded book. "French!" she exclaimed with slight disbelief. The car swerved as he turned in his seat to see her holding the book.
"Um, yes." He replied having regained control of the car.
"Did you not learn it at school?" she asked
"I started to, but I hated the teacher so I never got very far." He met her eyes in the mirror.
"So what you need," she said suggestively "is a better teacher. I'll test you now." She promptly flicked open the book and started reeling off words in perfect French. He gave her the English equivalent. As they drove through the Downton gates she gently closed the book. "Good!" she said triumphantly "If I test you everyday, you will soon parle le français parfait." He helped her down from the car. "Merci, mon amie."
She kept her word. Everyday Branson found himself being tested at French. She was very inventive. On one occasion she was with her mother and sisters in the car. She enthusiastically announced that they should all practice their French, so no English for the rest of the journey. Reluctantly her sisters agreed, and the rest of the time was a lot quieter than normal. Sybil included Branson in this by asking him various questions-his test for the day.
One evening before they left Branson was sitting reading a magazine. He had bought himself a selection which he could read whilst the ladies were busy in Paris, but he had started one now. He was disturbed from his reading by a knock at the door. He reluctantly walked towards the door of his little cottage. Without opening it he asked; "Who is it?"
"It's Sybil. I haven't tested you."
"Sybil! You shouldn't be here! Go back to the house!"
"Please. It's freezing out here."
Her determination would mean she would be standing there all night if he didn't let her in now. He quickly opened the door.
"Where's the book? I assume you were reading it just now." She walked into the room. She raised an eyebrow, disproving of his motoring magazine before pushing it off the sofa and reaching for the French book which was neatly stacked on the small cabinet beside her.
"So is this what you call a better teacher?" he asked playfully as he rescued his magazine.
"Well, I should hope you don't dislike me. Anyway, our old governess used to pop up at all hours and demand that we speak French. It must have worked to some degree." She sat down. "Or maybe it was because she bribed us with cocoa."
"Would you like a drink?"
"Ask me in French and I will."
He rolled his eyes, "Chocolat chaud ou du thé?"
She laughed; his Irish accent mixed with a foreign language was divine. "Un Chocolat chaud, s'il te plait."
"Don't have any of that, or any coffee. I can't even offer you a beer! There might be a spot of whiskey 'round here somewhere, but I can't say that in French. Would you like a cup of tea?" he rephrased his original question.
"En Français!" she scolded. "Alright, I'll have tea."
When he returned with the steaming mugs, Sybil was sitting with her knees tucked up to her chest. As he handed her the cup their fingers brushed. "Bloody hell, you're cold!" she giggled nervously at his outburst. He put his own cup on the table. "Shall I get your coat?"
"No, really it's fine. I've got tea now."
"Well, can I get you a blanket then?"
"No." She finished her tea. "I'd better get back. Anna might be looking for me." he helped her put her coat on, before they bid each other a good night and he watched her glide across the yard and back into the house.