The Paris Trip: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They took the TGV to Bordeaux – the ‘train à grande vitesse,’ as Sophie had explained helpfully while they were waiting to board – and it certainly lived up to its ‘high speed’ name. Maeve sat rapt in a delightful dream, watching the countryside flash past in ever-darkening shades of green and gold the further south they travelled. Quaint towns, hills and valleys, vast stretches of golden and verdant crops, all blurred into one recognizably French patchwork.

Leo sat beside her, pointing out landmarks and sharing amusing anecdotes or astute political remarks about the landscape they were passing through. ‘That was the town where they wanted to elect a donkey as Mayor,’ he commented at one point, nodding to a station name that passed too quickly for her to catch. ‘Though, in my opinion, they already had one.’

His nieces Sophie and Marie were pleasant company too. She hadn’t seen much of the twin girls during her stay at Chateau Rémy, since the bubbly teenagers had been out most days sightseeing with Madame Rémy. But she’d often heard them chattering in their room in the evenings or watching French films loudly. Now they sat opposite her and Leo on the journey, listening to music on their headphones or giggling together over social media posts. Sometimes they took selfies or reels, posing outrageously for their friends and followers on various platforms.

They had Club Quatre seats with a table, which allowed Maeve plenty of space to write observations in the notepad she’d bought at the station, using the emergency cash the bank had allowed her to withdraw. She was missing her phone and the laptop she used at home. But she’d been able to check her emails at least on Leo’s laptop, reassured to see nothing too pressing in her Inbox.

Besides, doing without the internet had proved fairly relaxing so far. It was a digital detox she hadn’t intended to take, but one she was actively enjoying now she’d got past the stress of wondering what she might be missing.

They were travelling first class, which felt wonderfully luxurious. The seats were wide and comfortable, with power-recline settings. She was surprised to discover that there was no food or drink offered with First Class tickets, although they did provide a café-bar compartment. Thankfully, Madame Rémy had kindly provided them with a picnic-style lunch, and they ate this instead, both girls apparently preferring her home-cooking to ‘train food’ anyway.

While they ate and chatted, Maeve couldn’t help noticing that Leo seemed quite withdrawn, his smile perfunctory whenever she glanced at him.

‘Are you okay?’ Maeve asked him after they’d finished eating, careful to keep her voice down, although the girls were too busy discussing something they’d seen on social media to overhear their conversation. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, but you seem a little unhappier today than last night.’ Meticulously, she began clearing away the remnants of their train picnic. ‘I thought everything was sorted amicably with your father.’

‘I doubt that anything between me and my father will ever be sorted amicably,’ Leo admitted with a weary smile. ‘I’m sorry to be such poor company. I’m just worried about the exhibition, that’s all.’ He paused, gazing out at the sun-drenched countryside. ‘I’m afraid Liselle was right to be angry with me.’

Having thrust everything into a paper bag ready for disposal, Maeve used a few wet wipes to clean her sticky fingers. But her mind was ticking furiously. She felt instantly on the defensive, hearing that. Liselle might be his manager, but what right did she have to judge him?

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘By the time we get back from Bordeaux, the exhibition will almost be upon us,’ he explained. ‘And I only have three or four canvases that will be anywhere near finished by then.’

‘But you’ve brought some painting equipment with you,’ she pointed out. He had in fact carried an easel on board the train, along with his bag of paints and a portfolio case of blank canvases, ready for painting. ‘Won’t you be working while you’re in Bordeaux?’

‘Of course, and I intend to, it’s just that…’ He shook his head, his gaze returning to her face. There was a sombre glint in his eyes. ‘I hate exhibiting my work. That’s the underlying issue. I love to paint but I hate people seeing what I’ve painted. It’s a real failing for an artist. Because if you can’t exhibit and sell your work, you can’t make a living.’

‘But you spoke so lovingly of Bordeaux and the vineyard… Maybe it will provide some fresh inspiration while you’re down there, so you produce work you’re eager to show to the world.’

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed.

Their hands were resting on the train table very close to each other. Her little pinky was almost touching his. They looked down at the same time, as though both were abruptly aware of the proximity…

Nerves flared inside her, and she shifted her hand, fussing with the picnic rubbish again, though it was all ready for the bin. ‘Tell me more about Henri and Beatrice,’ she said hurriedly to hide her reaction, ‘what are they like? I hope your aunt and uncle won’t be horrified to see me with you. I mean, they’re being expected to accommodate a complete stranger. It could be rather embarrassing.’

‘Nonsense, they love visitors. Besides, you’re a friend of the family now, so you’ll be as welcome as any of us, trust me.’ Leo held out his hand. ‘Now, give me that rubbish and I’ll take it to the poubelle.’

When he returned, he seemed more relaxed. He began to describe his Uncle Henri and Aunt Beatrice to her, chuckling as he retold humorous stories about them from his youth, while Sophie and Marie chimed in occasionally with jokes of their own. It was obvious that the two girls adored their parents, their fresh faces glowing with happiness the nearer they came to Bordeaux.

‘Nearly home,’ Marie murmured, checking her train app. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘But won’t you miss Paris?’ Maeve asked her in French.

‘Oh, yes,’ Marie agreed with a sigh. ‘All those amazing museums and art galleries…’ She clearly had an academic turn of mind.

‘And the designer boutiques,’ Sophie added, a twinkle in her eye.

‘But I’ll be glad to get home too,’ Marie admitted, smiling as she watched the countryside flash past. ‘I miss my dear FrouFrou.’

Maeve arched her brows. ‘FrouFrou?’

‘Her horse,’ Leo murmured.

‘He’s incredibly old, so nobody rides him these days, but he’s still a darling,’ Marie told her enthusiastically.

‘And I’ll be happy to sleep in my own bed again,’ Sophie said, stretching with a grimace. ‘No offense, Leo, but that old mattress I had at the chateau was an absolute nightmare. I’m sure it was stuffed with straw, probably sometime back in the eighteenth century.’

And both girls fell about laughing at Leo’s expression.

They arrived late afternoon, and were met at the station by Beatrice, a smiling, sun-tanned lady who looked about sixty, and a man whom she introduced as Pierre, her eldest son, who was driving a dusty, battered old minibus with Cave Rémy on the side. Pierre looked to be about forty years old. He was taciturn and moustachioed, with a thatch of pitch-black hair and olive skin the texture of well-tanned leather.

‘We’ve always needed a large vehicle, not just to carry crates of wine about the place, but for all our children and their friends,’ Beatrice told Maeve, seeing her surprised look as they climbed into the thankfully air-conditioned interior. ‘Though they’re nearly all grown-up now, apart from those two rascals, of course.’ And she grinned round at Sophie and Marie, already seated at the back and poring over their phones as usual.

‘How many children do you have?’ Maeve asked.

‘Nine.’

Maeve gasped. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say, nine?’

‘I know, I know, it’s a large number.’ Beatrice laughed. ‘Henri and I didn’t mean to have quite so many. We thought maybe five or six. But accidents happen, you know?’

Leo glanced drily at Maeve, who bit her lip.

‘The girls are seventeen,’ Maeve said slowly, thinking out loud. ‘But that means –’ She stopped, worried about offending the older lady.

‘Sophie and Marie were quite a surprise, yes,’ Beatrice agreed placidly. ‘I thought I was long past childbearing age. Even my doctor thought it. Then suddenly, in my early forties, I started getting queasy and oddly fat. I thought it was the menopause at last, but it turned out to be twins!’ She chuckled at the memory. ‘It was a tough pregnancy, I can tell you. Carrying twins isn’t easy at the best of times. I’d already had Michel and Jean-Luc in my late thirties, so I knew all about it. But it’s especially hard when you’re older.’ She shrugged. ‘But my older children were able to help out around the house and vineyard, so I got to spend most of my afternoons with my feet up. And I wouldn’t be without my precious Sophie and Marie, of course.’

‘They never stop talking though, those two,’ her son Pierre said in a deep drawl, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as they took a sharp right-hand bend at speed. Rather too lightly, Maeve thought, clutching the seatback in front as the minibus swung violently around the corner. And at rather too much speed…

He finally hit the brakes as they approached a large sign declaring Cave Rémy: Dégustation and turned off the main road onto a narrow dust track.

The track ran past a large, stately warehouse with a shop at one end, which was clearly closed for renovations. The family’s wine-tasting showroom, Maeve guessed, seeing how Leo turned to study the building with a frown as they passed.

‘Such a shame about the fire,’ Beatrice said unhappily. ‘But Henri is confident the shop will be open again by the weekend.’

‘That’s good news, at least,’ Leo agreed.

The girls were also peering back at the warehouse shop and exclaiming in horror, having been in Paris when the fire occurred.

Leo leant forward, saying quietly to his aunt, ‘Henri told me you’d been unwell recently. I hope you’re feeling better.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing serious. The doctor says… arthritis.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It keeps me awake at night,’ Beatrice admitted, sighing. ‘I was in a great deal of pain. At the end of my patience, to be honest. But he’s given me some exercises to do, and they do seem to be helping.’

Leo touched her arm. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Thank you, Leo. But I believe you’ve had some trouble too recently?’ His aunt glanced round at Maeve, a furtive look in her face. ‘We saw that photograph everyone was talking about… Oh, and then your father turning up out of the blue, and married to a woman half his age? Sophie and Marie told us all about it on the phone.’ She tutted sympathetically. ‘That must have been difficult. I know you and Sébastien still don’t get on very well.’

‘We’ve come to an agreement,’ Leo told her. ‘My father’s going to live in Nice with Chanelle, and I’ll continue running the business in Paris as before. With one big change.’ He paused, smiling. ‘Bernadette is going to be working with me, so I have more free time for painting. That was my condition for staying on.’

‘How marvellous. She’s such a capable woman. I never liked her being cut out of the family business.’

‘But you know what my father’s like. It’s nothing to do with Bernadette herself. It”s about his hatred for my mother. He just refuses to treat her like one of the family, knowing another man fathered her. And the law in this country is on his side.’

‘It’s a shame.’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘But I’m glad you’ve made this deal with Sébastien. Perhaps if the business starts turning a profit, he may change his mind and name her in his Will. She certainly deserves it, the hard work she’s put into Chateau Rémy over the years.’

Maeve had been listening to this exchange with interest, fascinated by the internal machinations of the Rémy family.

But, as the minibus slowed to a crawl and they fell silent, she sat forward, peering eagerly out of the windscreen instead. The dust track had finally widened into a broad gravelled area, shaded by enormous cypresses, and within seconds they were pulling up outside the house itself, the girls quickly tumbling out of the vehicle.

Unlike the chateau in Paris, the Rémy house attached to the vineyard was a modern build, all glass and fancy brickwork, but with a charming terracotta-tiled roof like many of the older buildings she’d seen from the train as they travelled further south. The gardens were thick with lavender shrubs, several tall rows blooming a deep violet, a sea of bees drifting amongst the delicate flowers, their steady buzz audible even before they”d entered the gardens.

In an adjacent field, leaning over the gate with docile patience, was a large, dapple-grey horse. ‘FrouFrou,’ Beatrice told her cheerfully, having spotted her looking at the horse. ‘The children used to ride her but she’s too old for that now. Now she just gets lots of apples and hugs.’

Marie ran to embrace her beloved horse, while Sophie ran ahead of them into the house, shouting for her father. Soon, Henri emerged, a heavily bearded, jovial man who clasped both Maeve’s hands in his and drew her close for the traditional three-cheek kiss. ‘How lovely to meet you,’ he said in thickly accented English. ‘Leo told us you were coming and we were delighted. My wife has prepared a room for you. Oh no, please don’t worry… We have plenty of space now that so many of our children have flown the nest. It’s good to have new people in the house.’

While he and Leo spoke together about the fire that had devastated their showroom, Beatrice led her upstairs to a large room overlooking the vineyards. It had the prettiest pink curtains and a double bed decked out in lacy pink and white.

‘My second eldest daughter Michelle loves everything pink,’ Beatrice explained with an apologetic smile. ‘Not my style. But what can you do?’

‘No, I love it.’

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable, anyway. Please let me know if there’s anything you need. I believe you lost all your luggage in Paris.’

‘Yes, it was awful. I got my rucksack back in the end.’ She slung it off her shoulder. ‘But anything of any worth inside it had gone.’

Impulsively, Beatrice hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry you came to our country and had such a bad experience. Let’s hope we can make up for it, now that you’re in Bordeaux. There’s far less crime in our little corner of France than in the capital, and such beautiful countryside, you’ll soon forget your troubles here.’ She went to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled in. There’s a pool round the back if you’d like to swim.’

‘How lovely.’ Thankfully, she’d bought a swimsuit while waiting at the train station in Paris.

‘We tend to eat late here, because there’s always something to do in the vineyard, especially now we’re coming up to harvest. But if you get hungry beforehand, please help yourself to anything in the kitchen.

‘Thank you.’

‘Listen out for the supper gong,’ Beatrice added as she left, beaming back over her shoulder. ‘You’ll find us on the terrace.’

Once her host had gone, Maeve stood a long while at the window, staring out over the beautiful vista. The heat was so much more all-enveloping here than in Paris, and yet somehow fresher too, the air not hemmed in by brick and glass, but flowing freely across the fields.

The vineyard itself stretched far away, long dusty rows of dark green vines, heavy with fruit. Behind them, in the distance, rose the hazy bluish tinge of mountains, the piecemeal landscape in between punctuated by a few terracotta-roofed towns and avenues of tall, stately cypresses, perhaps grown in clusters to mark land boundaries.

Maeve sighed, hugging this spectacular view to her heart. She had come to France for a few days on her coach tour, expecting to see only Paris during her stay. The busy metropolis and river. The Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. She had seen all those, yes, but she had also travelled deep into the hinterland of this magnificent country.

It now seemed almost a blessing, what had happened to her when she’d stopped to help Madame Rémy. It had been dreadful, of course, as she’d told Beatrice. Even frightening, especially when she”d regained consciousness to find everything gone, including her money and passport.

Yet now, looking at this view and thinking how close she’d grown to the Rémy family, perhaps it was also the best thing that had ever happened to her?

Her life in England had grown narrow, dull and samey, she had to admit. She could no longer imagine returning to it after this adventure, or not with much enthusiasm. Especially now she knew her mother and grandmother were both still alive and in Paris. Her mother had made it clear she was not a clingy woman and wouldn’t be pressing for a closer relationship now they’d been reunited. But perhaps she could visit Paris again next summer, to check in on her family… and perhaps see Leo too, if he was likely to still be interested by then? Or was that mere wishful thinking on her part?

Trying to live in the moment, rather than dwell on what might happen in the unforeseeable future, she took a shower and then soaked her hot, aching feet in cold water. Her body being unused to such intense heat, it felt like her feet had almost doubled in size during the long train journey. She had visions of needing clown shoes…

Afterwards, once her feet had returned to a daintier size, Maeve lay down on her bed in the stultifying summer heat to rest, just for a few minutes.

Only she began to dream of tall, dark Leo, standing before his easel, paintbrush in hand, the biggest paintbrush she had ever seen, and it was growing bigger and bigger the harder he painted…