Chapter 19
‘Bon, I think it is time we went to eat, yes?’
Everyone looked up from their conversations and nodded.
‘Wonderful!’ said Rousseau, taking Sindhu’s hand. ‘And thank you, Léo and Sylvia, for cooking for us tonight.’
They walked into the dining room, which looked lovely with an array of stunning dahlias from the garden adorning the table. Juliet found herself sitting next to Sindhu and returned the older woman’s smile as they sat down.
‘So, what have you been doing between first meeting Dad and now?’ asked Juliet, pouring them both some water. ‘If you were at art college together, that’s a gap of…’
‘Nearly fifty years,’ said Sindhu. ‘I know, it’s mad, but I’m so very glad we met again. What have I been doing? Well, a lot in all that time. The potted history is that I worked as a fairly successful sculptor – not in Rousseau’s league, of course – and owned a gallery and shop in Notting Hill. I never married, but I have a son – he must be a few years older than you.’
‘Is he an artist as well?’
‘Not by profession. He’s a doctor, a GP, married with two little daughters. They live in Oxford, and I sold up recently to be nearer to them and pursue my interest in jewellery making.’
Juliet was about to reply when the food arrived, large platters bearing pomegranate seed jewelled couscous, crispy fried tofu in a dark, sticky-looking sauce, herbed flatbreads and a spectacular salad studded with flowers.
‘Bon appetit,’ said Léo, as he put down the final dish.
‘We hope you enjoy it all,’ added Sylvia. ‘We wanted to showcase the finest Feywood has to offer to our guests – most of this has come from the garden – and we also admit that we are trying out recipes for the book.’
Everyone agreed on how gorgeous it all looked, and Juliet reached for her phone.
‘Don’t anyone touch it yet, I want to take a few pictures – not proper ones of course, but to help me start collecting ideas.’
When she had finished, she sat down again.
‘Sorry about that, I can’t help myself sometimes, and I’m determined to do the very best I can for this book they’re writing.’
‘It’s quite a departure for you, isn’t it?’ said Sindhu, helping herself to some salad. ‘I must say I’ve always loved your cartoons; I look for them in the paper and online these days, of course. There was one of the Prime Minister at the height of that whole scandal over the tax he was – or rather, wasn’t – paying that was so vicious and funny and damned accurate I nearly choked on my breakfast.’
Juliet beamed, proud at her work being so admired, but Sindhu’s next words took her aback.
‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, but…’ She paused. ‘Are you thinking of moving to the country permanently? I mean, if you did, would you still be able to push on with what you’re doing, would you be in the right place?’ She looked abashed at her own outspokenness, but continued, ‘I really am in awe of your considerable talents, it would be terrible to see them wasted.’
Wasted, indeed?thought Juliet. And what makes you think you know so much about it?
After supper, everyone drifted off to various corners of the house: Martha had a painting she wanted to work on, so wished everyone a polite good night, and Sylvia looked exhausted, so Juliet and Léo insisted she go to bed while they cleared everything up. They waved away offers of help from Will, Rousseau and Sindhu and soon found themselves alone in the large kitchen.
‘More wine while we tidy?’ asked Léo, holding up a half-full bottle. ‘Or tea?’
‘Actually,’ said Juliet, pulling on some yellow rubber gloves, ‘I oddly want both. Is that weird?’
‘Not in the least,’ said Léo, pulling out the cork, then flicking on the kettle. ‘If that is what you want, then c’est ?a.’
They packed the dishwasher and washed the larger and more delicate items and, within ten minutes, were sitting at the old, Formica-topped table with their drinks, Ava and Moriarty now installed in his cosy basket.
‘I can’t believe this table’s still here,’ said Juliet, patting it fondly. ‘It’s hideous, I know, but it takes me straight back to being a little girl.’
‘Happy memories?’ asked Léo.
‘From when I was little – yes, very.’
‘I am glad. And what do you make of Sindhu? She seems an interesting woman, and strong. She was telling me about her business.’
Juliet sipped her tea.
‘Yes, I agree with both of those. And I’m happy for Dad.’
‘But?’
She smiled at him.
‘You can tell there’s a but?’
‘Oui. There is something concerning you.’
‘There is. Since my mother died…’ Juliet stopped and decided on wine this time. Léo waited for her to start speaking again. ‘Since she died, I’ve felt a sense of release, that I have regained control in my life. And I mean that in the deepest sense. For years I was taking a very rigid sort of control, constructing a life and an image that didn’t form a complete picture, but which worked. I could do it, and do it well, and I could push back against Mum at the same time. Now the control is kind of the opposite of control. Oh dear, I’m not making sense. It’s just that for the first time I feel able to let go of that version of myself and try other things, even things which my mother would have approved of. I could never do that while she was alive. In a way, she had control over my rebellion, because I couldn’t allow a single chink that might let her think that she had won, that she was right all along.’
Léo nodded.
‘You do make sense. You no longer have to fight, and you can relax and truly be yourself. That is good. But what does this have to do with Sindhu?’
‘Probably nothing. But I don’t want another mother, someone else who assumes they can start directing me. There was already a hint of it at supper; she was giving her opinion on my career.’
She repeated what had been said, and Léo shrugged.
‘It sounds as if she is being supportive, not controlling. As I said, a strong woman, so maybe her manner is vigorous, but she has only just met you, and as Rousseau’s girlfriend, she will want to befriend you.’
‘But maybe she sees herself marrying him, and is establishing her role as stepmother?’
‘I am sure she is no wicked stepmother. She is also not Lilith. And you said yourself, you have come so far, discovered much. This will help, you cannot be subsumed again, you won’t let it happen, and neither will I.’ Juliet nodded. ‘Come, let’s go to bed, it has been a long evening.’
‘Yes, I’m tired. I think I’ll just go to my apartment tonight, Léo, if you don’t mind. I could do with some time alone.’
A flash of hurt crossed his face, but he smiled.
‘Of course. I’m sure you will feel good about it all in the morning.’
Juliet sat on the edge of her bed and stared out of the window into the dark night. Thoughts and images and snatches of conversation whirled around her head, confusing her. She picked Ava up out of her basket and cuddled the sleepy puppy to her as she tried to calm her mind and make some sense out of the chaos there. When Sindhu had made those comments about her career, she had instantly, instinctively, felt that the older woman was assuming some sort of matriarchal position, that she believed she had the right to give her opinion. But Léo had all but dismissed her concerns. Why? Why hadn’t he taken her seriously? Didn’t he realise that she needed to defend herself, not just shrug and go with the flow? And what had he said about him not letting anything happen? Surely he wasn’t going to try to fight her battles for her – she wasn’t a helpless princess in need of protection, and she thought he had understood that. Ugh. She stood up suddenly, waking Ava.
‘Sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to make you jump. Here, you go back to bed, it’s where I need to be too.’
But once she was lying there, her confusion did not wane. And then another, more worrying, thought crept in. This confusion, it felt familiar. She pulled herself up to sitting.
‘It feels like Toby,’ she murmured.
Surely, surely, she hadn’t been stupid enough to do it again, fall for a man who denied her her own thoughts and feelings, then used the ensuing confusion to control her? But as quickly as the thought had come, it disappeared. No, Léo wasn’t like that, she knew it deep inside. He was just trying to stop her worrying, when he was right – there was nothing to worry about. She lay down again. If Sindhu started throwing her weight around, she would stand her ground, be who she wanted to be. And she would enjoy Léo’s support while she did it. Thus comforted, she drifted off to sleep.
The following day Juliet woke feeling more positive. She made coffee and toast and ate it alone in her apartment, watching the morning news on TV and listening to the sounds of the cookery school being opened up. She knew that there was a private class in there later – a man keen to impress his new boyfriend with his culinary skills – so Léo and Sylvia would be busy preparing that. They had agreed to get together at ten to compare notes so far for the recipe book, which gave Juliet a luxurious length of time to get her papers and example photos together and do the preparation sketches for one of the drawings she was going to propose they used.
Downstairs, Léo checked again that he had everything he needed. He liked the client who was coming that afternoon, Michael, and because of this, and the fact he had booked a block of six lessons, wanted to make the session perfect. They were making a mushroom and truffle soup, with garlic and thyme focaccia, and were going to forage for the mushrooms in Fey Wood, which he felt was a nice touch. They would also cut the thyme from the herb garden and use home-grown garlic.
‘I think the private individual lessons were a good idea,’ said Sylvia, selecting the knives that would be most suitable for the work. ‘I’ve had another enquiry from someone who wants to nail some pretty basic baking skills, so I’ve asked her to come along tomorrow. And we’ve got a hen party booked in for a few weeks’ time – a celebrity bride, no less.’
‘That’s great,’ replied Léo. ‘Will there be any opportunity for publicity?’
‘I’m going to find a tactful way of asking her, but judging by her Instagram, we’re bound to merit a few photos and a namecheck out there to her followers, even if there isn’t a magazine deal.’
‘Probably better. How many followers does she have?’
Sylvia picked up her phone and tapped a few times.
‘Here she is. Oh wow, three hundred and fifty thousand followers. That’s crazy!’
Léo shrugged.
‘That’s celebrity. What is she famous for?’
‘She was a model, then she did a reality show, locked in a house with other people and they had to matchmake each other. She’s marrying the man she met when she was there.’
For a moment, Léo was taken aback. This was just what Veronique had done, but he couldn’t bear to discuss that with Sylvia, not now. He nodded calmly, hoping his emotions didn’t show on his face as they so often did.
‘Well, hopefully it will be good for us. Right, I think that’s everything. Juliet will be down any minute to do the book, so I’ll put the coffee on.’
‘Marvellous. I’ve got some rather scrummy-looking lemon puffs I was trying out, so we can road test those as well.’
Juliet appeared a few minutes later, and they all sat down at the kitchen island with their drinks and biscuits.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked Léo.
‘Better, thanks.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was probably worrying about nothing. Now I just want to get stuck into this book – and these lemon puffs! Aunt Sylvia, they look amazing.’
Léo sipped his coffee as she and Sylvia pored over the photos and drawings that Juliet had prepared. They were for the ‘Drinks and Desserts’ section of the book, which was more her domain than his, so he had the opportunity to sit back and watch, thinking how much she had changed – or maybe, rather, how much of herself she had revealed to him – since that first meeting in the aftermath of her birthday party. And he knew he was falling in love with this complicated, intriguing, talented woman. A ringing phone broke into his reverie.
‘Oh, that’s mine,’ said Juliet. ‘Where is it?’
‘Over here,’ said Léo, picking it up. ‘Oh, it is Toby.’
‘Oh no. Would you mind answering it, Léo? He’ll just ring and ring if nobody does, and I don’t want to speak to him ever again. I’d block the number, but he’ll find another way to get through. At least this way I know it’s him.’
‘Mais oui.’ He answered the call as he left the kitchen and went to sit in the little boot room. ‘Hello, this is Juliet’s phone?’
‘Got you working as her PA now, has she?’ came the sneering tones on the other end of the line. ‘Put Lettie on, would you?’
‘I must say, we greatly enjoyed our lunch at Cornucopia. Have you managed to get a table there yet?’ Léo knew he was deliberately antagonising the man, but he couldn’t help himself. Toby’s superior and bored tone was surely designed to bring out the worst in people?
‘No, the cognoscenti have already decided it’s rather passé, all those corn sheafs. So I didn’t even bother trying. Now put Lettie on, will you? Nice as it is to parler with you, it’s her I want to speak to.’
‘I’m afraid Juliet does not wish to speak to you.’
‘Don’t give me that nonsense. She says she doesn’t, but it’s just her way of thinking she’s punishing me. If you don’t put her on now, she’ll only call me back later, so you might as well save time.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that to be true. Juliet made her feelings very clear.’
‘Oh yes, yes, I’m sure she did, but I think I know her fractionally better than you do. Just put her on.’
Léo paused for a moment. He wasn’t going to give the phone to Juliet: he would respect her wishes. But what should he say to this imbécile? Anger was boiling inside him, longing for the satisfaction of eruption, but men like Toby thrived on such reactions.
‘Hello? Hello? Bonjour? Are you still there?’
‘Oui, but not for long. Do not call again, please.’
And with that, Léo hung up and returned to the kitchen.
‘I do not think that is the last you have heard of him,’ Léo started, just as the phone rang again. He tapped the green button. ‘Non, merci,’ he said, and hung up. ‘But I think he will start to get the message.’
‘Thank you, Léo,’ said Juliet, taking the phone from him. ‘Now I know he’s trying, I’ll be careful. Surely he’ll go away in the end?’
Léo could only hope so.