One Night at the Château

Chapter 6

6

Connie

The next afternoon, I fell under the spell of autumn in Provence. It was a golden day with empty roads and a quiet sense of purpose as preparations began for winter amongst the orchards and olive groves and vineyards. It was a pleasing contrast to the stifling heat and chaos of high summer, with its dust and traffic. Eventually, I began the drive along the long, straight road that led to Barles, where our house had been. It was lined with plane trees, their barks gleaming bright white in the late afternoon sun as I neared the town that had been such a big part of my life when I was young.

There were a few extra roundabouts on the outskirts and a few large stores I didn’t recognise – supermarkets and DIY stores and chain restaurants – but the centre was reassuringly the same, with its winding cobbled streets leading to a wide square with a beautiful church, its bell ringing out with an authoritative clang. It was just three o’clock. I was surprised to see plenty of places to park, and for a moment I was tempted to stop, to jump out and explore, perhaps buy something from the patisserie . Maybe even wander to the higher part of the town to see our old house.

I decided I would have plenty of time to go back down memory lane while I was here, so I drove straight through the town and out the other side, taking the road that led to Gordes and looking out for the turning which had always been able to disguise itself, tucked in between two fields of stumpy, gnarled olive trees.

I trundled along the narrow road for half a mile, bronze leaves scattered amidst the hedgerows. When I passed the neighbouring vineyard, I saw there was a smart sign with the family name writ large in gold: GASPARD . I felt a flicker of something, remembering the cutting, but I pushed it to one side and drove on.

And there! There were the familiar gateposts, CV engraved on each one in an elaborate scroll. The gates were pushed back, and I noticed that one was off its hinges, listing slightly, but that didn’t take away from the grandeur, or the view of the drive, or the tantalising glimpse of one of the towers in the distance. As I pulled in the sound of my tyres changed to a satisfyingly soft crunch over the pale gravel. I negotiated several potholes between the plane trees that emulated the ones on the way into Barles – they weren’t as tall, but they made you feel as if you were arriving somewhere.

And then, as the drive wound round to the left, there it was. The Chateau Villette. I hadn’t expected to feel so uplifted. It didn’t quite feel like coming home, for it had never been my actual home, but my heart leapt nevertheless, for it was a place of comfort, of refuge, of happiness. Of pure, unadulterated pleasure. I remembered how much I loved the rhythm of life here, starting with the triumphant crow of the cockerel from a nearby farm and ending with the cicadas chirruping their good night. Everything centred around good food and good company, from the very first croissant crumb to the last drop of Sauternes.

I knew, of course, how much hard work it took to provide that pleasure, because I had once been part of it. And I was ready to take up the baton again. I stopped the car for a moment, breathing in the stillness of the afternoon, the scent of woodsmoke, the lingering trace of eucalyptus, the mould of dying leaves. The chateau walls seemed to glow as the sun hovered just above the roof, bleaching the blue of the shutters into white. Everything was very still.

I carried on driving to the front of the chateau. The fountain, which had once played merrily, was empty, giving me a sense of foreboding as I parked beside it. There were no other cars to be seen.

I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car just as the front door flew open. There she was. My godmother Lismay. Arms outstretched, flying down the steps, in a white linen dress and yellow espadrilles, her hair held back by tortoiseshell sunglasses. It could have been her twenty-five years ago, from a distance. She was as tall and slender as a prima ballerina; as fragile and elegant as a crystal glass filled with champagne.

We met at the bottom of the steps, falling into each other’s arms. The tightness of her embrace said it all, and she seemed to melt into me, limp with relief.

‘Oh, Connie,’ was all she said.

Remorse made me mute. How had I left it so long? Why hadn’t I stood up to Daniel and insisted we come here, when he whisked us off to Santorini or Ibiza or bloody Dubai? Because what was more important? Swanky five-star holidays you could boast about on Instagram, or the people who mattered to you? The people who had made you?

‘It’s OK,’ I managed to whisper. ‘I’m here.’

She held me at arm’s length to look at me, her pale green gaze taking it all in: my dull skin, my lank hair, the lack of light in my eyes. She frowned, disconcerted for a moment, immediately clocking that I was not myself. Despite everything, she was immaculate, her skin porcelain and nourished, her make-up subtle, and she smelled, as ever, of L’Interdit , by Givenchy. My head spun with roses and violets and jasmine as it took me back to all those special times I’d shared with her. It reminded me of Mum, too, for wherever Lismay was, my mother had never been far behind.

I must not cry. This was about Lismay, Lismay and Piers, not me, and I was here to help.

‘Let’s go inside,’ she said. ‘Leave your things for now. Piers has nipped into town for more cheese.’ Her voice when she mentioned him was tight with tension. ‘Are you exhausted? Do you want a drink? Or something to eat? A bath, perhaps?’

‘Some water would be lovely. And maybe a cup of tea. I brought you some PG Tips,’ I laughed.

‘Oh, lovely. You are sweet. This is perfect timing because everyone’s out. The guests have gone to Marseille, so they won’t be back till late.’

She ran up the steps and open the door. I followed her inside, feeling the chateau fold itself around me as I walked into the hall. It was as still and calm as ever, just the tick of the grandfather clock that had belonged to Piers’s family, and the faint trace of the beeswax used to polish the wooden staircase. But there was a mustiness, too, and the air was thick with dust motes. I told myself it was the unforgiving autumn sun, so low that it picked up any imperfection, but I noticed the lack of fresh flowers on the table in the middle. Lismay had always done a stunning arrangement to welcome guests, but the vase was empty. Admittedly the roses from the garden, which were her pride and joy, would have been long over, but it seemed an odd oversight.

I followed her through into the kitchen. It was chaos. Once it had been the kitchen of my dreams, with its flagstone floors, the mighty black Lacanche cooker in the old fireplace, the gleaming copper pans hanging on the wall. Those were all still there, of course, but instead of my eye being drawn to the batteries de cuisine I lusted after, all I could see was piles of dirty plates, a sink crammed with washing-up, empty bottles, dirty glasses. There was a slightly sour smell in the air, and I could see that two doors on the kitchen units were broken and there was a drawer jammed open. There was a bucket spilling vegetable peelings and crumbs everywhere.

‘I haven’t quite cleared up from lunch,’ said Lismay faintly. ‘In fact, supper last night. The dishwasher’s broken.’

I looked at her, and I saw how overwhelmed she was. Now I looked more closely, there were mauve shadows under her eyes, and her voice trembled.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked her.

‘It’s Piers,’ she said. ‘Well, his bloody hip. It’s agony for him and he won’t admit it; he just carries on and he’s beastly and rude. Danielle walked out and went home to Australia without even picking up what we owed her because he was so horrible to her. And it’s not like him, you know it’s not, because he’s a darling. But he takes these painkillers and washes them down with a glug of pastis and he turns into a monster.’

I was horrified by her description. It didn’t sound anything like the Piers I knew, full of bonhomie and the perfect host and the kindest man you could wish to meet. ‘You can’t do all this without help.’

‘Tell me about it. But he won’t let me get extra help. I’m scared he’s going to use this as an excuse to cancel. There’s no way Hervé and Delphine can manage. I mean, they’re lovely but they are not front of house.’

Hervé and Delphine had been at the chateau for as long as I could remember. They must be older than Lismay and Piers. Hervé looked after the grounds and the vegetable garden and Delphine helped in the house. Or not, I thought, looking around at the detritus.

‘We should have let them go years ago,’ admitted Lismay. ‘I have to do everything again. She misses swathes of dust and leaves streaks on the windows. But how can we? They’d just fade away if we got rid of them. It’s all I can do to get them to have a day off. The chateau is their life.’ She sighed. ‘And the plongeur was supposed to come this morning but she hasn’t turned up because her grandmother was ill. I’m hoping she’ll be here tonight. Lilou’s pretty useless but she was the only person I could get.’

‘Well, I’m here now. You can relax and get Piers sorted and all will be well.’

‘I know. And I’m so grateful.’ She gulped. ‘Piers doesn’t know you’re coming, by the way. So he’ll probably be furious with me for going behind his back. But he’s got to have that operation. I’m not letting him trick me into cancelling.’

I turned everything she had told me over in my mind.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘What’s for dinner tonight? And what time will the guests be back?’

‘I’m doing onion tart and cheese and fruit, because they’ve gone to Marseille for bouillabaisse and I’m hoping they’ll be full. I told them dinner would be at eight.’

‘Sit down,’ I said. ‘You look exhausted. Have you had lunch?’

She shook her head. I doubted she’d even had breakfast. I was furious with Piers, driving her into the ground like this. He might be in pain, but there was no excuse.

‘Let’s find you something to eat.’ I pulled open the fridge and took out a jar of Nutella, grabbed a baguette and plonked them in front of her. ‘I’ll sort the kitchen and get started on dinner.’

‘You can’t! Not after that drive. You need a rest.’

‘I’m glad to be on my feet after hours at the wheel, I promise you.’

She didn’t protest. She was out of fight. I watched as she pulled off a hunk of bread and spread it with Nutella. Thank goodness she’d had the presence of mind and courage to contact me. She’d been right to do so. I was the one person who could get them out of this mess. I could stand up to Piers. I knew how to run this kitchen. I knew how to keep people happy.

I assessed the bombsite and made a mental list of how to get through everything, piling all the dirty crockery and glasses onto the table. I was used to creating order out of chaos. It was how I functioned best. It was my methodical magazine editor’s mind. One minute I would have reams of features, photographs and adverts flooding into my inbox and onto my desk, and I would have to make sense of it all, create a thing of beauty that people wanted to pick up, sifting through all the images, reading the copy, deciding how best to balance that month’s issue. I would have a theme in my mind, and anything that didn’t fit would be jettisoned. All the time I would be thinking about how to draw the reader in, how to capture their interest and inspire them. I was helping them to live their dream, and giving them comfort, and an escape. Eventually a shape would emerge, and every time I held a copy of the magazine in my hand I was amazed I’d managed to pull it off. But also grateful, for it was teamwork, and I drew on a bank of incredible talent.

I missed it all so much.

And although clearing up the kitchen was hardly the same as pulling together a new edition of The Heart of the Home , I went at it with the same vigour. In half an hour I had whipped through the washing-up and the drying until the long pine table in the kitchen was covered in shining plates, gleaming glasses and pristine saucepans and pots ready to be put away. And while I worked, I assessed the rest of the damage. This place needed a deep clean and total reorganisation.

Lismay saw me shudder as I tried to scrub the grease off the top of the Lacanche. I loved this cooker, this beast of a machine with its black enamel and its heavy doors and its brass knobs and I’d always longed for one of my own but Daniel had insisted on an Aga for the house in Cheltenham, because it was best for re-sale. I hadn’t realised at the time quite how soon the re-sale would be.

‘I know it’s a shit-hole,’ Lismay said in a small voice. My heart went out to her as she stared down at her plate. She was filled with shame. ‘I keep meaning to get on top of it.’

‘You’re not to worry,’ I said firmly. ‘We can sort it. Right now all we need to worry about is tonight’s meal. How many are we?’

‘Just three couples. They’re all friends, so they should be easy.’

The idea at Chateau Villette was that everyone sat down and ate together in the dining room next to the kitchen. It was wonderfully relaxed and convivial and the wine flowed and it always felt like the very best house party. How they’d had the energy to keep that up night after night for so many years I wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if their energy was finally drying up. It was the end of an era.

‘Right. In that case, I want you to go and have a rest, even if it’s just for half an hour.’

Surprisingly, Lismay didn’t protest, and I realised just how exhausted she must be. As she disappeared off, my stomach growled and I realised I needed a tartine too if I wasn’t going to keel over, so I grabbed the last of the baguette and ate it while surveying the contents of the fridge, pulling out butter for the pastry and to fry the onions. I found eggs, flour, thyme, a heavy-bottomed pan, a mixing bowl and two fluted quiche tins. I felt a familiar but long-forgotten sense of contentment coming over me, and I realised I hadn’t cooked a meal for more than one person for some time – since the kids had gone at the end of the summer, probably. I’d sensed Daniel drifting away before he left, and I’d given up trying to cook supper for the two of us. He’d always been busy, supposedly late home from work or heading out for a business-related social engagement, so I’d left him to fend for himself, not realising that Andrea was probably dropping Perelló olives into his mouth in between bouts of vigorous love-making.

I laid the bowl on the kitchen table with a contented sigh. Just as when Lismay phoned me, I felt needed. As if I had a purpose. I was cubing up the butter, dropping it into the flour and starting to rub it in, when a voice made me jump.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

It was Piers. He was looking at me with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance but even he couldn’t disguise a tiny flicker of pleasure.

‘Piers!’ I rushed over to him with my floury hands held high and kissed his cheek. ‘Surprise! I’ve been having a bit of a tough time and I decided what I needed was a good old dose of Chateau Villette. So I got in the car and here I am.’

‘Really?’ He looked doubtful.

‘I gave Lismay a terrible shock.’

Lismay had heard him come back and reappeared in the doorway looking nervous.

‘Did you now?’ His voice was flat, his eyes flickering back and forth between us, sensing a plot. I was shocked by his appearance as he walked across the room to put his shopping bags on the table. His gait was painfully slow, his faced lined with anticipatory pain, his skin slightly grey with the effort of moving. Where once he’d had an English gentleman’s elegance – Piers had always been dapper; what my dad called ‘natty’ – now he looked slightly shambolic. His cuffs were frayed, his yellow cords hung loose, and there were moth-holes in his jumper. His shoes weren’t polished either. I tried not to let my alarm show on my face.

‘Isn’t it wonderful to see her?’ Lismay asked, breaking the silence.

‘Of course. It always is.’ Piers’s expression was wry. ‘But it’s a bit of a coincidence. Our cook fucks off and suddenly … Here’s Connie .’ He imitated Jack Nicholson in The Shining .

‘It’s called synchro-destiny,’ I told him gaily. ‘I’m here for the taking, for as long as you want me.’

He didn’t look best pleased, and I was surprised by his lack of warmth. Normally by now he’d be opening a bottle to welcome me. ‘But I don’t understand. I mean, what about Daniel? Doesn’t he mind?’

I took a deep breath. It was time to come clean. To both of them.

‘Daniel and I are no longer. He’s left me for someone else.’

Lismay looked horrified. But not as horrified as Piers, who visibly changed from defensive to protective.

‘Oh, my darling girl,’ he said. He limped across the room to take me in his arms. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Of course you can stay here, as long as you like. Bastard. What is he thinking? Who is this woman? Sorry. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to talk about it.’

I nuzzled against his shoulder. It was nice to be hugged. It was nice to hear someone’s outrage on my behalf. I’d felt so alone since Daniel had dropped the bombshell. Dad had been sweet but I didn’t want to cry on his shoulder because it pained him, to see me in distress, and he was still missing Mum so badly.

And I couldn’t really discuss it with the kids, who were off doing their thing. We’d kept the news of our separation deliberately low key, not wanting to draw them into any drama, for they had enough on their plates navigating the world without having to worry about us. We said that we were on a break, that Dad had moved in somewhere else for the time being while we figured things out, and we were selling the house in the meantime because it was too big for us now they’d left home. They’d both taken it in their stride. If anything, they seemed sadder about the house than us splitting up, because it was a great party house, but maybe they felt more comfortable expressing their emotions about the family home than their parents separating.

I didn’t mind that Daniel had somehow managed to come out of it squeaky clean. I wasn’t such a monster that I felt the need to air his transgressions to our children, and if things got more serious between him and Andrea, he could tell them about her himself at some point. I knew the world was a tough place, and when I was with my children I wanted my energy to go into them, not my failed relationship. They had tricky things to navigate that were enormous to them – a falling-out with a flatmate, a tricky colleague, an obstructive landlord – and I didn’t need to add to their stress levels. I wanted them to feel unconditionally loved and supported, not anxious about either of us and our future.

It galled me to protect Daniel, but it was the honourable thing to do.

Lismay came over and patted me on the back.

‘Come and sit down and tell us all about it.’

‘Not now. I’d better get on with the tarts.’ I peeled myself away from Piers and headed back to my mixing bowl. ‘Maybe after dinner or tomorrow or … never.’

I plunged my hands back into the mixing. Piers looked at Lismay who gave him a shrug and a smile. He raised his eyebrows, knowing full well he had been outmanoeuvred, but he smiled back in the end.

‘Well, that’s rotten for you but good news for us,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you both go and have a rest before dinner?’ I suggested. ‘I’ll see you for drinks in the drawing room at eight.’

Half an hour later I slid the two tarts into the depths of the Lacanche. I had about twenty minutes before they’d be done, so I hurried out to my car and pulled out my case, then climbed the stone steps inside the left-hand tower to the top-floor bedroom. Piers and Lismay had the right-hand tower, and the left one was kept for their private guests. It was where I’d stayed when I’d worked here, and it looked exactly the same, with pale yellow walls and toile de jouy curtains and a bed with an ornate scrolled headboard. Mum had always stayed in here too, after she and Dad sold the house in Barles, and I felt her presence. It was comforting rather than sad, and it made me feel as if coming here was the right decision. Mum might not be here in my hour of need, but I sensed her approval from wherever she was. I wasn’t a big believer in the afterlife, but I was reassured by something that me being here was the right thing, for all of us.

I quickly unpacked, then jumped into the shower before pulling on black jeans, a white T-shirt and trainers, my go-to uniform for kitchen duties.

As I re-did my make-up, I thought about how I’d changed since the summer I’d spent here. Would my life have turned out differently if I hadn’t? Probably, for I would have lacked the courage and the confidence and the skills those few months had given me. I’d ended up with a prestigious job, a great partner, two wonderful children and a dream home. Somehow, I’d managed to lose all of them, except for Edie and Harry. How much of it had been my fault? If I’d done a better job, would the magazine have stayed afloat? If I’d been a better person, would Daniel have stayed with me? I knew I shouldn’t blame myself, but I couldn’t help it.

I reminded myself not to let my mind wander and undo the good I’d done by coming here. As I stared in the mirror, I thought I looked a little better than I had when I’d left England. Not back to normal, but there was a light in my eyes that hadn’t been there, and my mouth was curving upwards, not down. Arriving at the chateau had definitely lifted my spirits, even if I was a bit shocked at what I’d found.

I paused for a moment before leaving the room. I looked at the bed, and for a moment I remembered a strong pair of arms, and being dropped onto the soft mattress in a laughing heap. My cheeks went pink as I began to replay what happened next, then I turned quickly on my heel. I didn’t want the tarts to burn.

They were perfect. Two golden orbs that smelled so good I actually felt properly hungry for the first time in days. I washed salad leaves and laid out the cheeses Piers had bought on a big plate, then made a vinaigrette using the recipe Lismay had taught me. I could do it in my sleep. A finely diced shallot, three tablespoons of olive oil, one of tarragon vinegar, a teaspoon of Dijon mustard and one of herbaceous Provencal honey, salt flakes and twenty turns of the pepper grinder. As I shook it up in an old jam jar, I heard the put-put of a moped. It was the plongeur .

Lilou’s attitude arrived in the kitchen before she did. I was used to teenage girls. We had always had a houseful, for Edie brought her friends back every weekend and I learned all their tricks and little ways, how the difficult ones were usually the most vulnerable, hiding their insecurities behind antagonism. So when Lilou strolled in, her blue hair backcombed into a bouffant ponytail, radiating hostility, I wasn’t fazed. Her nails were bitten, which told me she was of an anxious disposition. She wore a plaid shirt with PVC jeans and baseball boots and smelled of cheap market perfume and cigarettes.

She gazed at me through black-rimmed eyes.

‘Lilou?’ I smiled and held out my hand. ‘I’m Connie. Do you speak English?’

She shrugged. ‘ Un peu. ’ Eventually she took my hand, letting it drop as quickly as she could.

I decided to speak French to her for the time being, to relax her a little. I patted my chest. ‘I am replacing Danielle. In the kitchen. I will be your patron .’

Her eyes flashed. She did not like being told I was the boss. She crossed her arms. I knew from Lismay that Lilou came in for two hours to help with breakfast and any clearing up from the night before, and then arrived at six to do the washing-up for the evening. I knew how to handle her. Firm but fair. Strict boundaries.

‘You were not here this morning?’

‘My grandmother was ill.’ She stared me straight in the eye, defying me not to accept that as an excuse. ‘I had to fetch her medicine.’

‘OK. Well, I hope she’s better now and you’ll be on time tomorrow morning. We need you here, Lilou. And I need you to tell me where everything is.’

I knew it was important to make her feel part of a team rather than an underling. I could sense life was difficult for her, that she was a little lost. I supposed that a tiny Provencal town didn’t hold much excitement for an eighteen-year-old girl. She was chewing on her thumbnail, rigid with uncertainty. How lucky Edie was, I thought, to be off at university chasing her dreams.

I got her polishing all the wine glasses with a linen cloth. I wasn’t going to give anyone the chance to complain about anything now I was here. There wasn’t going to be a smudge, a speck or a crumb to be found on my watch. It was Lismay who had taught me high standards, but somewhere along the way she had let hers slip.

She reappeared in the kitchen at half past six, obviously unable to last until eight.

‘Oh! You two have met. Hello, Lilou. Is everything OK with your grandmother?’

‘ Oui. ’ Lilou had the grace to look a little shamefaced. I wondered if the medicine excuse was fictional.

‘Is everything OK?’ I asked Lismay, as Lilou started to carry glasses and cutlery into the dining room to lay the table.

‘Yes. Piers wasn’t overly happy about being hoodwinked. But I’m so relieved now you’re here. It’s going to make all the difference.’

‘When’s the operation?’

‘Tuesday week. So we should be heading to London as soon as we can. We need to see the consultant and I want to get the flat ready for when he gets home and …’ She put her hands up to her head as if to hold all the thoughts that were whirling around. ‘It’s making my head spin.’

For a moment, I wondered if I should be going to London with them, rather than helping here.

‘It’ll be fine,’ I reassured her. ‘Honestly, he won’t know himself afterwards. Dad was leaping about like a new-born lamb after he had his. And you’ll be in good hands.’

‘I know. I keep telling myself it’s a hip replacement, not open-heart surgery. But Piers is so anxious it makes me nervous.’

‘Well, you know Dad’s on hand if you need anything. He’s only five minutes down the road.’

‘I know. We can’t wait to see him.’

‘And you don’t have to worry about anything here. I can run this place with my eyes shut. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back.’

‘Really?’

‘Honestly,’ I said, and gave her a hug.

‘But what about you, darling? I’m sorry – I’ve been so wrapped up in things here. What happened?’

‘It’s such a cliché, honestly. Him, hit by a midlife crisis. Me, menopausal and unappealing.’ I shrugged.

‘Connie,’ Lismay said, her voice sharp. ‘You would never be unappealing. Do not blame yourself. Not for second. I hate to say it, and maybe I should have said it before, but Daniel likes his own way rather too much. I know your mum always worried—’

Before she could finish, we heard the sound of the guests arriving back from their day trip.

‘To be continued,’ said Lismay, and she gave me a look that brooked no nonsense. I knew I could rely on my godmother to put me straight, but I was relieved to be interrupted. I wasn’t sure I was ready to analyse the breakdown of my relationship, even though I knew she would be firmly on my side.

The guests all tumbled into the kitchen, for it was open house here, nowhere out of bounds. Introductions were made and there were exclamations about how good dinner smelled. They had about ten years on me, all successful professionals nearing retirement, absolutely the target guests for One Night at the Chateau – people who knew what they wanted and how to live well, and who looked forward to their holidays. I imagined them round at each other’s houses planning ski trips and city breaks.

‘We decided to splash out on this trip and live the chateau life,’ explained Janine. I’d identified her as the ringleader, the one who had probably done all the organising. ‘We’re SKI-ing. Spending the kids’ inheritance.’ They all laughed in agreement.

I was determined they would leave here happy enough to leave a five-star review, and the easiest way to do that was to completely spoil them so they would overlook any little quibbles. Lovely food, copious wine and making them feel as if the chateau was their own home would go a long way to papering over the cracks that had appeared.

I put the finishing touches to the preparations then got changed, digging out a black velvet dress I’d thrown into my case. It was short and swingy with puffed sleeves, chic but comfortable enough to wear in the kitchen and while serving. I threw it on with black tights and chunky loafers, and piled my hair up in a messy chignon. Pas mal , I thought, inspecting my reflection. Certainly better than the pyjama-clad blob of a few days ago.

By apéro I had the guests eating out of my hand. In the drawing room, the fire was piled high with sweet logs and the candlelight flickered in the huge mirror. I’d found some Chet Baker on my Spotify and the languid, soft jazz made everyone relax as I passed around kir royale and gougères .

‘Tell me what you do,’ I said to Janine. She was the one I needed to win over, for if she felt as if she had failed, she would take it out on us with a scathing write-up.

‘Oh, boring old insurance,’ she told me. ‘It’s the family business. Very dull.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ I told her. ‘Jobs that sound dull are always fascinating, and vice versa.’

She laughed. ‘Well, we do have some interesting cases.’

She began to regale me with tales of false insurance claims, and actually it was fascinating, but I had to go and attend to the tarts that were heating up, so I excused myself. By now Piers had emerged and was topping up the glasses. He seemed much more relaxed. Resigned to the situation, perhaps. He had never been an unreasonable man but pain can turn the most placid person into a monster.

I’d forgotten how much hard work it is, making things seem effortless and relaxed. You have to keep your eyes on everything while being charming and convivial and seeming like one of the guests. It’s much more difficult than a more formal arrangement, where there are clear boundaries. And I had insisted that Lismay and Piers shouldn’t lift a finger.

‘You’ve got to pack tomorrow, and head to London. You need to rest.’

Piers was at his most charming over dinner, telling tales of the advertising industry in the glory days.

‘You must have been well paid,’ said one of the men. ‘To be able to afford this place.’

‘Oh, we got it for a song. It was before chateau fever struck. They couldn’t give them away in those days.’

Everyone loved hearing the story. Piers hammed it up, telling them how he and Lismay had got drunk over lunch at L’Epic and bought the chateau on a whim.

‘He’s forgotten to tell you he left me to it,’ Lismay laughed. ‘He swanned off back to England leaving me to oversee it all. It was a complete cauchemar , I can tell you. Have you ever tried to get a French builder to do something he doesn’t want to do? I had to embrace my inner Maggie Thatcher to get what I wanted.’

‘Don’t be fooled by Lismay,’ said Piers. ‘She’s an iron fist in a velvet glove. I knew she was the woman for the job. I’d have been too busy wanting to make friends.’

‘It was bloody hard,’ sighed Lismay. ‘And of course, it’s like the Forth Bridge. There’s always something that needs doing.’

‘You’re living the dream, though, aren’t you?’ said Janine.

‘Yes,’ said Lismay, trying to keep any doubt out of her voice, for the guests didn’t want any indication that it was anything but a fairy tale. ‘Though there were times I would have cheerfully packed up and gone home. But it was worth fighting for, wasn’t it, darling?’

The two of them clinked glasses across the table. The guests were lapping it up. I jumped up and cleared the plates, ready to bring in coeurs à la crème . I was seducing them with food and booze and laughter and so far, it seemed to be doing the trick.

‘Well, good for you,’ said Janine. ‘I wish I had the courage to do something like this.’

‘We were young, though, remember,’ said Lismay. ‘Young and foolish and naive and we didn’t have a clue.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Piers cheerfully. ‘I knew exactly what we were letting ourselves in for. But I had absolute faith in you. You were the one who made the dream a reality.’

The guests all sighed with appreciation at his declaration. I saw Lismay smile, brushing a strand of her grey-blond hair off her face and giving a nonchalant shrug. Piers was right, though. The place would be nothing without Lismay. She was the one who had brought magic to the Chateau Villette.