Chapter 8
8
Connie
The day after Janine and her gang left, Piers and Lismay were ready to set off for London. Madame QH’s husband was driving them to the airport.
‘You’re not to think about this place even for a minute,’ I assured Lismay. ‘There’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve got a good team.’
This wasn’t strictly true. They were a funny little crew and were going to need licking into shape. Hervé and Delphine had very set ideas about how things should be done; Lilou was very young and inexperienced, and there was definitely some antagonism between them.
‘Don’t let Delphine bully Lilou,’ Lismay had told me the first evening. ‘She doesn’t approve of her, because her mother’s in prison. Everyone told me I was mad to take her on, that the family were bad news and the brother is a drug dealer. I think her father’s dead.’
I took in all this new information. ‘So that’s why she lives with her grandmother?’
‘Yes – and her grandmother’s got some sort of lung disease. She’s pretty immobile and barely leaves the house. That’s why Lilou’s come to work here. They need the money.’
‘Poor love. That’s a big responsibility for such a young girl.’
‘I know,’ agreed Lismay. ‘Which is why I want to support her. But she’s very green.’
‘I’ll train her up. Don’t you worry.’
I already had faith in Lilou, having watched her over the weekend. She had attitude, but she was also quick to learn, good with her hands and she responded well to praise. I was going to transform her – without killing any of her spirit, of course. I recognised that spark of defiance as potential, something to be channelled.
‘And are you sure you’ll be OK? Have you heard from Daniel?’ Lismay couldn’t help narrowing her eyes when she mentioned him. I wouldn’t fancy his chances if they came face to face.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not a dicky bird. But that’s fine by me.’
I realised I’d barely given him a moment’s thought over the weekend. It spoke volumes about the state of our relationship. I suppose it helped that I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone over here; that no one knew he had left me. I could be myself, not the wronged woman. If that was running away, I didn’t care.
Before they left, Piers entrusted me with the business credit card.
‘Buy whatever you need,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been afraid of investment. We’ve let the place go. I know we have.’
He looked ashamed. I hated to see him humiliated like this.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ I told him. ‘You’ll come back right as rain.’
‘You’ve got carte blanche to do what you like. If you can find a way to fill the empty weekends, I’ll give you commission. We always used to be fully booked until Christmas.’
‘You’re on,’ I said. I loved a challenge.
‘Honestly. Whatever you think needs doing, just go for it.’
‘Helicopter landing pad?’ I joked.
‘If that’s what it takes. You’ve got free rein, Connie. There’s no one I’d trust more.’
‘Thank you. It’s an honour to be in charge. You know how much I love this place.’
‘Thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t popped up.’
‘Lismay might be my godmother, but you’ve been like a godfather to me, and it’s an honour to repay everything you’ve done for me.’
He looked a bit teary. ‘Well, you’re … like a daughter to us, Connie.’
He was going to start me off now. I gave him a big hug, this dear man who had hit a bump in the road. I was determined to help him get back on course.
I watched them head off down the drive with mixed feelings. Now they were out of sight I could get on with the task of bringing the chateau up to standard without worrying about hurting their feelings or making them feel judged. But I only had three days before the arrival of eight people for a fiftieth birthday jamboree. Apart from the usual catering, there was a celebratory feast to prepare, not least two hundred profiteroles to bake for a croquembouche .
I was pleased the previous weekend had gone well, and Janine had left delighted with the stay she had organised. There was still a lot of work to do to bring everything up to five-star and restore their former reputation, but I was confident I could help them do it. Best of all, I felt happy, for the first time in weeks. Months. Maybe even years, I realised now. Sometimes you have to step away from a situation to see it for what it is. I could see now that I’d been struggling for a while.
I felt safe here, though, miles from gossip and conjecture and decisions. Miles from Daniel. And I was coming to the rescue of two people I cared about. By the time they got back from London, the Chateau Villette would be the place to go once again, beloved of influencers and bloggers and fully booked for months ahead.
As soon as their car disappeared down the drive, I hurried back inside.
‘Right,’ I said to Lilou. ‘I need extra help for the next couple of days. Do you want more hours, or shall I find someone else?’
She stared at me, her fake eyelashes so heavy I didn’t know how she kept her eyes open. She gave a comedy shrug that I interpreted as yes. I tried to work out what the French for ‘deep clean’ was. As I tried to explain, she nodded.
‘ Oui. C’est dego?tant ,’ she said, waving her hand around and wrinkling her nose.
Disgusting.
‘You can get started by cleaning out the fridge,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen things in there that might walk out if we don’t throw them away. I’m going shopping. I’ll be back in an hour.’
I headed into the hypermarket on the outskirts of Barles. I bought bleach and polish and floor cleaner. Mops and dusters and scouring pads. Rubber gloves. Beeswax. Window cleaner.
I stopped for croissants from the boulangerie on the way home. I was already in the habit of dipping one into my morning coffee. I joined the line behind two smartly turned-out ladies, not a hair out of place, lipstick and perfume applied, acutely conscious I hadn’t showered yet, wearing leggings and a big old Aerosmith sweatshirt – the kind of outfit no Frenchwoman would be seen dead in. My hair was scraped up in a scrunchie and I didn’t have a scrap of make-up on.
‘ Bonjour, bonjour .’ I smiled, and received formal greetings in return, as I tried not to wither even further at their disapproval. Or had I imagined it? They probably didn’t care what I was wearing. Then I heard a voice, looked up, and my whole world tilted slightly on its axis.
Rémy Gaspard. There he was, at the counter, joking and laughing with the owner, Vivienne, holding up his fingers to indicate how many pains au chocolat he wanted. My eyes ran over his tight black merino sweater – the fabric clung to his frame, outlining his broad shoulders, skimming over his chest and down his flat stomach, one side tucked into the waistband of dark blue jeans, his hips narrow, his legs long and muscular. There was power there still, undeniably. His black hair was streaked with even more silver than there had been in the photo I’d seen of him, but it was glossy and fell halfway down his neck, and he put up a hand from time to time to brush it out of his eyes. I saw a watch on his wrist – vintage, discreet, Patek Phillipe. There was no wedding ring.
I stood stock still, not sure where to look as he carried on his order, Vivienne laughing as she gathered what he wanted, an easy familiarity between them. He was ordering a lot of bread and I guessed they had workers to feed at the vineyard. As he placed the baguettes into the bag he’d brought with him and held out his phone to tap the card reader, I felt panic. I didn’t want him to see me.
He turned, and began to walk past the queue – several more people had joined by now. A ripple of something worked its way along the waiting customers as each of them stood to attention, smiling widely to return his greeting as he said ‘ Bonjour ’ to every one of them. I stepped to one side, bending down to rummage for something imaginary in my bag. If it was churlish of me not to return his greeting, that was better than his eyes roaming over me with no trace of recognition or interest. He had the easy way of the very attractive, that acceptance that everyone who saw him looked at him longingly or enviously, but there was no hint of arrogance. Each woman in the queue seemed to come to life as he spoke to them, shimmering under his gaze.
I remembered that feeling. How he had made me feel as if I had come to life that evening, a fizzy warmth coursing through me when his eyes had met mine. It was a mere amuse bouche , a delicate tingle in contrast to how he had made me feel later on. A feeling no one else had ever come close to giving me since. I felt a little faint at the memory, woozy with longing.
When it was my turn to order, I couldn’t remember a thing. I ordered at random, flustered, hoping that no one would make the connection between Rémy’s presence and my inability to string two words together. I stumbled out of the shop and headed to my car. As I sat in the driver’s seat, I wondered how on earth I had become someone who cringed away from the very person who had peppered my dreams since the day I met him. Why had I slunk into the shadows? Why couldn’t I have met his eye, returned his greeting with a joyful exclamation, given him my cheek to kiss? Isn’t that what a sophisticated grown woman would have done? Instead, I’d behaved like a gauche teenager.
It was Daniel’s fault. He had zapped my confidence, making me feel worthless by walking out on me. I felt belittled and humiliated and unworthy and I couldn’t find a scrap of fight, not an ounce of my ebullient younger self. I had no fire in my belly. The last thing I wanted was Rémy catching sight of me, and seeing the momentary shock in his eyes as he managed to place me then wondered how I could possibly have let myself go so much.
I was absent-mindedly chewing the corner of a croissant as I mulled over our chance encounter. There was quite likely to be another one. Barles was a small town. I wasn’t going to go further afield for my provisions. Why should I? I needed to get it together for next time instead. Make sure I was on point in case I ever bumped into him again. She was still in there, I told myself, that golden, fun-loving, sexy twenty-three-year-old. I had to excavate her, dust her off and put her back on her pedestal, ready to face Rémy with chutzpah and attitude and a radiant glow.
There was something I needed to do first, if I wanted to empower myself. I’d read the draft of Simon Lewin’s letter to Daniel, outlining my request for the money from my parents to be returned before sharing the proceeds of the house. It included a declaration from my father that the money had always been intended for me and the children. Simon had said that would strengthen my case. Every time I looked at it, I felt sick. It felt so final, so cold-blooded, added to which I was afraid of Daniel’s reaction, for he could be explosive if things didn’t go his way. But I wasn’t going to be bullied any longer. It was my future at stake, and what I was proposing wasn’t unreasonable. Not in the least.
I picked up my phone and began to type an email to Simon.
Further to your draft letter, I would be grateful if you could send it to Daniel at your earliest convenience …
I pressed send and pushed the last of the croissant into my smiling mouth, giving myself a triumphant fist pump. I was trying very hard to be assertive rather than vengeful, for he was still the father of my children, but this was a battle I was determined not to lose.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror and saw I had got back some light in my eyes, and some colour in my cheeks. I held my head high as I drove out of the car park, pausing for a moment to let a sleek navy blue SUV drive past. My heart leapt again as I spotted the driver, mysterious in dark glasses, his arm resting on the sill of the open window.
Rémy.
This time, I gave a nod of acknowledgement as he raised a nonchalant hand to thank me. Had he even seen me? I wondered. And if so, had he recognised me? And if so, what did he think? Did he remember that night as vividly as I did?