Chapter 15
15
Connie
Waking up at the Chateau Villette each day was a revelation. There was a crispness in the air and a soft brightness to the light that made me want to bounce out of bed and race down to the kitchen, armed with my laptop. I made coffee and began brainstorming. My mind had a clarity I thought I’d lost forever. Instead of a thick pea soup like a Victorian London fog, it felt razor sharp. It reminded me of when I worked at the magazine. On the commute to London from Cheltenham, I would rip through my inbox and to-do list at my train seat, and would arrive at the office having done most people’s equivalent of a day’s work, armed with a list of tasks to delegate to my team. Had I been a nightmare? I wondered in retrospect. A Devil Wears Prada monster but with cookers instead of clothes? I didn’t think so. Wrangling the staff at The Heart of the Home had always been a challenge, for with creative talent comes an explosive mix of egos and jealousies and rivalry and ambition, but I’d the utmost respect for everyone who worked for me. I wanted them to progress, and gave them every opportunity I could to push themselves. I’d been known to be firm but fair, honest and open and upfront. I tried very hard to keep my own ego in check, meting out praise and making sure every success was shared. I thought I’d been a good boss. Kind, approachable, encouraging.
Maybe I hadn’t been ruthless enough? Maybe if I’d channelled my inner Miranda Priestley a bit more, the magazine wouldn’t have been thrown under the bus with me on it.
Either way, I couldn’t worry about that now. I was simply grateful that life had thrown me the opportunity to get back on my feet and re-invent myself. I had an immediate challenge – to turn the chateau’s fortunes around – and I needed to look to my own future.
I started to outline a strategy for the chateau. It was early days, and I needed to spend more time getting the feel of the place again in order to work out a cost-effective marketing plan. Getting the ratings up was paramount, but also it needed a bigger online presence, so the first thing I did was set up an Instagram account. With a few clicks I had a profile for One Night at the Chateau, and I crept outside to take a photograph. Wispy shreds of mist shrouded the turrets as the sun rose. I didn’t need to be David Bailey to capture its beauty.
I posted the first picture to the grid with a simple caption: Bonjour .
I swiftly followed every travel journalist, influencer and travel blogger I knew of. By lunchtime, I had forty-seven followers and thirty likes. I remembered my meeting in the tunnel, and found Frenchified by Fiona. She had over forty thousand followers. My mind started whirring. I had to get her here, I thought. One photo from her on her Instagram account would be worth its weight in gold.
‘Welcome back, Connie Hammond,’ I said to myself with a grin. I was back doing what I did best. Making connections. Making miracles happen. Making magic.
I also used that early morning window to re-do my CV and started sending it out to all my contacts. I was smart enough to massage my current situation so it didn’t look as if I’d been idle:
marketing consultant – chateau villette, barles, provence
Developed a marketing strategy for One Night at the Chateau, an exclusive and upmarket B & B experience in the heart of Provence, including a brand refresh and social media campaign.
No one needed to know that in fact I’d spent the last few days smothered in dust and cobwebs. By now, the chateau was almost unrecognisable. Decluttered and deep-cleaned, it was as shiny as a new pin. The day before the partygoers were due to arrive, I stayed up until midnight ironing the bed linen, for there had been one or two complaints online about creased duvet covers. Lilou was making up the beds to my exacting instructions.
‘I’m going to show you how to do a hospital corner,’ I told her.
‘’ospital corner?’ She looked baffled.
‘Yes. It’s the proper way.’
She watched in astonishment as I tucked a flat sheet in at the bottom of the bed, then lifted the side at an angle, tucked the remainder in underneath, then brought the side down and tucked it in again, all sharply folded.
‘Now you do the other side,’ I said.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged, but she obeyed me. It took her three goes, but by the end of it her hospital corners were as sharp and neat as mine. Then I showed her exactly how much blanket to fold over on top of the duvet, and where to place the pillows. I’d forgotten how much I loved detail, and getting things exactly right. I stood back and looked at the bed, amused at what pleasure it gave me to see it so plump and comfortable. It wasn’t quite the same as putting a magazine to bed, but it gave me the same sense of satisfaction.
I felt as if I was coming back to life.
I spent more on flowers at the florist in Barles than I probably should have, but an extravagant display went a long way to diverting the eye from flaws, so I put huge vases stuffed with hydrangeas and dahlias in autumn colours in the hall and the drawing room and dainty posies in every bedroom. The air smelt sweet, of beeswax and lavender.
I’d raided Lismay’s vast collection of cookery books and spent the evenings scribbling out menus to make the most of the autumn produce I knew would be available in the market and whatever Hervé could bring me from the garden. I had forgotten what a joy French cooking was, and threw myself into the preparations with unadulterated glee, unwrapping pats of pale unsalted butter and tubs of golden-yellow crème fra?che.
By Thursday, the fridge was groaning and the shelves in the larder were piled high with all the ingredients I needed to cater the next few days. As well as the profiteroles for the birthday extravaganza, I’d made little Gruyère biscuits to have with drinks, and friands to dip in the morning coffee. I didn’t have a moment to reflect on anything other than where to source some chestnut honey to drizzle over the Brillat Savarin for the cheeseboard.
After she finished the beds, I kept Lilou busy filling little verrines with fish terrine topped with a rosette of smoked salmon and a tiny spoonful of roe for tonight’s starter. I watched her work for a moment. She seemed totally absorbed and determined that each one would be as perfect as the next. I was pleased, and sensed she had the potential to be so much more than a plongeur -cum-chambermaid.
Delphine’s face was hewn from cold marble as she peeled potatoes. The peeler flew across each one, leaving wafer thin strands of pale skin to drop into the colander. I realised that she felt sidelined, and the last thing I wanted to do was offend her. She and Hervé were part of the furniture here at the chateau, but Lismay had admitted she was only keeping them on out of sentimentality because she didn’t have the heart to let them go, so she let them do whatever they wanted, which, in Delphine’s case, was prep the vegetables every night and do some perfunctory cleaning. I couldn’t fault her efficiency on the veg-prep front but the chateau was filthy. We’d uncovered clusters of dust balled up under the furniture and streaks on the mirrors and windows. She didn’t have the stamina or the eyesight for it anymore.
Pandering to Delphine was a luxury Lismay couldn’t afford. But I could see what a difficult situation it was. And I sensed our deep clean of the house had nettled Delphine, and that she’d seen it as a criticism of her housekeeping skills. Well, it was, but how could I tell her that? I sighed, and reminded myself this was what I did. Or used to do. Managed people, and their expectations. I realised I hadn’t done that with Delphine, perhaps because I didn’t yet feel it was my place to put her in hers. I’d gone behind her back, and sequestered Lilou to help me. Delphine, rightfully, felt threatened. And disgruntled. I needed to have a chat with her. Find out her thoughts, talk about her role, see if perhaps it could be re-aligned into something she could manage that was actually useful to Piers and Lismay.
I sighed. Old age was inevitable, and it brought about changes no one wanted, but there was no point in being in denial. Nothing stays the same. I knew that better than anyone. But if you want to win in this game called life, you have to make the changes, not have them thrust upon you.
I needed to mollify her in the meantime.
‘Delphine, thank you so much for your help. When you’ve done the potatoes, could you put a little cassis into each of the glasses for the welcome kir royales ? And pop them on a tray?’
‘ Oui. ’ Her reply was staccato, accompanied by a curt nod. I put out a hand to pat her arm in a gesture of appreciation, but she moved deftly out of my way. I wasn’t going to win her round that easily.
Just before the guests were due to arrive, I showered and changed into wide black trousers and a short-sleeved lilac polo neck. At five o’clock, a pair of shiny black SUVs arrived and parked outside the front door. There were two couples in each, and out they scrambled, exclaiming in delight at their home for the next few days. They were very dressed up, all the women in high heels with perfectly blow-dried hair, and the men buttoned into tight cashmere overcoats. For a moment, an image of Andrea flashed into my mind and I tensed. These were her kind of people.
I took in a deep breath to calm myself and walked down the steps with a smile as one of the men helped what was presumably his wife down from the passenger seat. She was blindfolded. She must be Colette, the birthday girl.
She pulled down her blindfold and looked up.
‘Oh my God!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh my God! An actual chateau! Oh my God, you lot – what are you like?’
I knew straight away they were going to be a handful. They were very high-spirited and out to have a good time. Which was fair enough. They obviously had a lot of money and were eager to show off their success. It was going to take all my skills to make sure they were happy. Although they were great fun and charming on the surface, I knew they could turn in a flash if their expectations weren’t being met.
In the hall, they introduced themselves: Colette and her husband Gary, Martine and Lee, Karen and Ed, and Alison and Ashley, Colette’s brother. There was a lot of flashy jewellery, and the air filled with competing clouds of aftershave and scent.
Lilou stepped tentatively into the hall with the tray of kir royales . I did a double take. While I’d been upstairs, she had changed too, into a fitted white shirt and black trousers, with her hair smoothed into a low pony tail. She looked much older, almost sophisticated. I was touched. She realised just how important this weekend was, and was making an extra effort.
I stepped forward.
‘Welcome, everybody, to the Chateau Villette. Please, take a glass with our compliments. This is Lilou, who is my right-hand girl and will be helping me to look after you this weekend.’
Lilou was concentrating too hard on not spilling the drinks to give anything other than a very brief shy smile.
‘The idea is that the chateau is your home for the weekend,’ I went on. ‘So we leave you to your own devices once we’ve agreed what time you want lunch and dinner. It’s not a hotel, so we don’t have a bar and we don’t do room service, but if there’s something you want we’ll try and organise it for you. Within reason.’
‘Bring on the dancing girls!’ chortled Gary.
‘Champagne, cocaine, strippers!’ laughed Lee.
‘That was a joke,’ Colette assured me. ‘Don’t wind her up, you lot.’
I tried to smile. ‘The owners are away at the moment, so I’m very conscious of looking after the place while they’re gone.’ I hoped they’d get the subtext.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Gary, Colette’s husband. ‘We know how to behave, don’t we?’
‘Oh yes,’ giggled Martine. ‘If the men get out of hand, we’ll just give them a good spanking.’
‘The men out of hand? As if!’ replied Gary. ‘It’s you girls that are a handful. You should have seen them in Monaco last year for the Grand Prix. Wild.’
Colette saw my expression. ‘It’s all right, love. I’ll make sure they don’t get out of control.’
I tried to be reassured but I had a feeling we were going to be in for a rough ride.
‘Is this vintage champagne in here?’ asked Ashley, holding up his glass. ‘Because we really only do vintage.’
I looked at him coolly. ‘It’s actually a sparkling wine from the neighbouring vineyard. It’s what we always use to greet our guests. And I think you’ll find it’s as good as any champagne.’
I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference even with a gun at his head.
‘A vineyard? Any chance of a tour? We like our wine.’
‘I can certainly ask.’ My heart skittered. I didn’t want to have to contact Rémy. Or did I? This was the perfect opportunity if I did.
‘We’re not going to have time, Ash,’ Colette told him. ‘We’ve got a packed timetable.’
‘We could squeeze it in while you girls are at the spa having your colons cleansed.’
‘You’re driving us, remember, so we can have a drink.’
‘Sunday, then, maybe.’ He looked at me.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I could always lie. Say it was too short notice.
‘Great. And is there someone to get our luggage in?’ He wasn’t going to give up.
‘As I explained, it’s more of a home from home here. So no.’
It was something Piers and Lismay should think about for the future, though at the moment they weren’t charging enough for that kind of service. I’d been thinking about ways to make the experience more exclusive and luxurious, but without sacrificing the laidback atmosphere they’d worked so hard to achieve. People expected a lot these days.
‘Get your arse into gear, Ash.’ Colette whacked her brother on the bum. ‘You’re not too good to bring in your own suitcase. Honestly, I don’t know who you think you are sometimes.’
I liked Colette, I decided. If anyone was going to be my ally, it was her. It was a shame about Ashley, though. I didn’t like the look of him. He was the kind of person you couldn’t keep happy, because he made it a point of honour to find fault. As I walked away, I realised why it was I didn’t trust him. He reminded me a little bit of Daniel.
I’d had a text from Daniel earlier, telling me he’d hired a cleaner to do the house from top to bottom, and that the photographer was coming next week. Lazy toad. He could easily have done it himself.
It’s costing ￡500, so can you transfer your half to me.
What a cheek! I texted him back.
Absolutely not. There’s no need to pay for a cleaner.
I could feel his fury from across the Channel.
There is. We need to get it on the market ASAP.
I wasn’t bothered when it went on. So I didn’t reply. It wasn’t in my nature to not answer texts. It was much more Daniel’s thing. But I realised what a useful weapon silence was. It made me feel quite powerful.
Dinner that night went off without a hitch. The guests were very loud, but very appreciative, and I had to admit I’d knocked it out of the park with the food: fricassée of chicken with morels and a caramelised tarte au citron . I’d stuck to old favourites, dishes I could cook with my eyes closed, but also dishes that relied on quality ingredients to lift them. The morels were exquisite, the corn-fed chicken plump and tender, the lemons bright with sunshine. I couldn’t go wrong.
‘This bodes well for tomorrow night.’ Gary raised his glass to me. ‘Is there another drop of this lovely Chablis?’
‘There’s a cellar full.’
I was making them sign the back of every bottle they drank, so I could put them in a box to be counted up before they left. I didn’t want any arguments. It seemed easier than getting them to sign a chitty.
‘Bring it on!’
‘We’re all getting an early night, remember?’ said Colette. ‘Tomorrow’s a big day.’
‘Early night? I don’t know the meaning of the word!’ laughed Gary. ‘Grab us another couple of bottles, would you? And some of the Chateauneuf-du-Pape.’
I left them with several more bottles of wine and a platter of cheese. One of them had brought their portable speaker and they were arguing over what music to play while Gary scrolled through Spotify. I recognised the opening bars of ‘Highway to Hell’ and thought it was appropriate.
‘We want something we can dance to, not your head-banging rubbish,’ shrieked Colette, grabbing his phone off him.
It wasn’t long before the opening bars of a nineties dance classic were thumping away. The women all sang along. ‘Everybody’s Free’. I didn’t have to look to know their arms would all be in the air. I escaped to the kitchen to start on the washing-up.
Lilou looked disapproving. ‘They are so loud.’
I laughed. ‘They’re just letting their hair down.’
I suspected Frenchwomen of a certain age had a little more dignity. But they were all having fun and I wasn’t going to stop them. The more they drank, the more Lismay and Piers would make, after all.
I sent Lilou off home at eleven. I worried about her driving home so late on her moped, but she waved away my anxiety with one of her shrugs.
‘Sometimes I go to Marseille at midnight to pick up my brother.’
As a mother, I shuddered to think of her making her way into the city at that time. No way would I allow Edie to do that. But if Lilou was going to survive, she had to get here and back.
‘Will you text me when you get home?’
She looked at me, surprised. She probably wasn’t used to anyone worrying about her whereabouts.
‘ Bien s?r. ’
She hesitated before leaving the kitchen. I knew only too well the body language of a teenage girl with something she wanted to share.
‘What is it, Lilou?’ I asked her. ‘None of them have made a pass at you, have they?’
‘No!’ she said. ‘But the older guy – Ashley? He asked me where he could get some cocaine.’
‘Oh.’ I frowned. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. For tomorrow night.’
I looked away, frowning, and Lilou must have misunderstood my consternation.
‘If you need it, if you want it, I have contacts—’
‘No!’ I looked at her in alarm. ‘Absolutely not, Lilou. No. That’s the last thing we want here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, reddening, realising she had made a faux pas. ‘I thought maybe – to keep them happy.’
She was mortified. Poor Lilou. I didn’t blame her for offering, because the attitude to drugs was very casual these days in a lot of circles and a different person from me might have taken her up on her offer. But I had to make it clear to her that we weren’t running that kind of an establishment. Apart from anything, I didn’t want her getting into any trouble. I was feeling more and more protective of her. I was furious with Ashley. How dare he approach a young girl like that?
That’s what people like him did all the time.
‘No drugs, Lilou. Please. It’s very important you understand that. And if anyone else ever asks you anything like that, let me know immediately.’ Lilou chewed her thumbnail, looking at me from under her blue fringe, knowing she’d slipped up. ‘It’s OK. There’s no need to worry.’ I wasn’t going to hold her mistake against her. She was doing a good job, and she needed that job, as there was a lot of pressure on her. Maybe I could be a part of a better future for her? Maybe I could inspire her? ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Early if you can. There’s going to be a lot to do for the party.’
I stood on the steps of the chateau watching her tail-lights disappear off down the driveway. I glanced across the fields: if I looked closely, I could just see the lights of the Gaspard house through the trees. I tried not to wonder which one might be Rémy’s room, and if he might be in it. And if so, was he on his own? He was divorced, but was he seeing someone else?
Behind me, I heard the intro to ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’ pounding through the walls. I sighed. It was going to be a long night.
It was going to be a long weekend.