One Night at the Château

Chapter 19

19

Connie

The next morning, I woke up and checked the chateau bank account. Sure enough, Ashley had paid the outstanding bill. It was such a relief. I also had an effusive email from Colette saying how wonderful the weekend had been, and promising to put up a glowing five-star review. That was two since I’d arrived, which would go some way towards redressing the chateau’s average. I just had to keep my track record. And for that, I needed Delphine and Lilou.

As I drove into Barles, I was surprised how nervous I was. Lilou had such a fierce spirit, but I valued her, and wanted her back, and was also convinced it was in her interests. There was a lot I could teach her, and most importantly I could give her confidence. She had a certain kind of bravado, a hard shell and a feistiness hidden behind that hair and make-up, but she needed more faith in her ability and to be given ambition.

Her house was in one of the winding back streets on the outskirts of Barles. With its dusty-pink stone and pale shutters, it reminded me of a smaller version of my own grandmother’s house on the other side of town. I knocked, and waited for what felt like several minutes. I was beginning to give up hope as the door opened, and a small woman dressed in a quilted dressing gown peered at me.

‘ Bonjour, madame ,’ I said very politely, conscious that this was a family that might not care for unexpected knocks on the door. ‘I wonder if I could speak to Lilou? I’m Connie. From the chateau.’

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was gravelly and loaded with suspicion.

‘I want to apologise.’ I needed to get her onside. ‘There was a bit of a misunderstanding yesterday, and I want to explain.’

She blinked her heavy-lidded eyes slowly while she took in my words. There were deep lines etched into her face that came from more than age and illness. There was pain and worry there. As a mother, I could relate to that all-consuming need to protect your family, while also not necessarily agreeing with how they behaved. Edie and Harry were both good kids, but they had made mistakes over the years. Negotiating them out of their blunders had been exhausting and caused me many sleepless nights. If what I had heard about Lilou’s family was true, her grandmother must have lain awake over the years, turning things over in her mind and wondering what best to do.

She nodded her head inside the house and I followed her in. We passed through a small kitchen with a tiled floor and heavy oak cupboards and into a living area with two leather sofas and a round dining table. There were the usual knickknacks and pictures scattered all around, a dresser crammed with pottery, burgundy and white striped satin curtains. There was a TV in one corner, cumbersome and old-fashioned, not a flat-screen. It hardly seemed like a den of iniquity. It was just a normal home.

The heating was up very high, so it was stuffy, and the air smelled of tinned minestrone soup. Lilou’s grandmother sank into one of the sofas with a sigh, and pointed to the one opposite. I sat down and waited for her to speak.

‘ Elle a disparu ,’ she whispered, shutting her eyes.

‘She’s disappeared?’

She nodded. ‘She told me what happened at the chateau. I was angry with her, for leaving. I told her she was a fool.’ She leaned her head back against a crocheted throw, seemingly exhausted by her trip to the front door.

My heart was thumping. I couldn’t bear the thought that selfish, horrible Ashley had potentially ruined this girl’s future. ‘I’m so sorry she thought … that we thought …’

I didn’t even want to articulate it. It was so distasteful. So unfair.

Grandmaman shifted in her seat. She was painfully thin, her sharp knees poking out from beneath her dressing gown, her feet swamped in sheepskin slippers.

‘She has always lived in the shadow of her mother. But Lilou is not the same as her mother. I have done my best to bring her up. But I got it wrong with Marie, so I am always afraid.’ She put her hand on her chest. She was struggling to breathe, but whether it was her illness or stress, I couldn’t be sure.

‘Do you know where she’s gone? Because we want her back. We need her.’ I paused for a moment. ‘And I think she needs us too.’

‘ Oui. ’ She opened her eyes again, nodding agreement. ‘She needs to make her own life. To forget about me. But she says she will not leave while I am alive.’ She paused. ‘Until yesterday. Maybe I said too much.’ She grimaced. ‘I think she has gone to Marseille. To her brother.’

‘Do you know where he lives? Can we go and find her?’

She shook her head. ‘It is not a good idea.’ She began to cough, her body racked with the effort. I thought she was going to choke, and stood up to help, but she put up a hand to stop me and eventually the coughs subsided. There was nothing much more I could do or say.

‘Will you give her a message if you hear from her?’ I asked, standing up. ‘Will you tell her that we have more guests arriving on Friday? And I really can’t manage without her.’

Grandmaman nodded, looking down at her lap. I thought I saw the glitter of a tear, and my heart went out to her. She knew she was dying, she felt as if she had failed, and now the one person she loved had abandoned her. I had to find Lilou. I imagined riding shotgun with Fiona in the front seat of her van, circling the streets of Marseille. Which wasn’t what I’d signed up for when I agreed to look after the chateau. But I had no choice. I owed it to everyone.

I walked back to my car, parked by a stone wall which provided a viewing point over the valley. It was lined with pollarded lime trees, bare now. Beyond was a row of restaurants, closed up for the winter. In summer, it would be impossible to get an outside table, and the streets would be thronging with tourists, their shoulders scorched by the blazing Provencal sun, taking pictures of the spectacular panorama. I paused for a moment. Everything was still and cold and there was a clarity that the shimmering summer sun didn’t allow. I stood still, breathing in the sharp air, taking in the other villages scattered across the horizon and realising how very much I loved this part of the world: its landscape, the architecture, the art, the food. They all fed into each other, creating what I felt sure was the perfect lifestyle. I never wanted to leave. I felt my mother here, much more than I did in England. Perhaps it was missing her that was giving me such a yearning? The Welsh had a word for it: hiraeth . A deep longing for somewhere that feels like home. A wistfulness.

I reminded myself I was here. That I didn’t need to yearn. But I suppose I knew this wasn’t going to last forever. That my time was running out. That I had to face reality at some point and go back to England. As I looked around, I felt a flood of nostalgia for all the happy times we spent here as a family. I pictured Mum walking up the street in a linen dress and espadrilles, a straw basket over her arm bulging with everything needed to feed us that day: freshly baked baguettes, ripe tomatoes, the little pots of fromage frais me and Archie sprinkled with sugar … The longing for one more moment with her never really left. It lay dormant deep inside me, but sometimes it surged up with a sharpness that took my breath away.

So many times over the past few weeks, I’d needed her. She was always so wise, so definite, but kind too. She didn’t suffer fools, either. Daniel would never have dared treat me how he had if Mum was still alive, I was certain. She would have told him exactly what she thought of his behaviour, fiercely protective of me.

It made me realise with a sudden rush of guilt I had been neglecting Edie recently. I knew she was fine, having a ball at uni, but I knew that even when things were going swimmingly, at that age you sometimes needed reassurance. Harry didn’t need me as much, being that much older and self-sufficient in his first job, but where once I’d have called Edie two or three times a week, we hadn’t spoken properly since I’d arrived at the chateau. I pulled out my phone and texted her.

Free for a chat later? Maybe a FaceTime? I can show you the chateau.

Seconds later I got a thumbs-up emoji. I imagined her racing down a corridor, rucksack over one shoulder, her white-blond bob bed-head messy, traces of hot chocolate embedded in her sugar-pink lip gloss, as she rushed to her next seminar. I felt a tug of yearning. I missed my girl, and wondered if she missed me? If she felt the same way about me as I had about my mum?

I turned away, heading towards the boulangerie to fetch the bread. I loved this daily ritual, and now I was recognised, engaging in banter with the staff. I left feeling as if I was once more part of life in Barles, no longer presumed to be a tourist but accepted, if not as one of them, at least as a semi-permanent fixture who deserved respect.

When I got back, I saw a figure sitting on the bonnet of my car. I quickened my pace, suffused with relief. It was Lilou, in black skinny jeans and a puffa jacket, her chunky platform boots resting on my bumper. Her hair was higher than ever, and she’d touched up the blue so it shone as bright as a sapphire. She looked like a still for a movie poster: a rebellious teen against a stunning backdrop. She was leaning back on her elbows, kicking her heels, watching me. I had butterflies as I approached. I told myself not to be ridiculous – what was there to be nervous about?

And then I realised: it was because I cared so much. I cared about Lilou and her future, after knowing her for only a short time, because she wasn’t as lucky as my Edie, because although she lived in paradise I suspected she had been through a lot, suffering from prejudice and feeling like an outcast because of her mother. I cared because she was so vulnerable. And because despite her background, she had the most important quality of all: loyalty. She had given up her life for her grandmother. And I wanted her to be rewarded for that, in some way.

I came to a halt in front of her. She was glaring at me.

‘I thought you were in Marseille,’ I said eventually.

‘I came back late last night. I was upstairs.’

‘Oh. So your grandmother lied to me.’ I felt a little nettled that I had been taken in by her crocodile tears.

‘ Non. She didn’t know I was there. I heard everything you said.’

I tried to remember our conversation. What had Lilou heard? Neither of us had said anything bad about her. On the contrary. It would have been obvious we were both on her side.

‘Are you going to come back?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Will Delphine come back?’

I sighed. ‘Lilou. Part of working is to learn to be part of a team. You can’t always like your colleagues. But you have to find a way to co-operate. That’s how you grow.’

She frowned. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

I blinked. ‘Oh.’

‘You think she is old and useless.’

‘No!’ I felt guilty, knowing I had complained about Delphine to Lilou.

‘The chateau is her life. You cannot send her away.’

I frowned. I was confused.

‘I don’t understand, Lilou. Yesterday you thought she was accusing you of stealing.’

Lilou didn’t answer for a moment. She tipped her head back and stared up at the sky, one leg crossed over the other, her foot swinging back and forth. More than ever, she looked as if she was posing for a photoshoot.

‘She reminds me of my grandmother,’ she said finally. ‘We fight, all the time. But I love her.’

‘Oh, Lilou.’ I wanted to hug her, but her body language didn’t encourage it. I reached out and patted her knee instead. She stared at me, then sat up, sliding off the car and jumping onto her feet.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

‘Where?’

‘To get Delphine back.’ She walked around to the passenger side and tugged on the door handle. ‘Come on,’ she said impatiently. ‘Before it’s too late.’

We drove out to Hervé and Delphine’s house on the edge of a farmyard outside Barles. It was ramshackle, not the kind of romantic tumbledown proposition that English people loved to snap up, but with rendered walls, metal windows and a singularly unattractive roof, surrounded by a cement yard. Adjoining it was their garden. At this time of year, the carefully raked earth was bare, but underneath would be hundreds of seeds biding their time, waiting to burst forth come springtime. Hervé would bring in baskets of produce that weren’t grown at the chateau. I remembered a pile of artichokes, pale purple. I would scrape the soft flesh off the underside of each leaf with my teeth. And fat radishes, fuchsia and scarlet and white, so peppery you sneezed.

A cluster of chickens gave off clucks of warning as we approached. We looked at each other for a moment before I knocked at the door. It was only when Delphine answered that I realised I was holding my breath. She froze when she saw us.

‘Delphine.’ Fearless Lilou stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was hostile.

‘We want you back,’ I said. ‘I think everyone was angry yesterday. Because of the watch. But it wasn’t missing after all.’

‘ Vraiment? ’ Her face was wry. She had guessed too.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That I got angry with you. But I was so worried.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ added Lilou. ‘But I was scared. All my life, people have thought I was bad, because of my mother.’

‘Will you come back?’ I blurted this out too soon. We hadn’t softened her up enough yet, but I was desperate.

Delphine let out a sigh like a punctured balloon. It seemed to take every last breath out of her.

‘ Non. ’ She began to shut the door. Lilou stepped forward and put her foot in it.

‘You have to!’ she cried.

I was surprised by Lilou’s passion, but not as surprised as Delphine was. She shook her head, looking between the two of us.

‘I can’t come back,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to find the courage to leave for a long time. But I didn’t want to let Lismay and Piers down. They have been so good to me. But yesterday … when I came home – when I thought I didn’t need to go back – I was happy. I’m old. And slow. And everything hurts. Look.’ She held up her hands. They were as gnarled as an old apple tree. She dropped them down to her sides and bowed her head. ‘I want to rest. I want to sit in my garden. I want to see my great-grandchildren.’

Lilou and I looked at each other. We hadn’t expected this. I felt overwhelmingly sad, that I had even considered edging Delphine out. Yes, her cleaning skills left a little to be desired, but she still had so much to offer and was part of the household. I remembered that summer I had spent at the chateau. She was probably the same age then I was now. And it wouldn’t be so long until I was her age now. I hoped I’d be treated with a little more respect if I was still working.

How could I persuade her to come back? I looked at her little face, which seemed to have all the worries of the world emblazoned on it, and then I looked at Lilou. They were the ones who had got me through the rigours of the last weekend. It had all been perfect, until the very end, and that was not of our making.

‘Delphine,’ I said gently, ‘I can’t force you to come back. But what if you just come in the mornings to help in the kitchen? Perhaps you can teach Lilou to make pastry? And mayonnaise. And confiture .’

‘Yes,’ said Lilou, clasping her hands. ‘I want to learn. No one in my family can cook.’

The thought filled my heart with hope. I loved the thought of Delphine passing on her knowledge and skills to the younger generation. And Lilou finding some kind of direction under her tutelage. There was a beautiful symmetry to my plan.

Delphine didn’t answer for a while. Then she nodded.

‘Until Christmas,’ she said. ‘Until Lismay and Piers come back. Then we will see.’

I felt filled with relief on the drive back to the chateau. Both Lilou and Delphine had promised to come in on Thursday, to start the new regime, which meant Fiona and I had the next day to do whatever we liked. When I arrived back, she rushed out to meet me in the hall.

‘Come and look. Come and look,’ she said, ushering me into the salon . On one of the console tables was a bouquet – a tangle of deep red roses mixed with autumnal berries and twigs, far more extravagant than the ones I’d bought for Colette’s birthday. ‘This mountain of a man came in, holding it in his arms. He said his name was Rémy.’

‘Rémy?’ I stared at the flowers.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned him? Oof!’ She waved a hand in front of her face as if to cool herself down.

I hadn’t mentioned Rémy, because I felt as if I’d already taken up enough of her time talking about myself and my problems. Bringing an abandoned fling into the mix seemed too teenage. But now the evidence was here in front of us, I could see she was longing for more information. I managed a sheepish smile.

‘We’ve got a bit of history.’

‘Yes. I could see that by the look in his eyes when he mentioned you. So these,’ she pointed to the flowers, ‘are to say thank you for the people you sent over on Sunday. Apparently they spent more money on wine than anyone ever.’

‘Oh. Gosh. That’s very kind. He needn’t have.’

‘It was just an excuse, Connie. He wanted to see you. I could tell. Because his face fell when I answered the door.’ I doubted that. No one’s face would fall if they saw Fiona. Today she was head to toe in cream: a cable-knit minidress, a long woollen scarf and pale suede Timberlands. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a winter fashion spread in a glossy magazine and was about to start throwing snowballs. ‘Surely you two are going to get it together?’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘I can’t handle a relationship right now. Not after what Daniel did. Him going off with an older woman didn’t do much for my confidence.’

That was an understatement. The thought of Rémy coming anywhere near me made me cringe inside. I was a million miles from the youthful, lithe creature he’d unbuttoned all those years ago. And he was still fighting fit. He hadn’t deteriorated at all. Whereas I felt …

‘Connie.’ Fiona was looking at me. ‘You’d be mad not to at least go on a date. It’s just what you need. It would put a sparkle in your eye and a spring in your step and a smile on your face.’

‘Maybe.’

‘If you don’t ask him out, I will.’

I flashed her a warning look before I could help it. They’d look amazing together. Fiona, elegant and oozing confidence, and Rémy still so powerful and athletic. It made me feel ill.

‘I’m only kidding,’ Fiona laughed, seeing the look of fury on my face. ‘I’d never steal him from you. You’d kill me if I did.’

I had to laugh too. I’d never been any good at hiding my true feelings.

‘What would I wear?’ I said at last. ‘I’ve got nothing with me. I just brought work clothes.’

I didn’t even have to look inside my suitcase to know there was nothing suitable.

‘We’ll go shopping,’ Fiona said. ‘In Aix. Get you a glow-up. But first you need to call him.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Text him, then. Connie, there’s a god on your doorstep desperate to take you out. You need some fun. You deserve some fun. And you can totally handle it. You are a bold, fabulous, sexy woman. I’d go for you, if I was that way inclined.’

She was right. After the last few years of rejection and betrayal and isolation, even if that had been somewhat self-inflicted, I suddenly felt ready to throw caution to the wind and unleash my old self on the world. Taking charge at the chateau and interacting with people had given me back some of my confidence. And so had Fiona. I knew she wouldn’t be encouraging me unless she really thought I could handle it.

Above all, I couldn’t lie to myself. Rémy had been at the back of my mind since the moment I’d seen him in the boulangerie . I had kept him in my imagination, letting it wander in quieter moments, fed by the memory of that one night we’d shared. He couldn’t just live in my mind. I had to know if there was still something between us, and I felt strong enough now. Well, I would be once I’d got an outfit sorted … I laughed at myself, knowing full well Rémy wouldn’t really care what I was wearing. But that’s being a woman for you. Our sartorial armour is paramount.

Fiona’s eyes were boring into me. I sighed and pulled my phone out of my bag. I’d get no rest until I did as I was told. I started to type.

Hey Rémy. Thank you so much for looking after my guests on Sunday. They had a wonderful time. And thank you for the flowers. I paused for a moment. I could just stop there and leave the ball in his court. Or I could be bold. I thought he would like it if I was. Bold was sexy. And powerful. I felt a surge inside me, that terrifying thrill before you task a risk, like swooshing down a black run or diving off a cliff into the sea. I was ready.

If you are free for dinner sometime next week, I would love that. Connie.

By six o’clock that night, he hadn’t replied. It was agony waiting for an answer. My mood plummeted and my mind went into overdrive, imagining him trying to think up excuses. Or simply being so disinterested he’d forgotten to answer. Or worst of all, trying to work out how he could wriggle out of seeing me and ask Fiona out instead. I felt vulnerable and exposed and a bit silly.

When a text arrived at half six, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I grabbed my phone. It wasn’t from him. It was from Lismay. It was a photo of Piers in his hospital dressing gown, walking along the corridor with a walking stick, a big grin on his face. I phoned her straight away.

‘It all went really well,’ she told me. ‘His consultant’s delighted. I’m so relieved, Connie. I was so worried it would all go wrong.’

‘I’m so pleased.’

‘Honestly, you don’t know what it’s been like.’

I could hear the lightness in her voice. She sounded completely different. Once again I felt guilt prodding at me that I hadn’t been there for her sooner. But I was now. I’d learned my lesson. Not to neglect the people you love when you are wrapped up in your own woes.

‘I better go,’ said Lismay. ‘See if his nibs wants anything before they kick me out for the evening. With a fair wind he’ll be out tomorrow or the next day, and we can start getting back to normal.’

‘Send him my love.’ I thought of the two of them with a pang. Along with my own parents, Lismay and Piers were the happiest couple I knew, still madly in love in their mid-seventies, despite the stress of his gammy hip. How had they managed it? I wondered. What was the secret recipe for a relationship that weathered every storm? Was it just the luck of the draw, or had they worked harder than anyone else to overcome adversity? I knew there had been great sadness in their life: when I was about fourteen, my mother had explained to me why they had ended up at the Chateau Villette, and I’d cried and cried, for I knew what wonderful parents Piers and Lismay would have made by the way they treated me; kind and caring but also great fun, and they always had time to listen, even when they were busy. It seemed so unfair that they could never have children. But they’d picked themselves up, and created something wonderful.

If they could do that, after everything that had happened to them, then so could I.