Chapter 23
23
Connie
Fiona stayed on for another few days. We spent an afternoon in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue as she browsed the antique shops and haggled with the sellers in her charming Franglais, piling her van up with embroidered tablecloths and napkins, paintings and reams of old fabric until it was packed with treasures.
I picked up some things for the chateau too. I’d felt reluctant to use the credit card Piers had given me so far, but I could see how a few well-chosen purchases would give it a lift, so I bought striped-linen cushions, several vases, and a pair of matching lamps for the salon .
‘I feel terrible spending their money.’
‘Honestly, this is what I do for people all the time. Just a few touches make all the difference. More candles,’ she said, grabbing a bundle and adding them to my purchase pile. ‘And don’t forget smell.’
We spent a fortune on lavender – it might have seemed like a cliché but it was the signature scent of Provence, so we splurged on essential oils and soaps and linen bags and pillow spray.
On the way back, we stopped off at the épicerie in Barles. They were going to supply me with charcuterie boards for the pre-dinner drinks each night – I’d realised that doing all the cooking by myself was too much and it would save me considerable time so I wanted to pick up a sample. I chose their signature fennel saucisson , some paté de campagne and some slices of jambon de Bayonne , together with smoked almonds and plump cornichons. It would be perfect laid out on a slab of olive wood to have with a glass of wine.
That evening, we re-dressed the salon . Just moving the furniture around, switching up the cushions and playing with the lighting made it look warmer and more inviting than ever. I opened a bottle of Gaspard sparkling wine and placed it on a table with the charcuterie board. I sighed with happiness as I took some more photos.
‘Can I take one of you by the fireplace?’ I asked Fiona.
‘Of course.’ She posed for me with a glass of wine, leaning her elbow on the mantlepiece, looking like a supermodel in her cashmere sweater and wide-legged jeans.
‘You look as if you belong here,’ I told her.
‘I wish,’ she laughed.
I posted the photos on Instagram.
Apéro in the salon with @frenchifiedbyFiona
By midnight we had over a hundred likes. I needed to get the website updated. That was a job for Harry – he was a tech whizz and had done websites for friends of mine for extra money while he was at uni. I dropped him a text asking if he could have a look at it for me.
Harry called me straight back.
‘I can get something new put up for you by the end of the week. It’ll be pretty basic but it will be way more efficient than what they’ve got. I just need some new photos.’
‘You’re a star,’ I told him.
‘I know,’ he said, always modest.
‘Why don’t you come over for a few days?’ I said, feeling a pang. I missed his hugs, his silly sense of humour, his comforting presence, all six foot two of him.
‘I’m saving up all my leave for Christmas. You said we could come out then, right?’
He suddenly sounded anxious.
‘Oh my God, yes !’ I said. ‘I’m banking on it.’
‘Great. I’m going to go skiing with Dad after. For New Year.’
I felt a little flip of jealousy at the thought. Was Andrea going too? Was Edie? Were they all going to be whizzing down the slopes like a happy family – but without me? And lucky Daniel, being able to afford a ski trip. With money he was effectively trying to steal from me. I couldn’t say anything to Harry, though. I wasn’t going to badmouth his father.
‘That sounds lovely. You deserve it.’
We finished our chat, and after I hung up, I felt a bit deflated. I’d gone from lying in bed wallowing in misery to running away from the truth. It was easy here to forget my situation, to forget that I needed to do something concrete about my future. Once Piers and Lismay were back I wouldn’t be needed– it wasn’t a big enough operation to sustain another salary. This was a temporary fix, not a long-term solution.
It wasn’t just the chateau I needed to sort out. I needed to sort out me.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Fiona said the next morning, dunking a pain au raisins into her coffee. My next set of guests were due to arrive after lunch.
‘How would you feel about curating a Christmas shopping weekend?’ I’d been thinking of ways to fill the remaining bookings. ‘You could do a talk on French interiors, take them to L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue and Aix. We could get Rémy to do a wine tasting. And we can take them to the épicerie in Barles for mustard and marrons glacés and macarons.’
‘I’d love that.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘I quite often do workshops, so I’ve already got a presentation I could use. A bit of table-scaping, a bit of flower-arranging – my followers would love it.’
‘The middle two weekends in November are still vacant.’ I’d definitely get brownie points from Piers and Lismay if I filled them.
‘Let’s give it a try!’
‘I’ll get Edie to design us an advert. It should only take her two minutes, whereas it would take me two days.’
‘Forward it to me and I’ll post it and I bet we’ll be fully booked before you know it.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind coming over?’
She looked at me askance. ‘I’m not even going to answer that. And if I come a day or two early, I can start flat-hunting.’
She set off mid-morning, and I was sorry to see her go. I felt as if I’d known her forever, for we’d barely stopped talking and laughing all the time she was here.
‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing me tight. ‘For inspiring me. Everything fell into place once I arrived here.’
‘You’re the one who inspired me. Or maybe it’s the chateau,’ I said.
‘It’s Pauline and her lust for life.’
‘Maybe it is,’ I said, laughing. I loved the idea that Pauline’s spirit lived on and she was making us step out of our comfort zones.
‘And good luck with Rémy.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘There’s no point in me getting too embroiled. I’m only here till Christmas.’
‘You don’t need to get embroiled . Just have fun. Like you did the first time.’
‘It’ll be a miracle if I don’t text him to call it off.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ she said with a ferocious glare. ‘You have to take risks to lead a full life. You don’t have to be reckless, but don’t lock yourself away for fear of making a mistake. We learn from them, remember. That’s how we grow.’
She was right, of course. I held my nerve over the weekend all the way through to Monday when the guests left, and before I knew it Tuesday had arrived. I spent the day with Lilou getting the chateau back in order, and she took my mind off it, blasting the rooms and corridors with her French rap. Suddenly it was six o’clock, Lilou went home, and I had nothing to do but get ready for the evening I had fantasised about for years. I told myself it was just two grown-ups catching up and enjoying each other’s company over dinner.
Edie called me just as I had pulled on the green velvet jumpsuit. I stood, staring at myself in the mirror while I spoke to her, turning to one side, sucking my stomach in.
‘Hey, Mum. I’ve emailed you the graphic – tell me what you think.’
‘You’re an angel. Hang on.’ I clicked on my emails and opened the attachment.
A Chateau Christmas
Champagne and Shopping with Frenchified by Fiona Four Days of Luxury Indulgence in Provence
‘It’s fabulous, darling. I’ll forward it to Fiona. Thank you. I owe you big time.’
‘It’s made me want to come too.’ Edie sighed with longing. She’d always loved coming to stay at the chateau when she was young.
‘Well, why don’t you? Can you get time off uni?’ I shouldn’t be encouraging her to skive but I felt the same pang I’d felt with Harry.
‘Yeah – I’ve hardly got any lectures this term. I can pretty much do what I like.’
‘Jump on a plane and I’ll come and get you. You can share my room. You can help out – I could use an extra pair of hands.’
‘Awesome!’
I hung up, happy to know I’d be seeing my girl before too long. I’d been trying not to think about how much I missed the kids, because they needed to get on with their own lives and I didn’t want to burden them. We might not be a family unit anymore, and it was natural for your offspring to peel away at this age, but I was still very much here for them. I worried I’d been a bit distant recently, but things were on the up and I felt stronger, so it was time to rebuild. And I should talk to them about me and Daniel. It was time to make it clear this wasn’t just a break, but for good. I think they’d guessed, but it was important to be open and honest, and now I was starting to get over the shock I was ready to talk about it.
I heard a knock at the door. Three sharp raps, confident, insistent. Rémy was here.
He’d come to pick me up in the sleek dark blue car I’d seen him in the day I’d spotted him in the boulangerie . I took a deep breath in, opened the door and ran down the steps as elegantly as I could, hoping I looked like someone from a perfume advert. Rémy was in a white suit with a black T-shirt underneath. On an Englishman, it would look preposterous, but on him it looked incredible. He opened the rear door and smiled.
‘ Bonne soirée. ’
I stopped short, realising there was a driver in the front of the car.
Rémy looked a bit bashful.
‘I got one of my guys to drive us. I don’t drink at all if I’m driving and I didn’t want to be boring. Not that I want to get crazy drunk but the wine list is great.’
‘That’s fine.’
He gestured to me to get in. I settled myself into the luxurious tan leather and pulled the seatbelt across as he got in the other side. It felt very intimate, sitting so close to him in the back of the car. Rémy leaned forward and patted the driver on the shoulder.
‘This is Vincent. He sees nothing. Eh, Vincent?’
Vincent turned around with a grin. ‘I see nothing. I hear nothing. I am not here.’
Rémy patted his shoulder again. ‘Let’s go.’
The car swished over the gravel and along the drive. I felt a bit like a celebrity, one half of a power couple, and decided to relax and enjoy the experience. It was so long since I’d been paid any attention or pampered. It was a novelty and I was going to make the most of it.
‘You want music?’ Rémy asked.
‘That would be nice.’
He flicked through his phone. Moments later ‘Sexy Boy’ by Air floated out of the speakers. I remembered it from the long, hot summer I’d spent at the chateau – it was the album that year; mellow, dreamy, electronic pop that made everyone feel as if anything could happen. It was back in again now, a whole new generation discovering it. Was he playing it on purpose, knowing it was going to awaken memories?
‘I love this album,’ I said.
‘ Oui ,’ he said. ‘It reminds me of you.’
I’d played it over and over when I got back from the chateau that autumn. I’d lie on my bed reliving every moment of our encounter. I hadn’t been pining, because I was sensible enough to know that was it, I was never going to see him again, but I couldn’t help thinking about him. Had he done the same?
I still couldn’t believe I was with him now. I could feel the heat of him next to me, and my head was filled with that disturbing cologne. I felt slightly bewitched.
He leaned over, whispering in my ear.
‘Squirrel,’ he said.
I was puzzled. ‘Squirrel?’
‘Squirrel,’ he repeated. ‘Squirrel. I can say it now.’
I burst out laughing.
He grinned. ‘Hedgehog.’ He pronounced it perfectly. He looked proud of himself.
‘Very good,’ I said. ‘Top of the class.’
He looked me up and down, not in a weird way, just interested.
‘Cool jumping suit.’
‘Jump suit.’
‘Jump suit.’ He corrected himself, tapping himself on the forehead. ‘There was me thinking I didn’t make mistakes anymore.’
‘It’s an easy one to make. And most men wouldn’t have a clue what it was called.’
He sat back in his seat. We were driving fast down dark countryside roads, the moon guiding us. The headlights lit up the hedges and the trees, and I imagined little eyes watching us, wondering where we were going. Vincent was a good driver, taking the corners expertly, smoothly, enjoying being at the wheel of a powerful car. I’d never really been a car person, but I started to understand the attraction. It was a totally different experience from tootling along in my old Honda.
We swept in through a pair of gates and up to an underground car park filled with cars even smarter than Rémy’s. Vincent jumped out and opened my door. By the time I got out, Rémy had walked around to my side and held out his arm for me to take. We walked to the restaurant past a glassy flat stretch of water as black as the sky. In the middle was a huge sculpture of a spider, hovering over the surface, glinting silver in the moonlight. It was spectacular, a dramatic backdrop to the story that was unfolding between us.
‘Wow. I’ve never seen one of these up close.’
‘You know Louise Bourgeois?’ asked Rémy.
‘Of course.’
He sighed. ‘Genius. I love genius. We will come back in the daytime to see the rest of the art. It is where I come when I want inspiration. Everything important is here. Art, wine, food. Come on.’
He led me down a winding path, past huge potted trees hung with giant strings of beads. I felt as if I was in a fairy tale as I followed him, enchanted. Eventually we reached an arched oak door that seemed unassuming, but inside was a cavernous restaurant, its rustic beams contrasting with a chic black-and-white-tiled floor and streamlined furniture.
As we followed the ma?tre d’ to our table, Rémy was stopped every couple of yards by either a member of staff or a guest leaping up from their table. There was much backslapping, hugging, kissing, laughter, banter. He was charming to everyone, exuding warmth, never forgetting to introduce me. No one was interested in me, of course, but I didn’t mind. It was a revelation, to realise how popular he was. I guess it was a mixture of his sporting celebrity, the importance of his family and his undoubted charisma.
In a flash, something occurred to me. Rémy was exactly who, or what, Daniel aspired to be. He would revel in all that attention. Crave that admiration. But Rémy wore it lightly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said as finally we sat at the table. ‘I come here pretty often so I know the guys. And a lot of these people buy my wine. Or …’ he shrugged – ‘love rugby.’
‘It’s fine.’ I looked around. ‘This place is amazing. I love it.’
Our table looked out over an outside eating area beyond which was the kitchen, equipped with state-of-the-art wood-burning ovens where a team of chefs were not just cooking, but performing. I could smell the woodsmoke and the rich scent of cooking meat, garlic, wine, herbs. My mouth watered. I had eaten barely anything for two days to make sure my stomach was flat in my jumpsuit. A waiter brought us over two glasses of champagne. Compliments of someone. Rémy accepted them with grace, then looked to me.
‘Is this OK? Do you like champagne or would you prefer …?’
‘I like champagne very much.’ I picked up my glass. ‘Thank you.’
He held his glass by the stem, very lightly, and tipped it towards me. ‘To us. Meeting again. After so much time. I often wondered if we ever would.’
‘Did you?’ I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. They were laughing, but with pleasure rather than at me.
We drank our champagne, nibbled on the selection of breads that were brought to us and chatted lightly. He told me about his ex, Camille, the mother of his only daughter, Mimi – he had just been to Biarritz for the weekend to see them.
‘I adore Camille. She’s crazy fun.’ His eyes lit up in a way that made me yearn to make him feel like that. ‘But she always wants to fight. I don’t fight. I don’t believe in it. Why would you fight with someone you are supposed to love? I just walk away. It makes her even more mad. She is very …’ He indicated up and down with his hands. ‘It was better for us to be apart. It broke my heart, because Mimi is in Biarritz, not here. But she comes to see me and I go to see her. Sometimes in life you have to make a hard decision, and my place is with my parents right now. They need me. The vineyard needs me. It was always the plan.’
‘I guess life is complicated. Especially when you have divided loyalties.’
‘I sometimes feel like there needs to be three of me.’
‘I know that feeling. Though it’s easier now. I can do what I like. The kids are off doing their thing. Daniel is off doing his … thing. Which is why I can be here.’
‘How long will you stay?’
‘Piers and Lismay are staying in London till Christmas while he recuperates. They need the break. I think running the chateau is more of a strain for them these days. It takes a lot of energy.’
‘To run a successful business these days? Yeah.’ He nodded his agreement, speaking with feeling.
‘And they’re well into their seventies.’
‘Seventies? No way! They don’t look it. Lismay is so …’ He spread out his hands, not sure of the right words.
‘I know! People sometimes think she is my sister, not my godmother. She and my mum were best friends.’
He gave me a sharp glance. ‘Your mother is … not with us?’
‘She died, five years ago. She was my best friend too. Everyone’s best friend.’ I sighed.
He put his hand over mine. It was warm and comforting. I didn’t want him to take it away. Ever.
‘It must be very hard, to lose your mother. I can’t imagine losing mine. She is the driving force at the vineyard.’
I thought of the first time I had met Madame Gaspard. A veritable powerhouse. And incredibly glamorous. A bit scary, to be honest.
‘She seemed pretty amazing.’
‘Yes. She will go on for ever. She still has huge ambitions. She does all our deals. All my father worries about is the grapes.’
‘And you?’
‘I worry about both. If you don’t look after your grapes, you don’t have a product.’
‘Don’t you miss rugby?’
I wasn’t just asking polite questions. I was curious. I wanted to know more about what made him tick. I was doing my very best to be cautious and do some due diligence before … well, before the inevitable. The pull between us was as strong as it had been that first night, but I was vulnerable. For all Fiona’s urging that I should just have a bit of fun, I had to protect myself. Rémy’s attentions might have made me feel on top of the world again, but it wasn’t long since I’d been barely able to get out of bed.
‘I haven’t played for a long time,’ he told me. ‘I’ve just been coaching for the past few years. But I miss the adrenaline of a match. And the people. I don’t miss the travel, though I still travel for work. We go to the exhibitions and to meet buyers. But it’s less intense.’
‘And you love wine?’
‘I love wine.’ He swirled the champagne in his glass as if to prove a point. ‘Wine is about people. And love. So many stories start with a bottle of wine.’
‘Mmm.’ I gulped at mine. ‘I wish I knew more. I’m not much of an expert.’
‘I can teach you, if you like. We’re going to start wine-tasting courses. Maybe you could be my first pupil?’
Honestly, he couldn’t open his mouth without flirting. Or was I just hearing what I wanted to hear? I smiled, and picked up the menu.
‘We should choose what we’re going to eat.’
Dinner was dish after dish of melting, succulent, smoky deliciousness. Rémy had Argentinian rib-eye with chimichurri and I chose a whole sea bass. It was wonderful to eat something someone else had cooked, and I realised that while my skills were more than competent, this was another level of knowledge and care and technical know-how. I loved watching Rémy eat, how appreciative he was of every mouthful, urging me try things on his plate and mischievously stealing things off mine. I noticed how open he was with the waiters, asking them questions, asking their opinion, relaying his appreciation and thanks. He was a class act, but more than anything he radiated fun. A lust for life. He seemed to personify living in the moment.
Was he too good to be true?
Before we chose dessert, we went to watch the live performance in the kitchen. The heat, the smoke, the sizzling, the drama, the fire – it was pure theatre. All the chefs came over to shake his hand over the counter and again I was introduced. I was made to feel as if it was all just for me.
We shared a pear and pistachio tart with a glass of sticky pudding wine. It felt so intimate, our forks greedily cutting into the pastry. The end of the evening was looming, loaded with promise. I worried that the wine was a glass too many, but it was Chateau Yquem, and how often did I get a chance to drink that?
Of course, he insisted on paying the bill.
‘It’s one of my pleasures, to introduce people to this place. And it’s to say thank you for sending me over all those guests.’
‘I’ll pay next time, then,’ I said boldly.
‘ Absolument. ’ His eyes were sparkling.
Vincent had the car waiting, and had left the heater running to make sure it was warm inside. ‘ La Ritournelle ’ by Sébastien Tellier was floating out of the speakers. I wondered if Rémy had briefed Vincent to have it playing, because it was unashamedly sexy, with its lush, swirling strings, and made me melt into the leather and shut my eyes. We sat in silence, listening to the lyrics, and I felt Rémy’s fingertips touch the inside of my wrist. I didn’t move, didn’t protest, just sat as he traced patterns on my forearm. I could barely feel his touch, but it sent shockwaves through me as Vincent drove on through the night.
We arrived at the chateau. Rémy said something to Vincent so quietly I couldn’t catch it, and got out to open my door. As soon as I was out, he shut it gently, patted the car on the roof and Vincent drove off.
‘I will walk back,’ Rémy said. ‘I like to walk after dinner.’
I nodded, mesmerised, not sure what move to make. Should I suggest coffee, or brandy? Or should I say goodnight, leaving him to wait for the next time? What, I asked myself, would Pauline do?
I hesitated. There was a kiss hanging between us like a glittering, golden bauble – I could have reached out and touched it. I shut my eyes, but I was smiling. I knew I didn’t need to do anything. And then I felt the brush of his lips on mine, barely there, teasing. A test. I stood still as he reached out and tucked my hair behind one ear, cupping my cheek with his hand. I turned my face to kiss his thumb, then opened my mouth to bite it gently. My blood ran with Chateau Yquem, golden, luscious. Black night stroked my skin. Stars twinkled on and off, as if rushing to tell each other to come and look. I wanted this moment to last forever, for it was perfect, the anticipation exquisite. Nothing, nothing could be better than this, for no one could be hurt if we stayed like this until the end of time.