Chapter 21
AS THE CHURCH BELLS struck six in Narnesse, Le Figuier was calm. Outside, Gray was carrying the weeds and brambles that he’d cut loose from the vegetable patch to a growing pile beside it, using his new gloves to ferry the tangled greenery back and forth. Inside, Maggie was chopping herbs in the kitchen while the scent of garlic wafted from the oven, where several bulbs were roasting and turning sweet for a salad that evening. Audrey had left for the day. Peace reigned.
‘Don’t scream,’ she warned Jamie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, muttering at his emails, ‘but I’ve asked Gray if he wants to have dinner with us.’
Jamie made a strange yelp.
‘I said don’t scream!’
‘That was a noise of appreciation. So, like, we’re going to sit here getting pissed and eating whatever’s on the menu with him like it’s normal?’
‘Yes.’ Maggie pushed the dill across the chopping board with the back of her knife. ‘He’s the only guest, so I thought why not?’
‘What is on the menu?’
‘Baby aubergines with pickled walnuts, then grilled lamb with tahini yoghurt, pomegranate and fennel, plus a couscous salad. And pear sorbet after that, or cheese. Or both?’
Jamie took in the counter, the various dirty bowls, knives, discarded stalks and open jars of spices, then looked at Maggie. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘What?’
‘You like him.’
She felt a flash of annoyance, like a teenager being teased about a crush. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Except the thing is,’ Jamie said, ‘you only cook like this when you fancy someone.’
‘I cook like this all the time! I’m a cook. It’s literally my job. I’m not going to throw down a boiled egg in front of him.’
‘You’d throw down a boiled egg if it was me.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘You wouldn’t pickle a walnut for me.’
‘I would. And I didn’t pickle these ones, I bought them pickled.’
‘There’s no need to be embarrassed, Mags. I get it. First the yellow dress, then the hardware store where Gray was all manly and testosteroney about wood and paint and whatever men talk about when they go to the hardware store, and now you’ve got a little crush. I understand. I applaud it. I might even go so far as to say I’m relieved by it.’
Maggie continued chopping parsley. ‘Relieved? Jam—’
‘Shows you’re human. That you have natural urges, that being married for seven years hasn’t dulled your desire . You’ve still got it, good for you.’
‘Jamie …’
‘And why not, I say. He’s a famous, handsome man, Mags. Very famous and very handsome. A little holiday romance is what you need. Secret’s safe with me.’
‘Jamie, you’re confusing your fantasies with mine. I don’t have a crush. There’s some big story coming out about him tomorrow so I thought it would be charitable, after he’s worked outside all day, to invite him to eat with us.’
‘Oh, it’s charity , is it? I see. And what stor—’
‘He’s a guest, so the least I can do, we can do, is sit down for dinner tonight and make him feel welcome.’
‘That’s what I’m saying, that you should think about making him feel more welcome. Really, really welcome. Although is so much garlic wise? If you’re going to, you know …’
‘Jamie …’ she spun around, holding the knife in the air, ‘if you say anything embarrassing tonight, I’ll come into your room later and dice all your clothes into teeny-tiny pieces.’
‘You seem very frustrated, Mags. All this pent-up passion.’
‘I mean it.’
‘Fine. Just trying to get you laid but if you don’t fancy it then that’s your look-out. Do you think I can ask him for a self—’
‘No photos,’ she reminded him.
Jamie was an idiot, Maggie told herself an hour later, while upstairs changing into another of Phil’s dresses. She didn’t fancy Gray. She just liked looking at him because he was so absurdly handsome. She was interested from an anthropological point of view, not a physical one. You didn’t see people like him every day, walking around or buying milk in the supermarket, and it was a novelty to see such physical perfection up close – the line of his jaw, the blueness of his eyes, the thickness of his hair and the way he ran his han— Oh, shit, was that the time? She needed to remove the lamb from the fridge.
She checked herself in the mirror and hurried downstairs, then laughed. While she’d been changing, Jamie had transformed the kitchen into a Parisian bistro: the table was laid, candles flickered between the place settings and there was a jam jar of poppies picked from the garden in the middle of it. He’d also turned the lights down and put on a playlist of piano music.
She fastened an apron around her waist and seasoned the lamb cutlets. She tipped the neat pile of herbs on the chopping board into a bowl of couscous, and poured olive oil over that, then ground flakes of salt between her fingers and sprinkled it over the top. She squeezed the cloves of roasted garlic so they slid from their skins into the bowl like peas from a pod.
A message from Mungo illuminated her phone, so she tapped at the screen: How’s the make-over coming along?
Maggie brushed her hands on her apron, picked it up and recorded a voice note: ‘Hi, Mun. Tidying all in hand. You’ll see when you get here. Just about to dish up so ring you later.’
‘Hi.’
She spun to see Gray in the doorway, showered and changed into jeans and a t-shirt.
‘Hi, how you doing?’
He grinned. ‘I’m doing … good. Yeah, today was good.’ He ducked his head to look through the kitchen window into the dark outside. ‘You can’t see now but it’s looking better.’
‘I’m so grateful. I don’t want to get boring saying it but I really am.’ She gestured towards a bottle of wine on the table. ‘You want a drink?’
‘I’ll take a water?’
Maggie reached into the cupboard and filled a glass.
‘Thanks.’ Gray took it and inhaled the scent of grilled aubergines and garlic. ‘Smells fantastic.’
‘You eat lamb, right?’
He nodded. ‘I eat everything. At least, everything that my dietician tells me I can.’
‘You have a dietician?’
‘You saying you don’t have a dietician, Maggie?’
She laughed. ‘I’m sorry to say that tonight’s menu hasn’t been cooked according to any fancy dietician’s rules.’ Picking up the bottle of wine, she looked more seriously at him. ‘Is everything OK … I mean … the story tomorrow …’
‘Oh, yeah. It’s OK, it’s happ—’
They were interrupted by the appearance of Jamie who looked at them both and beamed. ‘This is very cosy. Quick, someone give me a drink before I die of thirst. Gray, where’s yours?’
‘I’m good, man, thanks.’
‘Haven’t I made it all lovely and romantic in here?’ Jamie went on, looking at Maggie.
She ignored him and poured a glass of rosé.
‘Can I do anything else useful,’ he asked, taking the glass, ‘or should Gray and I sit while you prepare to astonish us with your extraordinary talent? Maggie is extremely talented, Gray.’
‘Sit,’ she instructed.
‘How did you guys meet?’ Gray asked.
‘Old friends,’ Jamie began explaining. ‘Which may confuse you because I’m blessed with the skin of a five-year-old. But we used to work together in an abysmal restaurant in Soho. That’s where we met, before she abandoned me for much bigger things.’
‘You’re a chef too?’
‘Christ, no. No, that wasn’t my calling. I love food but I realized early on I wasn’t quite as brilliant as Julia Child here, so now I write about food.’
‘What he means is that he runs one of London’s best PR agencies,’ Maggie added over her shoulder, as she scanned the dresser for a jar of sesame seeds.
‘Nice. I could use some of that,’ Gray said, leaning back against the bench.
‘PR? Yes, Mags mentioned something about a story?’
‘Jamie …’
‘No, no, it’s OK. It’s … yeah. It’s a story.’
‘Hit me. Go on. Gimme the goods and Uncle Jamie will sort it.’
Gray smiled and started explained the New York Times article while Maggie tossed the sesame seeds in a frying pan, the toasted smell filling the kitchen, competing with the hiss and spit of the lamb under the grill.
‘I know that when stuff like this happens,’ Gray went on, leaning forwards and cradling his hands on the table, ‘and everything blows up, people come out of the woodwork and it’s like the internet becomes this … this … this crazy furnace! I just thought I was used to it.’
‘Ignore it,’ Jamie instructed airily. ‘Look at the Royal family. You have to rise above the gossip. Act like it’s all beneath you and in a few days, everyone moves on because someone else has slept with someone else and it’s their turn to ride the rollercoaster. No offence, pal, but we’ll all be bored of you soon and go back to whoever Timothée Chalamet’s shagging.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Gray said, before his face fell, ‘although not for Tim.’
‘You call him Tim ?’
‘’Course,’ Gray replied, looking confused. ‘That’s his name.’
‘Jamie …’ Maggie warned again, putting their plates down. ‘Baby aubergine, walnuts and sesame seeds, I hope you like,’ she said, before sitting herself. ‘Gray, just FYI, you don’t have to answer Jamie’s endless questions. You can tell him to get lost. I do all the time.’
‘Delicious, and OK, but just one more question?’ Jamie said, looking up at Gray.
He smiled. ‘Sure.’
‘Did you actually punch him?’
‘Oh, my go—’ began Maggie, but she was interrupted by Gray laughing.
‘No! I kinda wish I had, to be honest. I’ve never liked the guy but I wouldn’t actually take him out. It’s just …’ He shrugged and picked up his fork, ‘Hollywood bullshit. The truth is, the direction wasn’t working and everybody knew it, but it suits the studio to allow a rumour like this to circulate. Better for almost everyone involved to think that the problem was me, when the problem is actually the movie itself.’
‘So why d’you take it?’
‘That’s two more questions,’ Maggie warned, sitting at the head of the table between them.
Gray shrugged again. ‘Sometimes you can’t tell when you read something. The script was good, actually, and I wanted to get away for a while so I thought shooting in Paris would be cool. But then I got to set and Howard, he’s the director, he wanted something different and he was kinda an asshole about it, and we didn’t have much time, and the writer had some input and didn’t like where we were going with it, and …’
‘Then there was Dwayne …’ Jamie said leadingly.
Maggie cleared her throat and decided to change the subject. ‘How long do you reckon you’ll be here?’
‘I guess a few more days?’ Gray looked between them. ‘I don’t wanna outstay my welcome, but it’s pretty perfect, this place.’
‘In this romantic spot.’
‘It is pretty romantic,’ Gray agreed happily. ‘Hey, talking of which, did Maggie tell you what happened in the store today?’
‘No, she did not. Out with it immediately.’
‘We saw Pierre,’ Maggie began. ‘And h—’
‘Who’s Pierre?’
‘I told you about him. The pool boy when I was sixteen.’
Jamie slapped the kitchen table. ‘Sorry, why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?’
‘I’m telling you now, listen.’
She laughed as she explained: how she asked the middle-aged man behind the till for help, how she realized it was Pierre, how different he looked.
‘He thought we needed a stroller,’ added Gray.
‘Did he now?’ Jamie replied. ‘What an adventure you two had.’
‘He’s coming back tomorrow with the belt, so you’ll get to meet him,’ Maggie said crisply.
‘Thrilling.’
‘Actually,’ Gray added, leaning over his plate towards Jamie and lowering his voice, ‘he’s coming back tomorrow because he was into your friend.’
‘’Course he was,’ Jamie replied, approvingly. ‘Right, Gray? Why wouldn’t he be into h—’
‘Stop it.’ Maggie stood to clear the plates but Jamie batted her down.
‘I’ll do this. You two sit.’
‘OK, but can you take the lamb out an—’
‘Relax, I’ve worked in a restaurant.’
‘That was excellent,’ Gray said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Really incredible.’
She smiled self-consciously. ‘You’re welcome. Least I can do for you after a day’s manual labour.’
‘I liked it.’ He held up his hands. ‘About time these things were put to good use.’
‘I can think of ano—’
Maggie interrupted Jamie. ‘Do you think it’ll look OK by Friday?’
He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Yeah. Another day outside, then I’ll make a start on the shutters. But, I was thinking today, d’you really have to sell up?’
‘Why?’
‘All the history of this place, I was thinking about it in the garden, listening to the church bells. When did you say it was built again?’
‘1871.’
Gray whistled softly. ‘That’s pretty incredible, given the oldest castle in California is Disneyland.’
‘You should buy it,’ Jamie suggested, putting a plate of lamb down in front of Gray.
‘Jamie!’
Gray laughed and clapped one hand to his chest. ‘I would, man. I like it a lot. But my wife would kill me.’
‘Oh. Are you …’ Maggie had looked up, surprised, and spoken before she could stop herself. That implied they were still together when, according to the articles she’d read, Gray and his wife were barely speaking. She felt a blush creep across her face as he looked at her expectantly.
‘Are you …’ she continued, her thoughts racing to disguise what she was about to ask. ‘Are you a big fan of tahini?’ She held out the bowl of tahini yoghurt. ‘For the lamb.’
‘Sure, thanks.’
‘You’re still together then?’ Jamie asked breezily, sitting down with his plate.
‘Jamie!’
‘Uh …’ began Gray, ‘It’s … uh … complicated.’
‘You might have been beaten to it anyway,’ Maggie said, switching the subject back to the hotel, ‘by the Boho House guy.’
Suddenly, Jamie gasped and clapped his hands together.
‘What?’ Maggie asked.
‘We should have a party!’
‘A party?’
‘A party,’ Jamie repeated, sticking his thumb towards the blue urn. ‘Before it goes. A huge, wild, farewell to the old gaff. We can get pissed, sprinkle your aunt over the garden, one final shindig in the place that was famous for shindigs. Get hammered. It’s what she would have wanted.’
Maggie thought back over the hotel’s parties: the parties that started on Saturday afternoons and ran through to Sunday evenings; guests swaying around the pool; the shrieks and splashes of people falling in and climbing out again; music reverberating through the French windows; bottomless carafes of rosé; cigarette butts in the lavender beds. ‘Who would come?’
‘Us. And Audrey.’
‘Cool party.’
‘OK, Georges. And my cute friend Louis the barman. And what about the guy in the bakery? And the butcher? And that English guy who sells wine? And you can ask your boyfriend Pierre.’
‘Jamie …’
‘C’mon, Mags. It could be fun. Remember that? Fun? Get the whole village here for a proper send-off, all the people from the market, get Claude to play the music.’
‘ Claude? As in Audrey’s husband?’
‘Yeah, he’s in a band. He was telling me in the bar last night. He plays the guitar, one of his mates sings and someone else is on the accordion. Come on. You missed your aunt’s funeral, think of this as her memorial.’
‘If it helps,’ Gray added, ‘you could have a massive fire with all the stuff I’ve cleared.’
Jamie’s face lit up like a flame. ‘A bonfire! Perfect! You can lob your aunt on that. Don’t they do that in distant parts of the globe?’
‘Burn their elderly relatives?’ Maggie asked doubtfully.
‘Send them off on a pyre.’
‘The Vikings did,’ interjected Gray. ‘We filmed it when I did Thor .’
Maggie twisted her mouth into a knot. ‘I’m not sure we need another thing to plan, do we? We’ve got guests, and I’ve got to start thinking about packing this place up, and the sale, and I do—’
‘ Please , Mags?’ urged Jamie. ‘I’ll organize it while you and Gray concentrate on tarting this place up. You obviously work very well together.’
The men looked up in surprise at the sound of a thump; she’d tried to kick Jamie’s shin but missed and hit the table leg instead.
‘C’monnnn,’ Jamie went on, ‘you know I’m good at parties. It’s what this place needs before you say goodbye. Think of it as closure.’
‘The Boho House guys haven’t even seen it yet,’ Maggie told him, rubbing her throbbing foot against the other. ‘We don’t know if they’ll make an offer.’
‘They will, they’re buying up everything at the moment, babe. Who wouldn’t want this place?’
And even though the lamb turned to mulch in her mouth at the idea of someone else owning it, she knew he was probably right.