Chapter 16
It was cold inside the church, coloured light filtering from stained-glass windows onto the flagstone floor.
Maxine thought that she ought to sit at the back, but Fliss steered her to the second pew, where she had a full view of the coffin draped in black velvet.
In front of her were two men. Maxine recognised one of them by the pale hair over his collar and the muscular expanse of his back: it was Mr Nine-out-of-Ten.
A slightly slimmer, darker-haired man stood beside him, his shoulders hunched, and Maxine remembered the jogger saying he had a brother, a semi-retired dentist. The jogger turned round to exchange glances with Fliss, and she gave him an encouraging smile. His, in return, was tearful.
On the other side of Fliss was the woman in yellow with the child on her hip, who she now passed to the younger woman.
The child put a small thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes.
She didn’t seem to mind the loud swell of organ music, or the voices raised in song.
Maxine gazed around to see if there was anyone else she recognised.
Thankfully J-F wasn’t there, and there was no sign of Béa.
Quiet prayers followed, a priest speaking in a low voice.
There was another hymn, but Maxine found it hard to join in because it was in French.
Next to her Fliss was doing her best to ‘lah’ along to the tune.
Then the two brothers – the jogger and the dentist – walked to the pulpit at the front of the church to give the eulogy.
Maxine understood a lot of it: Maurice Barron was their beloved father, the husband of Josette, who had died a few years ago.
He had missed her badly. He’d been in his nineties, a man both amusing and serious, strong and sensitive.
Both sons loved him dearly, the community would miss him.
He’d been a special man and a wonderful father and husband.
Maxine was watching the jogger, who was called Emmanuel.
Tears flowed freely down his face as he spoke, despite his voice remaining calm and in control.
Every word was measured and crystal clear.
His brother, whom he called Théo, was more emotional, his voice wavering, and at one point, the men wrapped their arms around each other to give support. Maxine felt a lump rise in her throat.
Then Emmanuel Barron turned to Fliss with a weak smile. ‘I know Papa would like you to say a few words. He was fond of you.’
Maxine watched the colour drain from Fliss’s face. ‘I forgot he was going to ask me. What on earth am I going to say?’
Maxine immediately knew how to help. She took Fliss’s hand and whispered, ‘Here.’ She reached into her handbag, took out her wallet and slid a small piece of paper from one of the compartments. She passed it to Fliss and whispered, ‘I take these words everywhere.’
Fliss unfolded the paper and Maxine was surprised to see her hand shaking. ‘This is perfect – thanks, Max.’
With confidence, Fliss walked to the front and stood beside the Barron brothers. She looked completely self-assured and when she spoke, her voice resonated throughout the church.
‘Thank you for asking me to say something, Manu, Théo. Maurice was a dear friend. I’ll miss him – as we all will. So, in his honour, here’s something in English that expresses how I feel.’
Maxine held her breath. She knew what was coming. Fliss smoothed the paper and read aloud.
‘I wrote your name in the sand,
but the waves washed it away’.
Emmanuel Barron met Maxine’s eyes and she couldn’t look away. Fliss continued,
‘So I wrote your name in my heart,
and that’s where it will stay.’
She paused, hoping her words had been understood. Then she whispered, ‘Maurice, je t’aime toujours,’ and blew a small kiss.
In a dignified manner, she walked back to her place, heels clacking on the flagstones, to sit next to Maxine. Fliss had tears in her eyes and Maxine was doing her best not to cry. The Barron brothers and the undertakers moved to stand by the coffin.
Fliss insisted that Maxine came along with her to la veillée, which was held at Le Shack. Joel had prepared food and drink for the whole community, and it was an opportunity for everyone to offer condolences to Maurice’s sons.
As the solemn crowd gathered, Joel rushed to the woman in the yellow dress and hugged her. Despite the seriousness of the occasion, they were clearly delighted to see each other.
They carried large trays of food and drink, weaving through the groups of guests, speaking in hushed tones.
The young English woman and the small child were joined by the yoga teacher and the older woman from the boulangerie.
Maxine listened carefully to their chatter and tried to remember their names – Gemma, Bastien, Gisele; the baby was called Macey Roux.
They were talking quietly to Théo Barron, who clutched a glass of wine, his head bowed.
He looked sad. Maxine hoped Fliss might introduce her to him, but Fliss made her excuses and rushed off to speak to Shirl, who hugged her tightly.
Maxine accepted a small glass of wine from Joel – she had no intention of drinking much.
She glanced around. She knew no one yet but, Maxine thought gloomily, they probably knew everything about her, given her drunken public exhibition with J-F at the restaurant the evening before and her antics with the jogger on the beach.
After all, everyone seemed to know everything about everyone in Plouvannec.
A voice at her shoulder said, ‘Hello,’ and Maxine turned round to look into the serious eyes of Manu Barron. In his dark suit, he looked incredibly handsome. Maxine pushed the thought away. This wasn’t the right time or occasion.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Manu Barron said.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Maxine stammered.
‘I wanted to thank you. I noticed that you gave Fliss a poem to read.’ His eyes were soft with emotion. ‘It was perfect.’
Maxine nodded. ‘It’s only short – but it’s very moving.’
‘To me, and to you too, I think,’ Manu said. Maxine knew instantly he understood that she’d lost someone special. He watched her carefully for a moment and then he said, ‘I hope you’re feeling better now. After your fall.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Maxine thought she wouldn’t laugh it off – she was at a wake. ‘I hadn’t eaten – I ran out of energy.’ She gave him an apologetic look. ‘I felt silly.’
‘Not at all,’ Manu said kindly.
Maxine was thoughtful. ‘It must feel very strange in your house without your father.’
‘It’s full of his memories. Fliss is staying with us and Théo too, for the summer. We were thinking about decorating. Maybe it’s time, as it says in your poem, to remember in our hearts.’
‘Do you live in that beautiful old house on the cliff?’ Maxine recalled seeing a dark car arrive there when she had been walking on the cliffs.
‘Rose Falaise,’ Manu said. ‘Now it belongs to my brother and me. The cottage you’re staying in was Clotilde Moreau’s, my father’s friend.
I remember she often used to try to kiss him, and he’d pretend to be angry.
’ He smiled sadly. ‘When Clotilde died, Fliss renovated the old cottage in her memory.’
‘And will she help you to renovate Rose Falaise?’ Maxine asked.
‘Yes, that’s why she’s staying with us,’ Manu said. ‘It’s what she loves, to dress things up.’ He held out a hand. ‘I didn’t introduce myself. I am Emmanuel Barron. Manu.’
Maxine had already worked out his name. ‘Maxine Sweet.’ She took his hand in hers. It was dry, solid; immediately, she felt that he was trustworthy.
He indicated her glass. ‘Can I get you more wine? Something to eat?’
Maxine was neither hungry nor thirsty but she wanted to keep talking to Manu, so she said, ‘Please.’
She watched him walk over to Joel and Shirl, who were loading up trays with more drink. He spoke to them for a moment, then a tall, imposing-looking man rested an arm on his shoulder and began to talk to him. Fliss joined them, and they seemed engrossed in conversation.
Manu seemed nice: calm, comfortable in his own skin. Maxine compared him to Jean-Francois, who was more mercurial. Melancholy. She was still irritated that he’d slept with her and left her with just a note.
Maxine still couldn’t believe she’d been seduced by him and she wondered if Manu Barron knew. If the whole town knew. The thought was excruciating.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Maxine turned and the woman in a yellow dress was holding a tray.
‘Oh, thanks,’ Maxine said, taking an orange juice. ‘To be honest, I’m not in the mood for wine.’
‘I understand,’ the woman said kindly. Maxine thought she must have heard about how drunk she was the night before as well. ‘I’m Shirl.’
‘You’re English.’ Maxine was stating the obvious.
‘Yes – I run Le Shack with Joel in the summer. I arrived from the UK yesterday – I’ve got a house in Somerset. But now we have the whole summer in Plouvannec to look forward to. With my daughter and my granddaughter.’
‘How lovely.’ Maxine glanced over to where they were. The toddler was in her mother’s arms, chewing a piece of bread.
‘That’s Gemma and Macey Roux. Gemma wants to make a life here in France.
Macey loves it. It’s a great community.’ Shirl took a long breath.
‘Of course, I can only stay for up to ninety days in any one hundred and eighty. Gemma has a long-stay visa, and hopefully she’ll get a residence permit after she’s married.
She helps out in the boulangerie. Her fiancé Bastien’s mother owns it. He’s the yoga teacher.’
‘I can see why you love being here.’ Maxine sipped her juice. The jigsaw of who was who had slotted into place now. ‘I adore Clotilde’s Cottage.’
‘Fliss has done a great job,’ Shirl agreed. ‘So, I hear you’ve just retired. This is the perfect place to wind down.’
‘It is.’
‘And you’ve met some of the locals?’ Shirl had that look on her face again. She must know all about Maxine and J-F.
‘Briefly.’ Maxine changed the subject quickly. ‘Joel’s really nice. What a talented chef he is.’
‘We’re having a Caribbean night soon – jerk chicken, ackee and salt fish. And rum punch.’ Shirl rolled her eyes at the idea. ‘You’ll have to come.’
‘I’d love to.’ Maxine glanced over Shirl’s shoulder.
Manu was talking to Gemma now. Her little girl was in his arms and Bastien was chatting to Fliss. Shirl indicated the tray. ‘You’ve almost finished your juice – would you like another?’
‘No, thanks.’ Maxine shook her head.
‘Joel’s made crostini with artichokes and chives.’
‘It sounds lovely but…’ Maxine’s eyes moved to the rolling sea. ‘I ought to go. It’s been nice to meet you all—’
‘I understand,’ Shirl said sympathetically. ‘But you’re here for the whole of May. We’ll catch up again.’
‘I’d like that,’ Maxine said honestly. ‘Thanks…’
‘Shirleen Booker – Shirl.’
‘Maxine Sweet.’
‘Well, Maxine,’ Shirl said. ‘Welcome to Plouvannec.’
‘Thanks.’ Maxine began to walk down the path that led to the beach.
She turned sharp left. Clotilde’s Cottage was minutes away.
She could see it from the road and someone was standing in the gateway, hands on hips.
Maxine made her eyes small, but she couldn’t make out who it was.
She sped up as the person raised an arm and waved.
Whoever it was, they were waiting for her.