Chapter 10
It was so appalling it was almost funny.
Angus couldn’t begin to cope with a day that had begun with a balloon crash into a pigsty and was apparently going to finish with being trapped in a village that smelled like his grandmother was around every corner and sounded like a kindergarten class learning to play recorders.
To his complete astonishment, he didn’t care any longer. Rather, he was waiting with no more than idle curiosity to see how Tilly might manage to find a bright side to this latest catastrophe.
She’d been on her phone for a while now, making and answering several different calls. People were wandering past them on their way home, with tired children being carried and women’s skirt hems grubby from dragging on the cobbles.
Tilly finally came to stand beside him.
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ she asked.
‘The bad,’ he said. He always focussed on the lowest starting point because that should mean the most likely direction to move in was up and the opposite was, of course, true of the ‘good news’ end of the spectrum.
‘The garage is closed for today.’
She pronounced the word with a French accent but it needed no translation.
‘They can help with the tyres tomorrow morning,’ Tilly added.
‘I will talk to the man we paid to use this space and I’m sure he will look after the car until then, especially when I tell him I might have to go to the police about the vandalism and that I think I could identify the boys who might have done the mischief. ’
Angus wanted escape rather than revenge. ‘Have we not got some kind of roadside assistance service we can call?’
Tilly’s gaze slid away from his. ‘I’m not sure if that’s included in the insurance policy of the car. And it’s Sunday. It might be hard to find out quickly.’
Angus closed his eyes as he let out a slow breath. Then he opened them again.
‘And the good news?’
‘My mother has a friend in Valensole – Monique. She has a friend who lives in a chateau not far from here, near Riez. I have just spoken to her.’
Angus was bewildered now. He gave his chin a quick rub. ‘What’s that got to do with any of this?’
‘We could stay there tonight. We’re not likely to find any hotel rooms with it being the lavender festival. The dancing goes on till midnight.’
‘We would be staying in a chateau?’
‘Not exactly. They have a small cottage on the estate and we can stay there. Monique will come and pick us up as soon as we’ve sorted the car and then she’s happy to collect us tomorrow morning and bring us back. Oh! Excusez-moi—’
Tilly slipped past Angus, close enough for him to feel the brush of her body.
‘I can see the man I need to speak to. I’ll be two ticks.’
Had she used that English expression because he had, earlier today?
Had she known it before then?
Angus rather liked the idea that she might have learned something from him. And that she was choosing to keep it.
* * *
Monique had been at school with Tilly’s mother so their friendship had been a part of her life and she was used to the older woman’s constant flow of words and extravagant hand gestures.
Hopefully Angus wasn’t seeing that the steering wheel was sometimes left without any human contact, because he’d insisted on sitting in the back seat of Monique’s rather old and dented Renault hatchback.
He certainly wouldn’t be picking up on any of the rapid French being spoken but Tilly was translating snippets that she thought he might be interested in.
‘The man who owns the chateau is called Henri Girard. It has been in his family for generations. There are olive groves on the estate but he’s more known for his passion for falcons and the sanctuary he’s run for those that get injured.
That’s why he used to rent out the cottage that Monique has been looking after for him – to raise money to look after the birds. ’
She’d left out the juicier parts of Monique’s description of Monsieur Girard, who was, apparently, extremely charming and unable to resist beautiful women. Tilly had a suspicion that, in the past, Monique might have succumbed to that charm herself.
‘He doesn’t rent it out now?’
‘No, he’s not very well but he’s happy for us to use it if we make a donation. As Monique pointed out, it’s best for any house to be aired out occasionally.’
‘But perhaps we’re intruding if he’s not well? This town might have accommodation available.’
Tilly put the idea to Monique but shook her head after listening to the animated response.
‘Monique’s happy to have a reason to visit Henri.
They’ve been friends for a very long time and he’s been sick for years with some kind of blood cancer.
It’s getting worse now and his son has come from Ireland to care for him for the time he has left.
We won’t be a bother to him at all and the housekeeper is able to provide us with dinner. ’
Angus had probably noticed how often Monique had been saying oh là là in their most recent exchange concerning her friend’s son, but she didn’t translate the glowing appreciation of how handsome this young man was.
Monique thought he might be perfect for Tilly, who had to be very firm in that she didn’t want a meeting set up – she was quite capable of choosing her own man, thank you.
She was glad of the distraction of answering another question for Angus.
‘Why did his son go to Ireland?’
‘His mother’s Irish. His parents divorced when he was a young child and she took him to Ireland with her but he came back for every school holiday.
Everybody’s hoping he will keep the chateau – and the sanctuary – going after Henri is gone.
This area is famous for its falcons. And its history.
Monique says there’s a baptistery that dates back to the fifth century and was part of one of the first Christian cathedrals in France. ’
She pointed to the view on the driver’s side of the car. ‘You can see the olive groves now. The castle will be visible very soon.’
The lovely lines of the old stone chateau appeared around the next bend in the road and Tilly was transfixed.
‘It’s incroyable,’ she breathed.
It was a castle for a princess. Pure Disney, with its turrets and round towers and balconies. The soft creep of ivy and arched gateways in stone walls hinted at secret courtyards and hidden gardens full of roses and birdsong and butterflies.
She turned to see if Angus was admiring this fabulous location as much as she was. He lifted an eyebrow.
‘Do you love this castle?’
He knew she did. And he knew why.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Do you?’
‘It’s a French chateau,’ he said. ‘In an olive grove and the sun is getting ready to set on a lovely summer’s day in the South of France.’ His lips twitched. ‘What’s not to love?’
He was teasing her. Reminding her what she’d said about the little red car.
‘It’s a sports car. It’s a cabriolet. It’s red…’
She liked that he’d remembered but, for some reason, her smile was fading and she was finding it very difficult to break that eye contact.
They were about to be shown to a cottage that Monique had told her was out of sight in the middle of one of the olive groves. They were going to be cut off from the outside world for the night.
Alone.
Together.
Tilly only managed to drag her gaze from Angus as Monique stopped the car with a jolt.
If anything was going to happen between them, she thought, it would be tonight.
And that made her, suddenly, very nervous.
* * *
The cottage had once been the dwelling of a tenant farmer, Monique told them as she unlocked the door and left them alone.
Built of stone, it had a slate roof with enough moss growing on it to make it seem completely at home amongst the forest of ancient olive trees, which had been pruned in the traditional goblet shape and were open enough to let the sunlight and air through their branches.
The grass beneath the trees was short, being constantly trimmed by small goats who were wandering freely, the bells around their necks chiming softly as they moved.
There was a cobbled outdoor courtyard, framed by olive trees, that also had puddles of moss around terracotta pots full of red geraniums, along with a small, wooden table and two chairs beneath a grapevine-smothered wrought-iron gazebo.
A champagne bottle on the table had been serving as a candlestick long enough for layered drips of wax to have hidden any label.
It was as unpretentious and rustic and perfect as the meal that the chateau housekeeper, Marie, delivered as the light changed to the soft, slow dusk of a Provencal summer evening.
‘C’est simple,’ she told them, with an apologetic smile, putting earthenware bowls and a basket of sliced baguette onto the small white linen cloth she had laid on the table. She took a book of matches from her apron pocket and lit the candle. ‘Mais bon appétit.’
Tilly held her breath, wondering if Angus would be annoyed enough to snuff out that symbol of a romantic dinner for two, but he seemed to be ignoring it as he poured what was probably a local rosé from the jug into their glasses.
The chicken, simmered in an oven with garlic and herbs, lemon and olives until it was falling apart, smelled absolutely delicious but Tilly found herself unable to swallow a single mouthful.
She was so aware of Angus that it felt like every nerve in her body was tingling.
Every time she looked away up from where she was toying with the food in her bowl, she could see him closing his eyes as he savoured the spoonful of shredded chicken and olives he’d just put into his mouth or tearing chunks of bread to dip into the sauce or – oh, mon Dieu – licking his lips and making small appreciative sounds.
He soon noticed that she wasn’t eating.
‘Not hungry?’ he asked succinctly.
She was. But food was not what her body was craving.
‘It’s very good,’ he added.
The goats were watching them and a small brown and white one plucked up the courage to come closer. Tilly pulled a bit of crust off a slice of baguette and held it out. The goat was delighted.