Chapter 40
I’ve never seen Sainte-églantine-les-Bains look more beautiful. It’s the launch party, and after spending all summer working toward this day, there’s a chance I might actually enjoy it. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, but I think we’ve managed to pull everything together.
Festoon lights hang from the trees in the newly landscaped parkland opposite the factory, casting the pavilion in warm light.
Inside the pretty cylindrical building is the first of our two yellow-neon-light installations.
It hangs down from the domed ceiling, illuminating Estelle’s artwork perfectly, but all you can see from the outside is a golden glow.
We’ve also lit up the Sainte églantine on the wall of the restaurant with a spotlight and we even got permission to do the same with the mini painting on the bridge.
I’ve hired the band that usually plays on market nights and the whole place has a summer carnival feel about it.
A marquee has been erected on the grass and I’ve lined up some vendors from the market to do the catering.
I’m hopeful that the connections I’ve made will help to pave the way for future consultancy work.
Jackson and Albert have encouraged me to carry on using the office at Chateau Angèle—I’ve agreed to manage Eau de Sainte églantine’s social media accounts for the foreseeable future, but they’ve also insisted that I use the office as a base for my freelance work.
Jackson has to concentrate on the distribution side of the business now and will begin targeting new accounts, so he’s flying back to New York next week, but he’ll return before long and we’ll stay in touch—as colleagues and as friends.
I teased him on Tuesday when he was asking me to run an errand that I absolutely did not have time for. He was looking up at me, his hands pressed together in a prayer.
“Don’t you bat your pretty eyes at me, Jackson Cole. I’m over it.”
He burst out laughing—it broke the ice.
We’re okay. I’m confident that we’ll get over the strangeness of the last few years and one day hopefully we’ll be stronger than ever.
We have a lot of people coming tonight. The whole town has been invited, and most of the factory workers who live farther afield will be here too.
We’ve had a number of etched Eau de Sainte églantine bottles made to give to workers and their families so they can fill them and take them home.
The bottles are reusable. They were Jackson’s idea—they’ll be sold at Thermalisme so anyone who wants to can buy a bottle and fill it themselves from the buvette.
“Hiya,” Lise says as she comes into the marquee.
It’s only 5 p.m. but she wants to capture the action playing out across different light levels, so she’ll stick around as the evening wears on.
“Hello,” I reply warmly, offering her a glass of champagne.
“Can’t. Working.” She lifts up her camera.
“One,” I insist.
“Fine. Where’s yours?”
“Can’t. Working.”
“One,” she insists.
“Fine.” I pick up another glass and she grins as I clink it against hers.
“So, I’ve got to ask,” she says.
Oh God. What now?
“Are you and étienne going to get me to do your wedding pics?”
I laugh. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Only a matter of time,” she replies. “He’s not a pawn, Lise. He’s the one!” she mimics me.
My cheeks heat as I play-punch her arm.
“I’m just kidding.” She bestows a fond smile on me as she gives me a one-armed hug. “That was the greatest line ever.”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone fall that hard or that fast comes close,” I tease her, recalling how that line haunted me. I never thought I’d be able to compete.
“I’ve seen someone else fall harder and faster,” she replies meaningfully.
“Who?”
“You.”
I tilt my head, pausing, and then I nod. “Okay, that’s fair.”
She grins. “But he wasn’t far behind you.”
I laugh and look around. “I hope he arrives soon. He had an emergency with some tourists—their camper van broke down so he stayed back to fix it for them.”
At least I know why he’s late. I’m not sure he would have come at all if Sandrine had been here.
It’s been almost two weeks since she flew home. Albert let her go the morning after he came to Les Saules, but not in anger. I suspect he’ll forgive her eventually, but right now he just wants some time to get to know his grandson without his daughter’s interference.
Last week, he visited étienne at the garage and it was heartwarming to see him walking around and showing genuine interest in étienne’s work.
And last night, étienne came to Chateau Angèle for the first time since he was seven to help celebrate Albert’s eightieth birthday.
We made our way up the footpath together and paused at the gate before walking through, hand in hand.
Albert had invited a collection of close friends and colleagues for a champagne reception on the lawn.
As soon as he saw us, he broke away and came over.
“Did you know that étienne’s great-great-great-grandfather was the one who originally installed this fountain in town?” I found myself saying as we were standing right beside it.
Albert’s bushy eyebrows almost hit his hairline as he stared with astonishment at his grandson.
“It was connected to the water source, but Pierre brought it here when he built the factory,” I explained.
“But then, she’s yours!” Albert declared, throwing his hands in the air. “You must take her.”
“Where would I put her?” étienne asked with bemusement.
“At Les Saules! You could have her in the garden, by the river.”
I could tell that étienne was fighting back laughter as he put his hand on his grandfather’s back. “No, she’s better suited here. Thank you though.”
His eyes were twinkling as they met mine.
We were in fits about it last night after we got home—we weren’t laughing at Albert; he’s the kindest person on the planet and his heart is in the right place—it was the thought of that extravagant fountain sitting among the wildflowers outside étienne’s little house. The image was so funny to us both.
This morning though, étienne seemed troubled.
“I don’t want what I haven’t earned,” he said seriously as we lay together in the bed at his apartment.
“I’ve worked hard to get what I have and that’s the way I like it.
Jackson has earned his place at Eau de Sainte églantine.
If Albert starts talking about giving me anything else or, God forbid, changing his will, please put a stop to it. ”
“I understand,” I said. “I’ll tell Mellie too in case he discusses it with her.”
“Thank you.”
I get it, I really do. He takes pride in what he’s achieved—he doesn’t want handouts.
His issue was never really with the Osiers—he’s not like his uncle—he only cared about how Sandrine treated his mother and how she led him to believe that he’d never be wanted or accepted.
It’s still so upsetting to think about how she handled it.
When Lise cracks on, I wander over to Mellie, who’s talking to a friend nearby.
“Hello, darling,” she says as I join them. Her friend excuses herself.
Mellie slips her arm around my waist and turns to survey the scene. “Look at what you’ve done,” she says proudly. “My clever girl.”
“Well, it wasn’t just me,” I reply, but I’m happy to take some of the praise.
“What time is the grotto opening?” she asks.
“Albert’s cutting the ribbon at seven o’clock.”
My phone begins to ring. I pull it out. “étienne,” I say to Mellie, stepping away.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask with concern.
“I’m on my way.”
“Where are you?”
“Just approaching the geyser.”
“I’ll come and meet you by the bridge.”
My heart flips when I see him strolling beneath the plane trees. He’s wearing smart gray shorts and a white long-sleeved shirt, rolled up to just below his elbows. He’s dressed up for the occasion.
“Hi!” I say as I walk up to him, sliding my hands over his chest to his shoulders.
He grasps my waist and pulls back a little to take in what I’m wearing, a navy just-above-knee-length dress that I bought for the occasion. “Tu es très belle,” he says in a low voice. “You are very beautiful,” he repeats himself in English.
“Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” I reply in as flirty a tone as I can muster. “Tu es aussi très belle.” I say this very slowly and probably very badly.
“Beau,” he corrects me, chuckling.
“I’ll get it eventually. Just keep speaking French to me and I’ll pick it up.
I’m really liking this version of you who repeats every compliment he pays me.
” I’m currently getting one in French and then a translation in English.
Usually I understand it the first time around, but I am not complaining.
“You deserve to hear every nice thing twice,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Sorry I’m late,” he adds.
“It’s no problem.” An idea comes to me. “Hey, let me show you the grotto while we’re close by.” He still hasn’t seen it.
We cross the road, hand in hand. There’s a red ribbon stretched across the entrance which I lift up for étienne to step under. I’m anxious about his response. I really want him to like it.
The second of our yellow neon light fixtures hangs down from the ceiling in a golden halo and an abundance of realistic fake ferns hug the cave walls, lit from behind with tiny fairy lights.
We decided against hiring an acoustic artist—the water that spills from the fixed spout provides more than enough ambient noise—but we did go for mist. I really wanted to create a magical experience that people of all ages would remember.
I glance at étienne and see him smiling as he looks around, his eyes landing on the back wall.
His mother’s star Sainte églantine has been re-created as a giant mosaic and she’s stunning: auburn curls cascading down to her waist and her head topped with a crown of yellow flowers.
Green vines entwined with blue birds and pink roses form a decorative circle behind her, and her pale yellow dress spills to the ground behind the basin.
We’ve chosen teeny-tiny tiles that have a faint iridescent look about them so her blue eyes seem to sparkle in the lights as we approach.
“Too much like Disneyland?” I ask timidly.
étienne shakes his head. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is a little like Disneyland,” I say with a grin.
He shrugs and smiles. “In a good way.”
“I’m so glad you like it. I’ve been nervous to show you.”
“Nervous? You? About me?” he teases, tugging me toward him. He presses two fingers to my pulse point and stares down at me, his eyes dark in the low light.
I reach up and do the same to him.
“Mon coeur bat pour toi,” he whispers. My heart beats for you.
“I love you too,” I reply.
We’re on the other side of the river, in the parkland.
étienne is huddled in a group with Jackson, Dion, Raphael, and Charles and they’re all laughing about something; Lise is taking pictures of the pavilion all lit up, having just come from the grotto where locals are filling bottles of Eau de Sainte églantine; and Mellie and Albert are standing with a group of factory workers, talking enthusiastically.
I stare at the two old friends who have never been more than friends and feel a surge of love for them, and then my attention catches on a petite blond woman walking across the bridge in our direction.
My heart explodes.
“Mum,” I breathe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see étienne’s head turn toward mine as I set off at a sprint.
“Mum!” I shout.
Her face breaks into a smile at the sight of me, and then she’s opening up her arms and I’m flying into them, clutching her fiercely.
“You’re here!” I say with astonishment, jerking backward as it sinks in.
“I spoke to Mellie a couple of days ago. She told me about all this.” She releases me as she looks around. “I didn’t want to miss it. Plus, I thought it was probably about time I had a holiday and came to see you both.”
“I’m so glad you made it.” I fold my arms across my chest in an attempt to contain myself. One hug is probably her limit.
I glance to my left and see that étienne has wandered over, but he’s hanging back with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, not sure if he should interrupt.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I say to my mum as I beckon him over.
“Ooh, is this the love of your life?” she asks quietly as he approaches.
I smile to myself, knowing that I’ll be introducing her to Jackson later.
“Yes, he is,” I reply. “Mum, this is étienne.”
We have a lot to catch up on.