Chapter 15
The next couple of weeks were busy for Juliet, and she had little time to wonder about her feelings for Léo. She barely saw him, despite their proximity as they both worked, for he rose early and she slept late and worked late, often into the early hours. Sometimes, she had a project to finish – the newspaper work had tight, rapid deadlines – but sometimes, she got so carried away with her own projects that she didn’t glance at the clock until she realised her eyelids were drooping and dawn was creeping up over the quiet trees of Fey Woods. But now and again their paths did cross, and it was on a day towards the end of August, a day when Juliet thought she had detected the first faint smell of autumn on the summer breeze, that she wandered downstairs to see if they could spare some milk.
‘Why don’t you join us for a coffee, Juliet?’ said her aunt, smiling. ‘We hardly see you these days, you’re barely even up at the house for meals.’
‘I know, it’s been manic. I thought some of the newspaper work might dry up when I left London, but it’s been busier than ever. Mind you, that’s mostly down to politicians doing stupid things, not my moving away.’
‘I enjoy your cartoons very much,’ said Léo, putting a creamy, brimming mug of coffee in front of her, then turning to take a tray of golden, flaky pastries out of the oven. ‘How you see right to the very centre of these people, what they have done, what they think, so… concis. Is the English word “succinct”? It is a good word.’
‘Thank you,’ said Juliet, accepting a plate laden with the pastries. ‘It does get to be something of a knack over time, but most of these people are much more transparent than they believe themselves to be. Mmm, these are delicious, what’s in them?’
‘It’s a new recipe we’re trying for the school,’ answered Sylvia. ‘They’re classic croissant pastry, but the paste filling is a mix of roasted hazelnuts, honey and thyme.’
‘Well, they’re incredible,’ declared Juliet, hoping her chin wasn’t bristling with crumbs. ‘Can I take a few with me to London tomorrow? I think I’m going to need some comfort food.’
‘I didn’t know you were going,’ said Sylvia. ‘Is it for work?’
‘Yes, my editor wants me to meet a couple of people to talk about a project we’ve got in mind. I don’t see why it can’t be done over Zoom, but she’s always preferred a face-to-face meeting to a computer screen. Frankie was going to come with me, but of course she’s chosen this week to have a bloody big bout of gastroenteritis.’
‘I’m not sure she had much choice in the matter, darling.’ Sylvia’s words were reproachful, but her eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Why was she going with you? She won’t usually stray from the county now she’s met her mysterious boyfriend. I wonder if he has family locally? I can’t help being curious.’
Juliet licked her finger and started dabbing up the crumbs on her plate. She chewed her lip.
‘Well, the thing is…’ She glanced at Léo, sipping his coffee. ‘Look, Frankie was coming as something of a bodyguard. I’m scared of running into Toby, all right?’ The words came out in a rush, and she quickly reached for another pastry to busy herself with.
‘Toby?’ said Léo.
Juliet didn’t answer, the familiar feelings of shame and anxiety coursing through her. She wanted Léo to know, but she didn’t want to have to explain. Sylvia came to her rescue.
‘He was an unpleasant man that Juliet was unlucky enough to get involved with,’ she said, taking a croissant herself. ‘Managed to hide his real nature quite well, as I understand it, but clever Juliet realised and got herself out before he could do too much damage. He is persistent though, like a nasty rash, and it makes sense to have a buffer when possible – they work in similar industries, see. Do you want me to come, darling?’
Juliet smiled gratefully at her aunt and her elegant explanation. Whenever she tried to talk about Toby herself, she always ended up making excuses for him, not thinking people would believe how badly he had treated her, or that they would blame her for staying with him as long as she did.
‘No, Sylvia, I wouldn’t dream of it. The last thing you need is a long day in London. I’ll be fine, and if I do run into him, I’ll deal with it.’
‘I’ll come with you, if you like?’
The two women turned to Léo in surprise.
‘You?’ said Juliet. ‘Oh, well, that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly impose on you?—’
He waved her words away.
‘Non, it would not be any imposition at all. I am always glad to go to London and very happy to be your buffer to this unpleasant Toby. But only if you would like me to? I’m sure you are more than able to manage him alone, but it is always nicer, no? To have an ally?’
Juliet hesitated, but Sylvia spoke up.
‘He’s right. Take him with you, you’ll feel much better.’
‘Okay. Thank you, Léo, I’d be glad if you came.’
‘Good, then it is arranged. And, if you don’t mind, I will think of somewhere we can have lunch?’
Juliet laughed. Somehow, what she had seen before as Léo’s bossiness was starting to feel quite comforting.
‘Why not?’
The train journey to London wasn’t long, just over an hour, and Juliet found that it went by in a flash. Now that she had relaxed in Léo’s company, she found him funny and interesting, with his stories about life in Paris and his passion for cooking. Rather than overbearing, he was charismatic, but there was true character there as well, not just a charming, glamorous shell with nothing beneath, as there had been with Toby. Toby. How she hoped not to see him, but her editor’s office was in the same development where he worked, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had heard on the grapevine that she would be in town. Every time she thought about him, her stomach lurched, and she found herself tugging at her hair or clothes nervously, potential conversations running through her head.
However, they reached the office without incident.
‘My meeting will probably be two hours, are you going to be all right?’
‘I will be fine, I’m in London. Plenty to do, don’t worry about me. I will see you back here at one and we will go to lunch.’
She nodded.
‘Great, see you later.’
The meeting was one that Juliet had been looking forward to; finally, she was getting the opportunity to discuss her idea for a children’s book with the editors in another department of the media group which owned the paper she worked for, and when she emerged just over two hours later, it was with a smile on her face. Léo was sitting in the enormous glass and marble atrium of the building and rose when she emerged from the lift.
‘It went well?’
‘Very well, I can hardly believe it.’
‘Wonderful! Come, tell me about it over lunch, I think I have found the perfect spot.’
Juliet was about to ask where they were going, when the voice she had so dreaded hearing snapped across the hard, shiny space.
‘Juliet.’
She dragged her eyes around to look at Toby as he strode towards her, the heels of his polished black shoes clicking sharply on the floor. She felt herself shrinking inside as he got closer, and then a sense of panic began to rise. What to do? It was too late to get away. What to say? Her mind was empty. And then she felt Léo’s hand on her shoulder. She jumped, then leant into him and looked Toby squarely in the face.
‘What are you doing here?’ he rapped out. ‘I thought you’d left London. You might have told me you were in the city. That was very hurtful of you, Lettie, you know I would like to see you.’
Her first instinct was to apologise; he always made her feel like she was in the wrong. And she might have done, unable to stop herself, had it not been for one thing: he had called her ‘Lettie’, which she had always hated and he knew she hated – she had told him many times. But he had always insisted, saying that he preferred it, it was softer, and anyway, didn’t she want to please him, and to have a secret, special pet name? Hearing it again provoked a cold rage in her, and she drew herself up, shaking off her fear and guilt.
‘I’m here for work, not to make social calls. And now Monsieur Brodeur and I have a lunch appointment to discuss another project.’
‘And that’s for work as well, I suppose,’ sneered Toby, looking pointedly at Léo’s hand on Juliet’s shoulder. Léo did not remove it.
‘It’s time we left,’ Léo said. ‘Lunchtime is busy there, and it would be a shame to have to wait long.’
‘And where is this “working lunch”?’ said Toby. ‘You should know that Lettie does get uncomfortable anywhere too smart. Remember that time you spilt your champagne everywhere in Le Gavroche because you were so terrified of the waiter?’
Juliet remembered it well, but it had not been the waiter who had unnerved her; he had been kind and, she knew, slightly pitying. No, it had been Toby’s cruel and humiliating attitude that had caused her to fumble with her drink. He had told the waiter in ringing tones that she only got confused looking at menus in French, and he would order for her, so they weren’t waiting until midnight while she figured out what she wanted. Toby had then demanded that she thank him for his thoughtfulness, and sulked for the rest of the meal because she hadn’t been grateful enough. But Juliet couldn’t say any of that now. Instead, she bit her lip, and wished the whole encounter could be over.
‘We’re going to Cornucopia. It is quite new, in Soho.’
Toby barked out a derisive laugh.
‘Oh yes, I know of it. And you don’t want to wait long? You do know the waiting list is about six months, not fifteen minutes, don’t you?’
Juliet wanted to die on the spot, but Léo spoke up calmly.
‘Indeed, about six months for most people. But as luck would have it, the proprietor is a friend of mine and will make a table available, pas de probleme.’
Toby’s face was instantly suffused with a deep, blotchy red. Recognising this a harbinger of anger and spite and realising that she didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it anymore, Juliet decided it was time to go. She muttered a goodbye and turned to leave before anything more could be said. She and Léo put a couple of hundred yards between them and the apoplectic Toby before she burst out in slightly hysterical laughter.
‘I have to say, that was brilliant.’
Léo shrugged, grinning.
‘It was simply the truth.’
‘Ah, but that makes it even better. I suppose I ought to feel sorry for him, but I don’t.’
‘No, don’t waste your pity on a man like that,’ said Léo, hailing a taxi. ‘Although he is surely unhappy and deserves pity. Instead, let me tell you about this wonderful – and very difficult to get into – restaurant.’
When they arrived, Juliet did a double take as she got out of the taxi. Léo had explained that the place was opulent, but nothing could have prepared her for the glorious fa?ade. The restaurant was quite small, but the front was spilling over with fruit, vegetables, corn sheafs and leaves. She would have loved to have photographed every inch but settled for a few snaps on her phone. The door was barely visible through this tumbling waterfall of plenty, but Léo led her in confidently. He was immediately greeted with great delight by a tall man, also French, who had a thick thatch of russet hair, greenish-brown eyes and a booming voice. He and Léo conversed briefly in French, of which Juliet couldn’t understand a word, then they turned to her.
‘This is Emile, the owner of this fabulous place,’ said Léo. ‘And this is Juliet.’
She went to shake hands but was immediately enveloped in an embrace.
‘Juliet, it is my pleasure to welcome you here to Cornucopia. I have the best table ready for you and I hope you will enjoy whatever you please from the menu. Come!’
They were led to a corner table, from which they could see the whole room and take in not only the décor, which continued the theme of arcadian splendour from outside, but also the glamorous diners who she would certainly take pleasure from observing. Her desire to be at the heart of things had diminished and she was happy to just be with Léo at their table, watching the glitterati do their thing. There was also a small voice at the back of her head telling her that having a good view of the room could be useful if Toby suddenly turned up; she wouldn’t have put it past him to come barging in and demand a table.
Emile came over to hand them menus. They were in French, but had an English translation underneath, Juliet saw with relief. She remembered what Toby had brought up earlier and felt a rush of panic, her eyes darting across the different options, trying to decide quickly, then she felt a hand on her arm and looked up at Léo, who was smiling at her gently.
‘Take your time. There is no rush in choosing. This is lunch, the best meal of the day, and should be enjoyed at leisure.’
He returned to studying his own menu, and Juliet, with a new sense of calm, went back to hers, reading it carefully in order to decide between all the mouth-watering dishes on offer. Emile seemed to intuit when they had decided and came over to take their order and suggest some wine.
‘And as we are celebrating Juliet’s good news, I think we should start with some champagne as well,’ added Léo.
The champagne arrived, followed by their first course – both had chosen the same marvellously garlicky prawn dish, flecked with green parsley and bright red chilli – along with a brimming bread basket. As Léo offered it, Juliet hesitated. She dearly wanted a hunk of the seeded sourdough, but this had always been a test with Toby and the only way to pass it was to wave the bread away in bored disgust. As if one would dream of eating carbs! But now, she took some. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care if Léo minded, but the truth was that she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, and she wanted him to find her attractive. Even as she broke off some of the bread to eat, conflicting thoughts coursed through her mind: he would never fancy her anyway – he was probably into sexy, dishevelled French women, like the one she had caught a glance of in the photos, not hard-edged Brits like herself, who preferred squashing their emotions to be as tiny as possible, rather than expressing them flamboyantly. Toby had been right about one thing: no one but him would be patient enough to put up with her, and generous enough to try to help her be a better person.
It had only taken seconds for all of this to flash through her mind, but when she drew her eyes up to look at Léo, terrified of finding a look of horror on his face, she saw that he had finished his first piece of bread, soaking up some garlicky juices with the last of it, and was reaching for another, seemingly unaware of her turbulence, shame and carb habit.
‘Do you like the food?’ he asked her, temporarily abandoning his bread in order to seize a prawn and start peeling off its shell.
She felt like laughing. All this anguish over a piece of bread. Dipping some into the oil, she popped it into her mouth and revelled in the explosion of flavours.
‘I love it,’ she said, allowing a grin to break out across her face. ‘Absolutely delicious, and this bread is divine.’
‘My recipe,’ said Léo, reaching for a third piece. ‘I will show you how to make it when we return to Feywood. No good for shaping into little owls, I’m afraid, but worth it anyway.’
As the meal went on, Juliet relaxed more and more. The conversation ranged from art to politics to food, of course, but with barely a pause until when the pudding arrived, Léo said:
‘Juliet, I want you to know some more about the femme mariée you mentioned.’
Reddening, Juliet felt some of her old defensiveness return in order to conceal the embarrassment she felt about poking into his private life.
‘Oh, don’t feel you have to explain yourself to me…’
‘I do not feel this, but rather that I would like you to know.’
She shrugged, on the one hand desperate to understand what had happened, on the other terrified that he would tell her how much in love he was with the woman, and that it was only a matter of time until they were together.
‘I did not know at first that she was married, she kept this a secret. When I found out, it was a very confusing time, but I ended things with her, with Veronique, and I apologised to her husband. The marriage, it broke down anyway, and she has made some accusations about me in the press. They are all untrue, but I decided to leave France for a while, to hide away, I suppose. To be where I was not questioned about these painful things and to try and put some space between us. Please, think carefully about what you have read. I would rather you asked me than believed it.’
The first silence of the afternoon stretched out between them, and then Juliet spoke.
‘Thank you, Léo. I haven’t really read anything – my French is trop mal to understand – but I had seen enough to…to…’
‘To question my integrity?’
She shrugged again.
‘You were right to do so. All of us make mistakes, but it is how we deal with those that matters, I think. My conscience, it bothers me, but I have done everything I can now.’
She nodded, then smiled.
‘Well then, maybe we should drink to doing our best.’
Despite her inclination to mistrust others, particularly men, Juliet looked across the table at Léo’s open, worried face and started to wonder if this might be a man she could rely on.