Chapter 4
DAWN
Imust have drunk a little more than I thought on the flight because I feel absolutely exhausted by the time I get into the taxi at the airport. I fall asleep and the poor driver has to wake me up to let me know we’ve arrived.
‘Merci, merci!’ I trill as he offers his hand through the open door.
Stepping out, I straighten and gaze up at the building.
I take a deep breath in and say Chateau du Chèvrefeuille on a long exhale out.
It’s exactly as I remember. A magnificent nineteenth-century castle in the heart of an exceptional wine estate.
It looks like something out of a story book.
I’ve wanted to write about it before, but something always stopped me.
An internal acceptance, I think, that I’m not a good enough writer to capture its spirit.
God, I never thought I’d come back here.
I turn to the driver as he lifts my suitcase out of the boot and lugs it over.
‘You’re very kind, thank you, merci,’ I say, hand on my heart.
Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he offers to carry it in for me and I accept, leading the way into the hall confidently as though I’m delighted to be here. I am, I think. I’m not sure. It’s complicated. But there’s no point in hesitating. I’m here now, aren’t I.
The driver sets my bag down and, once I’ve thanked him, he leaves me to stand in the middle of the hall and take a moment to drink it all in.
I catch my appearance in the gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall in the midst of all the paintings and murals.
I’ve been wondering how it would be, coming back.
I try to work out how I feel from my reflection, but it’s no use – she looks entirely too put together.
Not a hint of sadness or regret. I must credit that to my old friend Chanel.
The flawless finish foundation really is a marvellous feat of engineering.
I stride over to reception and ring the bell loudly and clearly.
There are footsteps approaching from the door to my left that leads down to the kitchens. I steel myself, shoulders back, chin high, ready to greet her with grace.
A young man appears instead. He starts when he sees me and then he breaks into a dazzling smile, much too dazzling for such a remote location where I worry it goes unappreciated.
He is a hero, no doubt about it. A pitch perfect Love Interest. Handsome enough to make your heart leap, but soft enough around the edges so as not to be intimidating for the loveable but hopeless heroine.
‘Hello, Nico,’ I say, smiling at him as I hold my arms out.
‘Dawn Dixon,’ he replies, coming over to greet me with a kiss on each cheek. ‘It has been a long time but you look the same.’
‘You look different,’ I laugh, stepping back so he can move behind the reception desk. ‘You were a tall gangly teenager when I last saw you.’
‘I’m still tall, no?’
‘Tall, dark and handsome,’ I observe with a pointed quirk of my brow, and he laughs modestly. ‘How are you, darling? I heard you were running the place now.’
‘I try,’ he says with a sigh. ‘It’s a big job.’
‘You’re the perfect man for it. It’s even more fabulous than I remember.’ I hesitate, my voice lifting a little as I speak again despite my best efforts. ‘And your aunt and uncle? I . . . I heard they are still around here somewhere.’
He nods. ‘Yes. They come and go. You will definitely see my aunt at some point, she still helps out a lot. I’m very lucky to have her.’
‘Oh. Great.’
‘She knows you’re coming. She said she was looking forward to seeing you.’
I fix a smile. ‘So lovely to be here again.’
He waggles a finger at me as he reaches under the counter with his other hand to fish out a key for me. ‘You shouldn’t have left it so long. This is the perfect place for a writer.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s quiet, peaceful, great food, great wine, beautiful views.’
‘I’m already staying here, Nico, no need to sell it to me. And, please, quiet? The Saint Vincent festival is coming up in a few days, so I imagine it won’t be too quiet around here.’
‘We have some events,’ he admits with a knowing smile. ‘But it could be busier, especially in high season. I’m trying to improve the promotion of the hotel. I think my aunt and uncle relied a lot on returning guests.’
‘Ah. I’m sure.’
He slides the key across the counter. ‘Room Seventeen. The best view there is.’
I stare down at the old clunky key as though it’s offended me. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so.’ I laugh the suggestion off. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather a room that looked over the pool and lawns. Not the vineyard.’
‘I’m so sorry, I’m afraid you’re booked into Room Seventeen,’ he says as though he knew we’d be having this exchange. ‘I was given instructions.’
‘Did he tell you to put me in Room Seventeen, Nico?’ I ask in a low voice.
‘Yes.’ He grimaces. ‘Sorry.’
Of course he’s done this. What a conniving little prick.
‘This is why you should never holiday with an ex, darling,’ I mutter, before swiping the key up from the counter, satisfied to be the cause of Nico’s dazzling smile once again.
***
It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper hangover. I won’t say I don’t drink often, because I do, but I’ve been trying to cut back the last year or so and I certainly don’t often drink as much as I drank yesterday. Yesterday, I drank a lot.
I blame it on Room Seventeen.
The moment I stepped into this godforsaken room, I had to turn round to Nico, who’d gallantly carried up my suitcase, and ask for a bottle of wine to be brought up immediately.
‘Would you like to choose one from the menu?’ he’d asked, hands behind his back, all charming and responsible and grown up now, which continues to astound me.
‘I would like one that has alcohol in it.’
He’d hesitated. ‘White, red or rosé?’
‘Yes.’
Then he’d had the sense to swiftly leave, so I could live this moment as dramatically as I wished to.
That involved me glancing at the four-poster bed before turning away from it in despair and marching over to the balcony doors.
I swung them open and strode out to the edge, placing the palms of my hands on the rail and gazing out over the vines that lined the side of the hill.
Beyond the vineyard, the blue sea stretched for miles, the late afternoon sun glittering across it. It truly was a stunning view.
‘You smug bastard,’ I said into the gentle breeze.
Not long afterwards, there was a knock on the door.
Nico had delivered and I was pleased with his choice of bottles.
It had been a good idea to get a later flight, because I could stay in and get reaccustomed to the room.
I drank on the balcony, thinking over the various failures in my life, and then went to bed once I’d slathered myself in expensive creams that claim to slow the aging process.
It all seemed like such a good idea.
Give yourself a break, I thought as I topped up my glass. Your publisher dropped you, your future’s uncertain and now you’re here. If ever there was a time to drink . . .
I regret it now, of course.
My head is throbbing; my limbs are aching even more so than usual.
I need several hours’ more sleep, but I can’t – I’m too hot and restless – so I might as well get up, groaning as I stumble to the bathroom, searching for paracetamol in my washbag.
I wince when I look in the mirror, my eye mask propped across my forehead.
‘I see those face creams have done bugger all,’ I say bitterly to my reflection.
Fresh air. That’s what I need. And a large Bloody Mary.
Let’s start with fresh air.
It takes more energy than expected to open the doors to the balcony, but it’s worth it for the gust of air that greets me when I step out.
It’s early to be too hot yet, and despite my sorry state, I find my mood lifted when I take in the majestic view that’s accompanied by a background hum of birdsong and distant waves rolling into the shore.
This room has once again won me over mortifyingly quickly. I think he knew that would happen.
I glance back over my shoulder at the small black box that’s sitting on top of my suitcase.
I remember perching it there last night, not quite sure where else to put it.
It seemed wrong to leave it hidden away in my bag, but there was something a little too creepy about putting it on display in here.
‘You always knew me better than I knew myself, didn’t you, darling?’ I murmur as I look at it, my voice thick with emotion, my eyes filling up with tears.
Before I can think about how ludicrous it is, I go inside to pick up the box and stroll back out onto the balcony with it, holding it aloft as though it were a trophy.
‘There, you old git. There’s the view you made me bring you all the way here for,’ I say through a watery smile. ‘Are you satisfied now? Do you—’
Out the corner of my eye, I spot a flicker of movement.
Someone has emerged onto their balcony to my left.
Quickly lowering the box out of sight, I wipe my cheek and form a polite smile as I glance over at them before I can duck back inside.
I stop when I see who it is.
I gasp so loudly, she jumps and turns to look at me.
What on earth is she doing here?