Chapter Twenty Seven
Desperate not to encounter Hélène, who she knew would insist on a full debrief of the last two hours, Poppy tiptoed up the stairs as quietly as she could. As soon as she let herself into her studio, she was overtaken by a bout of uncontrollable shivering. She stripped off her sodden clothes, towel-dried her hair, and was about to pull on a pair of jeans and a dry tee-shirt when her gaze fell on her bright yellow suitcase in the corner of the room.
She made a decision.
Before she could change her mind, she threw in as much as she could; her clothes – old and new – her hats, including the one Fabien had bought for her at Galeries Lafayette and the cream beret Hélène had given her, her cookery books and her toiletries, before making a reservation on the Eurostar that left Paris first thing the following morning.
She then agonised over whether to call Olivier or send him a text to thank him for the inspiration she had gained while at Patisserie Madeleine, to apologise again for her part in the competition fiasco, and to inform him that she had decided to return home to the UK early, as he had suggested. She took the easy option and decided to send him a text, but after reading it back, she hesitated; if he called his mother, she knew Hélène would be at her door within seconds and she just couldn’t face that prospect.
Instead, she turned off her phone and climbed into bed, her mood downcast.
***
After a fitful night’s sleep, she rose before dawn, squeezed the last of her belongings into her suitcase and, like a fugitive, she crept down the stairs to the foyer where she left her keys in the box provided, and headed out of the front door for the last time, dragging her suitcase behind her.
There wasn’t a tourist in sight. The lights were out at Bistro Fabien, and she couldn’t help making a final detour to Patisserie Madeliene where she was unsurprised to see the place lit up like a Christmas tree as Olivier and Alain prepared for another day at the cutting edge of French patisserie. Her heart gave a nip of sadness as she stared through the window, its display as yet devoid of the colourful cakes, pastries, and desserts that had been a part of her life for the last few weeks.
She hailed a taxi and moments later she was on her way to the Gare du Nord. She switched on her phone and revisited the text she had composed the previous night to Olivier, adding how her time in Paris had changed her life, and how sorry she was not to say goodbye in person. Fighting back tears, she sent a similar text to Hélène, saying she hoped they would meet again and promising to search for a fencing club in Devon so she could build on what she had learned from Jean-Luc.
When they arrived at the station, she paid the driver and headed to the concourse in search of a coffee to kickstart her sluggish senses. She had just bought herself a double espresso – another new habit she had picked up since arriving in Paris and intended to continue when she got home – when a message flashed up on her phone and her heart performed a somersault when she saw it was from Fabien.
She inhaled a breath and was about to open it when her phone started to ring. For a split second she considered sending Holly’s call to voicemail, but she couldn’t do that to her friend.
‘Hi, Holly, is it okay if I call you back? It’s just that I need—’
‘Poppy, I have some news, some very sad news. Where are you?’
‘I’m at a café in the Gare du Nord waiting to board the Eurostar in…’ Poppy glanced at her watch. ‘Just a couple of minutes. What’s happened? Oh, God, is it Oscar?’
‘No, it’s not Oscar. It’s Dexter.’
‘Dexter? Has Andrew found him?!’
‘Yes, he has, but—’
‘Well, that’s good news, surely? We’ve been waiting for over four months to hear this news. Now we can really start to make plans for what we—’
‘Poppy, please, you need to—’
‘Hold on a minute, Holly, they’re calling for us to board.’
Poppy hooked the straps of her satchel over her shoulders, grabbed her suitcase and dashed to Platform 3 where she was pleased to see the Eurostar was waiting for her. She climbed on board, stored her luggage, then dropped into her seat next to the window, her breath coming in spurts.
‘Sorry, Holly, are you still there? I’m on the train now so—’
‘Poppy, you need to listen to me, please just listen to me!’
Poppy was shocked by the anguish she heard in Holly’s voice.
‘Okay, I’m listening. What’s going on?’
‘Dexter… well, he’s… dead.’
‘What?’
Poppy gasped; she felt as though a firework had exploded in her head, sending her thoughts spiralling into another dimension.
‘Kath called. Andrew and his PCT guide, Tuxson, engaged the assistance of a group of six other seasoned hikers and they found him yesterday in his tent in a densely forested area just outside Lake Tahoe. It’s too early to be certain, but they think it was probably a heart attack. They’re not sure when it happened, either, maybe a few days ago, a week at the most. They’ll know more after the post-mortem has been carried out, which should be in the next week or so. Andrew is making arrangements to have his body flown home for his funeral.’
‘I… I don’t believe…’
Poppy was barely able to comprehend what Holly was saying. A wave of shock threatened to overwhelm her, and she was grateful to be sitting down when she experienced a painful stabbing sensation in her chest. Tears prickled at her eyes and her throat had tightened, restricting the airflow to her lungs and causing her to feel dizzy and lightheaded. She was vaguely aware of an announcement being made over the tannoy, and it was a few minutes before she realised the train had moved away from the platform, bound for the UK.
The world outside the window receded as she was bombarded by increasingly vivid images of Dexter, camping alone in the Californian wilderness with no one to come to his aid when he fell ill. Question after question ricocheted around her head as her brain painted increasingly upsetting scenarios until she managed to pull herself together and focus on the practicalities.
‘What do you think’s going to happen now?’
‘I don’t know. Kath’s on her way back from Edinburgh with Beckie as we speak. She’s liaising with Andrew, but nothing will happen until after the funeral has taken place, which is going to be here in Devon. He told her that Dexter has definitely made a will, which is lodged at his solicitor’s office in London, but he has no idea who the beneficiaries are, and he won’t know until the will-reading has taken place, which could take a few weeks to sort out. I’m sorry, Poppy, but I think it’ll be months before we know what’s going to happen with the insurance side of things, and we have to face the possibility that whoever inherits Blossomwood Manor, and the boardwalk, might want to sell up. Even if they don’t, they might not want to be bothered with the rebuild.’
Silence ensued as both Poppy and Holly considered the impact of the shocking news.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ said Poppy. ‘Are you?’
‘It’s a huge shock, but Oscar’s being a tower of strength. When do your parents get back from the Caribbean?’
‘Not until the end of the week. Have you spoken to the others?’
‘Yes, I called Rachel, Tilly and Freya and they’re just as stunned as we are. I’ve also spoken to Suzie, but as you can imagine, she’s got a lot going on in her life at the moment and this is the last thing she needs to have to worry about. Anyway, none of them had plans to re-open their beach hut businesses, so the rebuild decision won’t affect them.’
‘What about Chloe?’
‘No one has been able to contact her, but I’ll keep trying.’ Holly paused. ‘I thought you weren’t due back from Paris until the end of the month. Has something happened?’
Poppy hesitated and decided to go with the simplest explanation.
‘Olivier’s sister-in-law, Sylvie, is now available to help out at the patisserie, so as he didn’t need me anymore, I decided to hop on the train and come home.’
‘And Fabien?’
‘It… it didn’t work out.’
‘I’m so sorry, Poppy.’
‘It’s fine. I can’t wait to see you and Rachel.’
‘Kath’s asked us to meet her and Beckie at the Boathouse Bistro tomorrow morning. She’s promised to fill us in on all the details – well, as much as she can find out from Andrew – and to try and answer any questions we might have. Do you think you’ll be able to join us?’
‘Of course.’
‘Okay, great. Safe travels, Popps. See you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Holly.’
When Poppy dropped her phone back into her satchel, her stomach churned as she revisited everything that Holly had told her. As the French countryside rushed past the window like a movie on fast-forward, she felt disorientated, struggling to keep a grip on her flailing senses, and she forced herself to take several long, slow, deep breaths until her speeding heartrate calmed and she could think more clearly.
Dexter was dead.
She couldn’t believe it.
Of course, she hadn’t known him personally, but he had been a kind and considerate landlord to all eight of the people and organisations who had rented the beach huts on the boardwalk he owned as part of the Blossomwood Manor estate, as well as to Kath who ran the Boathouse Bistro. She was truly saddened by his unexpected passing, and her heart went out to the family and friends who would mourn him, as well as his many fans who had enjoyed his band’s music over the last four decades.
When the train entered the Channel Tunnel, Poppy closed her eyes as another surge of emotion ambushed her, and it was only as they emerged from the claustrophobic darkness and into the bright, late autumn sunshine caressing the Kent countryside that she remembered the text she had received from Fabien at the Gare du Nord.
She took out her phone, swiped her finger across the screen and selected his message, a stab of sadness invading her chest when she read his request for her to meet him for a coffee that morning at the bistro. She knew what he was going to say, so she had no regrets about being over two hundred miles away, travelling at a hundred miles an hour towards London. In fact, it was probably for the best.
After a few minutes of contemplation, she composed a friendly, light-hearted text back, telling him she had left Paris and was already in the UK, and she wished him and Léa well for the future.She then sent a longer text to Camille, apologising for dashing off without saying goodbye in person, thanking her for her friendship, and inviting her and étienne to stay with her in Devon whenever they had a break from their respective responsibilities.
By the time she’d arrived at St Pancras, taken the jam-packed Underground to Paddington Station, and caught the train bound for Exeter, she was so exhausted that despite her intention to remain alert so that she didn’t miss her stop, she fell into a deep sleep.