Chapter 7 #2
‘Dad, it’s all right, really,’ Lucy said, hearing her voice feeding back as the signal struggled.
‘And you don’t need to worry about Andrew, I’ll—’ But before she could finish her sentence, the signal dropped out and she lost the call.
She hadn’t even had time to tell him about the promotion she’d been offered, or the letter from Mémé that had been waiting for her under the counter.
Then she rang Polly, who ran the magazine group and had offered her the coveted role of editor. She needed to apologise for not attending the fashion show, and, as she waited for Polly to answer, she worried that it could’ve cost her the promotion.
‘Lucy!’ Polly exclaimed in her Cheltenham drawl. ‘Darling!’
‘Hi, Polly!’ Lucy replied. ‘I just want to apologise; I missed the show in Paris yesterday. Something happened on the way to the airport… it’s not easy to say this, but I found out my fiancé’s been having an affair. I just couldn’t go to Paris after that. I’m really sorry.’
She knew that didn’t sound like her usual slick and professional self, and she cringed as she waited for Polly’s reply.
‘Hm.’ Polly was silent for a moment after that non-committal sound of acknowledgement.
Then she said, ‘I wish you’d let me know, Lucy, so I could’ve sent one of the other girls.
It was a pretty big deal and we won’t have any on-the-spot coverage.
’ She gave a sigh and Lucy pictured her closing her mascara-heavy eyes in annoyance.
‘Sorry about the fiancé. Men really are absolute hounds sometimes.’
‘I’m not going through with the wedding after that,’ Lucy told her.
She could hear her voice rising in pitch as she held back her tears.
Polly was on the guest list. That was something she’d have to sort out – with a sinking feeling, Lucy thought of all those people to contact.
‘I’ve got my two weeks’ leave, though. I still want to take it if that’s okay.
Just to sort things out… clear my head. I need to sort out some things that my grandma’s left behind for me in France as well. ’
‘Darling, no,’ chuckled Polly. ‘Marry the swine, then take him for everything in the divorce. I can recommend an absolute bastard of a lawyer. He’ll scalp the bugger!
’ She gave a laugh before telling Lucy, ‘I picked out the most stunning bits and bobs from the wedding list but you can keep them. It’s all on the expenses, after all!
’ There was a sound like tapping, as Polly’s lacquered nails worked at her keyboard.
‘I’ll let the girls in the office know if you like.
You take your two weeks, get roaring drunk, shag a good-looking local boy with muscles to die for and come home refreshed. Promotion awaits!’
Lucy’s tears had melted away. She chuckled. ‘Thanks, Polly – you’ve really cheered me up! And don’t worry, I’m having a good think about the promotion. I’ll let you know ASAP.’
Lucy ended the call and took a deep breath before opening her wedding group chat.
She’d called it Lucy’s Glitzy Gals, and for months it’d been full of excited messages about the big day.
There were photos of shoes – lots of shoes – photos from their day trying on wedding dresses and bridesmaids’ dresses while drinking champagne, photos from Lucy’s hen night. Smiles, laughter, joy.
And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water, there was her message from the day before, calling off the wedding.
Lucy tried to ignore the tears rising in her eyes, and blinked them away. Her dad had always said it wasn’t worth wasting energy on tears.
What the actual? Trying to call you. Pick up, gorgeous! Xxx
Hannah, of course, who had been there through thick and thin since they found themselves on the same shift in the same grubby bar as freshers. Her profile picture beamed out at Lucy from half a dozen messages urging her to make contact.
Lucy felt instantly guilty that she’d caused Hannah so much worry, along with Natalie, who’d messaged, Lu, where are you? What’s happened? You okay? with a row of heart emojis. She’d met Natalie on the first day of their internship at a national newspaper, and they’d been friends ever since.
She was sure they’d both be busy, hurrying off to work, but she wouldn’t leave them without a reply.
It’s Andrew. Found him in bed with another woman. Can’t believe it. Heartbroken. I can’t go through with the wedding. I’m in France. Didn’t know what else to do. L x
It wasn’t more than ten seconds before the screen lit up with Hannah’s reply.
WHAT?!?!? Do we know her? I’ll kneecap him. I am so sorry. Can’t get through on phone xxx
Lucy couldn’t help chuckling at Hannah’s reply.
EVERYONE knows her! It’s Saskia Flipping Norman off the telly!!! Sorry – reception not great, hotel Wifi a bit slow.
Natalie replied, The chef? Lu, I’m so sorry! He’s a sod and doesn’t deserve you! She followed her words with a broken heart emoji and a line of angry faces.
The screen lit up again, this time with an incoming video call from Hannah. It seemed to be more than the quivering Wifi could handle though, and the call spluttered out with a series of staccato sounds. Seconds later, Hannah sent another message.
Let us know what you need, Lulu, we’ll do it. Love you so much.
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears again. Her friends would always look out for her, she knew that, but their kindness was almost too much.
You’re too strong to cry, her father would tease, go and kick arses instead.
And that had been his life lesson to his daughter.
A lesson that had always stood her in good stead – until now.
She was about to send a reply when she heard a knock at the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She was in her nightshirt, and she slid off the bed to grab the dressing gown that she’d hung over the back of a chair last night.
‘Who is it?’ she asked, switching into French as she tied the dressing gown’s belt around her.
‘Sébastien,’ came the reply. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock and you’re about to miss out on the best breakfast in Normandy. So I brought it up to you instead.’
He sounded bright and breezy for someone who’d been drinking all that red wine last night, but then again, Lucy thought wryly, he was French.
She opened the door, tucking a length of hair behind her ear. Sébastien’s dark eyes were like rich chocolate, so different from Beatrice’s blue eyes, which sparkled with mischief.
He was holding a tray loaded with a coffee pot and the promised home-made croissant.
It was the biggest Lucy had ever seen, baked to perfection.
Several curls of pale golden butter waited on a saucer, beside a dish of what must’ve been home-made jam, ruby red and spotted with seeds.
The scent of the food took over and spoke to something very deep within Lucy.
It took her back to visiting Mémé and Papi, and breakfasts of croissants and pains au chocolat that melted on her tongue.
It was far away from the fussy, minimalist cuisine that Saskia had made her name with.
‘Thank you so much.’ Lucy grinned. ‘I’m ravenous. And I’m so embarrassed… it’s so late. I’m not normally this lazy, you know!’
Sébastien shrugged as he handed the tray over.
‘You don’t have to explain.’ He gave her a smile, then nodded to the phone she was still holding.
‘You won’t get reception here. Cordeval’s in a timewarp when it comes to technology; we sort of like it that way.
There’s the landline, but if you need to use a mobile you’ll have to head along the coast to Clarenville. ’
Lucy gripped the tray gratefully. Buttery croissants were the last thing that a fashion-conscious magazine editor should be eating.
She’d been trying to stay trim for the wedding and had usually swallowed down green smoothies or a boiled egg for breakfast. Well, there wasn’t going to be a wedding now, so she’d indulge herself on Sébastien’s delicious and forbidden breakfast.
‘Oh, Clarenville!’ She nodded. ‘Good idea.’
She’d loved going to the old spa town nearby on trips with her grandparents when she was a child.
The drive to the huge, wide beach through pine woods hiding enormous villas, their wooden shutters peacefully closed, had always enthralled her.
The beachfront was dominated by a hotel that looked like a chateau, with metal balconies and turrets, and blue-grey tiles across the roof.
The promenade was lined with restaurants full of crisp, white tablecloths, and ice-cream parlours that served what seemed like hundreds of different, exquisite flavours.
And as far as she knew, the social media influencers hadn’t found it yet; she hoped they wouldn’t.
‘The bus is a bit iffy,’ Sébastien warned. ‘Let me know when you want to go and we’ll sort something out for you.’ He turned to go, then seemed to remember something and spun back to her. ‘Bon appétit!’
‘Thanks, Sébastien, you’re very kind,’ Lucy said. ‘See you around!’
She closed the door with her bare toe, and sat down to enjoy her breakfast. As she sipped the rich, dark coffee, she sent a message to the Glitzy Gals.
I’m in Mémé’s village. They’re looking after me. Pls don’t worry! Will call when I can get to the nearest town. Love you both! L x
Lucy put her phone aside. As the coffee cup warmed her hands, her mind drifted back to Mémé’s letter. What exactly was this long-buried story Mémé had wanted her to write, and could she really do it?