Chapter 34
Brigitte, following the French tradition of closing early on Christmas Eve, locked the door of Vintage Vignettes at twelve o’clock.
She always used this particular afternoon to wrap the presents she’d been collecting for the last few weeks.
It was something she enjoyed doing, knowing that she was unlikely to be interrupted.
Carefully, she laid them all out on the counter, along with the wrapping paper, ribbon, gift tags and scissors.
First, her maman’s – a box of goodies from her favourite upmarket beauty shop and a voucher for a day’s pampering in the same establishment in Monaco.
Monique always told her off for spoiling her, but Brigitte knew she would have been upset with any lesser gift.
Hervé’s and the girls’ presents were next.
The girls each had a Sephora gift box. Thoughtfully, she picked up Hervé’s present to wrap.
A man’s vintage leather shoulder bag. She’d noticed that the one he was currently using was looking a bit sad and thought he could use a new one.
If he didn’t like it, she’d offer to get him something else.
The vintage Ralph Lauren scarf she’d bought for Albert was already in tissue paper and she wrapped it in some jolly paper with a rotund Father Christmas all over it.
Picking up the coffee table picture book she’d put aside for Marc, she started to wrap it. She knew he loved vintage cars and hoped he’d like this book full of photographs of classic French cars. She smiled at the thought of Mel buying him those driving gloves. He’d be over the moon with those.
Leaving the wrapped presents on the counter, she opened the door up into the apartment.
Climbing the staircase, she mentally made a note that if she moved in she would need some stair carpet.
Standing in the bare kitchen, she tried to imagine it equipped with a stove, some country-style work units and shelves – maybe even a dresser, and a table big enough for four people.
She’d paint the walls in here yellow, she decided.
The room next door was a good size too – sitting room or guest bedroom?
Deep in thought, she made her way up the second flight of stairs, checking out the bathroom at the end first. It could do with a makeover, the small orange tiles were definitely not to her taste, but it was functional and usable with a shower over the bath.
There was a key in the lock of the French doors of the first room, and Brigitte unlocked it and stepped out onto the small rooftop terrace. A quarter of the size of the terrace of the house on the ramparts, and without its sea view, it nevertheless had potential as an outdoor space.
She stepped back inside and locked the doors.
This would definitely be her sitting room, comfy sofas and chairs, wall lights, a bookcase, plants both inside and outside, rugs on the floor.
And there was a lovely long pair of pale olive-green velvet curtains in the shop that would be perfect up here.
Brigitte looked down at the wooden floor parquet flooring in desperate need of a good polish.
Once that was done, a few rugs scattered around and the room would be transformed into a cosy retreat.
The room next door had a large ordinary window in place of doors, but the parquet flooring had been continued in there as well.
Again, in dire need of a polish and some scatter rugs, but Brigitte could visualise the bed being placed opposite the window, a wardrobe tucked into one of the corners and an ornate mirror on the wall.
Thoughtfully, she made her way back down the stairs.
It definitely had the makings of a lovely apartment, given time and energy to decorate and furnish the place.
The question was, did she currently have the inclination to do it and, more importantly, did she want to?
Living alone in her little cottage on the vineyard all those years ago, she’d still been part of the place.
People were nearby even when work finished.
Inevitably there was always something going on, someone knocking on her door.
Something she realised, that had been missing in her life since she’d moved back in with her parents.
She rarely invited friends to visit these days, preferring to meet up with them for a coffee or a restaurant meal.
If she moved in here, she would be able to have friends round without subjecting them, or herself, to an inquisition from Monique.
That would be a definite bonus so perhaps…
Time to go home and help prepare the feast for tonight. She’d go via the flower shop and drop off the presents for Hervé and the girls. He didn’t close until two o’clock today as the twenty-fourth of December was a busy day for him.
The shop was busy, but the girls were there helping and Hervé came across to see her and thank her for the presents she handed him.
‘Have you thought any more about the apartment?’ he asked quietly.
Brigitte looked at him before taking a deep breath. ‘It’s a big decision,’ she said slowly. ‘But with your offer of help, I’m going to get it liveable and move in the second week of January. Not looking forward to breaking that news to my maman.’
‘She’ll be glad to get rid of you,’ Hervé joked.
‘Seriously, she’ll get over it.’ He reached under the counter and pulled out two gaily wrapped presents.
‘These are your Christmas presents from me. You can open that one if you want to,’ he pointed to the smaller, flatter one, ‘when you get home. Best to open it in private. The other one you can put under the tree with the family ones.’
‘Thank you,’ Brigitte said, impulsively leaning in and managing to avoid the dreaded moustache she kissed him. ‘Happy Christmas.’
* * *
Once home, Brigitte said ‘Hi’ to Monique in the kitchen, and went straight to her room, promising she’d be down to help in five minutes. Intrigued by the ‘open in private’ instruction from Hervé, she was desperate to open the first present.
Tearing the wrapping paper off, there was a small card on top of a framed illustration.
‘Thought you might appreciate this Philip Larkin poem. Sums up parents beautifully. Happy Christmas. L. Hervé.’ Brigitte looked at the illustrated poem entitled ‘This Be The Verse’, read the first line with its ‘f’ word, and burst out laughing.
Oh, this was going up in her bedroom when she moved into the apartment.