A French Pirouette Page 12

  “She’s probably got a couple of local farmers ready to take them—especially if the father is a working collie.” Lucas slipped the car into gear. “Right. Let’s get you home.”

  The roads were deserted and it seemed to Libby mere minutes before they were pulling up in front of the auberge and the evening was all but over.

  “Would you like to come in for a nightcap—or a mug of hot chocolate in case you get another call-out?” she asked, getting out of the car.

  “Thank you. Hot chocolate rather than a nightcap would be great,” Lucas said.

  Standing companionably in the kitchen waiting for the milk to warm, Libby said, “Thank you for this evening. I really enjoyed it.”

  “Bon. So did I,” Lucas said. “Next time I take you for dinner to my favourite restaurant.”

  Libby smiled. “Sounds good to me.” So they were going to see each other again, were they?

  Stirring hot chocolate granules into the warm milk she paused as car lights flashed past the kitchen window. “Evie’s home,” she said. “I hope she’s enjoyed her evening too.”

  Lucas glanced out at the car now parked outside the gîte. “That’s Pascal’s car,” he said surprised. “She’s spent the evening with Pascal?”

  Libby shrugged. “I don’t know. But why are you so surprised if she did?”

  “His mother is très demanding. A real matriarch. She leans on Pascal a lot especially since her husband died. He’s had to put his own life on hold.”

  Libby gave the mugs a final stir before handing one to Lucas. “Hope it’s hot enough.”

  “Merci.” To Libby’s surprise, instead of taking a sip, Lucas put the mug down on the work surface before taking her by the hand, pulling her gently towards him. “I’m so happy when I’m with you,” he said before leaning in and giving her a tender kiss.

  Having waved goodbye to Libby and Lucas as they left for the evening, Evie sighed as they disappeared from view. Picking up her wine glass with the small amount of rosé she’d poured she took a sip. Normally she didn’t drink when she was alone but tonight she’d felt in need of something to relax her and hopefully lift her spirits.

  A big part of her was panicking at the thought of the evening ahead. For so long her social life had been wrapped up with her fellow dancers. People she knew. People she had a connection with.

  It was years since she’d been out to dinner with a man on her own, other than Malik of course. What did she and her dinner date have in common? Why had he invited her? What would they find to talk about? She knew nothing about his world—and he thought she was somebody else entirely.

  Evie gave a quick glance at her watch. It would be too cruel to cancel at this late hour so she’d better go and get ready. Not knowing where she was likely to be taken gave her a major problem over what to wear. In the end she settled for a just above the knees pink-and-grey button-through dress with a bolero jacket she’d customised with some delicate silver embroidery around the cuffs and hem. Smart and dressy enough for a hotel dining room but not too flashy for somewhere more downmarket. She did feel good though making a proper effort to dress up after the last couple of weeks of dressing casually.

  She heard the car stop outside the gîte and the door slam as she slipped her favourite pearl stud earrings into her ears.

  “Bonsoir, Pascal.”

  “Bonsoir. Ça va?” Pascal asked as they kissed cheeks.

  Evie nodded. “Can I get you an aperitif or anything before we go?”

  Pascal shook his head. “Non merci. I’ve booked a table in Huelgoat—I hope that’s all right? One of the lakeside restaurants. Take us about thirty minutes to get there.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Evie said. “I’ve not been to Huelgoat yet.”

  As the powerful car ate up the miles conversation between them was limited, as Pascal concentrated on driving down the narrow twisting countryside lanes and Evie contented herself with looking at the passing scenery. When Pascal pressed a button on the CD player and classical piano music began to fill the air, Evie smiled.

  “I adore Chopin,” she said. “Do you play the piano?”

  “A little but I’m no expert. I just like to amuse myself these days. Et vous? You play?

  Evie shook her head. “Non. Perhaps you play for me one day?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Pascal said.

  Huelgoat lake was as calm as the proverbial millpond as they drove into the village and made their way round to the restaurant.

  The terrace table they were shown to was secluded with an unobscured view of the lake. Perfume from honeysuckle and jasmine plants in large pottery urns placed at random points on the patio wafted around them.

  “This is lovely,” Evie said after they’d given the waiter their starter and main course choices. “D’you come here often?”

  “First time,” Pascal said. “It has a good reputation. I wanted somewhere new to both of us.”

  “The postcard you sent me inviting me to dinner—was that the village school you went to?”

  Pascal nodded. “It had of course been modernised by the time I got there!”

  “Is it still there?”

  “For the moment. But numbers are going down every year when families move away to find work.”

  “You’ve never had any ambition to move away?” Evie said.

  “Once yes. After three years at university in Paris I had plans to travel the world. Instead it was straight back here to help with the estate,” Pascal said. “My father was already ill so I didn’t have much choice.” He swirled some wine around his glass. “When he died my mother needed me, so I’ve never left.”

  “Any regrets?” Evie asked quietly.

  Pascal smiled and shrugged. “One or two. But on the whole I’m happy enough with my life these days. Besides, it doesn’t do to look back too often. And who knows what’s around the corner? Who you might meet.” He looked at her and held her gaze for several seconds before saying, “Enough about me. Your turn to tell me how your life has been so far.”

  To Evie’s relief the waiter arrived at that moment with their starters and she was able to leave the question unanswered. What could she truthfully say to Pascal without revealing who she was? Something she didn’t want to do yet.

  Instinct told her he would dislike being lied to; their friendship would be over before it had barely begun. And sitting there as dusk began to fall she realised she would enjoy getting to know this quiet, kind man better.

  As they finished their main courses, candle torches were lit on the terrace and the waiter added a couple of small candles to the centre of their table. As they waited for their desserts Pascal admired the embroidery on her jacket.

  He gently fingered the silver thread-work of leaves and tiny beads around the cuffs of the jacket. “This is so delicate and beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Evie said. “It’s a hobby of mine. More of a passion really,” she laughed. “There’s a Fête des Brodeuses soon down in Pont-l’Abbé. I’m trying to work out how I can visit as I don’t have a car.”

  “I’ll take you,” Pascal offered immediately.

  “Oh no. I didn’t mean that. I couldn’t…”

  “I will take you,” Pascal said. “It is decided.”

  “Truly? What about the garden centre?”

  Pascal smiled at her. “I am allowed the occasional day off, you know. The place will survive without me for twenty-four hours.”

  “In that case—thank you,” Evie said. “And lunch will be on me that day.”

  “We’ll see,” Pascal said.

  In the car driving home Pascal glanced at Evie before asking, “You never did tell me how your life’s been so far. Whether you too have any regrets?”

  Evie was quiet. She’d been hoping that Pascal had forgotten about the unanswered question. As the silence lengthened between them, Pascal leant forward and pressed the CD button.

  This time the music that poured into the car was from Tchaikovsky’s N
utcracker Suite. A piece of music that Evie could, if she’d played an instrument, have picked out note by note, she was so familiar with it.

  She smothered a sigh before saying. “Life has been mainly in Paris for the last oh, thirty years and now…now I’m at a bit of a crossroads. Lots of decisions to be made.” She looked across at him. “I will tell you my life history one day if you’re interested, I promise—just not tonight.”

  “And I promise you I am interested and shall definitely hold you to that promise,” Pascal said.

  Evie’s heart lurched at his words and the quick, intense look he gave her. Pascal’s shy diffidence, she was beginning to realise, hid an enviable inner strength.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Libby and Evie

  The next morning Libby was on autopilot as she prepared and served breakfasts to her guests. When they’d all finished and left for the day she stacked the dishwasher and switched the coffee machine on again before making her way over to the gîte. The rest of her chores could wait for an hour.

  Evie had rapidly become her French best friend and she desperately wanted a girly chat over a cup of coffee talking about Lucas and the events of last night. She also wanted to hear how Evie’s evening with Pascal had gone.

  Evie called out, “Attendez s’il vous plait. Two minutes,” in response to Libby’s knock.

  When she did partially open the door, Libby sensed she’d interrupted something. She’d never seen Evie so dishevelled before—wrinkled leggings, baggy T-shirt, her hair all over the place.

  “I’m sorry to barge in. Just wanted to say the coffee’s on if you’d like one. But if you’re busy.”

  “I just exercise my ankle,” Evie said. “I shower and come over, oui?” And the door closed before Libby’s “OK” had left her lips.

  Thoughtfully Libby checked on the chickens before she went back indoors. Evie was definitely not herself this morning. Had something happened with Pascal last night?

  But when Evie walked into the auberge kitchen ten minutes later she was her normal charming self. Fitted black jeans and a scooped-neck white top had replaced her earlier outfit and her hair was combed into its usual immaculate style.

  Libby did a double take at her hair. Was Evie wearing a wig? She’d never noticed before. Absently she poured the coffee.

  “Did you enjoy the jazz last night?” Evie asked.

  “It was great. Lucas had an emergency call-out that turned out not to be an emergency—and that was great too,” Libby said, trying to ignore the suspicion that was suddenly running through her mind.

  “And you? Your dinner date?” she asked as she mentally began to add up all the things she knew about Evie. Injured ankle. Lived in Paris. Said she’d been ill recently. Watched her weight ferociously. Had never really talked openly about her life.

  Evie smiled. “I had a nice time. Libby, why are you looking at me like that?”

  Libby took a deep breath before saying, “You’ll probably think me mad. But I have to ask you anyway. Are you by any chance Suzette Shelby the famous missing ballerina?”

  The words “Are you by any chance Suzette Shelby the famous missing ballerina?” hung unanswered in the air between Libby and Evie for a full minute as Evie struggled with her conscience.

  She did so want to continue being anonymous for the rest of summer. She liked being an ordinary person, living a simple existence in the country. Being accepted as a friend without any ulterior motives or thoughts. Once people knew who she was their attitudes towards her were sure to change.

  But would her growing friendship with Libby be damaged beyond repair if she laughed and said, “Gosh, no of course I’m not. Whatever gave you that idea?” Libby would only have to Google her and inevitably the truth would come out. Libby could then accuse her of lying—with some justification.

  She could of course deny it—and then leave. Go back to Paris. Forget her growing friendship with Libby. With Pascal.

  Silently Evie picked up the coffee Libby had poured for her and took a sip. “Shall we sit down?” she said. Not waiting for an answer she pulled out a kitchen chair and sat at the table. Libby sat opposite her and waited.

  “What makes you think I’m Suzette Shelby?” Evie said. Were other people also going to start jumping to the same conclusion?

  “Just a feeling I got this morning.” Libby shrugged. “The few things I know about you all suddenly came together when I realised you were wearing a wig. Injured ankle, you live mostly in Paris, you watch your weight when you’re already slimmer than the average woman.” Libby paused. “And then there’s the way you move and avoid talking about yourself.”

  Evie smiled ruefully. So not mentioning anything about her life in Paris had been seen as suspicious, making people wonder about her. Time to own up—with Libby at least.

  “You’re right. I am Suzette Shelby,” she said quietly.

  “You are? Truly?” Libby said. “You know, if you’d denied it I’d have believed you. Believed I’d made a mistake.”

  “I didn’t want to lie to you, Libby,” Evie said.

  “Haven’t you already by saying you’re someone you’re not?”

  Evie shook her head. “I don’t think so. All those things you’ve just pointed out about me are true. And I’ve deliberately tried not to talk about my life to you precisely because I don’t like lying.”

  “Calling yourself by a different name isn’t lying?” Libby asked.

  “Evie Patem isn’t a total lie. Evie is short for Evelyn, which is my middle name, and Patem was my grandmother’s maiden name. So, a half lie?”

  “Oh Evie,” Libby said. “Or do I call you Suzette now?”

  “Can we stay with Evie please?” Evie said, hesitating before adding, “I’d really appreciate you keeping my secret.”

  “It’s not my secret to tell, nor is it any of my business what you call yourself,” Libby said. “So I promise not to tell. But can I ask you why? Why bury yourself here in rural Brittany under an assumed name? You could have gone anywhere in the world.”

  “My mother came from Brittany and I liked the idea of returning to her roots,” Evie said quietly. “I needed time out from my normal life. Space around me and time alone to think where there was nobody—like Malik my ex-partner—to apply pressure with the constant: keep exercising, keep dieting, keep in the spotlight.” She drained her coffee mug. “I know my career as a ballerina will finish this autumn and I have to decide what to do next. I didn’t think I could exist away from the world of dance but living here is showing me I can.” She smiled at Libby. “I’m finally beginning to realise I still have a lot of life to live. And I can have a life outside of ballet.”

  “So at the end of summer you’ll leave, go back to Paris and become known as Suzette Shelby the retired ballerina,” Libby said.

  Evie fiddled with her coffee cup thinking about Libby’s words. That was of course Plan A. Though she’d never truly realised, until Libby said the words, that ‘retired ballerina’ was exactly how she would be viewed in the future. The phrase made her feel so old.

  “Yes. When I leave here, Evie Patem will be relegated to the past. A fond memory and a secret between you and me.” She smiled at Libby again.

  “Any time Suzette feels the need to get away, Evie will always be welcome to visit,” Libby said smiling back at her. “And now tell me, where did Pascal take you last night?”

  “How did you know it was Pascal?” Evie asked surprised.

  “Lucas recognised his car.” Libby hesitated before adding, “He was surprised to be honest. He said Pascal’s mother has a huge influence on his life. Controlling even.”

  Evie nodded. “He explained to me last night about his father dying and his mother needing him.”

  “So where did he take you last night?”

  “A lakeside restaurant in Huelgoat,” Evie said. “We had a lovely meal. He’s such a…” She hesitated before adding quietly, “gentleman.” The word described Pascal perfectly.

&nbs
p; “D’you think you’ll see him again?” Libby asked.

  “He’s promised to take me to the Pont-l’Abbé Embroidery Festival,” Evie said. “So it seems he does manage to get away from his mother from time to time. I think maybe my fellow countrymen are used to handling the most domineering of mothers!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Libby

  Libby was busy tidying the auberge sitting room when Helen rang Friday morning.

  “We need to talk about your birthday party,” she said without any preamble. “It’s not long now.”

  “It’s weeks away,” Libby protested.

  “And time flies when you’re not ready,” Helen continued. “Now, d’you need me to bring anything for the party you can’t get over there?”

  “I’m not sure you’d call the nibbles and champagne I’m planning a party.”

  “Libby, people expect more from you. Champagne of course but nibbles? You have to mark the occasion with a proper party. Have you made a list of people you want to come?”

  Libby sighed. Helen was clearly in no mood to listen. “I don’t need to write a list. It will just be you and Peter, Brigitte and Bruno, Isabelle, Lucas, Evie, Chloe and her friend. That’s about it. Talking of Chloe, how is she?”

  “She’s fine. Told me the other night she’s really looking forward to coming over.”

  “Who’s the friend she’s bringing?” Libby asked casually. “Presumably they’ll travel over with you?”

  “Think they intend making their own way. I’ve booked the ferry tickets for the day before so I can give you a hand getting ready. Now you’re sure there’s nothing you want me to bring?”

  “Can’t think of a single thing,” Libby said. “No wait, there is one thing I can’t find over here and that’s large bags of peanuts for the birds. If you could bring a few with you that would be great.”

  Helen gave a loud exasperated sigh. “Libby Duncan, you’re impossible. I’ll talk to you later.”