A French Pirouette Read online

  It was only after she’d put the phone down that Libby realised Helen hadn’t answered her question about who Chloe was bringing with her. Was that deliberate? Or didn’t she know either?

  Libby glanced at her watch, eleven-thirty. Just about time to walk along the canal path to the village shop before they closed for lunch. She took Brigitte’s house keys from the hook. She’d check on her houseplants at the same time.

  As she set out a group of cyclists were making their way leisurely along the canal path carefully avoiding the worst of the potholes and the tree roots that were pushing up through the tarmac in places. By the time Libby had reached and was climbing the steps up to the lane that linked the path to the village she’d said “Bonjour” to a number of walkers who were out enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful countryside.

  After quickly buying the baguettes and milk she needed from the shop, she walked on down through the village to Brigitte’s mas. As she pushed open the wrought-iron gates that separated the house from the road Lucas pulled up alongside her.

  “Bonjour. Ça va?” he asked winding down his car window.

  “I’m fine. You?” Libby said smiling. That was the thing with Lucas—seeing him invariably made her smile.

  “I was on my way to see you,” he said. “Veronique, my sister, is here and I wondered if you’d like to come to lunch tomorrow? I’d say supper but I guess you have visitors to feed then?”

  “I’d love lunch tomorrow,” Libby said. “Thank you. Can I bring anything?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Just yourself. About twelve o’clock. Have to go—I’m running late. Bisou.” He blew her a kiss and was gone.

  Wandering around Brigitte’s house watering her various plants, Libby realised she’d completely forgotten that tomorrow was change-over day—generally her busiest day of the week. Thankfully Agnes was booked to work tomorrow from eight a.m. and there were only four bedrooms to change and clean. And even better, none of the new guests were due to arrive before five o’clock so plenty of time to get back from Lucas’s.

  Watering the last plant on the windowsill in the sitting room, Libby briefly wondered what Lucas’s sister would be like.

  The next morning, despite Lucas telling her she didn’t have to bring anything, Libby didn’t feel comfortable going empty-handed, so she filled a container with some of her home-made cheese biscuits to take with her.

  Leaving Agnes to help herself to lunch and promising to be back by three o’clock she set off for her rendezvous at Lucas’s. It was the first time she’d been to the Vétérinaire Centre a kilometre or so outside the village and she looked around as she parked alongside Lucas’s muddy estate car.

  A hedge of beech trees separated the modern single-storey building from the surrounding fields on three sides, while the front was open plan with plenty of parking. Flower beds either side of the entrance were filled with sunflowers and daisies. As she got out of the car, the green flashing neon light on the building indicating the surgery was open stopped, the door opened and Lucas appeared.

  “Welcome,” he said kissing her on the cheeks three times. “Come and meet Veronique.” Holding Libby by the hand he led her through a maze of small rooms and into his apartment at the back of the building.

  “Veronique has set everything up outside,” he said. “I have to warn you—she can be a bit bossy sometimes,” he whispered. “Comes over all big sisterish.”

  Libby laughed. She couldn’t imagine anyone bossing Lucas around.

  French doors led from the kitchen onto a paved terrace where Veronique was putting the finishing touches to the table for lunch. Lucas quickly made the introductions.

  Libby found herself shaking hands with a tiny woman with a blonde elfin haircut streaked with purple. “Bonjour. Lovely to meet you,” she said. “How long are you here for?”

  “Just the weekend. I come up every couple of months to help Lucas sort out his paperwork. I’m an accountant and Lucas is useless with figures,” Veronique added, shaking her head at her brother. “Let’s eat.” And she gestured at the table. “I’ll fetch the first course.”

  “I brought some home-made cheese biscuits,” Libby said. “Lucas said I didn’t need to bring anything but…” And Libby shrugged apologetically as she offered the container to Veronique.

  “He was right, but merci,” Veronique said before she bustled away to the kitchen.

  “See, I told you she was bossy,” Lucas murmured.

  “Bossy but nice,” Libby whispered back.

  Conversation over lunch strayed from subject to subject but for Libby the best part was when Lucas and Veronique began talking about their childhood. Lucas, according to his sister, had apparently been a very mischievous little boy, forever getting into scrapes that she had to rescue him from.

  “No no. That’s not how I remember it at all,” Lucas said at one point, wagging his finger at Veronique. “You were desperate to join in, not to rescue me.” He stopped as his mobile phone rang.

  Veronique pulled a face at Libby and leant in to say quietly, “Forever on call. Hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

  Surprised at her words Libby looked at her but before she could respond, Lucas was on his feet. “Sorry girls. Accident on the route nationale. A cattle truck has got caught up in it. I have to go.” He turned to Libby. “I’ll ring you later. Don’t dash off. Stay and talk to Veronique—just don’t believe everything she tells you about me!” And he was gone.

  Veronique sighed. “I’ve lost count of the number of times emergency calls have interrupted Lucas’s off-duty life.”

  “It’s like doctors, isn’t it?” Libby said thoughtfully. “Never really off duty. But Lucas clearly loves what he does.”

  “He does,” Veronique said. “Animal mad all his life. Always bringing stray dogs and cats home when he was younger. I don’t know a kinder person. But it’s about time he settled down. We’re all so glad he’s finally met someone.”

  Libby stared at her. Just what had Lucas been saying to his sister and family about her?

  “More rosé?” Veronique asked, picking up the wine bottle and laughing at the look on Libby’s face.

  Chapter Twenty

  Evie

  Evie looked around her as Pascal drove them through the green undulating countryside and on down towards the coast, Pont-l’Abbé and the embroidery festival.

  “I’m looking forward so much to today,” she said. “Although I do feel guilty about taking you away from your work at the garden centre.”

  “Don’t,” Pascal said as he slowed down approaching a crossroads and the left turn that would take them into Pont-l’Abbé. “We are going to have a fun day together. Forget all our work problems.”

  Evie glanced across at him. He had problems with work too? “But it’s your business. You are in charge.”

  Pascal nodded. “Oui. But always there are problems. With staff. With bureaucracy. With cash flow. With my…” He hesitated. “Oh, just decisions to be made all the time.” He smiled at her. “But today we forget all our problems and enjoy ourselves.”

  The sound of Breton bagpipes, the smell of crepes, the sights of processions, Breton dancing, doll exhibitions, costume exhibitions—the day passed in a whirl for Evie. She made note after note, collected business cards, brochures, took photos of some particularly intricate embroidery and was totally amazed by everything she saw.

  At one particular haute couture exhibition full of modern designer clothes Pascal turned to her. “Your embroidery is as good, no?” He stopped. “It’s better than anything on show here today, Evie. But I suspect you know that already.” He smiled at her. “Is it what you intend doing in the future? Is that why you’re making all these notes? Gathering information?”

  “Perhaps,” Evie said, moving away to look at an intricate wedding dress. She wasn’t ready to talk to Pascal—to anyone—yet about her idea.

  “If you’ve got the inclination you can compete with the best of them and make a living.�
��

  Something about the way he said the word ‘inclination’ and the phrase ‘make a living’ made Evie turn to look at him.

  “You could do it anywhere too—you wouldn’t have to live in Paris. You could live anywhere,” Pascal continued. “Even here in Brittany.”

  Evie inclined her head. “Thank you. I know my embroidery is good. But moving out of Paris is another thing entirely. One that’s definitely not on my current agenda.”

  Pascal opened his mouth as if to say something, changed his mind and shrugged. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to have a coffee before we head for home.”

  “Thank you for today,” Evie said when they’d finally found a café with a spare table and the waitress had placed a cafetière of coffee in front of them. “I’ve really enjoyed it.” She hesitated and fiddled with a sugar packet before adding, “I didn’t mean to be rude earlier but I’m still trying to sort things out in my own mind.”

  “I know. You said. You’re at a crossroads.” Pascal placed his hand over Evie’s twitching fingers and looked at her, a serious expression on his face. “I’ve very much enjoyed today too. When you want to talk I’m ready to listen.”

  “Thank you,” Evie said.

  It wasn’t until they were in the car halfway home that Pascal dropped what amounted to a bombshell on Evie.

  “I have a confession to make. My mother wants to meet you and I half promised I’d take you to see her before returning you to the gîte.” He glanced at her. “I know it’s been a long day and you’re probably tired but I’d really like the two of you to meet. You’ll be disappearing back to Paris before we know it.”

  Evie was silent for a minute remembering the words Libby had used about Pascal’s mother. Controlling. Matriarch. She’d also heard her described as always being elegant and immaculately dressed. Whereas she, Evie, at this moment was tired and her clothes after the day at the festival were no longer immaculate.

  But she did owe Pascal something for taking her to Pont-l’Abbé. No, owe was the wrong word—she was truly grateful to Pascal and didn’t want to hurt him by refusing to meet his mother.

  “I’ll understand if you’re too tired,” Pascal said into the silence. “We can make it another time.”

  “No. This evening is fine,” Evie said. “So long as your mother doesn’t mind my creased clothes.” She glanced down at her cotton frock. Freshly ironed that morning it was less than pristine now.

  “Thank you. We won’t stay long I promise,” Pascal said.

  Twenty minutes later Pascal turned in to a tree-lined avenue and Evie saw the longhouse standing at the end of drive for the first time. An involuntary gasp escaped from her lips.

  “What a beautiful house,” she said.

  “Tell my mother that and she’ll love you for ever,” Pascal said. “She and my father spent years renovating it. It was practically derelict when they inherited it.”

  As they got out of the car Evie saw Madame de Guesclin, poised and immaculate, standing in the doorway waiting to greet them.

  After Pascal had introduced them, his mother led them through to the sitting room before turning to Pascal.

  “You naughty boy. You left your phone behind. I haven’t been able to contact you all day.”

  “Desolé, Mama,” Pascal replied. “Did you need me urgently?”

  “No. I just wanted to know if you were having a good time. And—” she paused “—whether you had learnt anything?”

  “Oui. I learnt a lot about design and embroidery today.”

  Evie looked at the two of them. She sensed somehow that his answer was not what Madame de Guesclin had wanted to hear. There was an undercurrent here she didn’t understand. And had Pascal deliberately left his phone behind so his mother couldn’t interrupt them?

  “Mademoiselle, may I offer you a small aperitif?” and Madame de Guesclin gestured towards a decorative wooden side table, where on a highly polished silver tray several decanters of spirits and crystal glasses stood.

  “A glass of apple juice would be nice,” Evie replied seeing a bottle hidden in amongst the others. “I don’t drink spirits.”

  As Pascal poured the drinks, apple juice for her, martini for his mother and pastis for himself, Evie became uncomfortably aware that she was being scrutinised. Surely her dress wasn’t that creased?

  “You like it here?” Madame de Guesclin said suddenly.

  Evie nodded. “I like it here very much. Of course I miss some things about Paris—the shops and the theatre mainly—but they’ll still be there when I return.”

  “Ah, I too adore the theatre,” Madame de Guesclin said. “My husband used to take me regularly.” She sighed before asking abruptly, “You don’t find it too quiet here after Paris?”

  “Non, it is a wonderful tranquility,” Evie said. She finished her drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Madame de Guesclin. Thank you for the aperitif but now I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask Pascal to be my chauffeur again and take me home. It’s been a long day.”

  “Such a short visit. We’ve barely gotten to know one another. Maybe you come for dinner one evening before you disappear back to Paris?”

  “Thank you,” Evie said.

  “Bon. I’ll tell Pascal which evening will be convenient for me. Bonsoir.”

  “Merci et bonsoir, Madame de Guesclin,” Evie said.

  Following Pascal out of the house, Evie was silent. Meeting his mother had reminded her of an incident at ballet school years ago. She’d been summoned to appear in the headmistress’s study early one morning and had gone full of trepidation, only to find far from being in trouble, she was being given the honour of dancing the opening solo in the Christmas ballet show.

  It had been so difficult to stop her teenage self from jumping up and down in delight—an action she knew would be frowned upon by the très formal Madame Roget. “Decorum. Decorum. Save your emotion for the stage,” she was forever urging the students.

  Well, she’d been very decorous meeting the aristocratic Madame de Guesclin, holding her emotions in check and refusing to be cowed by her manner. If she was ever invited to dinner the chances of her having a prior engagement though were quite high.

  Evie sensed Pascal’s mother had a lot of unasked questions but her innate good manners had prevented her from voicing them—yet.

  Evie glanced at Pascal. “Tell me—did you deliberately forget your phone today?”

  Pascal grinned at her. “Of course. My mother she ring me three or four times a day at work to check on me since my father died. Today was our day. Nothing to do with my mother. Just the two of us getting to know each other better.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” Evie said, a smile touching her lips. Pascal liked her enough not to want their time together spoiled.

  “I love my mother dearly,” Pascal said now. “I am used to her ways now. But other people don’t always understand the way she is.”

  And you clearly know how to handle her, Evie thought. If that dinner invitation ever came, maybe she would accept it after all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brigitte

  Brigitte fanned herself with the Nice Matin newspaper she’d bought that morning as they’d passed the newsagents’ kiosk on their way to the station to catch the train.

  Impossible to believe they’d been down here for a week already. Seven days of whirlwind sightseeing as Isabelle tried to show them all the places she’d come to know after three years of living down here. They’d explored Nice and strolled along the famous Promenade des Anglais. They’d gone along the coast to Antibes Juan-les-Pins and Cannes and today it was Monaco/Monte Carlo as the arrivals board at the station had announced it.

  Ten o’clock and already the temperature in the principality was in the high twenties. It was a relief to sit at one of the tables outside the Café de Paris and order cold drinks. Whilst they waited, Bruno wandered over to look at two luxury red sport cars parked in front of the casino
steps.

  Isabelle, noticing a friend on another table, apologised to Brigitte and went over to have a quick chat with her before their drinks arrived.

  Left to herself Brigitte amused herself by people-watching for a few moments before unfolding her newspaper, scanning the headlines, and then flicking through the pages in search of something more interesting. A short feature at the bottom of the entertainment pages caught her eye.

  “Where is Suzette Shelby? Mystery still surrounds the disappearance of the injured ballerina from her room in the Hotel de Paris, Monaco, some weeks ago.” A small picture alongside the feature showed the ballerina dressed for her role in Swan Lake a couple of seasons previously.

  Brigitte had never been a keen fan of ballet but there was something about the photo that caught her attention. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. How could a picture of somebody in costume for a ballet mean anything to her?

  She’d never met a ballet dancer in her life—aside of course from Madame Le Mairie in the village who a good few years ago had given toddler Isabelle a few lessons in the village hall.

  Even when she turned the page of the newspaper and went on to other features, she was drawn back to the picture. It definitely reminded her of something, somebody. But why?

  Brigitte was still thinking about the picture when Isabelle returned.

  “Are you OK?” Isabelle asked anxiously looking at Brigitte. “D’you need to put your sunglasses on? You’re screwing your eyes up.”

  “I’m fine,” Brigitte said. “Just thinking about something. And I’m hot. Ah our drinks. A cold lemonade will help. Where are you taking us next?”

  “I thought we’d have a quick look at the gaming rooms in the casino—they really are worth seeing,” Isabelle said. “The chandeliers and the ornate decorations are amazing.”

  “I think those cars come under that description too,” Bruno said rejoining them and pulling a chair out. “Although I think amazingly expensive would be a better description. Still the engineering that goes into them.” He shook his head.