A French Pirouette Read online

  Evie smiled diplomatically. If Pascal’s friendship and his presence in her life depended on getting to know Marquisa’s kind side, she’d have to hang on in there until she found it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Libby

  Two evenings later, the barge was still moored up near the auberge when Lucas arrived to have a late supper with Libby. Since she’d had lunch with him and Veronique, Lucas had started to call in to see her most evenings after surgery had closed. The nights he didn’t arrive there was always a phone call saying he’d been called out or surgery had overrun—and a sense of disappointment running through Libby. The days began to feel incomplete if she didn’t see him.

  “Come on, let’s take supper and sit under the pergola,” Libby said.

  Lucas glanced across at the barge. “He’s still here then? Any idea who he is?”

  Libby nodded and opened her mouth to say, “It’s her ex dancing partner applying pressure for Evie to return to Paris to prepare for her last ballet before she retires.” She closed her mouth again quickly. She couldn’t say that because Lucas didn’t know Evie’s secret. And she’d promised not to tell anyone.

  “Just a friend from Paris. I think he’s leaving tomorrow,” she said instead.

  “Pascal will be pleased,” Lucas said. “I saw him today and he asked if I knew what was going on. It’s not like him to want gossip about anyone. I think he likes Evie.”

  She felt uncomfortable not being able to talk truthfully to Lucas. “I need to talk to you about this party Helen is insisting I have.”

  Despite having told Helen she didn’t need to make a list of guests for her party, Libby knew she had to start organising things. A to-do list would have to be written soon.

  “I really don’t want a fuss made,” she said now to Lucas.

  “It’s your birthday so do what you want,” Lucas said. “Though personally I’m looking forward to making a fuss of you. It is a milestone birthday after all.”

  “You’ll be trotting out that old cliché next: life begins at forty,” Libby said laughing.

  “You’re at the beginning of a new life over here so maybe there is some truth in that saying,” Lucas said, a serious note in his voice. Catching a hold of her hand he squeezed it, looking at her intently. “You’ve already started to change your life and it will continue to change—with me in it more and more I hope.”

  Libby’s laughter faded away as she realised the implication behind Lucas’s words. “Oh Lucas,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

  “You will be,” Lucas said confidently. “First I become your best friend and then…and then voilà, you find you can’t live without me!”

  The way he said voilà and waved his hand in the air with delight, made Libby laugh again and this time Lucas joined in before saying seriously, “I mean it, Libby. Soon friendship alone won’t be enough for me. I want to look after you. To love you.”

  “Lucas, I don’t know what to say,” Libby said softly.

  “Say nothing. Just think about it. Now I must go.” A fleeting kiss and he left.

  Later as she prepared for bed, Libby thought about his words—and then about her life with Dan before she came to France. When Dan died she’d believed her life was over and she’d never find love again, but here was Lucas professing love and wanting her to be in his life.

  Admittedly the thought of being part of a couple again, especially with Lucas, was exciting. The days she didn’t see him always seemed so empty, as if there was something missing. Something or somebody?

  Was it too soon though? She’d barely spent a summer in France. Known Lucas for only a few short months. Was it long enough to acknowledge that yes, she would like to think of a future with him? But Chloe? How would she react?

  The next morning as Libby cleared the kitchen after serving breakfast to the guests, she glimpsed Evie standing by the canal path waving goodbye as Malik’s barge started to make its way back upstream. Guessing that Evie would walk up to the auberge shortly, Libby turned to put the coffee on seconds before the phone rang.

  “Brigitte. How’s the holiday? And the packing?”

  “The holiday was wonderful,” Brigitte said. “We should finish the packing soon. Then we come home—in time for your party.”

  “Good. I’ve missed having you here,” Libby said.

  “Is Evie still with you?” Brigitte asked.

  “Yes. She seems happy living in the gîte, although…” Libby hesitated before adding, “She’s had a friend turn up unexpectedly, which has made her tense. Why d’you ask?”

  “I discovered something recently. I’ll tell you when I get back,” Brigitte said. “See you soon.”

  Briefly Libby wondered if it were possible Brigitte had stumbled across Evie’s real identity while in the south of France. If she had, and intended to challenge Evie, Libby prayed Evie wouldn’t assume she’d broken her promise and given the secret away.

  Hearing a car turning off the canal path towards the auberge, Libby glanced out of the kitchen window. A black saloon with a Parisian number plate had drawn up alongside Bella. Tourists looking for somewhere to stay? The unshaven man getting out of the car didn’t look like a typical tourist to Libby as she walked out to greet him.

  “Bonjour, monsieur.”

  The man looked her up and down, before answering her in a torrent of French. Libby, failing to understand even one word of his strange accent, held up her hands. “Whoa. Trop vite.”

  “Vous Anglais?”

  “Afraid so,” Libby said. “If you talk slowly though I will be able to understand you.”

  “Psh,” the man replied before continuing in heavily accented English. “I’m a journalist with Paris Match and I need a room for at least two nights.”

  Libby gazed at him impassively as she struggled to collect her thoughts. That particular magazine had a certain reputation for scooping breaking news stories before other journals. Did he know she had a certain guest? Was that why he was here? To track Suzette Shelby down? Whether that was the reason or not, there was no way she was giving him houseroom.

  Libby shook her head. “Desolé. I do not have a single room.”

  “A double will be fine.”

  “Monsieur, I do not have a room available. Perhaps you could try a hotel in Carhaix?”

  “Too far away. I’ll pay double the going rate. Make it worth your while,” the man said.

  “Monsieur, I can’t help you. The auberge is full,” Libby said as firmly as she could. Please, please, stay in the gîte for another few moments, Evie.

  The man opened his mouth to argue with her before finally throwing his arms up in despair, getting into his car and driving off with a squeal of brakes.

  “Au revoir,” Libby muttered, watching as the car disappeared along the canal path. Hopefully that was the last she’d see of him. Once she was certain his car had reached the turning for the road, Libby went across to the gîte.

  “Thank goodness you didn’t come out just now,” she said when Evie answered the door. “Good job too Malik had already left.”

  Evie looked at her questioningly.

  “I’ve just had a reporter from Paris Match wanting a room.”

  Evie gasped. “Did he ask if I was here?”

  Libby shook her head. “Not in so many words, no. So maybe it was just a coincidence. Anyway I told him to go find a hotel.”

  “Thanks, Libby.” Evie smothered a sigh. “Malik reiterated his ultimatum before he left. Decide whether I return to dance Swan Lake one last time or not,” she said looking at Libby. “You’d think it would be an easy decision.” She shook her head. “Part of me says—dance. Another part says—retire gracefully and start my new life. Time is running out for me to make my decision.”

  “Only you can decide,” Libby said.

  Evie nodded. “I know. Have you seen anything of Pascal? He seems to be avoiding me. I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days.”

  Libby shook her head.
“No, haven’t seen him. He was asking Lucas about Malik though. Wondering if he knew what was going on. How was the dinner by the way?”

  “Dinner was delicious. Conversation got a bit tricky though near the end of the evening.”

  “Evie, I’ve just remembered; there is something else. Brigitte is due home soon and from the conversation I had with her earlier, I’ve a funny feeling she knows you’re not who you say you are.”

  “Oh,” Evie said. “It seems that things are coming to a head, doesn’t it? First Brigitte suspecting I’m not who I say I am and now a reporter nosing around.” She took a deep breath. “I guess it’s time to decide who I am. Who I’m going to be in the future. And to try and stop the media circus before it begins.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Evie

  Evie paid the taxi driver and stepped out onto the car park above the pépinière and slowly began to make her way towards the entrance. Intent on buying a plant for Libby’s birthday, she hoped Pascal would be at work and he’d be able to advise her on which kind of plant would thrive in the auberge’s garden.

  She needed to talk to him too. Tell him the truth about herself before he heard it from someone else. Libby saying she’d sent a Parisian reporter away meant that her hideaway had in all probability been discovered and it was time to own up to who she was. To try and stop the hordes of paparazzi descending.

  It was important too to tell Pascal she was no longer at a crossroads in her life. To see his reaction when she told him the road she would take in the future had been decided.

  The pépinière was far bigger than Evie expected and busy with people wandering around under the huge glass roof that covered a vast area with hundreds of different plants under its protective covering. Seven huge polytunnels were placed around the land with gardeners tending plants and advising people on their choices. Where to start looking?

  Lola raced towards her and she bent down to stroke the dog. “D’you greet everyone like this Lola—or do you remember me?”

  “Evie?”

  She straightened up and smiled at Pascal who was regarding her quizzically.

  “Have you come to see me?”

  “Yes I want to talk to you—and I also need help in choosing something for Libby’s birthday,” Evie said.

  “We’ll do that first then. Tree? Shrub? Smaller plants?”

  “I’ve always adored magnolia trees,” Evie said. “I think one in the auberge garden would look beautiful.”

  “Bon. Magnolias are down the far end,” Pascal said. “Follow me.”

  It took some time to reach the tree and shrub section of the pépinière as several customers stopped Pascal to ask his advice, which he gave with his usual calm and courteous manner. Evie watched while he was talking and realised how completely at home he was here, his shyness forgotten as he explained how different plants needed certain things from the soil. How and when to prune an orchard was another question he answered expertly before they reached the tree section.

  “You love your work, don’t you?” she said as another happy customer wandered away.

  Pascal nodded. “Up until now it’s been my life. Right, here are the magnolias.” He stood and carefully looked at the trees in their pots.

  “You don’t want too small a one, or too big—ah, this one is perfect.” And he pulled one forward. “Big enough to flower next year and small enough to have some growing to do before pruning.”

  “Can you deliver it for me?” Evie asked.

  “Of course. Right, that’s Libby’s present taken care of, now we talk,” Pascal said. “We’ll go to my cabin. We won’t be disturbed there.”

  The cabin, hidden away behind the main office, had a desk with paperwork piled high over it and a tray of seedlings perched on top. Lola made for her basket under the desk and Pascal closed the door behind them.

  “Malik gone back to Paris?” he asked.

  “Couple of days ago,” Evie said. She looked at Pascal. “He’s a good friend. We go back a long way.” She fiddled with the strap of her watch before saying, “You know I was at a crossroads in my life—well he was a part of it.”

  “Are you and he more than friends?” Pascal said.

  Evie shook her head. “No. We’re close friends but never anything more.”

  “You were holding hands.”

  “As friends.” Evie took a deep breath. Time to tell Pascal the truth. “Pascal, I’m not really Evie Patem. Well, I am sort of, but my real name is—”

  “Suzette Shelby and you’re an internationally famous ballet dancer,” Pascal finished for her. “And Malik was your dance partner before he became a choreographer.”

  Evie’s mouth opened in surprise as she stared at him. “How did you know? Libby? She promised not to tell anyone.”

  Pascal shook his head. “My mother. I had my suspicions from the first time I met you that you weren’t who you said you were. Mother was certain you were Suzette when she met you and Malik turning up was the final big clue. An unusual name and one my mother knew.”

  Evie could only stare at him speechless. Now she knew the reason behind those awkward silences at dinner. Marquisa de Guesclin and her friends had known who she was all the time.

  “My mother has always adored the ballet and frequently goes to Paris, as you know. She’s even seen you dance! Tells me you dance exquisitely. She likens you to Violette Verdy at her best.”

  Evie smiled. “My mother would have adored hearing that. It was always her ambition for me to be up with the best French dancers. Verdy, Sylvie Guillem—personally I always wanted to be Lesley Caron.”

  “So has being Evie Patem and staying in Brittany helped you make plans for the future?” Pascal asked quietly.

  “Yes. Now my dancing days are coming to an end I intend to make a new career for myself with embroidery and haute couture.” She paused. “I’m also going to leave Paris and move to Brittany.”

  Pascal gave her a broad smile. “Truly?”

  Evie nodded. “Of course I have to find somewhere permanent to live and—” she hesitated “—I’d really like to stay as Evie but Libby has already pointed out the difficulties with doing that. So at some point I have to let it be known I am Suzette Shelby.” She sighed. “Then the media circus will hit town I expect.”

  Pascal dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Pff. A week or two and then somebody else will be in the news.”

  “Hope you’re right,” Evie said. “I’ve loved being Evie. She’s makes me feel young again! Wish I could stay with her really.”

  “You’ll always be Evie to me,” Pascal said. “Although my mother will probably insist on calling you Suzette. She’ll be over the moon that I’ve fallen in love with someone famous.”

  “Fallen in love with?” Evie whispered as Pascal took her gently in his arms and kissed her.

  It was minutes later when Evie stood back and looked at Pascal. “I’ve also decided I’m not going to dance Swan Lake this autumn. I’m planning to phone Malik tonight and tell him. I think he’s expecting the news but I know he’ll be cross and disappointed.”

  Pascal took hold of her hands. “Would you dance it this last time for me? I’d love to see you dance.”

  “You would? I’d love to dance for you too. But what if I have another injury? I know it’s only a week of performances. But what if…?”

  Pascal silenced her with his finger across her lips. “Shh. Life is full of what-ifs? I just think you need to bring the curtain down on your dancing career properly, not just fade away.”

  Evie looked at him silently as Pascal took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Phone Malik now and tell him your decision. You’ll dance for him one more time—not just for him but for you and me.”

  Evie smiled at him as she took the phone. Pascal was right. Allowing the curtain to fall after a final week of dancing and saying a proper farewell to her old life could only be a liberating experience. One that would leave her free to pursu
e her new life without regrets.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Libby

  Libby woke early the morning of her birthday and lay in bed for a few moments, planning her day. The season was almost over but there were still guests booked in, so first there would be breakfasts to organise and then other routine tasks to do before she turned her mind to tonight’s party.

  Canapés to organise, salads and side dishes to be made, champagne bottles to be placed in the fridge, meat to be marinated for the barbecue. Her hair needed washing too.

  Lucas had promised to pop in sometime during the day and set up his music system ready for the party. He’d also been talking about bringing some fairy lights to thread through the trees.

  Libby smiled to herself as Lucas entered her thoughts. Over the summer their lives had definitely become more and more entwined almost without her realising. It was good having a man in her life again, especially someone as special as him.

  Flinging back the duvet, Libby slid out of bed. One of the things she must do this weekend was to talk to Chloe while she was here. See how she felt about Lucas—whether it would be a problem for her if their friendship became something deeper.

  Brigitte arrived unexpectedly mid-morning clutching a jar of delicate rose-petal confiture and some lavender Marseille soap, which she handed to Libby.

  “These are just presents I thought you’d like from our holiday. They are not for your birthday,” she explained earnestly. “We’ll bring that with us this evening.”

  “Thank you,” Libby said sniffing the soap. “This smells wonderful. You had a good time?”

  Brigitte nodded. “Amazing. And now we’ve come back to help Isabelle get her new home ready. The notaire he say another fortnight and it will be hers.”

  “Brilliant,” Libby said. “So pleased things are working out well for her.”

  “Evie around?” Brigitte asked.

  “Think she went out earlier. Did you want to see her?”

  Brigitte shook her head. “Non.” She hesitated before continuing. “Has she told you yet what she does in Paris? Only I don’t think Evie Patem is her real name. I think she’s the missing ballerina Suzette Shelby.”