A French Affair Read online

  ‘Jessica, are you sure?’ Lilian interrupted. ‘I mean, you know how much I’d love you to come, but is it a good idea to stay there? Why don’t you stay with us?’

  ‘If I find I can’t be in the cottage then I’ll take you up on your offer,’ Jessica replied, already feeling certain she wouldn’t.

  ‘What does Charlie say? Is he coming too?’

  ‘No, and he’s not keen on the idea, as you can probably imagine.’ Then before Lilian could protest any further, ‘Please don’t fight me on this. I want to do it – no, I need to do it.’

  Still sounding dubious Lilian said, ‘OK, I’ll call Luc to make sure it’s still free. If it is I’ll try to take some time off so I can be there with you.’

  With a smile Jessica said, ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

  Jessica was in Harry’s room when the phone rang with what she hoped would be a call back from Lilian. It had been several hours since they’d spoken, but she guessed that was because Lilian had been busy with a sale, or maybe Luc hadn’t been readily contactable. The reasons didn’t matter, all that did was that the cottage should be free.

  ‘Hello,’ she said into the receiver. ‘Jessica Moore speaking.’

  ‘Jessica, it’s Luc,’ he said. ‘Lilian tells me you’d like to stay at the cottage.’

  For a moment she felt strangely unsteadied by his voice, as once again it seemed to carry her into the very heart of the vineyard where Natalie had charged and yelped about like any normal ten-year-old girl. ‘Yes, please,’ she answered. ‘If it’s possible.’

  ‘Mais bien sûr,’ he responded. ‘It is free for all of the summer, so you can have it for as long as you like. Will your family be joining you?’

  ‘No. Well, not at first. Maybe later.’ Then, remembering his father’s tests, ‘How is Fernand?’

  With a note of irony he said, ‘He is going to live, and already he’s looking forward to seeing you.’

  Jessica smiled as she realised she was looking forward to seeing the old man too.

  ‘I will owe you a big favour,’ Luc continued, ‘because I believe Lilian is going to take some time off to be here too.’

  ‘So she tells me. If she can.’

  ‘Then we shall remain hopeful. Now, will you need one of us to pick you up at the airport, or will you drive?’

  ‘I’ll drive,’ she told him, still feeling the pull of the link he provided to Natalie. She mustn’t let it confuse her though, or embarrass him or his family, for she couldn’t imagine any of them being comfortable in such a role. She just hoped that they really didn’t mind her coming, for it was quite likely they were worried about how awkward it might be having her around, but were too polite to say so.

  ‘Then let us know when to expect you,’ he said, ‘and if there’s anything we can do for you in the meantime, just call.’

  As she put the phone down Jessica could feel her senses swimming. Only now, after speaking to Luc, was she starting to realise what a big step she was about to take. Yet, in spite of the nerves, she felt a surprising calmness spreading deep inside her, a sense of purpose, even, that seemed to be telling her that she was making the right decision. She only needed to get through the next week with Charlie now, explain as much as she could to Nikki, then after seeing Harry off to Devon she would be on her way . . . she took a breath . . . to Natalie, for that was exactly how it was starting to feel.

  Chapter Nine

  THE VINE-COVERED VALLEY of Valennes was basking quietly in the mid-afternoon sun as Jessica drove past the old farm gates that marked the start of the hamlet, to the staggered T-junction at its heart. On this top road, that came winding in from the nearest village, there were only a few squat cottages sitting like time-forgotten sentinels on the beautifully remote hillock, with a long-abandoned boulangerie whose faded sign was still visible on the crumbling side wall, and a single petrol pump with prices still displayed in francs. The rest of Valennes, which consisted of only four more cottages, a couple of derelict barns, the manoir and rows upon rows of abundantly fruiting vines, all lay in the magnificent combe below.

  Before turning left to descend into the heart of it Jessica pulled over for a moment to absorb the seductive vista before her. At any time of year it was breathtaking, but now, at the height of summer, it was hazy and blurred, seeming almost to seep colour, as though it were aspiring to become a spectacular Pissarro or Monet. It was shaped like an amphitheatre, with the south-facing slopes comprising a vast cornucopia of heavily laden vines creating the tiers, and the lazy patchwork of fields that spread towards the horizon forming the stage. In the near distance was a shady wood of maples, yews and limes, and beyond that, though not visible from where she was, was a crystal-clear freshwater lake.

  The road she was about to take was more gravel and potholes than tarmac, and dropped steeply away for several metres before easing its descent to a handful of small, closely shuttered dwellings that housed the workers during harvest, and the occasional tourists in summer. Further down, virtually in the bowl of the valley and nestling almost coquettishly in amongst the vines, was a bigger, sprawling cottage that was covered in jasmine and ivy and a liberal sprinkling of pale yellow roses. This was la maison de vendangeur – the grape-picker’s cottage.

  Still Jessica remained where she was, aware of how her breath had shortened as she allowed her eyes to follow the track on through the vineyard to where it ended in a roughly circular flourish in front of the manoir, which was halfway up the opposite hill. The manoir itself was a large eighteenth-century stone-built house with big sash windows in the upper levels framed by sky blue shutters, and a huge pergola right across the front, where morning glory, honeysuckle and jasmine intertwined with a ferocious ivy and big purple-blooming passion flowers. To one side of the manoir was a towering old pigeonnier – a dovecote – whose top two floors were used for storage, while the double arch at the bottom was the entrance to the wine cave. And to the other side of the manoir was a long, low structure that had once been a barn, but was now divided in two to make the office that Luc and Lilian shared when they were here, and the studio where Luc created his sculptures.

  There was not a single person in sight, the only signs of life being the Charolais cows in one of the fields and the occasional soar or flutter of a bird. The trees were motionless, as were the vines and the cottages. She lowered her window to inhale the earthy perfume that filled the air, and feel the sun’s heat stealing in like a burning cloak. It was strange how in spite of what had happened here she could still sense the silence and beauty settling around her like a balm, seeming to ease content into her heart and a kind of wonder into her soul. Then she found herself recalling the first time she and Charlie had arrived with the children and how she’d experienced a curious sense of returning, even though they’d never been here before.

  ‘Déjà vu,’ Natalie had immediately piped up, which had triggered a noisy and amusing ten minutes as she and Nikki explained the meaning to Harry, who ended up claiming he’d been everywhere in the whole wide world before, but he wouldn’t tell them what it was like in any of the places because it was his secret and they had to find out for themselves.

  On that occasion they’d come to meet the new man in Lilian’s life and his family. It had been August, which would make it a year ago now, four months before the Christmas wedding, which was the second time they’d come.

  Their third visit and all its horror would remain branded in her memory for ever, yet as she looked down at the glistening grey slate roof of the grape-picker’s cottage and its walls of clamouring flowers, it might almost have been possible to persuade herself it was a dream, for the tragedy seemed to have changed nothing in its appearance, or in its spirit. It was still as sleepily benign as ever, and as welcoming in its calm and unobtrusive way.

  Her eyes swept back out across the valley as she thought of how hard it was going to be to feel the same about the place if she discovered anything violent or sinister attached to Natalie’s death. But
was she really expecting to? Before she’d arrived she’d certainly been afraid of it, but now she was here she was starting to wonder why she’d felt so concerned, because there had never really been any suggestion of anything remotely untoward, no inconsistent injuries or suspicious evidence. In fact, looking down at the cottage now, it was almost impossible to imagine anything ominous or even curious happening there at all. So maybe, she thought with a lift of hope in her heart, she was going to find out that her instincts were wrong and everyone else was right.

  Pressing her foot gently on the accelerator she let the car roll forward, then caught it with the brake as it picked up speed on the sharp descent. Seeing Lilian come out of the grape-picker’s cottage she waved and quickened her speed, and as she turned onto the dry patch of land next to the cottage Lilian pulled open the car door to gather her into a loving embrace.

  ‘You made it,’ Lilian declared, her voice muffled by Jessica’s shoulder. ‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ and after squeezing even harder she stood back to get a good look at Jessica’s face. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘It’s such a long journey, you must be exhausted.’

  Feeling only the pleasure of seeing Lilian, Jessica slid from the 4×4 and hugged her again. ‘I’m fine,’ she assured her. ‘A bit spacey, maybe, but nothing a good leg stretch and glass of chilled Macon-Valennes won’t sort out.’

  ‘The leg bit I’ll leave to you,’ Lilian chuckled, linking her arm as they walked round to the back of the car, ‘the wine is over to me – but first, there’s someone else here to greet you.’

  Expecting it to be Luc, or Fernand, Jessica’s eyes widened with surprise when Daniella, Luc’s sister, came out of the cottage and crossed the stone patio towards them.

  ‘Sorry, I was up in the attic,’ Daniella said, appearing every bit as pleased to see Jessica as Jessica was to see her. ‘Ça me plâit très bien à vous voir,’ she said, kissing both Jessica’s cheeks. ‘We are all very happy you are here. My father is planning a very special dinner in your honour tonight, so I hope you are hungry.’

  Jessica smiled into her rich brown eyes, and not for the first time found herself entranced by Daniella’s amazing beauty, and the way she seemed so unaffected by it. She had the unmistakable elegance of many Frenchwomen, with exquisite poise and femininity and thick, dark hair which she wore in a single plait that fell almost to her waist. Her features were large and generous and, at times, almost wickedly humorous, while there was such grace to her movements that it was often difficult to stop watching her. Before becoming the wife of a prominent conductor and mother of three, she’d had a promising career as a mezzo-soprano, but apart from special occasions, such as the annual vendange celebrations, or the national Fête de la Musique, or at local fund-raising events, she rarely sang in public now.

  ‘And I don’t regret giving it up for a minute,’ she had readily assured Jessica the first time they’d met. ‘I love my life with Claude and the children, rolling around our ridiculous château like petit peas in a pot. Of course I miss him when he has to be in Paris, but it is good for him to be very important when he is away, because I am afraid he is not very important at home.’

  Since Claude had been sitting right next to her when she’d said that, Jessica had seen the humorous light in his eyes that told how much he enjoyed their banter – and perhaps how much he missed her when he was away too.

  ‘I must tell you,’ Daniella said now, as they started to unload Jessica’s car, ‘that my father, comme d’habitude, is doing the cooking this evening, so you must prepare for a stew. I know it is very ’ot, and this is probably the very last thing you would like, but you ’ave only yourself to blame, because you and Charlie were so complimentary about it the last time he served you that he is determined to show off again.’

  Laughing, Jessica swung her heavy suitcase down to the ground, while Lilian grabbed the laptop and a bag full of carefully chosen books, which included two Virginia Woolfs, an anthology of favourite poems, but most importantly of all Suite Française, the extraordinary novel Jessica had reviewed a year ago that had risen instantly to the top of her list of all-time favourites.

  ‘We’ve cleaned the place top to bottom,’ Lilian informed her as she led the way across the patio, where large pots of petunias and geraniums were starting to wilt in the sun. ‘The attic bedroom was full of cobwebs, so I left that to Daniella. With a draughty old château, two boys and a girl who thinks she’s a boy, she’s much better at dealing with that sort of thing than I am.’

  ‘The children are going to be most upset that I didn’t keep some of the spiders for pets,’ Daniella added, ‘but I think we have enough right now, with our dogs and rabbits and mice and worms and goodness knows what else they have in their bedrooms. Always there is something new coming into the house, and always it has to have a name, so please be ready to think of some, because they will be sure to ask.’

  ‘Where are the children?’ Jessica asked, feeling a horrible mix of emotions as she thought of Daniella’s twins alive and well, and how hard this was suddenly feeling as she approached the double French doors that opened into a spacious, old-fashioned kitchen. But now, she told herself firmly, wasn’t the time to shrink from the place Natalie had died.

  A moment later she was inside the kitchen and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sudden change of light. Already the musty smell of dry wood and centuries-old stone was reaching her, reminding her of how gracious she’d always felt this house to be. Its coolness was a welcome respite from the relentless sun outside, and it had a kind of composure to it that felt gently reassuring. She looked around, taking in the large centre table where various children had carved their initials over the years, and the huge recessed fireplace where an antiquated range was gleaming like new amongst its support cast of cookpots and ladles. Then there was the latched door at the top of two steps that opened into the sitting room, and next to that was the foot of the staircase that rose across the back wall of the kitchen. Straight away Jessica noticed the banister that had been put in since her last visit, and could only wish with all her heart that it had always been there.

  ‘The twins are at a birthday party,’ Daniella said, while tidying a broom and dustpan into one of the tall, creamy-coloured cupboards that only vaguely matched the rest of the kitchen, ‘and Hugo is at home with his papa.’

  ‘Claude’s here?’ Jessica said, surprised and pleased, for she liked Daniella’s husband immensely.

  ‘It is August,’ Daniella reminded her, ‘all of Paris takes their vacances en août, except,’ she added, tapping Lilian’s cheek with a finger, ‘my workaholic sister-in-law who is off to Hong Kong in two days.’

  Unable to hide her disappointment, Jessica turned to Lilian. ‘So soon?’ she said. ‘When we spoke last night . . . I thought you were going to be here for at least ten days.’

  ‘So did I,’ Lilian groaned, ‘but would you believe, Michel Racine, our current managing director, had a heart attack in the early hours of this morning. Not fatal, apparently he’s likely to recover, but as yours truly is due to step into his shoes at the end of September, I was nominated to take his place at a major seminar in Kowloon.’

  Jessica wanted to protest, in fact she was almost desperate to, but how could she without seeming absurdly needy or selfish?

  ‘I shouldn’t be much longer than a week,’ Lilian assured her, ‘so you’ll still be here when I get back, and obviously Daniella’s going to be around . . . Now, what do you say we break out the wine.’

  Being the closest to the cooler, Jessica pulled it open and passed a perfectly chilled bottle to Daniella to uncork. She was still unsettled by the prospect of being here without Lilian, not only because she took such comfort in her presence, but because she was afraid the family might consider her a burden. However, if Daniella’s greeting was anything to go by, she probably didn’t need to worry immediately, and after a few days of her being here they’d soon realise that she had no intention of disrupting their lives in any
way, or indeed of putting them to any trouble at all.

  ‘Oh là là, Papa will be most pleased that you have chosen this one,’ Daniella informed her, holding up the wine. ‘It is from last year, which was not too bad for us. He is saving his specials from Montrachet, or Montagny, or Chablis, I don’t know where exactly yet, for dinner, naturally, but any time you would like to restock your cooler, you know you just have to pop into the cave and Jean-Marc or one of the ouvriers will carry it down for you. Now,’ she said, looking at her watch, ‘I will open this bottle, and then I am sorry, but I must leave. I have some things to do in Macon and then I have to pick up the twins.’

  After she’d gone Lilian filled two glasses, then carried one to Jessica who was still standing at the French doors watching Daniella’s car climb to the top road.

  ‘Fernand is very tolerant of the way we English drink wine,’ Lilian told her, going back for her own glass. ‘He thinks we’re mad of course, and very uncultured to take it without food, but luckily he isn’t snobbish about it.’

  Unable to imagine Fernand being snobbish about anything, Jessica smiled and turned back into the kitchen. ‘It’s too hot to sit outside,’ she said, slipping into one of the rail-backed wooden chairs that surrounded the table.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ Lilian said, ‘someone’s supposed to be bringing a parasol down from the house to shade the table on the patio. The one that was here seems to have disappeared. Probably got taken by a tourist, or one of last season’s pickers. Anyway, cheers and welcome back to la maison de vendangeur.’ Her voice dropped a little as she added, ‘How do you feel about being here?’

  Though there was a tightness in Jessica’s heart as she clinked glasses, she was able to say with reasonable honesty, ‘Actually, not too bad. I thought it might be more difficult, but maybe I won’t really know until I’m alone.’