A French Affair Page 17

  ‘OK,’ he said. Then added, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Feeling her heart soften, she said, ‘Me too.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then hearing him ring off she clicked off her own mobile, and taking her iPod from the computer case she carried it upstairs to the bedroom. Something soothing from Bach or Haydn should help calm her mind now, and blend her more fully into her surroundings, as she prepared for an evening she was actually looking forward to. She just hoped Fernand and his family were too.

  Chapter Ten

  BY THE TIME Jessica closed the doors of the cottage and started up through the vineyard the sun was spreading a soft rosy glow over the valley. The palette of colours would deepen and change as the evening advanced, until finally there would be a dazzling blaze on the horizon before this perfect summer day gave itself up to darkness.

  As she walked, inhaling the warm, unsullied air as though it were an elixir, and admiring the fattening clusters of grapes that would soon be ready for harvest, she was thinking of Charlie and trying not to feel disloyal for being so glad she’d come alone. They really did need to be apart for a while, and now she was here the very ease of her movements and the lightness stealing into her heart as the tensions unfurled were telling her just how beneficial this time could be. Hopefully he would start to feel it too, and realise, now she wasn’t around, just how much pressure they’d been putting one another under with all their grief and fears, as well as their needs and even their love. They’d been too close, expected too much of one another while neither of them really had it in them to give. Maybe she’d try saying that to him the next time they spoke, it might help him to stop feeling so angry and rejected.

  As she approached the manoir, which appeared sleepily contented in the evening sun, she could already see Daniella and Claude beneath the nearside of the pergola, where a collection of cane and wicker furniture provided the setting for aperitifs, before everyone moved over to the large granite table at the other end to dine. The children were there too, as lively and noisy as ever, and though she was pleased to see them she couldn’t help being painfully aware of the child that was missing.

  As soon as they spotted her the nine-year-old twins – Antoine and Elodie – came zooming across the forecourt to greet her, reminding her of how Nikki had once commented, ‘Those twins don’t do shy.’

  ‘Bonsoir Jessica,’ they shouted, their beautiful young faces both eager and hesitant. ‘Nous sommes très contents que vous soyez venue. Où est Harry? Il arrive bientôt?’ We’re really happy you’re here. Where is Harry? Is he coming soon?

  She knew it wasn’t that they’d forgotten Natalie, or no longer cared, it was simply that the world had moved on for them, as it should. It was also probable that Daniella had cautioned them not to mention their friend tonight, for which Jessica could only feel grateful. ‘Harry est en vacances en Angleterre,’ she said, stooping to embrace them. ‘Mais il a envoyé un texto pour vous sur mon portable.’ And producing her mobile from the silver purse she was carrying, she called up the text message Harry had sent just for them and passed it over.

  ‘Mais c’est en anglais,’ Elodie protested, her stunning olive green eyes coming to Jessica’s.

  ‘You can read English very well,’ Claude informed her as he strolled towards them.

  Looking up Jessica felt her expression turn to one of genuine pleasure, for she truly liked this short, pot-bellied man with his balding head and soulful eyes. His smile was as roguishly captivating as his humour, and his gift for making people feel welcome was as exceptional as the skills that made him one of France’s most celebrated conductors.

  ‘Jessica,’ he said warmly as he held out his arms. ‘What a delight to see you. Bienvenue ma chère.’

  As he kissed both her cheeks Jessica could see Daniella smiling at them fondly from the shade of the pergola, while four-year-old Hugo, unattended for a moment, plunged a fat little fist into a bowl of something creamy and green. Then Fernand was coming out of the house, a laden tray in his hands, and a big happy smile on his face.

  ‘Aah, Jessica,’ he said in his deeply guttural voice, ‘you are here. Come, come. It is still very hot in the sun, you must be in the shade and we will give you un petit verre. This is a young Chardonnay from our parcelle at Nuit St Georges, which Luc tells me is a little too corsé, but he is wrong, comme d’habitude. It is a very excellent cuvée, which is why it wins an award.’ Setting the tray down, he drew her into a pleasingly avuncular embrace. ‘Ah ma petite,’ he sighed with obvious affection. ‘I am very pleased that you come. Lilian, she is afraid you will not, after what happen, and it make her sad to think that her home cannot be yours any more.’

  ‘Papa! Papa!’ Elodie suddenly erupted, as she and Antoine finished deciphering Harry’s text. ‘Nous duvons envoyer un message à Harry. Tu as ton portable? Donnes-le, donnes-le.’ We must send Harry a text. Do you have your mobile? Give it to me.

  ‘Oh là là!’ Daniella cried, finally noticing Hugo’s creamy green face and fingers. ‘Hugo, tu n’est pas sage. Bon, tiens. Qu’est qu’on va faire de toi?’ Hugo, you naughty boy. What are we going to do with you?

  ‘Give him to me,’ Claude said. ‘I will take him inside with the others to find my mobile so they can send a message, and then I’ll wash him,’ he added with a playful growl at his son.

  After Claude and the children had gone Daniella greeted Jessica too, while Fernand poured no more than four centimetres of pale yellow wine into three plain tulip glasses.

  ‘You see, we do not pour for the others until they arrive,’ Daniella explained, as Fernand replaced the bottle in the cooler. ‘This way the wine stays at the correct temperature in the bottle, and it will not become too warm in our glasses before we have time to finish.’

  Smiling as she recalled Lilian telling her precisely that not long after joining the family, clearly thrilled to be learning about something that was so important to Luc, Jessica picked up her glass and imitated the way Fernand was swirling the wine around his.

  ‘Ah, c’est friand,’ Fernand declared after taking a generous sip and rolling it around his mouth.

  ‘Friand?’ Jessica queried.

  ‘It means it is very good, delicious to drink,’ Daniella explained.

  Jessica was about to take a sip too when Fernand suddenly said, ‘Ah, here they are. I am thinking we must ring a bell to bring them.’

  Curious, Jessica turned to follow the direction of his eyes, and in the glare of the setting sun she saw Lilian coming out of the studio. Then to her surprise she saw that Luc was with her.

  ‘I tell them,’ Fernand was saying to Daniella in French, ‘that they work too hard. Always work, work, work, those two.’

  As they drew closer it was evident to Jessica that they hadn’t been working at all, for Lilian’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining, as a woman’s eyes only shine after making love.

  ‘Jessica, you’re already here,’ Lilian cried. ‘I’m sorry if we kept you. Look who arrived about an hour ago without even telling me he was coming.’

  Jessica was smiling as she looked at Luc. He was a tall man with thick, dark hair and deep-set eyes that were currently mirroring the warmth of her own, and just like every other time they’d met – or even spoken on the phone – she was aware of how drawn she felt to him. He was a man of many contrasts, one of which was in his muscular physique which seemed to show both the rugged maleness of the vigneron, and the sensitive elegance of the artist. She’d never really known whether she considered him handsome or not, though his heavy brows and irregular features certainly made him striking, and when he smiled, as he did now, the harshness of his mouth was utterlytransformed.

  ‘Jessica,’ he said, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Welcome, it is very good to see you.’

  She responded with equal sincerity, and was once again aware of the connection she felt to him because of the role he’d played at the time of Natalie’s death. Since she and Charlie hadn’t been there, it helpe
d to know that Luc had been the one to carry her little body to the ambulance, rather than a stranger. She’d often wondered how they’d have got through it without him, for he’d been such a support to Charlie, taking care of all the complicated bureaucracy and even arranging the terrible flight home. Tonight was the first time she’d seen him since the little coffin had been loaded on board, which he would be aware of too, and she warmed to him all over again as his eyes seemed to tell her that he understood what she was thinking and that she didn’t need to be embarrassed, or afraid.

  She smiled and squeezed his hand, then hearing Lilian talking and laughing she turned to find out what was going on, while Luc dutifully greeted his sister. Fernand was fast becoming the object of much teasing and banter as Lilian and Daniella took him to task over the quality of the wine and choice of main dish, while Claude, having left the twins inside with his mobile, came to plonk Hugo into his mother’s lap, before asking Lilian about her upcoming seminar.

  When they eventually moved over to the table to eat Daniella drew Jessica into conversation, telling her what plans she had for the coming week, if Jessica wanted to join in. Then Daniella was intrigued to know more about the book Jessica was planning to write, which seemed to pique everyone’s interest in a way that Jessica found not only flattering but inspiring.

  Having yielded to his daughter’s protests over his proposed stew, Fernand produced a delicious coq au vin, made, he told them with merrily gleaming eyes, to his very own secret recipe.

  ‘He means he used one of grand crus,’ Luc whispered to Jessica.

  She chuckled and felt slightly light-headed as she reached for her glass. How was it possible to be so happy when this place contained the most painful memories of her life? She looked at Lilian and found at least one answer in her dear, familiar face, for her infectious good humour and unfailing support was as nourishing for her soul as it was for her heart. And this new family of hers – how could anyone feel anything but relaxed in their company, when they were so easy with one another and generous with their hospitality?

  The sun sank over the horizon and candles were lit. The children were carried inside to continue sleeping, while Fernand sat back to savour the rest of the evening, his duties at an end. Jessica found herself remembering the dinner she’d planned for Charlie, which would never happen now. She couldn’t regret it, she could only think of how different it was here where the talk flowed as freely and deliciously as the full-bodied Montrachet wine, from art to music to politics and literature, in a way that was never meant to impress, only to convey enjoyment or inform. In London the wits around the table would always dominate, never really engaging, or even listening, only ever performing. The self-importance and privilege were as rife as the need to excel, whereas here there seemed no need to prove anything at all.

  The dessert had been prepared by Lilian, and Luc went into the kitchen with her to help carry everything out. They exuded such an air of romance that Jessica guessed they would steal a lingering kiss, and maybe even an intimate caress, and it made her feel a little sad as she thought of how often she and Charlie had stolen similar moments over the years.

  When Lilian came back with a fresh fruit flan that she’d clearly picked up at the pâtisserie everyone booed and laughed, while Luc planted a kiss at the nape of her neck as she leaned forward to put the flan on the table before handing out the plates. Lilian’s eyes came to Jessica’s, and Jessica looked at her with all the affection that was in her heart. It meant so much to her to see Lilian as happy as she deserved to be, especially when she’d waited so long.

  ‘Luc has to drive over to Geneva tomorrow,’ Lilian informed her, ‘so I’m all yours till he gets back. We thought we’d take you out to one of our favourite restaurants in the evening. Maybe you’d like to come too,’ she said to Claude and Daniella.

  ‘I think we would love to,’ Daniella responded without hesitation. ‘And you, Papa. Ah mais non, it is your evening for playing boules.’

  ‘What takes you to Geneva?’ Jessica asked Luc, as the others began to discuss a concert Claude and Daniella were planning in the garden of their château at the end of the month.

  ‘One of our biggest clients,’ he replied. ‘It was my intention to stop there on the way back from Italy, but then I decided I would rather be here tonight.’

  Jessica’s eyes moved to Lilian, who seemed engrossed in something Fernand was saying. ‘It’s a shame you two don’t see more of one another,’ she commented with the hint of a sigh.

  Luc looked at Lilian too. ‘Yes,’ he responded, ‘but her work is important to her, as mine is to me. We understand this in one another, and I think it is safer to have these kinds of rivals than the other kind, non?’

  Seeing the twinkle in his eyes Jessica realised Lilian couldn’t have told him about Charlie, which was a relief. Picking up her fork to start on the flan, she said, ‘When you say work, which work are you talking about? Your photojournalism? The winery? Your sculpture?’

  ‘Ah,’ he laughed, ‘now I feel like a man who is unable to commit to one thing, and maybe this is true. Does that make me less of a person? Someone who is not worthy of respect in the eyes of the world?’

  Jessica found herself laughing. ‘I think that’s going a little far,’ she chided. ‘If you’re good at all three, it probably makes you worthy of more respect.’

  ‘Ah, but modesty will not allow me to claim such a thing,’ he replied. ‘So I will say that photography is something I do. It comes very naturally, and is important to my sculpture so it is a part of that too. The winery is my father’s passion, as you know. I’m not saying it’s one I don’t share, but for me the sculpture will always come first.’

  ‘You must ask him to show you his works,’ Fernand piped up.

  Jessica turned to him, unaware he’d been listening.

  ‘I know perhaps I am . . . préjugé?’ Fernand continued.

  ‘Biased,’ Daniella provided.

  ‘Biased,’ Fernand repeated, finding the pronunciation hard, ‘but he is very good. His expositions are receiving fine reviews and he even sells some of his pieces.’

  ‘Because you buy them all,’ Daniella reminded him.

  ‘No, this is not true,’ Fernand protested with a laugh. ‘I buy some, I admit, but you and Claude buy the others.’

  As Luc balled a napkin to throw at his father Jessica was wishing that she could capture the way she was feeling now, and go back to it every time she felt lonely, or afraid, or unable to cope. There seemed to be a calmness in her, and a quiet exhilaration that might be to do with the wine, but was also connected to the sense of freedom she was feeling at being no-one’s wife, or mother, or someone who was recognised almost anywhere she went. Tonight she was merely an ordinary woman at a candlelit table in a secluded French valley who had found a place and a time to be happy, and who knew no desires beyond the next sip of full-bodied wine or taste of pungent chevroton cheese.

  And that was how she continued to feel for the rest of the evening, tranquil, joyous and satisfyingly absorbed in the heady sensation of being somewhere she belonged, even though she didn’t. And she was still feeling that way when Luc and Lilian walked her back through the vineyard to the cottage. Then, for the first time in months, she managed to fall asleep without the heaviness of guilt in her heart, because she was here with Natalie, doing what she should have done long before now, trying to find out why she had sounded so panicked when she’d called her in the seconds before she died.

  The following morning when Jessica opened her eyes she was confused for a moment about where she was, until, remembering, she felt the pleasure of it unfolding gently inside her. She turned onto her back and lay quietly watching the iridescent rays of the sunrise reaching into the room, turning the gauzy nets around her into a pyramid of fiery mist. No more than a whisper of breeze was drifting in through the drapes at the open window, while the sounds of busy bird life chirped and warbled through the early morning hush.

  She was
barely even aware of what she was thinking as her mind, like the butterflies in the vines, pitched and flew, hovered, then soared on to somewhere new. Charlie, the children, Lilian and Luc, her mother, Jeanne Hébuterne and Amedeo Modigliani . . .

  Natalie.

  On the nightstand next to her the phone started to ring.

  Guessing it would be Charlie, even though it was barely six o’clock with him, she reached over to pick it up.

  ‘I hope I haven’t woken you,’ Luc said. ‘If I have please blame Lilian.’

  Jessica smiled. ‘Consider her blamed,’ she responded. ‘But I wasn’t asleep.’

  ‘That is a relief, because she becomes very frightening when she is woken before she would like to be, and I wasn’t sure if you might be the same.’

  Jessica laughed. ‘Where is she?’ she asked.

  ‘Would you believe, on the phone to Hong Kong? However, she is interested to know if you would like to walk with her to the village this morning to have breakfast in the café.’

  Jessica couldn’t think of anything she’d like more.

  ‘Then she will come in an hour,’ he told her. ‘I will bring her as I leave.’

  After he’d rung off Jessica got out of bed and walked down the stairs in her nightie. It was short and silky and clung to her slender body as the heat was already clinging to the air. She filled the kettle, lit the gas under it, then pulled the doors open and stepped out onto the patio. The sun’s warmth felt as welcoming as a lover’s arms, while the vines were as still as a painting, and the sky overhead was an immaculate expanse of blue. Seeing the pots were dry, she filled a watering can from a rusty tap, then walked about the patio slaking the thirst of the flowers that would soon burst back into life. In a way it was as though something similar was happening to her, for she was aware of a new fluidity in her movements, and an ease in her heart that hadn’t been there twenty-four hours ago.