‘Must be difficult living so far from her.’
‘Yeah,’ she’d said, taking a sip. ‘I mean, sometimes.’
‘Look, I’ve sorted my painting guy, and Yves is going to let him in. So I’m kind of at a loose end tomorrow. Thought you might like a bit of company on your trip?’
She really would. But ‘No, I’ll be fine,’ she’d said. ‘I’m going to hire a van. They’ve got some at Super U.’
‘Oh, come on. It’ll give me a chance to run the car. It’ll seize up soon. Don’t waste your money.’
‘You have a car?’
‘Sure.’
‘That’s so nice of you, but we’re hardly going to fit a couple of chests of drawers or bedside tables into a car.’
‘Ah, but I know a dude with a trailer,’ he said, as if he’d already thought it all out. ‘He owes me a favour.’
‘Brad?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Seriously? Another IOU?’ That said, it would be lovely not to have to hire a van. And the idea of company – especially company with strong arms – was more than welcome. But ‘No, honestly, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Bella?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you giving me the brush-off, or are you just being British and awkward and saying no because it feels impolite to impose?’
She’d flushed, looked at the table. ‘I guess, being British?’
‘Well, I’m an American,’ he’d said. ‘So I’m not buying it. Accept the help.’
She’d taken a sip of wine. ‘OK,’ she’d said, meeting his eye. ‘If you insist.’
Later, she’d emailed thenotairesaying that she was driving down and that she’d pop into the Aubussonoffice to sign the papers at the end of the afternoon, after visiting the house.
Then she’d braced herself and written to Pete.
Hi Pete,
I’m popping over to the Peyrat house tomorrow. I need to pick up a couple of things. I hope that’s OK? Not sure if you’re still around, but thought I’d warn you so we can avoid any awkwardness. Talk soon.
Bella
She’d dug out her keys, feeling rather nostalgic at the sight of the enormous, old-fashioned set – so different from her current single house key. Her small handbag felt heavy with the weight of them, and she hoped she’d be able to remember which of them actually opened the front door of the main building.
It had felt almost impossible to drag herself from bed at five o’clock that morning – only an hour earlier than her usual time, but far too early after a late and restless night. To make sure she was alert enough for the drive, she’d downed two espressos in quick succession and while she now felt awake, she also felt vaguely sick.
The only advantage so far of her early start was the fact that she’d seen the sun rise over Versailles for the first time. It had been dark when she’d woken, the first slivers of light breaking through the gloom just after five thirty. The day had gradually come into itself as she’d dressed and readied herself. Now, the street was in a rosy half-light, promising sunshine.
The early morning air had a fresh, crisp undertone and there was something energising about breathing in great gulps of it, despite the fact it still had the underlying scent of the city – the smell of car exhaust fumes, people, cigarettes, coffee, and the multiple lives that flowed together around its streets during daylight hours.
She watched one or two people make their way along the road – a jogger in professional-looking running gear; a woman dressed in a coat that looked far too thick for this time of year walking a reluctant-looking dog on a lead.
Then, before she could take in any more, she heard a throaty roar, and there was Brad behind the wheel of a rather rusty 4x4 in a muted green. Attached to the back was a trailer with a handwritten number plate and rather dodgy-looking tyres. He parked, bumping the kerb a little, and climbed out of the slightly sunken driver’s seat with some difficulty. ‘Voilà!’ he said and gave a little bow. Despite the stress of thinking about the hotel rooms and whether Claudine was going to return to work and discover their secret, it was hard not to laugh.
Then he held out the keys. ‘Your chariot awaits!’
