‘Do you know? I have no idea how many decent bedrooms there are here. I’ve only seen the ones I need to see.’ Something stirred in her brain. ‘We must explore,’ she said. ‘It would be really useful to know something like that. Do you think people would come on holiday here? Can you pass me the plates?’
‘Of course they’d come!’ David handed over the pile. ‘The English love France! There’s so much to do here. It’s an antiques collector’s paradise. Just the little stall in the market is like gold dust!’
‘I know,’ Alexandra agreed. ‘I’ve bought a couple of little things myself when I’ve been there. Just to keep my hand in. After all, I won’t be a nanny forever.’ She felt quite sad about this and rubbed her cloth over the plates thoughtfully. She didn’t want to leave this family; they and their happiness had become so important to her.
Alexandra and David had got through quite a bit of the washing up when Félicité and Henri came in holding packages wrapped in elegant paper and curled gold ribbons. Stéphie followed with nothing, her chin high and her bottom lip firmly clamped by her top teeth. She was very obviously trying not to show her disappointment.
‘Mummy’s gone home,’ said Félicité, ‘and she’s given us presents. Not Stéphie though.’ She didn’t sound enthusiastic and glanced at Stéphie nervously.
‘Open them!’ said Stéphie. ‘It’s all right. She’s not my mother. I do know that.’
Félicité’s present was a beautiful pale blue writing folder. It was leather, with all sorts of little pockets and places for letters and pens and stamps, everything you might need in order to write to someone. There was also a beautiful pad of paper and envelopes lined with tissue paper to match. Henri had been given one the same except that it was dark red and the envelopes were plain.
‘There’s a note in mine,’ said Henri. He opened it. ‘Oh. It’s so we can write to Mummy when we go to boarding school.’
Stéphie took in a shaking breath. Alexandra could see she was about to burst into tears at any second.
‘Oh!’ she said, getting up. ‘I’ve remembered something! No one move. Especially not you, Stéphie!’
She flew upstairs to her bedroom to the cupboard where she’d put the bits and pieces she’d bought from the brocante stall. She picked up one of the items, put a bit of tissue paper round it and then ran back down to the kitchen, offering a prayer to whichever saint was in charge of such things that her plan would work.
‘I bought you this, Stéphie,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to give it to you until I had something for Félicité and Henri. But now they’ve got their writing sets …’ Alexandra kept on praying, this time to the saint who cured disappointment. She so wanted to make Stéphie smile.
‘Oh! It’s a little range!’ said Stéphie, having unwrapped it. ‘Like we have here. Only tiny!’
‘Yes,’ said Alexandra. ‘And I think if you put methylated spirits in it, you can light it. It’s not new, I’m afraid.’
‘And not an antique,’ said David, observing from across the table. ‘But definitely worth collecting. Really, I should hire a van and fill it with stock and take it all back to the Portobello Road.’
‘I love it!’ said Stéphie. ‘It has little saucepans and everything. It’s wonderful! Thank you so much!’ She gave Alexandra a huge hug, genuinely delighted with her gift.
Antoine came in. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Mummy bought us presents,’ said Félicité, ‘but not Stéphie. Alexandra has given her a toy cooker.’
Alexandra couldn’t help herself; she looked up to see him looking at her. She suddenly felt terribly awkward.
‘That’s very kind of Alexandra,’ said Antoine, obviously feeling as awkward as Alexandra was.
‘It was so thoughtless of Mummy not to think of Stéphie,’ said Félicité, saying what everyone was thinking. ‘And if she thinks I’m going to go to boarding school in England and write her letters with envelopes like this, she’s in for a nasty shock!’
Alexandra opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Although she agreed with Félicité completely she was sure there was some rule that meant you weren’t allowed to criticise your parent even if they were wrong. No one said a thing.
‘You’re looking tired, Lexi. Why don’t you go up to bed?’ said David suddenly. ‘You must be exhausted. All the cooking and arranging everything—’
‘You did the cooking,’ she began.
‘But I didn’t have very frightening relations from Switzerland arriving without notice,’ David went on.
‘You don’t have to worry about reading me a story,’ said Stéphie, kindly. ‘Papa will do it.’
Antoine nodded. ‘I will. You go, Alexandra.’
She went, not knowing whether she felt cared for, or dismissed. By the time she got upstairs she no longer cared; she discovered she really was tired. But before she let herself fall into bed she wrote a letter to her cousin Hubert in Switzerland asking him for a copy of the will which gave details of her inheritance. He would get the letter when they all got home from their grand tour. Then she did her teeth and was asleep in seconds.
Stéphie ran into Alexandra’s bedroom in the morning. She was already dressed. ‘I’m not reading this morning, Lexi,’ she said. ‘I’m going out with Papa!’ She ran out again while Alexandra wondered how she felt about Stéphie calling her Lexi. She decided she quite liked it.
She got up and dressed in a clean dress and her one cardigan before going downstairs.
