Chapter Seventeen
Alexandra was up and about early the following morning. She’d done the hens and now she wanted to grind coffee and make sure that breakfast would be properly organised; it was a meal that was often an informal free-for-all and not fit for the likes of Véronique.
It was possible that Antoine had had the same thought for he appeared shortly afterwards, damp from the bath and freshly shaved. He was wearing a very beautifully cut suit and looked so attractive, Alexandra couldn’t breathe properly for a few seconds.
‘Morning!’ she said calmly, when she’d got her breathing back to normal. ‘Have you thought what to do about Stéphie’s truffle? She definitely wants to sell it, much to David’s disappointment.’
‘I’m going to telephone my friend the truffle expert before we leave for Marseille today and see if he can arrange to sell it. We could deliver it on our way if he can.’
‘Do you have any idea how much money it might fetch?’
He shook his head. ‘Not really. I don’t suppose it’ll be enough to make it possible for me to retire. Maybe I should put the money away for Stéphie’s future.’
‘Please don’t do that! No amount of money in the future is as important to her as having her father at home – if not all the time, at least more often.’
As he regarded her down the length of his long, slightly crooked nose, Alexandra wondered if she’d spoken too frankly, but then she realised he was thinking. ‘I’ll put the money aside to do some repairs on the chateau. Stéphie will be so proud to know it was her efforts that made it possible. And yours, of course.’
‘Stéphie would say it was all down to Milou.’
‘He is a prince among dogs,’ said Antoine, just the hint of a smile wrinkling the corner of his eyes.
Alexandra couldn’t help smiling back. She jumped when Véronique said, ‘Am I interrupting something?
‘No! No, of course not,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come before I make coffee. What else would you like for breakfast? Toast and marmalade?’ A fraction too late she remembered that toast and marmalade wasn’t really an option as they hadn’t any.
Véronique made a face at the suggestion. ‘No, thank you. I’ll just have coffee.’
After Antoine and Véronique had left for Marseille for the day, Alexandra took the time to telephone Donna in Paris. After quite a lot of enjoyable, gossipy chat, she established that Véronique was the gorgeous woman with Antoine the night he went to Donna and Bob’s dinner party. The knowledge didn’t make Alexandra feel any better about her.
Later, as she made her way to the kitchen to prepare lunch for everyone (leftovers were always so useful), she told herself she should really leave the chateau. She was never going to get over her ridiculous crush while she was living in Antoine’s house. But she’d told her relations that she would stay until the spring, and she didn’t feel she could leave before the children were settled with their father at home more regularly. Although Donna had said she’d be delighted to have her to stay in Paris. She could do Paris properly. It would be wonderful!
But Alexandra knew in her heart it was here, in rural Provence, in a slightly dilapidated chateau, that she really wanted to be. She would never be more than the nanny, or maybe the housekeeper, but it was still where she felt most at home.
It seemed to Alexandra that the chateau as well as its inhabitants gave a gentle sigh of relief when Véronique went back to Paris on the train a couple of days later. Antoine was due to follow her in a few days’ time but not having Véronique – not interested in food but still surprisingly critical – at the dinner table lightened everyone’s spirits.
Although it was November, it was a beautiful autumnal day, the colours of Provence as bright as a paintbox against a brilliant blue sky. Alexandra thought she’d take Milou for a walk – meaning she’d go for a walk and he might come too. She had time now she no longer had to worry about Véronique and her needs and wanted to think about her life and what to do. Walking would help. She was in the hall when the doorbell jangled.
It was Penelope, or Grand-mère, as Alexandra continued to think of her.
She seemed unusually diffident. ‘Good morning, Alexandra.’
‘Good morning!’ she replied. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘You’ve got your coat on. You were about to go out.’
She’d borrowed an old jacket of Antoine’s she’d found hanging in a corridor, obviously long forgotten. It was embarrassing to be discovered wearing it by this daunting picture of elegance. ‘No, no. I was only going to take Milou for a wander. It’s such a beautiful day.’
‘It is. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to bring you this. It’s the little Sèvres soup bowl I mentioned to you before. It has handles and one has come off.’ She produced a tissue-wrapped package from her handbag.
Alexandra took it. It was beautiful, sky blue with a lot of gilt decoration. ‘Oh goodness, it’s fantastically valuable. I don’t think I could—’
‘Chérie, it isn’t valuable without a handle. Just do your best.’
Penelope had never called her chérie before, she realised with a start. ‘I will,’ she said.
But even after Alexandra had taken the little bowl and put it in a safe place on the mantelpiece of the salon, Penelope showed no signs of moving. ‘Can I get you some coffee, or a drink?’
‘No,’ said Penelope decisively. ‘You have your coat on; I have mine. Let’s go for a walk together. I’ve become a little homesick lately. Talking to a fellow Englishwoman will help.’
