‘Shall we go to the orangery?’ said Penelope after a second or two. ‘When Lucinda lived here, she and Antoine used to give parties in it.’
Alexandra was a quick thinker but she struggled with this change of tack for a second. ‘Of course. But when David and I explored the other day we found it was locked.’
‘I think I know where the key is.’
They walked to the building with its floor-to-ceiling windows that were now covered in creeper, one of which was like flames climbing over the roof. Penelope ran her hand over the top of the door and found the key. The lock was stiff but they got it open and went in.
‘Ah,’ she said with a long sigh. ‘I remember this.’
Alexandra waited. She didn’t think Penelope was remembering parties given by her daughter and her husband.
‘I came here once, lifetimes ago. The chateau was closed up; it was before Antoine took it over. A friend and I were walking in the grounds. Trespassing, probably. Suddenly there was a summer shower and we came in here for shelter. It was like it is now, overgrown but very romantic; not like it became later, when it was clean and ready for Lucinda’s parties.’
Alexandra’s heart was in her mouth. Was Penelope talking about Jack?
‘Nothing was the same after that,’ said Penelope.
There was a long, agonising pause. ‘I wonder how much it would take to clean this place up,’ she went on. ‘It would be a lovely venue for a celebration.’
Alexandra relaxed a little. It appeared there weren’t going to be any more confidences, but as she considered herself a bit of an expert in turning large dirty spaces into somewhere suitable for guests and parties she just focused on the orangery for a few moments. ‘A jolly good clean, plenty of flowers – it would be lovely.’
‘Yes. It would,’ said Penelope and then added, ‘Shall we go back? I think I need tea now. However French I may appear, I still like to drink tea in the afternoon.’
Emboldened by Penelope’s recent conversation, Alexandra said, ‘Maybe you could give me some tips how to make tea properly here in France. I can never get it strong enough.’
‘The secret is to persuade someone in England to send you proper tea, then it’s simple.’
A few days later the postman delivered a large package to Alexandra.
‘Oh, has someone sent you a present?’ asked Stéphie, excited at the prospect.
‘No, they’ve sent me a lot of papers which I have to read – a bit like someone sending me homework.’ She smiled. ‘And like the homework David and Jack set you, I have to do it. Why don’t you go and see if David’s made something nice for lunch?’
Antoine came into the hall. ‘We’re going to miss David when he has to go back to England.’
‘And Jack,’ said Alexandra.
‘I think he may well stay a bit longer,’ said Antoine, looking mysterious.
Alexandra undid the split pin that was holding the package together and peeped inside. Then she slid the papers out and saw that they were in closely handwritten French. She could barely read the words, let alone understand them.
‘Let me know if you need help with your homework,’ said Antoine.
She put the papers back into their envelope. ‘I might need Maxime.’
‘Maxime? Why?’
‘It’s legal stuff. From Switzerland. Very boring.’ She smiled. It wasn’t really a lie but it felt like it. She hated not being completely open but she didn’t want Antoine knowing the details of her inheritance. It was bad enough that he knew she was due to inherit money without him learning that she could have her fortune now, if she just got married. She wanted him to see her as the nanny, not as an heiress.
It wasn’t until the evening that Alexandra had the chance to look more closely at the papers. French legal language was as incomprehensible as she’d feared and she would definitely need help to understand it. She would ring Maxime when she could and ask his advice. He was a lawyer, after all.
Chapter Eighteen
It was early the following morning. Stéphie, who’d got into Alexandra’s bed in the night, was fast asleep. Alexandra, unable to sleep longer herself, had come downstairs. When she’d seen to Milou and the hens, she had put a small, spotted mirror on the kitchen table and was cutting her fringe with the kitchen scissors when Antoine appeared through the back door. His arms were full of paper bags with baguettes emerging from the top.
‘Haven’t you got anywhere better to do that?’ he asked. ‘And don’t you need a hairdresser?’
‘I’m accustomed to doing it myself. Is it straight?’
