‘Can you come with us, Alexandra?’
For a moment Alexandra acknowledged how much she wanted to, but: ‘I have to arrange a birthday. And make two cakes. One of them in the shape of a pony.’ Now she’d said it, she began to feel daunted.
‘I’m sure David will be able to do something creative. I need you with me.’
The words made her catch her breath. She came back sharply, desperate to mask her reaction. ‘Then I really hope David will be able to make both cakes, M. le Comte!’
He put his hand on her arm. ‘Alexandra, please don’t be angry with me. It’s bad enough with Stéphie and the others hating me for getting the day wrong for Stéphie’s birthday.’ His mouth was curling at the corners and she realised she couldn’t stay angry with him for more than about a second.
She took a breath. ‘Telephone your friends. Tell them about the birthday and warn them that I am coming. If they’re cooking, they’ll need to know that.’
‘They’ve always thought you were coming, chérie.’
Alexandra felt she was on holiday as they set off in Antoine’s car a couple of hours later. Still touched that he’d wanted her to go with them, she was determined to enjoy herself, although he confided (while they were waiting for Félicité to find the right jeans) it was because the friend, who lived quite far away, had mentioned his children went to a school that might be suitable. ‘I need your opinion on these matters,’ he said. It was still flattering even if he wasn’t saying, ‘I want to spend every last moment with you that I can.’
She turned round to look at the children. Félicité had been fairly maddening, trying to find exactly the right outfit. But Alexandra did understand. She’d always managed to feel fairly relaxed about it herself but there had been a couple of occasions when she’d been sent with a nanny to spend time with ‘suitable’ girls when she’d turned up in a smocked dress as approved by her relations and the girls in question had worn slacks.
Félicité was looking sharp, Alexandra decided. She was wearing well-fitting jeans and a white shirt with a sweater over the top. It was smart but casual. Stéphie’s clothes were practically the same but she managed to look like a little girl in hers and not a sultry teenager. Alexandra smiled at them all. ‘You’re looking very nice, I must say.’
She was wearing a very similar outfit herself: jeans she had bought from the market and a Guernsey sweater of David’s that had shrunk a little in the wash and he had passed on to her. Under it she had on a white shirt – the jumper was slightly itchy – and pearls in her ears. She had her Hermès scarf in her handbag in case Antoine’s friends were smarter than she’d imagined. She’d recently acquired a pair of boots, designed for a young working man with a small foot, and felt they added a certain je ne sais quoi to her outfit. She didn’t want to look like a run-of-the mill nanny.
‘Mummy would want me to wear a dress,’ said Félicité from the back of the car as they turned on to the main road, obviously not quite sure if she could trust Alexandra’s assurance that jeans were fine.
‘But you didn’t want to wear a dress,’ Alexandra reminded her.
‘I know! But should I have worn the dress she bought the other day anyway?’
‘I should just say that Henri and I are very proud to be escorting such stylish young women, aren’t we, Henri?’ said Antoine, glancing in the mirror so he could see the back seat.
‘What? Yeah. Of course.’ Henri rolled his eyes but good-naturedly.
Stéphie giggled, quite over her disappointment about her birthday, for now at least. Alexandra wasn’t the only one who felt it was like a holiday.
‘We’re going up into Haute Provence,’ said Antoine. ‘It’s different up there, away from the tourist spots. It’s beautiful, but rugged.’
‘If this man is a friend of yours, why haven’t we visited him before, Papa?’ said Félicité.
‘Because he lives a good hour away,’ said Antoine. ‘Also, I lost touch with him for a few years. He is married and has children. They are almost the same ages as you are.’
‘Do they have young children?’ asked Stéphie. ‘I never have friends to play with.’
Alexandra saw Antoine looking guilty; he hadn’t discovered the precise ages of the children and now felt caught out.
They’d driven up through hills and chalky mountains with scrubby bush and forests with oak and pine trees and eventually they arrived. The house was large and on a plateau, visible from the road a little way away.
There was a gate and Alexandra got out to open it. She felt a bit stiff and was immediately aware that the air was cooler here. Although it was nearly December, it had been warmer at the chateau.
A couple just a little older than Antoine were waiting as the car drew up in front of the house. And then several children appeared from different directions. They all seemed very pleased to see Antoine and his party.
There was a lot of kissing and then Philippe, who was Antoine’s friend, looked at Alexandra, said, ‘Antoine, you old devil, where did you find such a beautiful young woman and how did you persuade her to go out with you?’
Although Philippe had spoken in French, Alexandra responded in English. ‘I’m the nanny, monsieur. Alexandra.’
‘But you speak French, mam’selle?’ asked Philippe.
‘I do.’
Philippe shrugged and replied in English. ‘If you tell me you are the nanny I have to believe you!’ He gave the impression that he didn’t believe this for a minute but in a way that was amusing rather than offensive.
