‘And what about you?’ asked Leonora, turning to Hattie, her kind face wreathing into smiles. ‘I hear young Luc is very smitten.’
Solange watched her carefully.
Hattie smiled politely. Even her own mother wouldn’t have been quite so forward but it was clear that the village felt some kinship towards Luc. He was one of theirs.
‘I must say you have done such a wonderful job here. If the château became a wedding venue, it would be marvellous for the local economy, you know.’ Leonora looked at Solange as if seeking approval.
‘Yes, these flowers are so pretty,’ enthused Dorothea.
‘Thank you,’ said Hattie. She held up the plate of canapés ‘Duty calls’.
She moved on to the next group of people, all of whom were so busy chatting, they barely acknowledged her, for which she was grateful. It seemed everyone wanted her to stay except Luc, who, when she came to think of it, hadn’t really put up that much of a fight. Which was just downright contrary because his calm acceptance of her reasons had been so preferable to the begging and cajoling she’d have received from Chris. Luc understood that she had to do what was right for her. She stole a glance at him, desperate to talk to him in private. His head was bent, nodding as he talked to Marthe, who was gesticulating with her usual animation towards the vines on the hillside.
‘Earth to Hattie.’ Fliss nudged her. ‘Your tray’s empty. And another guest has just snuck in. He polished off the rest of my tray without pausing for breath. Bloody philistine, and he was English.’
‘Sorry, boss,’ said Hattie. ‘Wool-gathering. It’s a lovely party, isn’t it. Everyone seems so happy.’
‘Of course they are. Free food and booze, what’s not to like.’ Fliss winked. ‘And superlative food at that. Even for an Englishwoman. Everyone is very impressed, especially with the flourishes.’
‘Oh, don’t you start.’
‘Start what?’ Fliss gave her a doe-eyed look of innocence.
‘You know exactly what.’ Hattie tossed her head with a smile. It was rather nice to be wanted. Much as she would like to tell Fliss about her change of heart, Luc had to hear it first. ‘I have vol au vents to dish out.’
‘Dish out!’ squeaked Fliss indignantly, only to be interrupted by the arrival of the butcher.
‘Madame Fliss,’ he said, dropping to one knee with a roguish wink. ‘Marry me. I will supply you with the best ingredients this side of Paris. Forget Alphonse. What can he do for you? A mere champagne producer. Together we can make the finest sausage rolls with French saucisson.’ Fliss giggled at his pronunciation – ‘sossaaage’.
‘I’m sorry, Giles, but Alphonse has stolen my heart and I do like champagne.’
‘Pfft.’ Giles rose to his feet with a bellow of laughter and his friends slapped him on the back. ‘Well, I must get back to work.’
‘You were right, the sossaaage rolls were a hit,’ murmured Hattie, watching the three men wander off in that genial happy state induced by lunchtime drinking.
‘They certainly were with that Englishman. Now look at him hoovering up the macarons.’ Fliss discreetly pointed to the edge of the orchard.
Hattie glanced over to the figure standing under the tree, a little disconcerted by his watchful stare. He looked familiar and then he lifted his head…
ChapterThirty-Seven
‘Chris?’ Hattie’s voice came out in a croak and he was probably too far away to hear her. No wonder she hadn’t recognised him at first. He’d had a haircut, and the scruffy beard that had made him look like Papa Smurf’s long-lost brother had been shaved off. He was even wearing a shirt and smart chinos. Hattie hadn’t seen him out of baggy tracky bottoms and torn heavy metal T-shirts for years. She almost swallowed her tongue as the sight of him took her back to her university days.
He walked towards her while Fliss muttered, ‘That’s him.’
‘Hattie?’ he asked with a tremulous, slight overawed tone.
‘Chris.’ She stared at him, feeling the earth slide to one side – or was it her losing her balance? Whatever it was, she didn’t feel right. Light-headed, disconcerted, disbelieving.
He smiled at her. ‘You look amazing.’
‘Er, thank you. W-what are you doing here?’
‘I needed to see you. Before you come home.’
The small stone of weight that she’d been aware of in her stomach quadrupled in weight at ‘come home’, bringing with it a wave of pure panic. She wanted to run, run as fast as she could, up through the vines and far, far away. It was the only time in her life she’d felt this urge to flee without giving a damn about the consequences. There might have been times before when she’d wanted a break from things but never this overwhelming desire for pure flight.
‘I’ve got some bad news, Hats.’
