‘Hello, Mademoiselle Carter-Jones. This is Juliet Garnier.’
‘Hello, I thought I’d ring and introduce myself. I’m making the final arrangements here in France for my cousin’s wedding.’
‘I regret to inform you that we are no longer able to provide the services for the wedding.’
‘Sorry?’ Hattie spoke automatically, thinking that maybe she’d misheard or that something had gone wrong in translation.
‘We are no longer available on the twenty-fifth. I’m afraid we have another wedding that day.’
‘So you can’t do the catering.’
‘That is what I said.’
‘But…’ Hattie was a little lost for words at the woman’s matter-of-fact tone. ‘What do you mean? It’s been booked for ages.’
‘I am sorry but these things happen. We have had no instruction. We thought perhaps the wedding might not go ahead. We did not realise that it was at Château St Martin.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Hattie. ‘My uncle… A deposit was paid.’
‘Which we will, of course, return.’
‘But the wedding is only two months away.’
There was a resounding not-my-problem silence.
‘Can’t you do something?’
‘I’m afraid not. Goodbye.’
Hattie stared at the phone in her hand. This was a catastrophe. Would she be able to find another caterer in time that could do the job? Thankfully the great god Google provided the details of a number of nearby caterers. Hattie visited various websites and narrowed them down to a list of six and decided the best thing was to work her way through them.
By the sixth one, she already had a good idea of how the call would go but she picked up the phone and dialled anyway.
‘Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglaise?’
‘Anglais?’
Hattie winced at her mistake being pointed out and blurted out, ‘Yes, that’s what I meant.’
‘Oui.’
‘Bon. I’m calling from the Château St Martin and wondering if you would be available to do the catering for a wedding on the twenty-fifth of July.’
There it was again – or was she being paranoid – that brief pause. A slight indrawn breath.
‘Non, we are fully booked.’ With that, like the five previous suppliers, they put the phone down, without further discussion. Was she being paranoid, or did it seem they knew their calendars rather well? Or was it the Château St Martin name that made them so sure they were unable to help?
Without much hope she made another couple of calls before officially giving up for the morning and wandering back through to the kitchen to seek solace in coffee.
The housekeeper was there, gazing out of the window.
‘Bonjour, Solange.’
She turned. ‘Bonjour, Hattie. How are you? Did you sleep well?’ She frowned. ‘I hope the bed was okay. No one apart from Luc has been to stay for a very long time. Luc’s parents never come here and no one has been to visit since Marthe went into the home two years ago. When Marthe was here we used to have lots of grand parties.’ Her mouth twisted.
Hattie gave a serene smile, determined not to let it show how rattled she was this morning. ‘I slept well. Thank you for the pastries. They were still warm and delicious.’
‘Bien.’
