‘Yes, of course. We have cheese.’
‘Excellent,’ she said.
‘It’s important.’
She laughed. ‘So is this. Is there anywhere at the château to land a helicopter?’
‘A helicopter?’ It was quite possibly the very last thing he’d expected her to ask.
‘Yes.’ She grinned at his surprised question. ‘Big flying thing with blades.’ She circled with her index finger to illustrate.
‘I know what a helicopter is,’ he said, laughing back at her. ‘You really want to land one at St Martin?’
‘Well, not me personally but yes.’
‘We don’t have an official helipad but there’s an old paddock which I think would work perfectly.’
‘Brilliant. And we’d need to mark it so the pilot can see it from the air.’
‘What about fluorescent orange paint? We use it to mark trees that have to come down, or stray roots that are potential trip hazards. If we sprayed a big H for helipad, a pilot would be able to see it.’ He would not be mentioning this to his father; it would put ideas into his head and he’d be dropping in every five minutes.
‘Perfect.’ Hattie rubbed her hands together, beaming. ‘I’ve solved our catering problem.’
Our? Luc didn’t bother to correct her. He didn’t want to burst her happy bubble but he was amused by the fact that she now assumed he was part of her team. He was in a very difficult position. If the wedding was a success, his father might want to do more – and being honest he could do with the capital that this one would raise.
‘I know someone who is a brilliant cook. She’s going to come and she’s cadged a lift with her brother who is taking a group of people to the races at Chantilly.’
‘You have interesting friends,’ said Luc, raising an eyebrow.
‘I know,’ said Hattie with another grin, ‘I thought it was a stroke of genius.’
‘When does this friend arrive in her helicopter?’
‘In two weeks’ time. She’s going to confirm the date.’
‘Is she a chef or something?’
‘No, but she’s a very good cook and I remembered her saying that one day she wanted to set up her own catering business. I’ve eaten her food and seen her in action. She’s a real perfectionist and super-efficient. I’m starting to get excited again.’ Hattie was almost dancing on the spot, her enthusiasm contagious. He couldn’t help grinning at her. He wanted to sweep her up and dance with her and share that sunshine beam of joy radiating from her. Spending time with her was rapidly becoming addictive.
ChapterEight
‘Isuggest we take it in turns to cook, when we are here,’ said Luc, as they unpacked the shopping bags. ‘I’ll cook this evening.’
‘That would be great,’ said Hattie and meant it. It was a pleasant change for someone other than her to take the lead. She filled the fridge with the little wax-paper-wrapped packets of cheese that she and Luc had selected at the fromagerie stall. It had been fun picking them and tasting the slivers of cheese that Luc had insisted she try before they bought.
They’d bought far more than she thought they needed but Luc was adamant. None of it would go to waste, he said, especially not when he made his famous three-cheese tart.
That he cooked wasn’t a big surprise, Chris had always done the cooking during the week at home by default because she was out at work. That Luc was prepared to make something that sounded less like weekday food intrigued her. At home, to limit the anxiety of shopping and decision-making, Chris had instigated a weekly rota of cottage pie on Mondays, fish fingers, chips and beans on Tuesday, sausage and mash on Wednesday, takeaway pizza on Thursday and fish and chips on Friday. It was a far cry from when they’d been at university and loved going to Grub, the big street food market in Manchester. A sharp, unexpected stab of sadness hijacked her thoughts. She missed Chris. That Chris. They had been so happy then. Everyone had said they were the perfect couple.
‘Hattie?’
She glanced up as Luc repeated the question. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘Yes. That would be lovely.’
‘I’m makingmatafanthis evening, so I think a white burgundy.’ He was already pulling a bottle from the fridge.
‘Can I do anything to help?’
