Solange nodded reluctantly. Of course she did, it didn’t say much about her management of the house.
‘Have you seen any yet?’ asked Yvette, her eyes boring into Hattie’s with fervent insistence.
‘Mice.’
‘Yes,les souris. It was dreadful. Luckily no one was staying here, they ran over the beds, up the curtains. In every room.’
‘I’ve not seen any,’ said Hattie. Oh God, that sounded hideous.
‘You’re more likely to hear them, at night. Scratching, scuffling in the walls.’
‘Thanks.’ Now she was going to be listening constantly.
‘If you do, you need to call in the exterminator. They breed every twenty days. They say if you see one mouse, it means there are at least another five or six nearby because they live in nests together.’
Yvette wasn’t exactly trying to reassure her.
‘I’ll keep my eyes open for any.’
‘Do.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Didn’t you say you saw one in the kitchen and one in the main salon last week? You know they are a health risk. They spreadsalmonelle. You have this in England?’
Hattie nodded grimly, not needing a translation. No wonder Solange was keeping quiet. That must be worrying, but why hadn’t she done anything about it? Or was Yvette exaggerating for her own reasons?
‘Don’t tell Luc I told you. He is desperate for the money the wedding will make, even though the house is completely unsuitable but –’ she turned guileless green eyes towards Hattie ‘– I would feel terrible if the wedding were spoilt.’
Hattie grimaced. Gabby would do her nut if she thought there were rodents anywhere near the place.
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘It’s no problem,’ said Yvette with a big smile. ‘What is it they say? We girls must stick together.’ With that she sauntered out looking as neat and tidy as if she’d stepped from the pages ofVogue, leaving Hattie hot, bothered and very fed up. With a sigh Hattie wiped her sweaty forehead and looked at the row of windows still to do. What had she done to deserve the tasks of Hercules? And now there were mice to contend with.
Hattie screwed up her nose and glared at the windows. They were considerably cleaner but unfortunately they were also considerably smeary. Oh God, they looked terrible.
‘Here,’ said Solange, appearing at her elbow carrying a large bucket of steaming water along with two spray bottles and a stack of newspapers tucked under her other arm. ‘Vinegar, rubbing alcohol and hot water is best, if you want a streak-free finish. And then dry it off with scrunched-up newspaper. I’ll redo the ones you’ve done and you can carry on.’
‘You don’t have to,’ protested Hattie, feeling like she’d guilted Solange into helping.
‘Nonsense, this is long overdue. If I’d had more notice I could have made a start.’
‘No news on the cleaning crew?’
Solange’s mouth tightened as she said a trifle grimly. ‘Not yet.’
Hattie hid a smile. It sounded as if Solange hadn’t given up; there was a touch of pure tungsten in her words.
‘How long have you worked here?’ asked Hattie, deciding to make conversation. She liked Solange and genuinely wanted to get to know her a little better.
‘My mother worked for Marthe – they were both widows – and then my mother remarried and moved away. I’d been living in London for two years as an au pair. So I came home and took over. I was only twenty-one but Marthe knew I was capable, I’d learned to cook with my mother. In those days we had grand parties. Have you seen the silverware?’
Hattie shook her head.
‘The table used to look magnificent. Marthe never spared any expense on the house. We had some parties. See, the painting above the fireplace. No, look at the fireplace. The plasterwork is incredible. The craftsman came from Lille to complete it back in 1848. Marthe and I worked on it to restore it one winter.’
Hattie looked at the huge ornate white fireplace, with its carvings of elaborate, stylised oak leaves, sumptuous curves and delicate details, and watched Solange walk over to it. Her slim fingers reached out and she ran her fingertips over the surface with all the care of a lover. Intrigued, Hattie joined her and, to her surprise, realised that unlike the rest of the room the mantel was immaculately clean although it showed signs of age.
‘This was a labour of love.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Hattie, now that she was looking at it properly.
