‘I’m so sorry,’ said Luc. ‘Forgive me, it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. This looks absolutely delicious. It’s one of my favourites. Solange always used to make it for me whenever I came back. It was my special treat. Don’t tell her –’ he put a finger to his lips, which unfortunately drew Hattie’s attention back to the slick of lipstick ‘– but I think it’s as good as hers.’
‘I won’t,’ said Hattie, being terribly gracious while wondering if there’d been any agenda behind Solange’s choice of recipe.
Marine narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything, perhaps because she was still busy poking at the pastry, as if it might be harbouring something unpleasant. It was like watching a child convinced that a stray spider was lurking under there.
On previous occasions Hattie had found it easy to talk to Luc but now her tongue was securely tied and she felt horribly self-conscious in front of the effortlessly glamorous Marine. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so when Marine launched into a flood of French, it was a bit of relief as the silence was starting to make her feel stupid and cloddish.
‘English, Marine,’ said Luc with a laugh. ‘She’s asking me what I think of the new mayor.’
Hattie gave a polite nod and, determined not to be excluded or give Marine reason to think she was stupid, she asked, ‘How is a mayor appointed in France? I’m wondering if it’s the same as in England. Our neighbour when I was younger was the local mayor. It was mainly a ceremonial role. I think in France a mayor is more important.’
Oh God, she sounded incredibly dull.
Marine looked down her nose and lifted her shoulders. ‘I’m not that interested but I just wonder if his mistress will be his lady mayor or will it be his wife.’
‘The mayor is appointed by secret ballot by the councillors and holds the position for six years,’ said Luc, obviously taking pity on Hattie.
‘Top marks, Monsieur Brémont. I had no idea you were so interested in local politics,’ said Marine in flawless English. ‘And how is darling Marthe? Have you met Luc’s aunt, Hattie?’
When Marine said her name it was without the charm of Luc dropping the H and it jarred a little.
Luc let out a shout of laughter. ‘Marine, no one calls Marthe “darling”. She’s a martinet and you know it. And no, I haven’t inflicted her on Hattie yet.’
‘So it’s not just me she doesn’t like,’ said Marine, her lips tightening and making unattractive walnut-like wrinkles around her mouth, which the bitchy side of Hattie was rather pleased to see.
‘Marthe doesn’t like anyone or so she claims,’ said Luc.
‘Hmmph. And have you seen Etienne or Elaine since you’ve been back?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Etienne has a new job at Pommery, he’s very important now. They moved house this year to a lovely place the other side of Epernay. You must go there. They have the most delightful swimming pool…’
Luc’s eyes met Hattie’s and for a second they held each other’s gaze as Marine continued to talk. ‘And of course there’s the most fantastic view. And do you remember Etienne’s brother…’
Hattie felt a quick fizz in her chest at the soft look on Luc’s face. Maybe she wasn’t imagining things after all. Unfortunately, Marine proceeded to hold court for the next twenty minutes, filling Luc in on all the news of various local people, friends and their relatives. Whenever Luc tried to steer the conversation back to more general topics, Marine found something new to talk about.
Hattie was actually starting to find it amusing until Marine turned her focus her way.
‘Yvette tells me you are a wedding planner.’ The slight sneer of her lips suggested that this was rather unsavoury.
‘Yes.’
‘I find it strange that a bride would want to get married in someone else’s home. It’s really not designed for a wedding. And Solange already has so much to do,’ said Marine with a sad shake of her head.
‘Does she?’ asked Hattie, feeling a little disloyal after Solange had helped her cook Luc’s favourite dinner, but Marine ignored her and continued, ‘I’m really surprised at your father, Luc, creating more pressure for her. She’s still grieving. A wedding here is the last thing the poor woman needs.’
Luc raised a very unsubtle eyebrow at Marine. Clearly he was aware of how little Solange did around the house.
Marine rounded on Hattie with a sugar-sweet smile. ‘I think you’re being very selfish. Have you considered going to the Hotel du Ville? It would be much fairer. And it would be easier for you. Yvette said you were washing windows today. In France wedding planners have much more important duties.’
‘I have a caterer arriving to discuss the wedding this week. If she feels that it would be better to hold the event at an alternative venue, I’ll certainly consider it,’ said Hattie sharply.
Marine smiled. ‘That’s very sensible. You’re very young to be a wedding planner. How long have you been working in this role?’
‘Six years,’ said Hattie without batting an eyelid. Marine didn’t need to know that this was the very first wedding she’d be organising on her own. Although, at this rate, it might be her last. Maybe she should toss in the towel and go for the easy option of a local hotel. Even with an in-house caterer, would they be able to cook for a hundred and forty people?
‘Which reminds me, Luc, I mustn’t forget to spray the landing spot for the helicopter.’ There! What do you think of that, Marine?
