Solange stopped, stared at Fliss and then said slowly, almost as if she were coming out of a daze, ‘It’s a while since I looked at many of these things.’
She touched a few items in the cupboard, her long, slender fingers stroking the stainless-steel and earthenware surfaces.
‘I once cooked for the French President,’ she said wistfully. ‘And for Catherine Deneuve, Serge Gainsborough and Jane Birkin. Lots of others. Politicians, military men, sportspeople. Marthe loved to throw a party.’
Fliss looked at the woman with renewed respect.
‘What did you cook for the President?’
Solange looked reflective for a moment and then her face lit up. ‘Turbot. It was turbot. With clams, fennel and potatoes. And the starter, now that was very good, a two-mushroomveloutéwhich went down very well. And the dessert was baked Alaska, because I recall it was the President’s wife’s favourite.’
‘Velouté, that sounds nice. Thickened with cream?
‘Yes.’
‘And what sort of mushrooms?’
And the two of them were off. They might as well have been speaking another language. Swapping tips and suggestions with each other. Hattie could have sworn she’d witnessed the instant click of soulmates and they were oblivious to her, which was just as well because she was so tired she could have quite happily crawled under the table and gone to sleep.
‘Come see the larder,’ urged Solange.
‘Ooh yes, please,’ said Fliss, already following her like an eager puppy. Hattie could hear her exclaiming over things as Solange talked to her.
Hattie stared down at the wood grain of the table, rubbing at her forehead with the back of her hand, trying to ease the biting headache. When they came back into the kitchen, they were speaking fast, fluent, French, each talking volubly, interrupting each other and breaking off as the other spoke. Hattie had never seen Fliss, or Solange for that matter, quite so animated. Both of them had come alive and both spoke with their hands, fingers flying energetically as Solange pointed to yet more utensils and opened every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen for inspection while Fliss responded with yet more delight.
Fliss’s command of French was impressive and she spoke so fast that there was no way Hattie could have kept up.
Suddenly Hattie remembered she was supposed to be organising drinks and dragged herself to her feet. Suddenly spooning coffee into the cafetière seemed an effort. Her cold was really starting to get the better of her.
‘Are you going to join us?’ Hattie asked Solange, as she assembled a tray to carry outside to Luc, Eddie and Colin.
‘Thank you but no. I was just calling in to see if you needed anything from the supermarket. Alphonse is taking me.’
‘I can’t wait to visit some French shops,’ gushed Fliss, still bubbling with enthusiasm. ‘When is the nearest market? I must go to that. I adore a French market.’
‘There is one in the central square in Hautvillers on Thursday. I could take you if you like.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Fliss rubbing her hands together. ‘It’s a date. In the meantime I’d better go and see my brother and make sure Colin isn’t fleecing Luc.’
They joined the men out on the gravelled terrace under one of the parasols, where Luc was examining the screen of Colin’s laptop.
‘Hey, Hattie, this is really interesting. Airborne shots of the château and the vineyard.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Fliss dryly. ‘Colin’s going to do you an amazing deal.’
‘To be fair,’ said Luc. ‘It would cost a fortune to hire someone to take these photos, so it’s a bit of a bonus.’
‘And that’s exactly how he makes his money. Being an opportunist.’
Luc wasn’t paying attention; instead he was looking back at the screen, tracing the outline of the picture with his index finger.
‘There’s the boundary of the vineyard, and there …’ He squinted, studying the terrain. ‘See those odd squares, they’re shafts down into the caves, which were originally chalk mines.’ He frowned and sat back. ‘Would you mind if I bought this one and printed it off?’
‘Sure,’ said Colin. ‘You can buy as many as you like.’
‘I’d just like to print this one. Something isn’t right. It looks odd.’
‘What?’ asked Hattie, coming to stand behind him and having to hold on to the back of his chair.
