‘I brought you some onion soup,’ he said. ‘Made it this morning. I’ll leave it here.’ With that he placed the casserole on top of the oven and strolled out with a casual wave.
‘Onion soup?’ Hattie frowned. ‘Were you talking about it last night or something?’
‘No,’ said Fliss, obviously equally perplexed. Crossing to the oven, she lifted the lid and sniffed. ‘It’s still warm. He must have made it this morning, but I’ve no idea why.’ Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘He’s making some point. He doesn’t like to lose.’
‘Like someone else I know,’ observed Hattie dryly, deciding that Luc was right and the two of them were a good match.
Fliss shrugged; she was the first to admit she was competitive. It came with growing up with four older brothers.
‘Can I borrow your car? Solange and I are going shopping to buy extra flour and butter, which is going to weigh a ton, so if we take your car that would be brilliant. Yvette is popping by soon, bringingmoreeggs from her neighbour.’
‘Yes, of course. Luc and I are going to visit Marthe later this morning. If you’re going out, I’ll work in here for a while.’ These days Hattie preferred working outside or in the kitchen rather than in the library. She enjoyed being in the thick of things with everyone bustling around her.
‘Help yourself to croissants.’ Fliss pointed to a paper bag on the side by the sink. ‘Solange dropped them in earlier. That woman gets up so early. She’d already been to the bakery before I even got up. God, I need some paracetamol.’
Hattie helped herself to a coffee and a croissant and sat at the bar while Fliss downed a couple of tablets and a large glass of water.
‘Bonjour,’ called Yvette, marching in with a small box loaded with eggs of varying colours and sizes. ‘Some of them are still warm.’
‘Eggscellent,’ said Fliss but the pun was wasted on Yvette, who immediately noticed the soup on the stove.
‘Onion soup?’ she asked with a grin. ‘Someone has a sore head?’
‘Your brother brought it over,’ said Fliss, her mouth thinning again as she added, ‘I’ve no idea why.’
Yvette let out a shout of laughter. ‘It’s a traditional hangover cure, for anyone that gets a hangover, of course. I’m glad I didn’t stay up with the two of you.’
From the set of Fliss’s jaw, Hattie could have bet, with fair odds in her favour, that the other woman was gritting her teeth so hard she could grind peppercorns.
‘I must go,’ said Yvette. ‘See you soon.’ With a mile-wide smirk she waltzed out of the kitchen.
Fliss hissed out a breath. ‘That man.’
Hattie ducked her head to hide her amusement, already dying to tell Luc about this.
‘Are you ready, Hattie?’ called Luc from the foyer an hour later.
‘Just coming.’
She closed her notebook with a satisfied thunk. Over the last few days, she’d made huge progress. Funnily enough Juliet Garnier had called and offered to help with tables, chairs and linens, which was quite a turnaround.
The wedding was coming together, although Hattie noted that Gabby had ignored her ninety-fifth request for final numbers.
She’d heard a lot about the formidable Marthe and, as they drove to the village, she twisted her hands in her lap, hoping the woman was going to like her. She knew it was important to Luc. From the way he spoke about her, it was obvious he was very close to her.
Unlike the kindly, motherly old lady that Hattie had pictured, even at ninety-five Marthe Brémont was an imposing figure, with her beak-like nose, piercing blue eyes and crown of pure white hair swept back in an elegant style. Her frame was tall and spare and one immediately sensed that she missed nothing.
Luc kissed her on both cheeks, which she accepted with a regal nod, rather than an effusive welcome.
‘Marthe, this is my friend Hattie.’
‘Girlfriend?’ asked Marthe, quick as a cobra striking.
Hattie and Luc exchanged a quick glance; they hadn’t given what they had a label yet.
In tandem, Luc said, ‘Yes.’
And Hattie said, ‘No.’
