‘When?’ asked Yvette with a decided snap in her voice as she lifted her chin and gave Luc a direct look.
‘The wedding is the last week of July.’ He didn’t miss the quick worried glance that Solange and Alphonse exchanged.
‘July! What day in July?’ Yvette gasped. Her eyes blazed with quick fury but he was used to her mercurial moods. ‘And so close to harvest.’
‘I’m not sure of the exact date.’
‘Impossible,’ cried Yvette. ‘You have a vineyard to run. How will that work? By magic?Mamanwill be too busy to organise a wedding. After all, she’s too busy to help look after Marthe.’ Yvette shot her mother a surly smirk.
‘There’s no need to worry. The wedding planner arrived today.’
‘She has?’ Alphonse perked up. ‘How old is she?’
Luc laughed at Alphonse’s sudden interest, although at the same time he felt an oddly proprietorial feeling, suddenly remembering the unexpected nudge of attraction when he’d first seen her on the doorstep.
Solange and Yvette looked at each other in horror. ‘I would not want a wedding planner,’ said Yvette wrinkling her nose.
‘You couldn’t afford a wedding planner,’ said Alphonse.
‘I don’t need one. I just want my friends and family gathered around me. It’s about love. What does a big show-off affair mean? Nothing. Although of course,’ she added with a brilliant smile, ‘I want to be the centre of attention all day.’
They all laughed at her candid admission.
‘There’ll be no doubt of that,’ said Solange with a gentle smile. ‘You’ll be a beautiful bride.’
‘And you will cry.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘While inside she’ll be cheering that she’s finally got you off her hands,’ added Alphonse.
Yvette sniffed. ‘At least one of us will be off her hands. You don’t even have a girlfriend.’
‘Now, now,’ admonished Solange.
‘There’s no one good enough,’ replied Alphonse with a good-natured grin, despite his sister’s barb.
Did Hattie have a boyfriend? Luc wondered, and suddenly he wanted to know rather desperately. There was a part of him that certainly hoped she didn’t.
ChapterFour
Hattie woke up to her stomach performing a series of gymnastics. She was starving. She closed her eyes again, wishing she could go back to sleep and ignore the sense of doom which had hit her. What had she taken on? Last night, she’d been so dispirited she’d gone to bed because there was nothing else to do. All she’d eaten was a baguette at a service station en route and half a pack ofpalmiers– the only thing she’d found in the cupboards in the kitchen.
The first sip of strong black coffee and the reassuring hit of caffeine quelled her initial frustration at finding only thimble-sized espresso cups before she remembered that the French drank coffee from bowls rather than mugs. As she nursed the bowl between both hands, taking tiny sips, she began to compile a mental shopping list. Milk was definitely top of the list along withcroissant,confitureandbeurre. She spoke the French words out loud – they were the principal part of her limited vocabulary – rolling the syllables on her tongue: ‘Paté, fromage, saucisson.’
She didn’t even know where the nearest bloody shop was. Come on now, Hattie. Stay positive, she told herself. Think about why you’ve come here. For example, over next few months she could eatwhenshe liked andwhatshe liked. She was going to be the main character in her own life for once.
Her French was basic but being here was an excellent opportunity to try and improve it, although languages had never been her strong point; she found all that grammar stuff tedious in the extreme.
‘Je m’appelle Hattie. Je suis icito have some fun,’ she said out loud firmly.
‘Excellent. I’m glad to hear it. Fun is always good.’
She whirled round to find Luc.
‘Hi,’ she said over-brightly, the flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. Amusement lit his eyes as he surveyed her.
‘Just practising my French,’ she said.
