‘I think you are wrong,’ said Solange. ‘Very wrong. You belong here. You have blossomed since you came.’
‘She’s right, you know,’ said Fliss. ‘You were an awful sad sack when I came.’
‘Thanks,’ said Hattie, mildly affronted.
‘No problem,’ replied Fliss with a cheerful grin. ‘You wouldn’t want me to lie to you, would you? You were like you were at Christmas. A candle that had been snuffed out. And now –’ she walked over and patted Hattie’s cheeks ‘– you’re aglow and it’s lovely to see.’
Solange nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it. All the lights had gone out.’
‘I don’t think I was that bad. I just needed a holiday.’ And now she’d had one, she had to go back.
‘No, it’s more than that.’ Solange, to her surprise, put both hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the kitchen table, pushing her into a chair. ‘Sit. Stay there.’
Hattie cast a puzzled look at Fliss, who merely shrugged. Seconds later Solange returned carrying the large bevelled mirror that normally hung in the cloakroom just off the hall. She held it up in front of Hattie. ‘What do you see?’
Hattie glanced suspiciously at Solange, feeling self-conscious. She wasn’t the sort of person who spent time looking at herself in the mirror. She’d never had any great hankering to change the way she looked – she was what she was. Average-looking with a few nice features. She didn’t mind her eyes, her nose was a bit short and stubby and her lips too full. As for her freckles, they were a fact of life and she quite liked them.
‘Look,’ urged Solange.
Hattie reluctantly looked in the mirror.
‘Look properly,’ instructed Solange.
What did that even mean? But Hattie, obliging as ever, did as she was told, regarding her own familiar features. Okay, so there was a bit of colour in her cheeks, her freckles had popped out and … admittedly there was a curve to her lips that had replaced the habitual downturn to her mouth. Tiny lines fanned out from her eyes, crinkles from laughter and smiling rather than crow’s feet. But what she noticed most of all was the light in her eyes. Happiness became her. The more she looked, the more she could see it, etched on every feature. She was happy here. She’d learned to be happy again. The joy in life had seeped away so gradually before that she hadn’t missed it. The subtle differences on her face heralded its return.
She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. ‘You think I should stay,’ she whispered, fearful of acknowledging what she knew deep down.
‘You must do what will make you happy,’ said Solange firmly. ‘Look into your own heart. You have a good soul, Hattie, looking after other people, but perhaps it’s time to stop looking out for everyone else and focus on you for a change.’
Hattie wasn’t sure she could do that.
Hattie had dressed the canapés with strings of little white wooden love hearts that curved in and out of the tiny pastries. Now Fliss assembled the trays and stood back to check them over with a chef’s discerning eye. There were two types of delicate vol au vents, some filled with mushrooms, cream and thyme and the others with smoked salmon and dill sauce. Fliss had also prepared savoury mini mille-feuilles with sharp gruyere cheese in the pastry sandwiched with goat’s cheese, and tiny onion galettes in home-made puff pastry. She’d also insisted on making sausage rolls, even though they were very English. ‘Who doesn’t love a sausage roll?’ she’d said to Hattie.
Waiting in the wings were several trays of chocolate eclairs and raspberry madeleines topped with pistachio icing, and the pièce de resistance, thecroquembouchetower of white chocolate coated profiteroles, decorated with tiny sugared rosebuds and spun caramel.
The guests for thevin d’honneur, comprising most of the village, were due in just half an hour. They would be greeting the wedding party straight from the service at theMairieand following the horse-drawn carriage that would bring Yvette and Bernard from the village centre to the orchard.After that the wedding party would depart to the restaurant for the small reception.
‘God, I hope there’s enough,’ said Fliss for the nineteenth or even twentieth time, as she pulled the last of the tiny quiches from the oven.
‘No one is expecting a full meal. It’s just canapés to soak up the champagne.’
‘But you don’t want anyone to leave disappointed.’
‘Fliss, these all look gorgeous. And I hate to say it but they’re coming to see Yvette and Bernard, not for the food.’
Fliss drew herself up. ‘Yes, but I want them to say,That English girl can cook.’
‘Alphonse won’t have it any other way.’
Fliss’s face softened in a way that Hattie still wasn’t used to. ‘He’s such a sweetie.’
Hattie had trouble keeping a straight face. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’
‘Female prerogative.’ Fliss waved away the comment before adding, her eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction, ‘Besides, he’s something else in bed.’
Regret stabbed Hattie, hard and sharp, as her mind revisited those quiet moments in Luc’s arms, the slow seconds when their breaths intermingled and the silent exchanges of driving passion. Hattie wanted to lock the feelings away inside her like precious possessions and never forget them.
Ignoring the tightness in her chest, she busied herself fussing over the flowers, which she’d been out first thing to collect. ‘Whose idea was it to hang a hundred jam-jars of flowers from the trees in the orchard?’ She’d not even completed half of them yet. Thank goodness, Solange and Fliss didn’t need any help in the kitchen.
