Jean François was topping up their glasses while his wife Monique laid out pâté, bread andcornichons.
‘How are the oysters, Jean François?’
Nancy’s father took some bread and bit into it, shaking his head. ‘The spat is fine. No problem. I rear it from seed in the sheds, but as soon as we put it in the water,’ he shook his head again, ‘pah! They die. It is happening all over the place. No one knows why.’ He cut off a corner of pâté.
‘Papa, it’s time you retired anyway. The business has been dead for years. Sit back, take it easy,’ Nancy scolded him.
‘Pah! An oyster farmer never retires,’ he said, andlaughed chestily.
‘Isn’t that right, Sean? Once oyster farming is in your heart, it’s in your veins too.’
Sean nodded and they clinked glasses and ate their starter. Nancy sniffed.
Sean felt bad about leaving Fi on her own, especially with the oyster pirates around. He was hardly giving her any wages right now, and he couldn’t give more until the native oysters were ready to sell to Nancy. To be honest he hadn’t believed she would stay. But true to her word she was trying to help him put things right at the farm.
It had been a lucky day when she’d arrived in Dooleybridge. Admittedly, she’d been a bit of a disaster at first, what with her not telling him she was afraid of water, and then there was the cock-up with the stock going missing, but she really had proved herself as a worker. And the fact that she was prepared to work for next to nothing until the oysters were sold showed how honest she was. He’d take her back something from France, he decided. A small gift to show his appreciation. He’d look round the town after lunch.
‘Sean?’
‘What?’ Sean realised Nancy was talking to him.
‘Where is your head? I was talking about the festival. It’ll be good for business.’ She cut into her very rare steak, letting the blood run across her plate, colouring thefritesshe was never going to eat. Fi would have eaten them, he found himself thinking. What was wrong with him? They’d spent too long working with each other up at the farm. He needed to focus on selling his oysters.
After a glorious lunch with Nancy’s parents, they said their goodbyes.
‘Au revoir, Maman, Papa,’ Nancy barely hugged them. Sean hugged them both warmly. Then they drove the small hire car back to St Emilion. Nancy went for her manicureand pedicure and Sean strolled up the little cobbled streets of the hilltop town. He sat down to enjoy a beer, watching the tourists move slowly up the steep hill, en masse, towards the church. He opened his wallet to pay the waiter and saw the tiny pearl he’d found the day he’d shown Fi the native oysters. It was misshapen and probably worthless, not perfect at all, but it meant something to him, and to Fi too, he hoped. Finishing his beer, he took a stroll to the jeweller’s on the hill and went in.
With the pearl set into a silver setting and on a black leather cord, he tucked the little gold bag into his pocket. He held his face up to the sun out on the French street. In a nearby café where he’d arranged to meet Nancy he ordered ‘un café’. He slipped the necklace out of its bag and looked at it again. It was just right, he thought. Simple. Not too much that it gave the wrong idea, just enough of a memento of the work she’d done at the farm. It was August now. The festival was in four weeks and then Fi would move on, her debt paid. He just hoped he’d be able to pay his.
‘What’s this?’ A red-manicured hand slipped round his neck and down his chest.
By the time they reached the drinks party that evening at the nearby chateau, Sean and Nancy were barely speaking. She’d seen the necklace and demanded to know who it was for. Sean had tried to explain, but there was no stopping her raging jealousy. At the party she flirted with each of the restaurateurs and vineyard owners who’d come together for the soirée, in particular the chateau owner and Nancy’s childhood friend, Henri Chevalier. Sean failed to make polite conversation with the other guests and stood scowling out over the vineyards and sunflowers from the terrace. He was worried what would happen if the oyster pirates returned and he wasn’t there. Nancy got increasingly annoyed at his inability to network and socialise.
‘Just talk about oysters, for God’s sake.’ She took another gin and tonic from a passing waitress.
Nancy was describing the festival, using her charm on every male guest, making it sound like the event of the year. Sean couldn’t help but think it didn’t sound like anything he’d want to go to. She swished her hair, tilted her head, giggled and ate strawberries from Henri’s champagne. Sean didn’t mind that so much, but he did want to go home.
Chapter Thirty-one
My mouth feels like the dustpan I’ve just emptied, full of dust. It’s tea time. I’m parched. It’s mid-afternoon and I’ve emptied everything out of the barn and hosed it down. It’s a massive space. I look around and up into the rafters. The exposed beams reach up to the tin roof. There are no internal walls, but at one end there’s a small store room under a loft space. Other than that, it’s just a big open room. Such a waste!
There’s a fireplace at one end, and little windows to the front, made up of tiny squares of glass. It’s stopped raining so I sit down on one of the old wooden benches outside and sip my tea. I push the boat out and have one of the brownies from the fresh batch I’ve baked for Gerald. I bite into the gooey chocolate centre. It feels well-deserved.
I’m halfway through my tea and brownie when I see Margaret’s silver Fiesta bumping up the lane.
‘Hey, this is where you’re hiding.’ She gets out of the car cheerfully. ‘On your own?’ She has a quick scout around for Sean as usual. She’s nothing if not persistent.
‘Yes, all alone, well, apart from Grace, that is.’ I pat her head as she lies gently panting at my feet.
‘Oh, OK. So, drinks in the pub tonight? Sevenish?’ Margaret says cheerily. I smile but shake my head.
‘Oh, and happy birthday!’ She hands me a present wrapped in balloon-covered wrapping paper with curly ribbons. I’m absolutely gobsmacked; one, that she knew it was my birthday, and two, that she’s gone to the trouble of bringing me a present.
‘What?’ I stare at the present. ‘How did you know?’ I feel my eyes prickle.
‘It’s just a little something, nothing major. I saw it in Maire’s shop and thought of you.’
‘But how did you know it was my birthday?’
