Blake had never seen anything so magnificent as Henri’s family chateau near Lyon. From the moment they’d turned into the long, sweeping driveway, she’d known that his wasn’t just a summer residence, but something quite special.
‘Welcome home,’ Henri said as he pulled up outside the three-storey house.
‘You could have warned me,’ she said, not waiting for him to open her door. She stepped out of the car and stood, her hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun, staring at the building. It looked more like a hotel than a personal residence, with more windows than she could count. It was painted a warm cream colour that reflected the pebbles used on the wide, circular driveway, with dark grey shingles on the roof. ‘How long has your family owned this place?’
Henri was already taking their bags out of the car, and hadn’t seemed to notice that her jaw was still hanging open as she took in her surroundings.
‘My mother bought it when I was maybe ten or eleven?’ he answered. ‘She always called this place her refuge from the world, and now that I’m older and as consumed by work as she is, it’s become my refuge, too.’
Blake didn’t doubt that. She imagined it would be her favourite place in the world if her family owned a property of such magnitude, in such a picturesque part of the world, too.
‘Come and meet my mother and stepfather,’ he said, inclining his head towards the enormous front door, both of his hands full holding their luggage. ‘And Louis.’
‘Who’s Louis?’ she asked, before a large Labrador came running around the side of the house, tail wagging as he did circles around Henri, as if he’d found his long-lost friend.
‘This is Louis,’ Henri said. ‘He spends most of his time asleep in the sun.’
‘He’s gorgeous,’ she said, patting him before he trotted back towards the house.
As they walked, the door opened and out came a man who looked almost as handsome as Henri, wearing a casual shirt and linen trousers, his feet bare and his skin so golden Blake imagined he spent much of his life enjoying the outdoors. But it was the woman who truly caught her eye. She was dressed casually, too, but in slim-fitting trousers that showed off her figure, a silk shirt, and with a scarf tied around her neck in a way that only Frenchwomen seemed able to do.
‘Maman, Benoit, this is Blake,’ Henri said as they neared, dropping his bags to embrace and kiss first his stepfather and then his mother.
‘Blake,’ Benoit said, kissing both her cheeks and touching her shoulders, his smile warm. ‘It’s so lovely to have you join us.’
‘And my mother, Céline,’ Henri said, stepping aside so his mother could greet her.
She also stepped forward and kissed Blake in greeting, but this time, Blake froze. ‘Céline Toussaint,’ she said, more awestruck over Henri’s mother than the house. ‘Former editor-in-chief ofVogueParis?’
He sighed, as if he was used to such a reaction. Céline, on her part, just smiled and took Blake by the hand.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been a fan of yours for so many years, and Henri never mentioned who you were.’ Why hadn’t he said something when she’d asked if his mother worked in fashion!
‘Sometimes I forget how many women saw my face when they flipped through the pages ofVogue,’ Céline said. ‘But thank you, it’s nice to hear that someone as young as you finds me relevant still.’
Céline and Benoit both turned and walked back inside, and she took the chance to grab hold of Henri’s arm.
‘You could have warned me that your mother was Céline Toussaint,’ she whispered.
‘To me, she is just my mother,’ he said. ‘But I’m sorry, I should have said. I prefer not to mention it unless I have to.’
‘Now I can see why you thought she might be able to help me. I was wondering how anyone could be more knowledgeable about fashion than you.’ Céline had been one of the most famous, and controversial, editors of the magazine, and Blake had followed her rise in the fashion world with interest. After leavingVogueat the peak of her career, she’d launched her own business and now had a respectable fashion brand that designed key capsule pieces, as well as a small range of seasonal items. There was also the online platform Céline had, with millions of women in Europe following her to see what she was wearing or recommending.
‘Can I ask one thing of you?’
‘Anything. Of course.’
‘Please don’t use my mother as clickbait in one of your stories. I understand that you’ll want to mention her, but?—’
‘I understand,’ Blake said, interrupting him before he even had time to finish. ‘You can trust me, Henri, I promise.’
‘Good. Now are you ready to go inside?’ Henri asked.
Blake sighed. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Just, please, no more surprises like that.’
‘I promise.’
After touring all sixteen rooms of the house and walking part of the nearly two hectares of grounds, Blake didn’t know what was most enchanting—the property or Henri’s parents. They’d been friendly and gracious, acting as if her coming to stay was the most fabulous thing imaginable, and by the end of their stroll around the immaculate gardens, she was only too happy to curl up in an outdoor chair and enjoy the champagne that Benoit had opened in celebration of their arrival.
