She turned to me. ‘Mr Luc says please to prepare a petty lunch for him and Emma. At twelve hundred hours.’
‘She means something light at noon.’
‘Billy! You’re not helping! And shit!’ I clutched my head. ‘What can I cook? There’s hardly any food left after Christmas and everything.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I was going to do a shop this morning but there’s not enough time now.’
‘I have taken from the freezer two steaks for to defrost,’ Nicole announced with dignity.
‘Oh, you’re a love! Thank you.’ I gave her – and the dustpan – a quick hug.
Now casting Billy a supremely self-satisfied look, Nicole exited through the swing door to the dining room. I turned to Billy.
‘You’re giving her a hard time this morning. Have you two fallen out or something?’
‘Nah. Though, boy, does she need to lighten up. I was only teasing her anyhow because I made the mistake of saying I had a hangover this morning and she then gave me a big lecture on, like, the evils of drink.’
‘Quite right too.’
We smiled at each other.
‘Anyway, I’ll get out of your way, then.’
‘No, wait a minute.’ I stopped him as he made to go. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Quickly retrieving from the bottom cupboard of the dresser where I had hidden the bottle bag with the unusual liqueur I had bought in the market, I handed it to him. ‘There you go. Late Christmas present from me, or more evil drink. Take your pick.’
He withdrew the bottle and looked at the label. ‘Oh, Alix,’ he said, sounding overwhelmed.
‘God knows what it’s like. But the bottle’s pretty.’
‘No, this is, like, amazing. It’s my partner’s, well, my husband’s, favourite.’
So Billy was gay. It hadn’t occurred to me to consider Billy’s sexual orientation. However, it did clear up a miniscule niggling doubt I’d harboured since that first morning at the Villa Matisse when Nicole had seemed uncomfortable with him, making me wonder whether he’d bothered her with unwanted attentions. But not the case. The only thing that struck me now was how very young he was to be married. But as if he knew precisely what I was thinking from my expression, he gave a resigned nod.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he sighed, ‘you’re thinking I look too young to be married.’
‘Well, you do a bit,’ I admitted.
‘Yeah, well, believe it or not I’m thirty. But it’s notyour fault. Philippe, my husband, says the same thing. He says I’m like Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up – Pierre Pan as they call him here in France.’
I chuckled. ‘Make the most of it. You’ve found the secret of eternal youth.’
He puffed out his lips. ‘No chance. Anyhow,’ he gestured with the bottle, ‘this is Philippe’s fave.’
‘Really?’
‘Really and truly. I like it too,’ he added and, stepping forward, kissed me on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Alix, thanks a million. It’s so nice of you.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ In the slight embarrassment you feel after giving someone a present, I glanced round the kitchen. ‘No Tom this morning either?’ I asked.
‘He’s driving the boss and Emma up to the Château graveyard.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Why? Have you got a pressie for him too?’
I mimed dismay. ‘Do you know, Billy, it must have somehow slipped my mind.’
‘I’ve got a spare can of weedkiller if you like.’
I laughed. ‘Good plan.’
