Then all at once Billy frowned. ‘You know, Alix, joking apart, I really don’t like that guy. I know I said you should feel sorry for him but somehow just lately there’s something dead creepy about him.’
I agreed with him. ‘But I think he’s harmless.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ He brooded on this a moment before giving himself a little shake. ‘Anyways, must get on. I gotta dead tree to shift and you gotta magic up food from fresh air.’
‘See you later, then.’
‘Well, actually, you won’t, I’m afraid.’ He hastened on, ‘I’m tidying up here and then I’m off until the week after the New Year, by which time you’ll be gone, won’t you? The boss owes me some leave so I’m taking it from tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Billy!’ I felt a pang of genuine dismay. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘Yeah, well, me too, but it is what it is.’ He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot for a moment. Then, his head on one side, he considered me. ‘Tell you what, though, I got this weird feeling we haven’t seen the last of Miss Alix, you know?’
I looked away. ‘I think you have. Everything will change anyway, now Mr Mandeville is getting married.’
He stared at me. ‘The boss is getting wed? Who told you that?’
‘Oh, no-one you’d know.’
‘Who’s he marrying?’
‘Caroline de what’s-it, of course.’
Still he stared at me. Then he shook his head in disbelief. ‘Nah, pardon me, but you got that wrong somehow. I mean, I don’t, like, know the guy so well, I just work for him, but I know Luc Mandeville well enough to say he’d never hitch his star to a snooty madam like her.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll see.’ Forcing a cheerful smile, I changed the subject. ‘But are you going somewhere nice for your holidays? Martinique, for example?’
He chuckled. ‘That’ll be the day. To tell you the truth, me and Philippe are going up country looking for a bitof land with a cottage we can do up and start a small business, growing veggies and stuff.’
‘That sounds terrific,’ I said warmly. ‘Hope you find somewhere.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Leaning forward, he gave me another light kiss on the cheek. ‘All the best, Alix, and thanks again.’ He held up the bottle bag. ‘For this and everything.’
Emma and her father arrived back around eleven o’clock, just as I was checking a dish ofpommes de terre boulangèresin the Bocuse. With no deep fat fryer at the Villa Matisse, the classic steak frites was out. That and a jar of Frenchpetit pois, which if not fresh are always hugely reliable as a fallback, would have to do. Once they’d heated, I’d perk them up with spring onion, crème fraiche and the remains of a slightly sad lettuce. There was nothing I could make a pudding from but still a few brownies remaining from Christmas, although they’d be past their best. An overripe camembert and what was left of the grapes would have to do. To pad things out, I’d also prepared a plate of thinly sliced charcuterie from some of the dried saucissons hanging in the pantry along with a bowl of cornichons and green Niçoise olives. They could have that as a starter or with drinks. Whatever suited them.
‘Oh, that was so lovely!’ cried Emma, bouncing into the kitchen and flopping down in a chair. ‘You should have come with us, Alix. It was beautiful up there on Château hill this morning. All sunshine and sublime views over Nice and the sea. No wonder they called it the Bay of Angels. It’s like seeing heaven – just the place for Grandpa Johnny.’
‘That’s good,’ I said, turning to her. ‘Emma, what time are you and your father leaving for the airport?’
‘About one-thirty. We’re picking up Gran en route.’ She giggled. ‘She’s indulging herself with mega treatments in the hotel beauty salon this morning, so we might not recognise her.’
I suppressed a smile as Luc hurried in with Tom hard on his heels. ‘Emma, go and get your suitcase so Tom can carry it down to the car.’
‘There’s no point, Dad. It’s empty – ready for all Gran’s stuff, remember? So I can manage it myself.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten that.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Okay, Tom, can you bring the car round to the front no later than half past one, please? Emma and I will need to leave then.’
Jumping to attention, Tom performed his daft salute, clicking his heels together for good measure.
‘Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.’ He turned smartly to me. ‘And how is our magnificent lady chef this morning?’ he said with the sort of exaggerated reverence that sounds more like insolence.
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Half past one, Tom?’ Luc repeated pointedly.
‘Yes, sir!’ And treating us all to another salute, he was gone.
Luc headed for the vodka. ‘God, I know I should feel sorry for him, but does that man get up my nose.’
