A French Pirouette (17 page)

Twenty minutes later Pascal turned in to a tree-lined avenue and Evie saw the longhouse standing at the end of drive for the first time. An involuntary gasp escaped from her lips.

“What a beautiful house,” she said.

“Tell my mother that and she’ll love you for ever,” Pascal said. “She and my father spent years renovating it. It was practically derelict when they inherited it.”

As they got out of the car Evie saw Madame de Guesclin, poised and immaculate, standing in the doorway waiting to greet them.

After Pascal had introduced them, his mother led them through to the sitting room before turning to Pascal.

“You naughty boy. You left your phone behind. I haven’t been able to contact you all day.”

“
Desolé,
Mama,” Pascal replied. “Did you need me urgently?”

“No. I just wanted to know if you were having a good time. And—” she paused “—whether you had learnt anything?”

“
Oui
. I learnt a lot about design and embroidery today.”

Evie looked at the two of them. She sensed somehow that his answer was not what Madame de Guesclin had wanted to hear. There was an undercurrent here she didn’t understand. And had Pascal deliberately left his phone behind so his mother couldn’t interrupt them?

“
Mademoiselle
, may I offer you a small aperitif?” and Madame de Guesclin gestured towards a decorative wooden side table, where on a highly polished silver tray several decanters of spirits and crystal glasses stood.

“A glass of apple juice would be nice,” Evie replied seeing a bottle hidden in amongst the others. “I don’t drink spirits.”

As Pascal poured the drinks, apple juice for her, martini for his mother and pastis for himself, Evie became uncomfortably aware that she was being scrutinised. Surely her dress wasn’t that creased?

“You like it here?” Madame de Guesclin said suddenly.

Evie nodded. “I like it here very much. Of course I miss some things about Paris—the shops and the theatre mainly—but they’ll still be there when I return.”

“Ah, I too adore the theatre,” Madame de Guesclin said. “My husband used to take me regularly.” She sighed before asking abruptly, “You don’t find it too quiet here after Paris?”

“
Non
, it is a wonderful tranquility,” Evie said. She finished her drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Madame de Guesclin. Thank you for the aperitif but now I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask Pascal to be my chauffeur again and take me home. It’s been a long day.”

“Such a short visit. We’ve barely gotten to know one another. Maybe you come for dinner one evening before you disappear back to Paris?”

“Thank you,” Evie said.

“
Bon
. I’ll tell Pascal which evening will be convenient for me.
Bonsoir
.”

“
Merci et bonsoir
, Madame de Guesclin,” Evie said.

Following Pascal out of the house, Evie was silent. Meeting his mother had reminded her of an incident at ballet school years ago. She’d been summoned to appear in the headmistress’s study early one morning and had gone full of trepidation, only to find far from being in trouble, she was being given the honour of dancing the opening solo in the Christmas ballet show.

It had been so difficult to stop her teenage self from jumping up and down in delight—an action she knew would be frowned upon by the
très
formal Madame Roget. “Decorum. Decorum. Save your emotion for the stage,” she was forever urging the students.

Well, she’d been very decorous meeting the aristocratic Madame de Guesclin, holding her emotions in check and refusing to be cowed by her manner. If she was ever invited to dinner the chances of her having a prior engagement though were quite high.

Evie sensed Pascal’s mother had a lot of unasked questions but her innate good manners had prevented her from voicing them—yet.

Evie glanced at Pascal. “Tell me—did you deliberately forget your phone today?”

Pascal grinned at her. “Of course. My mother she ring me three or four times a day at work to check on me since my father died. Today was our day. Nothing to do with my mother. Just the two of us getting to know each other better.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Evie said, a smile touching her lips. Pascal liked her enough not to want their time together spoiled.

“I love my mother dearly,” Pascal said now. “I am used to her ways now. But other people don’t always understand the way she is.”

And you clearly know how to handle her, Evie thought. If that dinner invitation ever came, maybe she would accept it after all.

Chapter Twenty-One

Brigitte

Brigitte fanned herself with the
Nice Matin
newspaper she’d bought that morning as they’d passed the newsagents’ kiosk on their way to the station to catch the train.

Impossible to believe they’d been down here for a week already. Seven days of whirlwind sightseeing as Isabelle tried to show them all the places she’d come to know after three years of living down here. They’d explored Nice and strolled along the famous Promenade des Anglais. They’d gone along the coast to Antibes Juan-les-Pins and Cannes and today it was Monaco/Monte Carlo as the arrivals board at the station had announced it.

Ten o’clock and already the temperature in the principality was in the high twenties. It was a relief to sit at one of the tables outside the Café de Paris and order cold drinks. Whilst they waited, Bruno wandered over to look at two luxury red sport cars parked in front of the casino steps.

Isabelle, noticing a friend on another table, apologised to Brigitte and went over to have a quick chat with her before their drinks arrived.

Left to herself Brigitte amused herself by people-watching for a few moments before unfolding her newspaper, scanning the headlines, and then flicking through the pages in search of something more interesting. A short feature at the bottom of the entertainment pages caught her eye.

“Where is Suzette Shelby? Mystery still surrounds the disappearance of the injured ballerina from her room in the Hotel de Paris, Monaco, some weeks ago.” A small picture alongside the feature showed the ballerina dressed for her role in
Swan Lake
a couple of seasons previously.

Brigitte had never been a keen fan of ballet but there was something about the photo that caught her attention. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. How could a picture of somebody in costume for a ballet mean anything to her?

She’d never met a ballet dancer in her life—aside of course from Madame Le Mairie in the village who a good few years ago had given toddler Isabelle a few lessons in the village hall.

Even when she turned the page of the newspaper and went on to other features, she was drawn back to the picture. It definitely reminded her of something, somebody. But why?

Brigitte was still thinking about the picture when Isabelle returned.

“Are you OK?” Isabelle asked anxiously looking at Brigitte. “D’you need to put your sunglasses on? You’re screwing your eyes up.”

“I’m fine,” Brigitte said. “Just thinking about something. And I’m hot. Ah our drinks. A cold lemonade will help. Where are you taking us next?”

“I thought we’d have a quick look at the gaming rooms in the casino—they really are worth seeing,” Isabelle said. “The chandeliers and the ornate decorations are amazing.”

“I think those cars come under that description too,” Bruno said rejoining them and pulling a chair out. “Although I think amazingly expensive would be a better description. Still the engineering that goes into them.” He shook his head.

“And after the casino?” Brigitte asked.

“We’ll need to make our way up to the palace before midday to watch the changing of the guard,” Isabelle said. “I thought afterwards you’d like to see the cathedral too—it’ll be nice and cool in there. Then we’ll lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Brigitte said. “I can’t believe we’re nearly at the end of our holiday. All this sightseeing has made the days go so quickly. But tomorrow we start the packing, yes?”

Isabelle smiled in agreement. “Yes. Then at the end of next week it’s back to Brittany.”

“We’ve got a lot do before then,” Brigitte said.

It was only as they stood with the crowds in front of the palace later that morning to watch the changing of the guard that the truth behind the newspaper photograph dawned on her.

An involuntary “
Voilà
!” left her lips.

Isabelle turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” Brigitte muttered. “I’ve just realised something.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Evie

Evie, sitting outside the gîte enjoying the Sunday afternoon sunshine and trying to sketch an embroidery pattern for a bolero she intended making as a surprise for Libby, glanced up as Pascal arrived in his mud-splattered Land Rover. She smiled in welcome as he jumped out closely followed by a black-and-white dog who raced across to her.

“
Bonjour
,” Pascal said. “Lola, behave.”

“She’s adorable. Is she yours?” Evie said stroking the dog. “Tibetan Terrier?”

Pascal nodded. “You like dogs?”

“Having one is high on my list as soon as…” Evie paused before finishing, “As soon as it’s possible.”

“I’m on my way to walk Lola. Care to join me?” Pascal asked.

Evie hesitated, briefly wondering whether her ankle was up to a long fast walk.

“Won’t be a marathon, I promise,” Pascal said.

“In that case, I’d love to. I’ll just put this away and change my shoes.”

“I also have the dinner invitation my mother threatened you with,” Pascal said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large square envelope. “I’m afraid she’s old-fashioned and still insists on using these formal cards.”

Evie glanced at him as she took the invitation. “Is it going to be a formal dinner too? How many invites has she issued?” Too many and she would definitely send a regretful ‘unable to accept your kind invitation’. As much as she liked Pascal, the idea of being scrutinised by his mother and her friends for several hours over dinner did not appeal.

“Two of her closest friends and their husbands. Be about eight of us I expect—mother can’t abide odd numbers at the table. It will be a proper old-fashioned dinner party. It’s the only kind my mother knows how to do. You will come though, won’t you? Cook always does us proud.”

“You have a cook?” Evie said surprised. Pascal’s family was turning out to be even grander than she’d thought.

“My mother is a terrible cook so my father insisted on employing one. Now he’s gone I doubt that mother would bother to eat if it wasn’t for Marie,” Pascal said.

Thoughtfully Evie placed the card on the table. Should she plead a prior engagement? Would Pascal believe her if she did? Maybe there would be safety in numbers. Madame de Guesclin would surely limit herself to polite social conversation in front of her friends.

Five minutes later Pascal was driving the Land Rover in the direction of Gourin and heading for Tronjoly Park. Leaving the car and clipping Lola’s lead on they began to wander through the grounds surrounding the chateau. There were a few other people about and strolling along the paths with Lola running ahead, her extension lead stretched to its limit. Evie began to remember long-ago walks in Parisian parks with her mother.

Solange Gady, disliking city life intensely, had taken every opportunity to escape either into the countryside surrounding Paris or even, when time allowed, out to Versailles where she would happily spend hours wandering around the grand chateau’s grounds. A young Evie though, preferred their local park where she could feed the ducks and go on the swings. Teenage Evie, while enjoying the freedom from continual dance practice the train excursions gave her, knew it was her fault they had to live in Paris and she began to harbour feelings of guilt for making her mother live somewhere she hated.

“It won’t be for ever,” Solange had said repeatedly. “Once you’re an established star I shall move back to the country.”

Sadly that had never happened. Solange had lived long enough to see Evie become a principal dancer with a Parisian ballet company, had even proudly travelled with her once or twice internationally. But when she’d finally decided it was time to release the reigns and find her country cottage, fate stepped in and denied her the chance.

In the weeks before she died she talked to Evie in a way she never had before. Her sadness over the way she’d lived her life was almost the last thing she admitted.

“I know you adore to dance and are blessed with a rare gift, but promise me you’ll one day try to live a different life. A normal one that involves people. Don’t isolate yourself from people like I did. I don’t want you to die with regrets like me.”

The phrase ‘die with regrets’ had haunted Evie ever since.

“You are quiet,” Pascal said. “Perhaps we walk too far?”

“
Non
,” she hastened to reassure him. “I was just remembering long-ago walks with my mother,” Evie added, suppressing a shiver at the memory of her mother’s last words. “It’s really beautiful here. Oh look there are ducks on the lake.”

Pascal looked at her pensively. “I think you are cold. We go for a coffee in Gourin.”

The centre of the town was quiet with a few tourists wandering around and inspecting the replica of the Statue of Liberty in the main street. Placed there as a reminder of the large number of emigrants from the area who had fled to America in the early part of the twentieth century in search of a better life, its presence dominated that area of the town. For Evie it brought even more memories flooding back.

“Have you ever seen the original?” Evie said.

Pascal shook his head. “
Non
. You?”

“Several times, but the first time is the one I remember.”

Pascal glanced at her.

“My mother was with me. It was her first—and only—visit to New York too. Seeing the statue made her cry. It was the first time I ever saw her show emotion in public. She was a very private person, keeping everything to herself. Never allowed anyone to see her true feelings.” Evie bit her lip. Mother had been so unhappy on that trip.