The Seafront Tea Rooms (3 page)

‘… But England’s a wonderful place for a young person, you’d enjoy it.’

‘You thought about living there, didn’t you, sweetheart?’ Patrick prompted his daughter, gently. ‘Earlier this year you were saying…’

Séraphine tensed. ‘It’s very expensive though, isn’t it? A friend of mine went to London and —’

Anna laughed and wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s more to England than London, you know.’

‘She’s right, Yorkshire’s the place to visit,’ Ravi said. ‘Would you consider going up north?’

‘Maybe,’ Séraphine said. ‘I don’t know. Where were the two of you living?’

‘In Scarborough. It’s a lovely town. You’re right by the sea, and while – granted – we can’t guarantee the glamour, or the weather, of Antibes or Nice, it’s fun in the summer. The people are friendly, and it’s affordable.’

Séraphine sensed that the others were waiting for her to respond. ‘It sounds nice. I don’t expect there’d be many jobs, though. Summer’s nearly over.’

‘Bet you’ll find some au pair work going,’ Anna said confidently. ‘Hang on, what about Adam, Ravi? Is he still looking for someone?’

Ravi nodded. ‘I think he is, actually.’ He turned to Séraphine. ‘Lovely guy. He was our neighbour for years – has a ten-year-old daughter’

‘His wife was from here,’ Anna said. ‘They married very young, and lived in France until she passed away in an accident four or five years ago. I don’t know what happened, but it must have been terrible for them. I remember him saying he’s keen for his daughter to speak French, to keep the connection – so he’s looking for someone to live with them and teach her.’

‘You’d make a wonderful au pair,’ Hélène said, wrapping a squirming Mathilde in one of the warm towels. ‘Would you like that, darling?’

‘Maybe,’ Séraphine said, slowly.

Anna was already reaching into her handbag for a pen and paper. She checked her phone and wrote something down. ‘Here’s Adam’s email. Think about it?’

Séraphine took the piece of paper and smiled politely. ‘Thank you.’

Evening fell, and while Hélène put the twins to bed, Séraphine and her father carried the dishes inside to the kitchen.

‘Are you sure you won’t join us for a drink in the library?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s fine. I’m a little tired.’ She said goodbye to the guests and went upstairs.

In her bedroom, she walked over to the window to close the wooden shutters, pausing for a moment to look out. The well-tended garden and the vineyards beyond were warmly tinted by the grey-pink sky at dusk. Out to the east was the village square, a cobbled area with shops around it, where a market was held once a fortnight. A few metres away was the school she’d gone to, and the church the whole family, including her grandparents, attended every Sunday. The landscape, streets and buildings were as familiar to her as her own fingerprint.

And yet every stone, branch and street corner looked different to her now. Meeting someone who understood her made her realise how much of her real self she’d kept hidden. She drew the shutters, and lowered the catch to secure them.

From the room next door came the sound of giggling. She stepped into the corridor and put her head around the twins’ bedroom door. In her sternest voice, she demanded, ‘Mathilde? Benjamin? Why are you two still awake?’

In tandem, without a word, they ducked under the covers, rolling on to their sides. Séraphine quietly closed the door and glanced along the corridor towards her brother’s room. Even though he’d moved out, the room still had his football posters on the walls, a rack of his old shoes by the wardrobe. With only two years separating them, Guillaume and Séraphine had been close. She used to sit on the chair in his room and he’d strum his guitar, playing her the new songs he had written, while incense burned in the corner.

Back in her own room, Séraphine turned on a lamp and lay back on her bed. When Guillaume left, a crack formed in their home. In truth, the hairline fracture had appeared earlier and only deepened when he walked out; he had been slipping away from them for over a year – spending most of his time with his band in Bordeaux, rarely bothering to come home at night. As his band grew more successful and started touring in Europe, he’d seemed less happy, somehow. On the rare occasions when he was home he’d appeared disconnected, listless.

Her parents chose not to see the change in him, the deadness Séraphine noticed behind his eyes. He’d finally left before Christmas, saying goodbye but not leaving an address. ‘A commune,’ he’d said to Séraphine in an offhand way. ‘You can be yourself there, not like in this place, this prison. If you want to find me, come to Bordeaux. Ask and they’ll show you.’ He’d walked out with a sports bag in his hand, nothing else.

Séraphine looked up at the shadows on her ceiling. She had always wondered if, when the right person came along, she would know if it was love. If you could be sure, instinctively, that was what you were feeling. She’d had boyfriends before, of course, but she’d never lain awake at night thinking about them. Now she knew: love was an absence of questions, of doubt. It was a certainty that you had found what it was you’d been looking for and there was no reason to go on searching.

She knew how her parents would react, and that was why they must never find out. If she followed her heart, she’d be straying from the good upbringing they’d strived to give their children. She’d be like Guillaume. As bad as Guillaume. Her love – pure and kind and honest as it felt – to them would represent nothing more than defiance.

She couldn’t be the one to hurt them all over again. At the same time, she couldn’t undo what had happened in the last couple of weeks, unknow that part of herself, forget how she felt.

Her actions, however, were another matter – she could still do the right thing.

England. Until her father brought it up, she’d forgotten how – before that first kiss had knocked the sense out of her – she’d dreamed of moving to England.

Perhaps going away would make her stronger. Perhaps when she came back, she’d be strong enough to resist.

She switched her iPad on and typed a word into the search bar:
Scarbrah
.

Did you mean Scarborough?
the search engine pinged back in response.

Yes, I did, she whispered, frustrated with herself. Thank you.

A photo of a white lighthouse came up on her screen, in front of it the stone statue of a woman poised to dive into the water. Other pictures appeared: one of a harbour, with boats glinting in the sun, another of a miniature railway. She swiped her finger through more images – sandy bays, a castle on top of a hill, shops and cafés. She tried to imagine herself in the seaside town. It looked like a different world. Could she even cope living in someone else’s home?

The ping of an instant message interrupted her thoughts.

Salut, ma belle
 

She saw the name, and her heart thudded. A smile came to her lips even as she tried to fight the feeling.

She took a deep breath and closed the chat window. Today would be her new start. Her finger hovered over the icon for a second. No. She wouldn’t.

She leaned over to her bedside table to get the note that Anna had given her that afternoon. She unfolded it, read the email address and typed it into a new message.

Dear Adam…
 

3

Thursday 14 August

Brooklyn, New York

Charlie leaned against the metal bar at the edge of the rooftop restaurant, looking out at the view, salsa music blaring from the raised speakers around her. The balmy night had brought New Yorkers outside to dine in their droves, and the tables at La Mesita were almost all full. Charlie had been daydreaming about her trip to see her friend Sarah for weeks, her morning commute on the Piccadilly line drifting away as she read a
Time Out
guide to the city. At last, she was finally here.

Sarah appeared at her side with two ice-cold margaritas. ‘Here you go,’ she said, handing one to Charlie before joining her friend in admiring the view. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

The lights of Brooklyn Bridge dotted the horizon, reflected in the still waters of the river, and skyscrapers were silhouetted beyond. But it was more than the way the place looked – the city had an energy to it that no postcard or film could ever hope to convey.

‘Yes. Incredible,’ Charlie said. She took a sip of her cocktail, relishing the sharp taste of the lime and tequila as it settled on her taste buds, layers of flavour coming through the citrus. Could have been shaken for a little longer – but it was pretty good.

Sarah glanced down at Charlie’s hand, which was trembling on her glass. ‘What’s with the shakes?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ she said, putting the glass down and cradling her hand. ‘Caffeine overdose.’ She laughed. ‘We’re featuring Brooklyn coffee shops in the October edition of the magazine, and with only a couple of days here I had to cram in the cappuccinos today. Good job I’m in the city that never sleeps.’

‘Well, I’m up for an all-nighter if you are,’ Sarah said with a smile. She was elegant in a green halter-neck dress, her red hair clipped up at the side. ‘The two of us have some serious catching up to do, and anyway, I’ve put our names down at a club later.’

‘Great,’ Charlie brightened at the thought. ‘I haven’t been out dancing in ages. I knew I could rely on you.’

‘Yep. Might be past it professionally, but I’ll always be a dancer. It’d take more than a couple of failed auditions to knock that passion out of me.’

A young Latino waiter appeared by their side. ‘Señoritas, allow me to see you to your table.’

He led them to a nearby table and motioned for them to sit down, then placed two menus in front of them. ‘I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.’

‘Wow!’ Charlie said, running her eyes down the menu, her mouth starting to water. ‘Fish tacos, Oaxacan cheese quesadillas… God, I could eat everything on this.’

Sarah called the waiter over.

‘We’ll have a selection of your starters, a chicken burrito and spicy beef tacos to share,’ she said swiftly. ‘With plenty of guacamole.’

He looked from Sarah to Charlie, seeking confirmation that she had nothing to add.

‘If we wait for her to decide, we’ll be here all evening,’ Sarah told him.

‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ Charlie protested.

‘Tell me I haven’t got a point.’

‘OK, OK.’ Charlie held her hands in the air, conceding.

‘You’re off duty tonight, remember?’ Sarah passed the menus back to the waiter with a smile. ‘Two cosmopolitans as well. Thanks.’

‘Have you always been this bossy?’ Charlie said. She took out her phone and checked it for new messages.

‘Yes, I have. Anyone interesting?’ Sarah raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Oh, it’s nothing like that.’ Charlie smiled and shook her head. ‘I should be so lucky. My sister’s pregnant again. Due any day.’

‘Again?’

‘Yep. This’ll make three. Another girl this time.’

‘That’s fairly prolific. Are you and Pippa getting on any better these days?’

‘Not really,’ Charlie said, with a shrug. ‘But living in different cities helps. Anyway, let’s not talk about that. Not tonight.’ She put her phone away.

‘No family chat. OK. I can do that. So, work’s going well? I hear you’re making quite a name for yourself. “The female Jay Rayner” – saw that on Twitter.’

‘Hardly,’ Charlie said, wrinkling her nose, but flattered all the same. ‘But yes, it’s going all right. The canalside dining feature I did brought
Indulge
a lot of new readers – and the restaurants I featured have been packed out all summer.’

‘That’s fantastic.’

‘Thanks. I’ve been there eight years now. Can you believe it?’

‘That long? I can still remember when you got that editorial assistant job after your internship. You were over the moon. Who’d have thought, you’d soon be Features Editor and reviewing the best restaurants all over the world.’

‘It’s not all glamour.’ Charlie smiled. ‘In spite of the perks I’ve been feeling a bit stuck in a rut lately. Jess, the editor, has very strong ideas about how she wants the magazine to be, and so I always have to work to her brief.’

‘So what’s next? Are you thinking of moving on?’

‘Hopefully I’ll be able to move up. Jess is leaving in the new year and she’s hinted I’m in with a good chance of taking over as editor. I’ll be guest-editing the winter edition as a trial.’

‘That sounds like a perfect opportunity,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re bound to get it.’

‘I hope so,’ Charlie said, excited at the thought. ‘I’ll need to come up with a strong concept for the issue, but putting it together should be straightforward, I do a lot of the writing and commissioning these days.’

‘I can picture it,’ Sarah said. ‘You were always destined to get to the top.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Charlie laughed. ‘What about you anyway, how’s the personal training going?’

‘I’m enjoying it,’ Sarah said. ‘A few high-maintenance clients, but most of them are lovely. It pays the bills, and even keeps me in banana pancakes and lattes.’

‘It must be wonderful, living here,’ Charlie said enviously. ‘And it certainly seems to suit you.’

Sarah, who’d been a complete tomboy throughout their teenage years, was sleek and glamorous now – her hair colour deepened with low-lights, and her summer dress showing off perfectly toned arms. Charlie, in indigo jeans and a strapless black top, felt less polished – but she was comfortable, and the jeans were a wardrobe essential, stretching forgivingly when she put on weight. Her straight blonde hair was loose tonight, brushing her shoulders, and she’d dressed the jeans up with gold wedges.

‘Thank you,’ Sarah responded. ‘It’s my kind of town, that’s for sure. Impossible to get bored.’

‘Do you miss
anything
about home?’

‘What like the King’s Head?’ Sarah said, recalling their South London local. ‘Nope, I don’t miss that leg-humping pub dog one little bit.’