‘How’re everyone’s heads?’ I asked.
‘Surprisingly all right,’ Gray replied. ‘Think we drank about eight bottles between us so we’ve no right to feel good this morning. Not at our age.’
‘Speak for yourself, Gray.’ Manda gave him a playful punch on the arm. ‘You may be knocking on a bit but I’m still only fifty-eight.’ She’d always been the baby of the bunch – youngest by all of two months.
The banter was all very well, but I was dying to know. Were they about to start house-hunting in the Alpes-Maritimes? Or anywhere in France for that matter. I hoped not. Steve was busy flipping fried eggs, and Manda was taking trays of sausages and bacon out of the oven and putting them on the table. There was a bowl of cooked mini tomatoes, racks of toast and a pan of sautéed potatoes. I couldn’t help but grin. A good old fry-up the night after a skin-full of wine was my favourite thing.
Could you even get bacon and sausage in France?
It was as we finished eating, as Manda was making more coffee and I began stacking plates to load the dishwasher, that Steve spoke up. ‘So. This house in France. Are we going to do it, then?’
‘Were we serious?’ Phil asked.
‘I was,’ Gray chipped in, as he munched on the last of the toast.
‘You’re never serious,’ Manda told him.
‘Well’ – he waved the crust of his toast at everyone – ‘I was last night. Honestly, it’d be awesome. We could breakfast like this every day!’
‘We’d be fat as fools in no time,’ I said. My stomach gave a lurch. If they all wanted to do this, I couldn’t be the one to spoil the party. Not now. It’d all fizzle out soon enough anyway.
‘I’m up for it,’ Phil said, looking at me with a raised eyebrow, and I swallowed and nodded. ‘Er, yeah. Sure.’
‘Manda and I discussed it this morning, while we waited for you lazy lot to show your faces,’ Steve said. ‘We think we could make it work. Manda needs something to take her mind off Zoe being away. Phil needs a healthier lifestyle. Sorry, mate, but you do. And you, Lu’ – he nodded at me – ‘need to do something for yourself, after all your years caring for your mum. As for me, I need a project. So I’m happy to do the legwork.’
No one was better than Steve at organising things. He’d been a project manager in a finance company for years and was good at it. And he spoke better French than the rest of us.
‘What about me?’ asked Gray. ‘What do I need?’
‘A new hunting ground,’ Phil said, with a wink. ‘Maybe you’d meet the perfect woman in France.’
‘Mmm, I like the sound of that!’ Gray laughed.
‘Well then,’ Phil said. ‘Let’s go for it!’
There was much cheering and clinking together of coffee mugs, and by the time I had that dishwasher loaded Steve had opened his laptop and begun a search, and a shortlist of potential properties was being drawn up. I watched them crowded around behind Steve and smiled. It would probably all come to nothing, but in the meantime I had to admit it was fun dreaming and planning. In the end the whole thing would no doubt just fizzle out, thankfully, but I wasn’t going to be the one who said no to it. Not while they were all so excited.
Phil and I discussed the idea on our drive home later that day.
‘Moving to France, eh? At our age! Great idea, isn’t it?’
I bit my lip for a moment, not sure how to respond. It was one thing going along with the excitement when we were with all the others, but surely I should be honest about my misgivings with my own husband? ‘Yeah. Lovely idea, but I can’t see it actually happening, can you?’
Phil glanced across at me and frowned. ‘Don’t see why not. You know what Steve’s like when he gets his teeth into a project. There’s no one better than him at getting things organised and done.’
‘Do you really think we should do it? Sell our house and everything?’
‘Well, what’s the alternative? Neither of us are working anymore. I’m not ready to just vegetate in front of daytime TV for the next thirty years. So, yes, I think we should put our house on the market as soon as possible. We’ve been saying we should thin down our possessions ready for downsizing anyway. This’ll force us to actually get on and do it. And living with Steve, Manda and Gray will be awesome. It’ll be like being twenty again – regaining our youth!’
‘Ha. Except we are nearly sixty. But I agree, we do want to downsize and release some equity. So we might as well get on with sorting our stuff out. I reckon the boys will take some of the spare furniture. And it’s probably time I threw out all their old schoolbooks and nursery artwork.’
‘God, Lu, have you still got all that?’
I grimaced and nodded. ‘In the attic. About five boxes of it.’
Downsizing. Not moving to France. That’s all I’d agreed to, wasn’t it?
So the following week I began clearing the attic, while Phil started on the garage and arranged for valuations from estate agents. We cleaned and tidied ready for the agent’s photographer, and then put the house on the market. It felt good to make a start on this – we’d been talking about selling up for at least a year.
A week later we heard that Gray already had an offer on his place, and that Steve was away in France looking at potential properties.
‘Already!’ I said to Manda, when she phoned to tell us. I couldn’t believe they were really this serious about it all, but it looked like Steve was, at least. My heart lurched. I’d accepted the idea of selling our family home, but moving abroad was a much bigger step, one I didn’t entirely want to take.
‘He spent days online scrolling through endless possibilities, then two days ago said to me it’d be easier to be “on the ground”, and next thing I knew he’d booked a flight to Nice.’
‘Didn’t he want company?’ I asked. I’d have thought he’d have taken Manda or Gray with him.
‘I think his plan is to whittle his short list down to a proper shortlist – there are over a hundred on it at the moment – and then let us have a look at the details. Then if any really stand out and we’re still all keen, we can go en masse to view them.’
‘Sounds good.’ The rest of us hadn’t the first idea how to buy property abroad, but Steve would have looked it all up already, spoken to suitable people for advice, and would know exactly what he was doing. He was a born project manager.
‘Lu, I’m so excited about this, aren’t you?’ Manda said. I detected a tiny bit of worry in her voice, as if she was frightened Phil and I might have had second thoughts. She was right – I’d been having second thoughts all the way through. But I refused to be the one to spoil things.
‘Definitely! Just can’t wait to get on with it now!’ I forced myself to sound enthusiastic. Whatever happened, I was not going to put a dampener on it. There was still a strong chance the plan would fall apart.
‘Phew! I told Zoe, too. She thinks it’s a great idea. I was worried, you know, that she’d somehow think we were abandoning her …’
‘But she lives in Australia – actually you’ll have moved a little closer to her!’
‘I mean more that when, or God help me if, she comes home to England, we won’t be there.’
‘No, but you’ll be a short flight away. And she can come “home” to France. Home is where her heart is.’
Manda answered with a little wobble in her voice. ‘You’re right. It’s the only thing that worries me, though. That our kids won’t like it.’ She took a deep breath. She’d struggled with empty nest syndrome ever since Zoe first left home to go to university. ‘What do Tom and Alfie think?’
This was my chance. I could offload to Manda here, now, tell her my misgivings about the whole project, using the boys as an excuse, perhaps. She’d talk to Steve, and maybe it’d all be quietly put to bed, for surely if we weren’t all happy with the idea, we shouldn’t do it? After all, moving to another country is a big step, at any time of life. But no. I wasn’t going to be the party pooper. They’d never think quite the same of m
e again if I did that now. And I was still convinced the plan would die a natural death if I just let events run their course.
I smiled, to make my voice sound happy. ‘They’re delighted. Tom sees it as a base for cheap holidays. Alfie’s dictated we need to have a swimming pool, and a butler serving iced cocktails at all hours.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll let Steve know the new requirements.’ We had a giggle about this, before going on to talk about Gray’s house sale.
‘Steve and I have said he can move in here if need be, if his sale goes through really quickly. Actually that’d give us some capital for a deposit, if we need it. It’s all working out, Lu. We’ve got the skiing holiday coming up, then it’s possible we might be ready to move in the summer!’
Well, I hoped Phil and I would be ready to move by the summer. But with luck, not to France.
Chapter 2
Catherine, 1785
Catherine Aubert, the new Comtesse de Verais, smiled and curtsied to her husband Pierre as he entered their bed chamber. They had recently married and moved into an apartment in the great Palace of Versailles. Catherine could not believe she was living here, in the greatest palace of all Europe, being in the company of Her Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette daily. But with her husband being one of King Louis XVI’s advisers, living at the palace was part of the job, and she knew she needed to get used to it. As a girl she’d dreamed of living in a great palace, wearing magnificent clothes and eating the finest foods, and now, look, here she was!
‘My love, you do not need to curtsy to me. I am your husband!’ Pierre crossed the room and took both her hands in his, raising them to his lips to kiss. ‘You know, I still feel so blessed that you accepted me. I’m old, and you’re so young and beautiful, and yet you agreed to marry me. Thank you once again, my dear.’
‘It is I who should thank you,’ she replied. ‘It is through you that we are able to live here in such luxury and style.’ Catherine looked around her at their opulent chamber, the cornices and woodwork picked out in gilt, the sumptuous wall hangings and bed coverings, the elegant furniture with its shapely legs and silk upholstery. She leaned into him and raised her face so that he could kiss her. He was much older than her, and she was his second wife, but there had been no children from his first marriage, and her family had thought it a good match, impressing upon her the need to be a good wife to Pierre and to provide him with heirs. There had been no sign of children so far, but she was young and there was plenty of time, and surely it would happen eventually. Pierre was a handsome man even if he was already in his fifties, and Catherine liked him. Indeed, she felt she was growing to love him. He cared for her, he would do anything for her, and she felt safe and secure in his arms. She trusted him.
‘We are fortunate indeed,’ Pierre said. ‘And you shall make a good impression on our Queen. I am sure you will become a firm favourite of hers in no time at all.’
‘That would be marvellous,’ Catherine whispered. Imagine being the favourite of Marie Antoinette! Pierre already had a position of some significance and Catherine would love to feel equally as important, within the Queen’s court. She resolved to do everything she could: first of all to not embarrass herself in any way for that would reflect badly upon Pierre, and secondly to try to get the Queen to notice her and like her. ‘But how do I manage this?’ she asked. Rules of etiquette at Court were notoriously complex, and she was terrified of making a faux pas.
‘Just be yourself, my dear. No one can fail to love you, just as you are.’ He pulled her close into his embrace and began kissing her face and neck. ‘Shall we retire? Shall I call your maid to help you undress? Oh, my sweet. I am surely the luckiest man alive.’
The Queen, Catherine noted the next morning, had dressed her hair in a new style. It had a little less height than usual, with a few tendrils left loose, hanging down in corkscrew curls just behind her ears. There were tiny pink silk bows pinned into her hair, to match the silk bows on her sleeves and skirts. She was wearing one of her new, shepherdess-style dresses, the skirts flounced and pinned up into drapes, decorated with more bows, the bodice trimmed with another flounce, a pink sash around her waist.
Catherine committed every last detail of the dress and hairstyle to memory. One way to impress the Queen was to emulate her style. She resolved to ask Pierre to pay for a new gown in this wonderful, country style. It was essential to keep up with the latest fashions if she was to play an important part in the Court. Besides, Catherine loved wearing the latest fashions, and this one she thought would particularly suit her. Yes, she must persuade Pierre to let her have a new gown.
As Catherine followed the Queen and the other ladies of the court through the great halls of Versailles she took careful glances out of the corner of her eye, checking what the other ladies were wearing. One or two of them had already dressed their hair in a similar way, and three were wearing colourful sashes with matching bows in their hair. Pierre must agree to pay for a new dress. Catherine must not get left behind. She may be one of the youngest, newest members of Marie Antoinette’s court, but she was also one of the prettiest and determined to make a success of it.
‘Madame, may I ask where we are going?’ Catherine asked the lady walking alongside her. It was Madame de Polignac, the Queen’s favourite, and a lady who’d been kind to Catherine when she’d first arrived at Versailles, after her marriage to Pierre. She twisted the large garnet and diamond wedding ring that she always wore, so that the stones were on the top of her hand, clearly visible to all.
‘I believe Her Majesty wishes to visit the Petit Trianon, this afternoon, and then walk down to her hamlet. She has received a report that lambs have been born and wishes to make the acquaintance of the dear little creatures.’ Madame de Polignac smiled indulgently at Catherine.
The Petit Trianon! Catherine loved going to the Queen’s personal palace, and her hamlet. To think, the Queen had built an entire, perfect little village and farm, within the grounds of Versailles! It had dear little cottages, tiny fields containing snow-white lambs gambolling and frolicking merrily in the sunshine, and a pretty doe-eyed Jersey cow that wore a blue ribbon bow on its head. Catherine smiled happily at the prospect of their visit to the farm. It was a sunny spring day, bright but not too hot – perfect weather for a little trip to the hamlet. She trotted alongside Madame de Polignac, until the older woman sped up a little to be alongside the Queen herself. Catherine kept her place behind the great ladies. It was enough that Madame de Polignac had walked alongside her and spoken to her. She didn’t expect to be noticed by the Queen, although there had been that glorious day the previous week when the Queen’s head had turned her way, and nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Catherine had blushed and curtsied. She was still learning the etiquette of the court, the subtle cues and hidden meanings behind every word, every look, every gesture. Her maman had tried to instruct her before her wedding, Pierre too, and on a couple of occasions Madame de Polignac had taken her aside and explained a social nicety to her, but it was so difficult to keep up with it all. Catherine’s greatest fear was of making some sort of faux pas and accidentally offending the Queen, and in so doing, harming Pierre’s reputation at Court.
There were carriages awaiting them for the short drive through the grounds of Versailles, to the Petit Trianon. There it sat, the most adorable little palace, in Catherine’s opinion. While Versailles was of course magnificent it was too big to feel truly comfortable in. Catherine would love a palace for herself, like the Petit Trianon. Pierre owned a château somewhere, far away in the mountains. One day, he said, he would take her there. Perhaps when they had a family, it would be the place to bring up their children. She knew Pierre longed for an heir. His first wife had been unable to bear him any children. Catherine looked forward so much to the day when she would be able to fulfil his dreams. But for now, their place was at Court, not hundreds of miles away in rural France. Catherine hoped Pierre’s château was about the size and grandeur of the Petit Trianon. If or when
they moved there, she intended setting up her own court, like the Queen’s but of course on a smaller scale.
The ladies alighted from the carriage and accepted the bows and curtsies of the people who’d gathered to see them arrive. Among them were several children. The Queen liked to surround herself with children and hand out bonbons to them that she kept in the pockets of her gown. She’d even adopted one poor little boy and doted on him, until she’d had children of her own.
Catherine smiled to see how the Queen interacted with the children, stroking their hair and giving them sweets. She was so lovely, so kind, such a perfect monarch. France was lucky indeed, that this Austrian princess had married their prince, and become the most beautiful, loved and worshipped Queen of all time. Long may she reign!
The Queen began strolling towards her little hamlet, a short distance from the Petit Trianon palace. Catherine followed, excited to see the dear little lambs on their unsteady legs. When or if she and Pierre moved to his château in the south, she would build a similar hamlet for herself, so that she too could play with pretty lambs in the springtime.
The hamlet looked so lovely in the spring sunshine. Every building was perfectly maintained, the grass was cut short and free of weeds, there were flowers blooming everywhere. And in a little pen behind the sweet little farmhouse, a peasant stood proudly with his flock of sheep – just three ewes, each with a lamb at her side. Each mother sheep had a blue bow tied around its neck. The Queen called forward one of her ladies, who passed her a set of new ribbons, these ones pink, matching the Queen’s own bows and sash. There was one for each sheep and narrower ribbons for each lamb. The peasant tied them on, making a hash of the bows until one of the ladies stepped forward to help.
There. At last they were all done. ‘Aren’t they just so very lovely?’ Catherine remarked to the lady standing beside her.
‘Delightful, I’m sure,’ came the response. Catherine glanced sideways at her. The other woman looked faintly bored by the proceedings, although when the Queen’s gaze swept around over her she plastered a smile on her face and clapped her hands as though in utter joy at the occasion.
The Secret of the Chateau Page 2
