A week after Phil came home from hospital the gang came to visit us, with Steve insisting on doing the cooking and Manda giving the house a thorough cleaning. Even Gray, not known for his domestic skills despite having been a single parent for years, chipped in and did a load of chores, including the food shopping. I was not allowed to lift a finger. Phil, by this time, was able to get up and dressed, doing his gentle exercises as prescribed by the physiotherapist.
The discussion I’d been expecting came up over dinner – a hugely tasty fish and vegetable concoction that even Phil enjoyed, despite it being low fat and low calorie. ‘Kind of thing I suppose I need to get used to,’ he’d said, glumly.
‘So,’ Steve began, ‘the plan had been to head over to France again to look at Château d’Aubert, and if we’re all happy, to go ahead and make an offer on it. But – I guess it’s all off now.’ He nodded in Phil’s direction.
There was a moment’s silence. I did not want to be the first to speak. Manda looked at Gray, who was biting his lip as though trying to decide how to respond. Steve looked as though he was fighting to keep his expression neutral, and not show his disappointment.
‘Pity,’ Gray said at last. ‘It could have been fab.’
Manda nodded. ‘Yeah. But Phil’s health is the most important consideration. We could have lost him.’ She reached over to squeeze his hand, a tear in her eye.
We all sipped our drinks in silence for a moment. Phil’s glass contained sparkling water – he was off all alcohol until he’d made a full recovery. I’d never known the gang seem so lost for words.
In the end it was Phil who spoke up. ‘Listen, guys, this is only a minor setback. I’m still keen. In fact, I’m even more keen than before. I’m supposed to be getting myself fitter, and what better way to do that than to live somewhere amazing. The doctor suggested I adopt a “Mediterranean diet” so the nearer I am to the Med the easier that will be. We had a great idea, we found – well, Steve found – that château. Can’t let a little thing like a near-death experience stop us. Lu, what do you think?’ He turned to me and took my hand.
This was my moment. If I said no, I didn’t think we should do it, we should stay in England where it’d be easier for Phil to get medical treatment and live a quiet life – then that would be it. The others would accept it, Gray would buy himself a flat near Steve and Manda, and we’d continue as we had been, moving gracefully into the ‘third age’ of our lives. I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but then I caught Phil’s eye.
He was gazing at me with an expression chock full of hope and pleading. I suddenly realised that moving to France, a big, radical move to a completely new area, was just what he needed to change his lifestyle and protect his health. If we stayed in England he’d slip back into his old ways, eating the wrong things and not exercising enough. But living in a château in the French mountains just might force him to change. It’d be a new lease of life for him. So of course we should still go ahead with it. If I hadn’t wanted to be the one who stopped it before, I definitely wasn’t going to now. I took a deep breath before answering.
‘I want what’s best for you, Phil. If moving is what you want, and you’ll promise to look after your health, and everyone else still wants to do it, then yes. We should go ahead.’ I smiled at everyone.
‘But … are you sure?’ Manda still looked worried.
‘Mate, you’ll be away from your doctors, the NHS …’ Gray said.
‘They have doctors in France. And hospitals. Good ones – I should know,’ Phil replied. ‘Question is, are you lot happy to move in with me, given that I’m going to need a bit of help and support over the next few months, until I get myself sorted?’
‘We’d do anything for you, old man.’ Steve clapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘So … do we go ahead with the plan?’
‘Yes,’ said Phil emphatically, lifting his glass ready for a toast.
‘Yes,’ I said, realising the others would need me to be as certain as Phil was, for their own peace of mind.
‘Too right!’ Gray grinned.
‘To France!’ Manda said, and we all clinked glasses, then began a detailed discussion of how to get the plan back on track.
In the end, Manda and Gray went to France with Steve to look at Château d’Aubert again and begin the process of buying it. Phil was still in recovery and not yet well enough to travel, so he and I stayed home and were the only ones who didn’t see it ahead of our moving date. We’d had an offer on our house and were busy packing up and sorting things out, with Alfie and Tom helping us. The boys were also collecting some of our spare furniture.
Before they returned from France, and with our blessing, Steve made an offer on the château which was accepted, signed the compromis de vente and paid a ten per cent deposit, mostly using Gray’s money from the sale of his house. Ten days later the contract was legally binding. No going back now – not if we wanted to keep Gray’s friendship!
The others came back gushing about the château and its environs, and I found myself getting excited about the move, and genuinely looking forward to it for the first time, especially as Phil’s health was improving in leaps and bounds. He was coming out with me for daily walks – just around the block at first but gradually progressing to longer distances. He was losing weight, too, and the doctors were delighted with him. ‘I need to be as fit as I can be before we move,’ he said. ‘It’s all hilly around the château, isn’t it?’
It certainly was. I felt a pang of worry that it might all be too much for him, and he’d end up housebound. But it’s what he wanted to do, and I’d support him in every way I could.
Chapter 4
Catherine, 1785
It had been a difficult few weeks at Court. The Queen seemed fractious, stressed and distracted by the ongoing trial, although she continued to maintain her innocence, declaring frequently to the ladies of the court that she’d had no knowledge of the transaction to buy the diamond necklace, she’d never received the necklace, it was not her signature on the instruction to buy it. She’d been duped, she said. Catherine’s heart went out to her. The poor Queen, with so much resting on her shoulders, having to deal with this terrible, sordid affair. None of it was her fault, none at all!
Catherine had pieced together what had happened, with the help of Pierre’s explanations. A diamond necklace, costing millions of livres, had been originally commissioned by the old king Louis XV for his mistress, Madame du Barry. But Louis had died before the necklace was finished. The jewellers, hoping to recoup costs, had tried to sell it to the current king, Louis XVI, for him to give to Marie Antoinette. But the dear Queen had refused, saying it was too much, and the money would be better spent on ships than necklaces. Privately to her ladies, and in Catherine’s hearing, she’d said she found the idea of wearing a necklace designed for another woman distasteful. ‘If it was not ordered with me in mind, then it is not for me,’ she’d said, and Catherine had agreed. The Queen could not ever be considered second best, the second choice to own the diamonds.
And then a woman named Jeanne de la Motte, along with accomplices, had concocted a plan to defraud the Queen. Jeanne had become the lover of Cardinal de Rohan, who was anxious to regain favour at Court after having insulted the Queen’s mother, the Empress of Austria. Jeanne de la Motte had told the Cardinal that if he were to help buy the necklace on behalf of the Queen by negotiating with the jeweller, the Queen would be prepared to be reconciled with him.
‘Her plan was audacious, and the Cardinal so stupid, that it worked,’ Pierre had said. Audacious indeed, Catherine thought. After passing forged notes purportedly from the Queen to the Cardinal, Jeanne de la Motte had arranged a meeting after dark in the grounds of Versailles, between the Cardinal and a prostitute who bore a resemblance to the Queen. The Cardinal had believed he was meeting the great Marie Antoinette herself, and had pledged his own credit with the jewellers to secure the necklace for the Queen. Jeanne had sent a man pretending to be the Queen�
�s valet to collect the necklace from the Cardinal, and that was the last time it was seen. ‘I expect it was sent abroad, and broken up,’ Pierre had said. ‘There were a lot of diamonds in it.’
The deceit had come to light when the Cardinal failed to pay the first instalment to the jeweller, who had then applied directly to the Queen. She had denied all knowledge of arranging the transaction, had denounced the correspondence as forgeries, and stated she had never set eyes on the necklace itself.
‘But people do not believe her,’ Pierre had said, shaking his head sadly. ‘She spent so much money in the early years of her reign, not least on that hamlet of hers that you love so much, that the people believe she has the necklace and is only trying to wriggle out of paying for it.’
‘It is shocking,’ Catherine had said, ‘that they believe her capable of such a thing, when she has shown her people nothing but kindness and compassion.’ She’d sighed. ‘Our poor queen is much misunderstood.’
The Cardinal had been arrested and imprisoned, but acquitted. Jeanne de la Motte and some of her accomplices were not so lucky. She had been found guilty and sentenced to flogging, branding and life imprisonment. The ongoing scandal had been the subject of court gossip for weeks, and the worry had taken its toll on the Queen. She looked tired, Catherine thought. There were lines on her face where there had been none before. There were rumours too, that under the powder her hair was beginning to turn white.
But Catherine would continue to support her. She still believed in the overarching goodness of the Queen. She was innocent in this affair of the diamond necklace. She had done nothing wrong, and had been duped by a charlatan. That Jeanne de la Motte! If Catherine ever saw her again, she’d tell her exactly what she thought of her. But now that the trickster was in prison that was never likely to happen.
As she mused on what had happened to the poor queen, Catherine twisted the ring that never left her finger – her own most precious piece of jewellery. A garnet and gold ring, with a ring of diamonds around the central stone. Inside, known only to her and Pierre, their initials were engraved to mark their wedding.
‘It is so unfair on the Queen,’ Catherine lamented to Pierre, as they lay in bed one night, propped up on several pillows in satin pillowcases. ‘She is innocent. She had nothing to do with the theft of that necklace. Why do the people blame her?’
He sighed and pulled a sumptuous woven coverlet a little further up over them. ‘They believe it is in keeping with her character. They see her as extravagant and uncaring about the poor.’
‘But the dear Queen is so kind to the poor! Look at the people who live in her little hamlet. They want for nothing. She bought them all new smocks only last week.’
Pierre kissed her. ‘My love, you are so sweet and so young. The people of the hamlet are indeed well looked after. Do not worry. I am sure this affair will soon blow over.’
Catherine smiled happily and snuggled up against him. ‘I think you are right. This is just a blip, then, and all will soon be well. At least that terrible woman who defrauded the Queen is now in prison and paying for her crime. The people will realise who the true villain is in this affair.’
‘I hope so,’ Pierre agreed.
‘And tomorrow, I believe we are to pay another visit to the Petit Trianon and the hamlet. I shall wear my new shepherdess gown. I am so glad that I determined on pink ribbons, in the end. They look just right. I believe the Queen will notice them and may even pay me a compliment. I should be so happy, were that to happen!’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Pierre said, leaning over to kiss her long and deep. ‘Your happiness is all I want, my love. I shall do all in my power to secure it.’
She kissed him back. He may have been much older than her but he was a good, kind husband. One day, after she’d borne him an heir, perhaps she would take a lover, as so many at Court did, but not yet. For now she was content with Pierre. It had been a good match.
‘Catherine, my sweet, I would like your portrait painted,’ Pierre said. ‘An artist will come here tomorrow to consult with us. Perhaps you can give some thought as to which gown you will wear, and how you would like your hair to be styled?’
Catherine was delighted. ‘Thank you. I have always wanted to be painted. Tell me, is the artist the very best there is?’
He laughed. ‘Of course. Only the best for you.’
‘Then I shall wear the shepherdess gown. With my hair piled high, with matching ribbons … no, perhaps a few locks left loose, curling down. Oh! I shall never sleep now. I am too excited, and my mind too full of how I shall look for my portrait!’
A few weeks later, Catherine’s excitement over the painting of her portrait had worn off. While she had loved the initial consultations, deciding what to wear and how to dress her hair, and where to sit within their apartment to allow the most opulent backdrop to the painting, she had found the actual sittings to be tedious and boring.
‘Madame, please turn slightly to your left, no, the other way, and incline your head just a fraction. Ah! That is perfect. Now, please stay still while I capture your exquisite beauty.’ The artist fussed over her position every time she sat, and showed irritation when for one sitting she arrived wearing a different gown. ‘Madame, I have started the portrait with you in the other gown. I cannot paint you in this one. Ah, maybe I will concentrate on your face today, and next time you will wear the other gown, yes?’
She did not like being told what to wear and how to sit, but Pierre had asked her to do what the artist wanted. He had assured her the end result would be worth it, and so she resolved to suffer the discomfort of the many sittings for his sake, as was fitting for a good wife. Within the Palace of Versailles were other portraits painted by the same artist, and she had to admit they were good likenesses. Her own, she hoped, would show her to be one of the most beautiful women at Court, second only to Her Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette, of course.
Finally, after far too long, the portrait was complete, and Pierre declared himself delighted with the result. It was hung in their apartment, though Catherine would have liked it to be hung in a more public part of the palace. Nevertheless, she enjoyed gazing at it every morning and evening. She looked almost regal in it, she thought. And the portrait would live on, preserving her beauty for all time, even after she aged and died. That was a comforting idea.
Chapter 5
Lu
The next weeks were a whirlwind of activity, and I had no time to think any more about my own feelings about the move, between nursing Phil and organising our own affairs. I kept checking – several times a day – that he was all right, still happy to be going ahead with it all, but he remained excited and confident we were doing the right thing.
We spent a weekend with the others working out what we needed to keep to furnish the château – between us we had ten sofas, five of them Steve and Manda’s, which seemed a bit excessive. We all had items we knew we couldn’t part with, but there was a lot of thinning down needed before we moved. Gray moved first – driving his own furniture in a hired van, all the way through France. He also signed the final acte de vente and arranged to transfer the balance of payment to the notaire. This time it was mostly our money, as Steve and Manda were still waiting on completion of their property sale. We’d drawn up legal documents stating who owned what proportion of the property, and who would pay what and when. We trusted each other of course, but Steve insisted we make everything watertight.
‘In case we all drop dead suddenly,’ Steve had said, ‘and our kids are left dealing with it all.’ He’d looked at Phil and blushed. ‘Sorry, mate, that was tactless of me.’
‘It’s OK. I’d expect nothing less from you,’ Phil had replied, laughing. It’s good to have friends so close that we can joke about our mortality.
We went a day after Gray, driving down through France ahead of our removal company, spending a night in a small hotel on the edge of Dijon on the way. Steve and Manda were doing much the same, though were booked on
a different ferry to us. I did almost all the driving, as although Phil had been signed off from the doctor he still found it tiring. As we headed into the mountains the scenery became more and more spectacular and despite chattering non-stop earlier in the journey, Phil and I found ourselves falling silent, each absorbed in imagining our new life in France with our best mates. When we reached the village of Saint-Michel-sur-Verais I gave a little gasp – partly of excitement and partly of trepidation – and Phil turned to grin at me.
‘This is it, then! Hope we like the place!’
‘I’m sure we will,’ I replied, but not without a pang of worry. What if the château didn’t live up to its promise? What if we didn’t actually like it, after all? But the village at least was appealing. It looked familiar from so many passes through it on Google Street View. There was the boulangerie where we would buy our bread. The little Carrefour Connect supermarket. A central square, named Place de la Révolution, containing a pétanque terrain shaded by plane trees, and a war memorial. A tabac that also served coffees in the morning and beers in the afternoon, and a friendly-looking bistro overlooked the square. A squat church at one end of the square, with a little mairie behind, the French tricolour proudly flying alongside the EU flag. A patisserie, with a delicious-looking display of cakes and pastries in the window, and the ubiquitous pharmacy with a flashing green cross. I made a mental note to check where the nearest hospital with an emergency department was, and to register with a doctor as soon as possible.
We parked in the square, then crossed to the bistro, where Steve had suggested we all meet so we could arrive at the château together. The other three were already there, sitting at a table near the window. Manda waved excitedly as we entered, and they all leapt up to hug, kiss, shake hands as we took our places at the table.
‘So this is it! We’re here!’ I said. My stomach gave a flip as I said the words. There was no going back, now.
The Secret of the Chateau Page 4
