A Year in the Château

by Sarah Long

  ‘Kids’ stuff,’ said Dominic with a guilty smile. ‘You must be aware of the lustful ambitions of teenage boys. One star for each key stage.’

  ‘Who was Kim?’

  ‘My first girlfriend. I told you about her.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember. I once found a letter she sent you – she signed herself off “loadsaluv, Kim” with a heart over the “i”.’

  ‘You’re so judgemental. Anyway, you shouldn’t have been snooping. Just as well I’ve locked it all away. I can see I’m going to have to hide the key – don’t want you sneaking out here and raking through my past.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it. It was before you met me, in any case.’

  ‘Exactly. Let’s lock up and go back to the house. I’m desperate for a coffee.’

  Dominic patted the pocket holding the key and breathed a sigh of relief. Once again, he’d managed to dodge a bullet. He must think of a place to hide it from Nicola, although she didn’t seem overly curious. It would be safer to simply dispose of the evidence, just set fire to it, but he didn’t want to do that. One day, far in the future when he was a sad old widower, he might want to revisit the contents of the box. It had been foolish – and a betrayal of Nicola and the kids, he knew – but it had been irresistible too. For a while it had made him feel young, but now it just felt like a cliché. One he planned never to repeat.

  *

  Up in her servant’s bedroom, Eva was bonding with Fizz, sitting side-by-side on the narrow bed, where Fizz was showing her her YouTube channel and the ever-increasing follower count on Instagram.

  ‘That’s amazing,’ said Eva. ‘The château looks incredible and so do you, drifting through the rooms in your beautiful outfits. You make me want to be you, which I guess is the goal, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Fizz. ‘That’s the idea. You need to make people dream of living your life, and I must admit I’ve made it look pretty dreamy. But I hope I’m also conveying a sense of loneliness and disconnection? That’s what I was going for when I chose the name. Can you imagine being the daughter of Madame Bovary, trapped in the deep countryside with old people who don’t get you?’

  ‘Really? What’s not to like about living in an isolated commune with people old enough to be your parents?’

  She raised her eyebrows enquiringly and Fizz laughed.

  ‘They’re not quite old enough to be my parents, I have a few years on you.’

  ‘Even so, it must feel quite odd, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not that odd. I mean, I’m playing it up in the vlogs but I’ve always enjoyed being around older people. I’m married to one, for a start. And I don’t find I have that much in common with people my own age, I guess because my life has always been so different since I’ve been with Will. My friends were all obsessing about their careers and relationships, and I was already settled down at twenty-five.’

  ‘Smart move, if you ask me. You’re the one living in a château without having to get a job, and I’m the one swotting away for bloody exams in the maid’s room.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d be capable of sitting another exam. You quickly lose the habit.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘I should have picked something I loved, like nutrition, or skipped university altogether and gone with my passion. I’ve always loved yoga, alternative health – you know the kind of thing. But my parents wanted me to go to uni, so I picked History of Art – very Kate Middleton, I know – the classic subject choice for a posh girl waiting to get married! I never really engaged with it, though. I travelled for a while afterwards, then took a job temping in a law office, which is where I met Will. Though I soon realised office work wasn’t for me.’

  ‘But Will was? For you, I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And it didn’t bother you, breaking up his marriage?’

  ‘Ooh, you’re very direct!’

  ‘I’m never afraid to ask; people can always refuse to answer. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind. In fact, I didn’t break up his marriage because it was already over, in everything but name.’

  ‘They all say that!’

  ‘That was his business, she wasn’t my wife. And she was pretty awful from all accounts.’

  ‘What about their son?’

  ‘Sam? We get on reasonably well. He lives in the States now.’

  ‘Do you want children?’

  Fizz shook her head.

  ‘Definitely not. I’ve never wanted them and I’m lucky that Will already has Sam, so he’s not bothered. What about you?’

  ‘Maybe one day, when I’ve run out of more interesting things to do. Not for years and years, though. I’m thinking of taking some time out to do some travelling, once I’ve got this qualification. Before I get sucked into the treadmill of work – not that you need to worry about that! My boyfriend was thinking of quitting his job to come with me, although we’re going through a rough patch at the moment, so we’ll have to see.’

  ‘Oh really, do tell me about it. That’s something I miss, talking to my friends about their relationships. Everyone here has been married for a million years, so it’s not a topic of conversation. Apart from Leo, of course, who is full of gossip and surprises.’

  ‘I love Leo.’

  ‘Everyone loves Leo. He’s the star of my next video, I just need to edit it. He’s cooking tonight, by the way, so prepare yourself for a visual feast.’

  *

  Leo was preparing a navarin d’agneau printanier, a dish he had chosen partly for the pleasure of being able to walk into the butcher’s and ask for a navarin for ten people, as though you could conjure up a whole dish simply by requesting the ingredients. It pleased him how precisely you were served in the food shops here. The butcher had put together the exact amount required of middle-neck and shoulder of lamb, then Leo had gone to the greengrocer’s next door to select bunches of the tiniest baby turnips with smooth cream and purple skins, and some slender carrots that were almost cartoonish with their frothy green leaves, tied up with straw.

  ‘Take a look at these veg,’ he said to Beth, waving the bunches at her. ‘So small and exquisite, they seem almost criminally under-aged. I’m doing springtime lamb, to celebrate our beginnings here. The first shoots of spring, hope, Easter, He is Risen, etc. For a starter we’re having asparagus with wild garlic leaves and sweet violets, foraged by me in the woods this morning. What do you think?’

  Beth admired the plates he had already arranged like works of art: asparagus spears aligned at the same angle in each case, with a border of long green garlic leaves and topped with three small purple violets.

  ‘Masterful,’ she said. ‘It actually seems a shame to eat it. Are you sure those flowers are edible, though?’

  ‘Yes, I checked, they feature in my book on cooking with flowers. Just you wait until the roses and lavender come in – our dining table’s going to look like a florist’s counter. The pansies will be ready soon, and Sweet Williams. I’ll be incorporating them into my salads.’

  ‘Do you find we think too much about food?’ asked Beth. ‘Eva has decided we’re terribly decadent. She says we should eat to live, not live to eat.’

  ‘What an appalling idea! In that case, we might as well be astronauts sucking dried food out of an aluminium tube. I think we are right to focus on pleasure at our time in life. Why on earth wouldn’t you? And why move to France if you’re not prepared to take advantage of her exceptional cuisine? Speaking of which, I must scrape these tiny potatoes. Have you ever seen anything smaller? They look like toy marbles.’

  ‘Hey, Leo. Anything I can do to help?’

  Eva had wandered into the kitchen and was looking around at the cramped work space.

  ‘It’s so small in here compared to the rest of the house!’

  ‘It encourages intimacy,’ said Leo. ‘It’s in here that we exchange our darkest secrets. You can wash these potatoes, if you don’t mind.’


  ‘Sure.’

  Eva moved to the sink and filled the bowl with water.

  Beth was pleased to see Eva showing willing; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d volunteered to do anything around the house. Then she recalled her own mother saying that families always behave better when there’s at least one person present with no blood connection. On that basis, they were on to a winner.

  ‘Tonight, Eva, we are celebrating spring,’ said Leo. ‘I may even perform a dance later.’

  ‘Round a maypole, you mean? With ribbons?’

  ‘Certainly not! Can you imagine me wearing a smock and a beard like a Morris Dancer? I was thinking more Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring”. I shall be the sacrificial maiden, chosen to dance myself to death.’

  ‘Let’s get dinner organised first,’ said Beth. ‘Perhaps a little apéro while we work – what do you think?’

  By the time they were seated for dinner, the mood was jubilant.

  ‘I know it’s not November,’ said Leo, ‘and none of us are American, but let’s pretend it’s Thanksgiving and go around the table saying what we’re most grateful for. I’ll start by saying I’m grateful for that brand new roof that is being installed on our château by young men of astonishing hotness. And talking of fresh meat, I’d like to say I’m grateful for our first ever guest – in the lovely form of Eva. Just as we were at risk of running out of conversation, we find we are blessed by her arrival, and we hope she is just the first of what will be many visitors.’

  ‘Thank you, Leo,’ said Eva. ‘It has been pointed out that my generation is defined by what we don’t like, rather than what we do like. But I like being here very much and I’m so grateful to you all for taking my parents off my hands.’

  ‘Hear hear!’ said Dougie. ‘We are grateful to you for letting us have them, and enabling us to embark on this marvellous adventure. I know I have the reputation for being a little on the stingy side . . .’

  His confession was met with whoops and cheers.

  ‘So I’m grateful to you all for encouraging me to loosen up my miserly habits . . . and become a reckless spendthrift in my old age! Thank you for forcing me to throw my life savings at the crumbling magnificence that is Château Lafarge!’

  Simon stood up. ‘Continuing my daughter’s theme of knowing what we don’t like, I’m thankful to be living in a country where you don’t have to join in with everything. I don’t want to join Instagram, I don’t want to give £2 a month to Save the Hen, I don’t want to superglue myself to the gates of Downing Street protesting about the modern world. I just want to write, to be completely selfish and just be left alone – present company excepted, of course!’

  ‘Too negative!’ said Beth. ‘I’m grateful for having four patisseries in our local town with millefeuilles and religieuses and tartes au citron of such breathtaking quality that they move me to tears.’

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ said Simon, standing up again. ‘I forgot to say I’m also grateful that mad old Madame de Courcy has been forced to abandon her night prowling, all thanks to Nicola and her courageous insistence that she hand back the key!’

  Nicola nodded her acknowledgement. At least it wasn’t as gushing as the last time Simon had proposed a toast to her.

  ‘I’d like to move away from food and say I’m grateful for the other great French appetite – l’amour,’ said Will. ‘You have to be thankful to live in a country where love is celebrated, free from the shackles of puritanical shame.’

  He looked adoringly at Fizz.

  ‘I love their lingerie,’ said Fizz. ‘I’m grateful to know that I shall never again shop in Marks and Spencer, now I have worn a French bra. Oh, and I’m also thankful for our handsome farmer Jean-Louis for fixing the electrics and sorting out a plumber for the sewage crisis. I’m just hoping the plumber will return soon to create my beautiful bathroom!’

  ‘For me it’s the bookshops,’ said Mary. ‘Picking up a classic Gallimard edition, the plain cream cover decorated with only the title in a red font, is an intellectual’s dream – the antidote to dumbing down. Your turn, Dominic!’

  ‘I’m grateful for a second chance,’ said Dominic, turning to Nicola. He hauled himself back, just in time. This was not the moment to confess! What was he thinking? ‘I mean, for a retirement full of possibilities rather than being on the scrapheap, and that’s thanks to you, Nicola.’

  Nicola looked around the table, beaming with happiness.

  ‘All right, I’m going to be really uncool now. I’m going to say that I’m incredibly grateful to you all for coming with us on this “journey”.’

  She made ironic speech mark gestures in the air.

  ‘No . . . !’ said Simon. ‘You know we don’t use that word! Being on a “journey” is a naff British thing; nobody in France talks about being on a voyage, unless they really are – on a boat or something.’

  ‘But most of all,’ Nicola continued, ‘I’m thankful to be living here in our fairy-tale château with my very own Prince Charming. Dominic, my darling, that’s you.’

  She kissed him plumply on the lips and everybody cheered (apart from Simon), though the following morning it was generally agreed that it was probably only the drink talking. They would not usually tolerate that level of sentimentality, and normal service soon resumed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘I think this is as good as it gets, don’t you agree? I’ll give anyone a hundred euros if they can spot a cloud in the sky.’

  Beth set down her glass, lay back on the blanket and stared up at the blue sky through her oversized sunglasses. The spring days had lengthened into midsummer and for two weeks the château dwellers had been embracing a heatwave that might have proved troublesome if they’d actually had to do anything. Instead, they had luxuriously succumbed to the weather. Even cooking was too much of a chore, and lunch was invariably – like today – a picnic spread out across the lawn, under the shade of the apple trees. It was so easy to put together a pique-nique in France where local ingredients offered themselves up to make a delicious repast involving zero effort: fresh baguettes, a plate of charcuterie, a camembert that ran prettily across the plate, leaves from the vegetable gardens and a bowl of cherries, washed down by a glass of chilled rosé. What more could you possibly want?

  ‘You look like a fly in those sunglasses,’ said Simon, reaching across to tap on her lenses.

  ‘Bzzz!’ said Beth, rubbing her hands together in an insect-like way to complete the impression.

  Bordering the lawn was a lavender hedge, alive with bees and butterflies. Will had been photographing them, identifying each species with a newcomer’s zeal, and was preparing to set up the hives that Madame de Courcy had tried to take from their barns.

  ‘Château Lafarge lavender honey,’ he said, flopping down beside the others. ‘It’s bound to be a winner – we’ll be selling it throughout the world.’

  ‘All in due course,’ said Beth lazily. ‘Pour me another glass of wine, would you?’

  Will reached across to take the bottle from the ice bucket and filled her glass, refreshing his own while he was about it.

  ‘Go easy on that,’ said Dominic, from his place on a neighbouring rug, where he’d been dozing with his head in Nicola’s lap. ‘Remember we’ve got cricket practice later.’

  They had marked out the pitch, the grass assiduously maintained by Will on his mower, and were determined to make use of it, even though it would prove challenging to establish a single team in these parts, never mind finding some opponents so they could play a match. Dom thought they should invite a team from an English village – plenty of room to put them all up at the château – although in this heat, the idea was enough, there was no need to do anything about it quite yet. Adjacent to the cricket pitch was the croquet court, which Dougie had marked out with mathematical precision after unearthing a vintage set of hoops in the barn. It was his kind of sport, he said, one that did not involve working up a sweat.
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br />   ‘I’m up for a late-afternoon game of croquet, if anyone cares to join me,’ he said, brushing the baguette crumbs from his trousers. Even in this blistering heat, he never wore shorts but stuck to his year-round uniform of long-sleeved shirt and pleated trousers; his only concession was to discard the jacket.

  ‘I will,’ said Nicola. ‘Another hour of siesta and it will be time for some light exercise. I feel incredibly lazy, don’t you? Especially when you look up there and see them hard at work.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the château.

  The builders were making fast progress with the new roof, determined to get it finished before the weather broke and made their task more challenging. Unusually for France, where a two-hour lunch break was considered normal, they had a simple casse-croute on the job, powering on noisily until dusk, which was part of the reason the château residents preferred to take their lunch at a safe distance from the work site.

  ‘Oh look, here comes Fizz,’ said Leo. ‘Silly girl to be running in this heat, she could melt away!’

  The others were facing the lake, but Leo was turned the other way, leaning against a tree and making pencil drawings in his sketchbook of the château rising up before him. He was reassured by the speed of the roof work; soon they would be able to move on to the wiring – lighting would be key in the refurbishment of the grand reception rooms. He knew exactly how it should be managed in order to show them to stunning advantage.

  Fizz slowed her pace as she drew near, then lifted her leg against Leo’s tree to perform the stretches they were all so familiar with by now.

  ‘You put us to shame, Fizz,’ said Beth, ‘always prancing around like you do. We’ve saved you some lunch – it’s under that muslin cloth, to keep the bees off!’

  ‘I’m OK thanks,’ said Fizz, casually pulling her ankle up behind her ear. ‘I was just talking to one of the guys up there who asked if we were going to the fireworks tonight. First I’ve heard about it.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Nicola, sitting up and gently pushing Dom’s head away. ‘It’s so easy to lose track of the days, but it’s the thirteenth of July today, isn’t it? Bastille Day tomorrow, the big Fête Nationale.’