‘The next best thing to eating in the rain.’ He puts the tray of food down on the table. ‘We eat in the dry and watch the rain.’
I can’t help smiling at him. I don’t know where he’s got the table and chairs from but it explains why he was moving furniture up here just now, and I feel guilty for thinking the worst of him.
Julian flops down in a chair while I unload things from the tray, putting the wooden container of melted cheese in the middle of the table between us. I look between him and the open door. ‘You’ve got a real thing for nature, haven’t you?’
He shrugs. ‘Just trying to make the most of it. I don’t usually live in a house with gardens like these. I want to enjoy them while I’m here. This’ll all be a distant memory back in Glasgow.’
His words hit me in the gut. I already can’t imagine being back in the flat, back at work, back in Britain pretending this place doesn’t exist until my next week off. ‘I thought you could stay as long as you wanted.’
‘Aye, but I’ve still gotta go home. Yeah, I can come back if there’s nothing on my schedule, but I have a house in Glasgow that I’m still paying the mortgage on. I can’t just pack up my car and not go back.’ He looks up at me and then out the door. ‘Even if I’d like to.’
I follow his gaze out the back door, rain pouring down in streams as it runs off the roof above us, splashing into the puddles on the terrace. It doesn’t feel like I’m here on holiday any more. It feels like this is real life, and the damp flat and miserable customers are the slightly unreal, distant memories. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope with going back to reality.
‘Right, the cheese seller told me the best way to eat camembert is to cook it in the oven and dip warm crusty bread into it, and I thought the nuts and cranberries would go well. Give it a try.’ I push the plate of toasted baguette strips towards him and watch as he dips a piece into the melted cheese and rolls it in the chopped pistachio nuts and cranberries.
The noise he makes is so positively orgasmic that I think my ovaries start clapping. I can’t keep the grin off my face, because he likes whatever I cook, and it’s good to see him eating real food.
‘Oh, that is proper French food, that is,’ he says, muffled because he’s still chewing. ‘Forget all that frogs’ legs rubbish, this is what you’re supposed to eat in France. This is good.’
I make some noises of my own as I try it too. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was, and Jules tends to eat like a rabid dog whenever you put proper food in front of him.
‘I haven’t seen you sucking down your protein shake for a while…’ It’s not that I’ve been keeping watch or anything. Well, maybe a little.
‘Yeah.’ He looks up and smiles at me. ‘You’ve ruined me. I have no willpower whatsoever, and you with all your cooking and cakes, and Kat turning up every morning with croissants and baguettes. I just can’t help myself.’
‘Good. I’m sure it’ll take more than a couple of croissants to change those abs.’
‘You can remind me of that next time my boss sees me with my shirt off.’
‘You look better with it on. And with your hair loose like that, and with your glasses.’
‘Thanks.’ He kicks my foot gently under the table to make me look up, and when I meet his eyes, he looks sad and vulnerable and I fight an urge to go over and give him a hug. ‘This is the worst I ever look. It’s my slobbing about the house look. You don’t turn up for a meeting with someone who decides whether you get another modelling contract or not looking like this. You turn up looking your chiselled, muscular best or you’re toast.’
Again, he sounds bitter and I have to convince myself I’m imagining it. He chooses to model sports clothes. If he’s really struggling to maintain his abs, I’m sure he could easily switch to modelling something else.
He’s quiet again, and I still feel a little thrill watching him enjoy something I’ve cooked. He’s nothing like I thought he was at first, and even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, sometimes I struggle to remember why I wanted him out so badly.
‘So, are you going to tell me what’s with the car then? The roof’s broken?’
He groans. ‘Everything’s broken.’
‘It’s probably weighed down by the amount of stuff you’ve got in it,’ I say. ‘Call me a girl who knows nothing about cars but isn’t it kind of essential for a car to have a roof?’
‘Not on sunny days.’
‘You live in Scotland. It’s, like, the wettest place in Britain.’
He grins in reply.
‘Have you not considered getting it fixed?’
He drops his head into his hands and rubs his fingers across his forehead like a headache is starting. ‘Welcome to my most expensive mistake.’
‘The car?’
‘Yep. I haven’t got the roof fixed because I can’t throw any more money at the stupid thing. I’ve spent a fortune just keeping it on the road. I’ve been trying to sell it but I haven’t yet found an idiot stupid enough to buy it.’
‘You did.’
‘Yeah. Let’s just say I had a mid-life crisis and be done with it.’
‘You’re only thirty-eight.’
‘It wasn’t that kind of mid-life crisis.’ He looks at me like he’s weighing me up for a minute. ‘I had a bad break-up a few years ago, and I did some really stupid things afterwards, like buying a car I couldn’t afford. I did no research on the car, nothing on the dodgy seller, just handed over a shedload of cash that I’m still paying back, all in an attempt to prove I was someone that I’m not. I’ve grown up a bit now but I’ve still got the car around my neck like a kicking, screaming albatross. Sorry, you didn’t want to know any of that.’
‘Of course I did,’ I say, actually thrilled to have a bit of insight into him and desperate to know more. I knew that car didn’t suit him. ‘So it’s not just to advertise your willy size then?’
‘Ha,’ he says, but he’s trying not to smile. ‘All it advertises is my empty bank account. The bloody thing has failed every MOT it’s ever had, it never gets out without a grand or two to fix something or other. It guzzles diesel like a dehydrated elephant in a pond. You can hear it slurping when you fill it up. It’s about as comfortable as sitting on a cactus, and it’s broken down and had to be towed to a garage about sixty times. Fixing the roof isn’t essential and who knows what vital bit will fall off next month and need replacing then and there.’
‘What happens when you drive in the rain?’
‘I wear a mac and keep a hairdryer in the boot to dry the seats out with afterwards.’
I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not and I struggle to hold in a giggle.
‘It’s all right, you can laugh,’ he says, looking like he’s trying not to giggle too. ‘I deserve everything I get. I’d laugh if I saw a bloke driving up the motorway in a car with no roof in a thunderstorm with nothing but a pac-a-mac and one of those umbrella hats.’ He motions adjusting an umbrella hat on his head.
‘Seriously?’ I say, failing not to giggle.
He grins. ‘Not about the umbrella hat.’
‘I was gonna say, I’m sure we’d have seen you on YouTube by now.’
He laughs too, then looks up at me. ‘You know, that’s the first time I’ve laughed about that car in years,’ he says, a smile still playing around his face.
‘You really can’t sell it?’
‘Nope. And I’m still paying for it so I can’t afford another car, and I can’t be without a car because of driving to work shoots. It’s a vicious circle.’
He suddenly seems the opposite of what I thought at first. I thought his choice of poser-y sports car said so much about him. It’s almost funny that I thought so little of him for driving around with the top down when it turns out he can’t put it up, even in the rain.
He goes back to looking out at the rain coming down, and I don’t say anything else. I want to pry more, to find out about his life and eve
ry detail of this break-up and not-mid-life crisis, but I doubt he’s going to say anything more about it, and I have to keep reminding myself that we’re not friends. He wouldn’t have told me any of that if I hadn’t caught him tying tarpaulin over his car.
I force myself to look away from the way his hair falls over his forehead as it dries. I can’t watch the way his fingers keep pushing it back. I’ve got to stop thinking about him. He’s here for one thing and one thing only, the treasure, and he’s just admitted that he needs money. I can’t let myself forget that, no matter how many endearing qualities he might have too.
I lean back in my seat and look out of the doors as another flash of lightning lights up the sky. I’ve never been much of a storm person but there’s something incredible about sitting inside with the doors open. It’s like the best of both worlds, safe and warm and dry – unless the roof caves in, which, given the state of the rest of the château, is a possibility – with a front row seat to the storm raging outside. ‘Putting the table here was a good idea.’
He’s leaning back in his chair with his hands wrapped around his mug of tea. ‘Glad you like it,’ he says. ‘I love a good storm. Sometimes they’re just what you need to clear the air and make everything feel fresh again.’
‘Never thought of it like that before.’
It’s dark in the ballroom other than the flicker of light from the candles, and the darkness outside is only lit up by the occasional strike of lightning on the hills in the distance. I look over at Julian and my mind wanders to what it would’ve been like to be alone here. How would I have dealt with the lack of electricity? I wouldn’t have known where to start with the gardening, or the plumbing. Without him, there wouldn’t have been a plug socket, a flushing loo, or a running tap, and there’d probably still be a grass snake in the kitchen. It makes me think of Eulalie. She lived here alone after her husband died. I don’t know how long it was before she moved back to Britain, and the only vague timeline I can put together from what I remember of her stories would make it a good few years. Rattling around in this place on her own can’t have been easy. I know she was close to many of the villagers, but the villagers aren’t here in the dead of night when the power goes out or you hear an unidentified noise. Was it brave to stay here? Stupid? Would I have stayed here alone if Julian hadn’t turned up?
‘Can I ask you something?’ I say, my voice sounding hoarse after not speaking for a while.
‘Of course.’
‘Eulalie’s brother was your grandfather, right? Were you close to him?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Just trying to make sense of her. Of why she left this place when she did. Why she never told anyone about it.’
‘You think a brother she hadn’t spoken to for decades could help with that?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought if you knew him well, maybe there’d be something…’
‘I was about eight when he died. I remember him being around, arguing with my father at Christmas once, but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him really.’
‘He sounds like an argumentative person.’
Julian snorts. ‘You haven’t met my father. Believe me, it wasn’t my grandpa who was argumentative. But no, we weren’t close. My father… he, um… he pushed people away. He didn’t want anyone sticking their noses into his life, so I didn’t really know any family growing up. I think I told you I started looking into the family tree when I heard about Eulalie, but there’s nothing personal in it, just birth, death, and marriage certificates. It won’t help with whatever she didn’t tell you.’
I watch his face as he talks about his family, the way his eyes widen the tiniest bit and he rushes through the rest of his words. He’s never mentioned his mother, although he’s mentioned his dad quite a bit, and never in a positive way.
‘What’s bothering you about it?’ he says before I have a chance to ask him anything. ‘That you didn’t know The Château of Happily Ever Afters was real?’
‘I don’t even know really,’ I admit. ‘It’s just that we were close, we told each other everything. She was like a mum to me. She talked about the château so often but never once, not even a hint, that it actually existed. There’s this whole other part of her life that I knew nothing about. I don’t know how long she lived alone here for or when or why she left, and there’s no one who can answer because she’s gone.’
I don’t realise how emotional it’s making me until my voice cracks and Julian nudges my foot with his. ‘You okay?’
I nod. I can’t cry in front of him.
‘Want to know my take on it? As someone who didn’t know her at all and has probably got it all wrong, obviously?’
He waggles his eyebrows and it makes me smile again.
‘I can’t answer how long she lived here or when she left, but the why is fairly obvious. Can you imagine living in this place alone? It’s pretty daunting even at our age, but she would’ve been, what, eighty-something at the time?’ He continues after I nod. ‘It must have been lonely and probably scary too. I can’t imagine an eighty-year-old doing that walk into the village too often and grocery deliveries wouldn’t have been invented then. I assume she relied on the kindness of friends and neighbours to get her things she needed. Mr Adelais talks about her a lot when I see him on my morning runs. He remembers running her to the doctor’s, collecting prescriptions for her, bringing her baskets of fresh eggs that he didn’t need and pints of milk straight out of the cows. He even remembers coming over here to chase a deer out of the dining room once. I assume she employed someone to clean the place for her, because there’s no way she’d have managed if she didn’t. And it looks like whoever lived here last stuck to only a few rooms. The rest are stood in time, stuck in whatever decade they were left. I’d hazard a guess that the château was just too big.’
‘But to go from this to a shoebox on a crappy street in a crappy area? To go from chestnut orchards and green fields to dirty bricks and the constant smell of Indian takeaway and stale vomit?’
‘Maybe it was all she needed. Maybe it was all she could afford without selling this place. She must’ve been paying a fairly hefty tax on it, so she obviously wanted to keep it. Sentimental value, family legacy, whatever it was, she didn’t just walk away and never give it another thought. The French government are notorious for taxes, and a castle worth anywhere near this amount would’ve cost a pretty penny.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ The château might have stood abandoned and unloved for many years, but it was never far from Eulalie’s mind. I hadn’t realised it would’ve cost her money to keep it too.
‘As for why she didn’t tell anyone… Do you want my opinion as a cynical and naturally distrustful person?’
I nod, even though it makes me smile because he doesn’t strike me as either of those things.
‘Because she would never have been able to trust anyone she met. If everyone knew she had an estate worth a million, every new friend and every bit of kindness could have come with an ulterior motive, and how would she ever have known if that person was being kind or if they just wanted something from her?’
‘That’s very cynical, Jules,’ I say. ‘Eulalie wasn’t like that. She took people at face value. She was too kind. She never even hung up on those scam callers that phone to say you’ve got a virus on your computer, and she didn’t have a computer and thought a virus was something you take to the doctor’s.’
He laughs. ‘Maybe that’s exactly why she didn’t tell anyone. Because she was too nice. Put it this way, I don’t intend to tell anyone I’ve inherited this place, because I don’t want to start doubting my friends. I don’t want people asking me when we’re going to sell up or trying to wrangle a free holiday out here. This is our place, me and you, and I don’t want anyone to know about it because it’s no one’s business but ours. Maybe Eulalie felt like that too.’
I think he can tell how sad that makes me because he nudges my
foot and grins when I look at him. ‘Maybe I’m just a grumpy old git.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, but I nudge his foot back anyway.
‘Or maybe she didn’t want the interference,’ he continues. ‘If you’d known, and you’d seen her struggling to pay her bills, what would you have said?’
‘I don’t know,’ I mumble, even though I know full well what he means.
‘You’d have told her to sell it. Let go of the past and use what she had to make her life comfortable in the here and now, and she obviously didn’t want to do that. Maybe she didn’t tell anyone about this place because she didn’t want to keep justifying herself to people who had no business telling her what she should do. Whatever her reasons for not selling up, whether it was because she believed the place really was magical, or because she couldn’t let go of her life that was, because it was her husband’s house or because she wanted to pass it on to someone one day, it obviously meant a lot to her, and keeping it probably cost her more than she could afford, and maybe she thought no one would understand that.’
‘I would’ve understood.’
‘Maybe, but you’d also have wanted what was best for her, and you wouldn’t have seen paying taxes on this place as more important than everything else, but she obviously did.’
I go to reply but come up blank. He’s got a point, as usual. I look at him over the flickering candles, his hands still wrapped around the mug even though the tea is gone. He’s got a gentle and intelligent way of speaking, and more of an insight into Eulalie than I’ve ever had, and he never even met her.
The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters Page 19
