The French for Always

by Fiona Valpy

  Inside the barn, one or two people giggled nervously, but then a faint ripple of panic began to spread amongst some of the guests of a more nervous—or perhaps a more chemically enhanced—disposition.

  Thinking fast, Sara stepped into the doorway. ‘Sorry about this folks—we thought we’d organised everything, but the occasional act of God is out of our control. Please stay where you are for the moment. If you have a phone on you, then a little light would be very helpful, just to keep everyone safe. Give us five minutes and we’ll get the party back on track.’

  Antoine, at his station behind the bar, propped his phone against an ice-bucket, and Stan and Andy appeared with torches. ‘That lightning strike’s knocked out the gennie completely. We tried the mains lights, but it must have blown the fuse-board too.’

  Sara beckoned to them. ‘I’ll show you where it is. Thomas, can you take Karen, Didier and Hélène to the marquee and bring back as many candles as you can lay your hands on?’

  The fuse-board for the barn—which was fortunately on a separate circuit to the main house—was a sorry sight, with every fuse fried. Stan sucked his teeth, shaking his head.

  ‘It’s an old-style French board,’ Sara explained. ‘The rewiring is in the budget for next year; you can see why! We’ll need to physically replace the fuses. I’ve got some, but not enough for every single one. We’ll have to prioritise; if we can just get the sound and lights for the disco back, we’ll be okay.’

  Thomas materialised at her elbow. ‘Let me take over here, Sara. Don’t worry, we’ll work it out between us. You go and manage your guests.’ She smiled her gratitude at him in the torchlight and sped back to the barn.

  The atmosphere was calmer. Many of the guests had congregated at the bar, where Antoine and Héloise were doing a roaring trade by the light of several candles. Hélène, Karen and Didier (thrilled to be an official part of the proceedings now) were setting out dozens of tea lights around the walls of the barn and slowly the mellow stone began to glow with a soft light.

  Sara went over to where Thorne and Patti stood near the stage. ‘I’m sorry about this. But we’ll have the disco up and running shortly. It’s just going to take them a few minutes to change the fuses.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sara. In fact we quite like it like this,’ smiled Patti. ‘It’s much more romantic this way—makes a nice change from the usual high-tech razzmatazz.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s cool.’ Thorne kissed Patti lightly on the forehead. ‘In fact, I’m feeling inspired. Stay right there!’

  He seized a guitar that was propped against one of the now-redundant amps and pulled out the lead. Drawing up a stool, he clapped his hands to get the attention of the rest of the guests.

  ‘Since we’re going back to the old way of lighting, we might as well do the same with the sound. Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh, yeah. Like I was saying, Patti: this one’s for you.’

  In the flickering light of a hundred candles, the room fell silent as he began to play.

  ‘Thought perfection was impossible,

  Until I saw you...’ His voice, without the microphone, was like rough velvet. He’d slowed the song down, and the poignancy of the acoustic accompaniment brought new resonance to the lyrics. He held the crowd in the palm of his hand, spellbound. But it was as if he and Patti were the only two there, and he was speaking the words of love directly to her and their unborn child.

  As the last notes died away, every person there held their breath, captivated, not wanting to break the spell.

  And then the room erupted in ecstatic applause.

  Thomas, who had crept in halfway through the song, gave Sara a thumbs up and then hurried to his place behind the decks. Sara crossed her fingers as he switched on the kit but, thankfully, the new fuses held and the disco lights began to revolve as the music started.

  Sara relaxed and turned to grin at Karen and Didier. ‘Never a dull moment at Château Bellevue! Thanks, guys, you helped save the day.’

  ‘Incroyable,’ Didier shook his head. ‘That acoustic version was amazing. Never did I think that The Steel Thornes would be capable of moving me to tears.’ He hugged Karen to his side.

  ‘Get away with you, you soppy old bugger!’ she laughed, but not before Sara noticed how tenderly she hugged him back in return.

  Love really is in the air in this magical place, she thought. But then she had to turn away as she felt a pang of loneliness. She felt like a kid with its nose pressed up against a sweetshop window, looking in from the outside at something she couldn’t have. It seemed to come so easily to others, finding the right person, being with them. Her heart ached with a sudden longing to have Thomas’s arms around her; but she knew he was eventually going to leave her and follow his own dreams. She couldn’t be the one to stand in the way of his desire to leave this place and travel the world. And so she needed to harden her heart already against the wound that was to come.

  * * *

  ‘Goodbye. Look after yourself and the baby,’ Sara gave Patti a hug. ‘And the best of luck. With whatever the next stage brings,’ she added, turning to Thorne.

  He grinned. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve just been talking to Richie Black. He was so taken with the acoustic set last night he wants us to get straight back into the studio as soon as the tour’s finished. Big plans. He’s going to relaunch us as The Thornes Unplugged. We’re going to have our work cut out for us come January.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news! But I hope you’re going to schedule in a bit of paternity leave in February.’

  ‘Of course, a New Man like me.’

  Patti rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, well, I’ll believe that when I see it. But I suppose it goes with the territory. Never get involved with a rock star, Sara.’

  ‘I hope you’re off somewhere exotic for the honeymoon?’

  Patti grinned. ‘Don’t tell a soul. Everyone thinks we’re going to Mustique, but we’re really sneaking home to Sussex for a few days of peace and quiet on our own. I shall put my feet up and Thorne will be keeping me supplied with tea and Rennies... bliss!’

  He helped her carefully into the blacked-out Mercedes that would take them to the airport and home, before it was time for Thorne to climb back once more onto the merry-go-round of the tour.

  Something Blue

  They were still on a high after the weekend’s excitement as they set to work on the changeover the following week. A little of the stardust that the Thornes and their entourage had sprinkled over the château still seemed to float on the air, the glamour and glitz vivid memories for each of them. Karen hummed a slow version of Perfection as she polished the mirror in the honeymoon suite and the Héls Belles, busily making up beds, giggled as they gossiped about the celebs who’d been sleeping there.

  The ring of the telephone echoed shrilly down the corridor and Sara smiled to herself as she went to answer it. All was well in the world, and peace reigned over Château Bellevue once again. Just three more weddings to go. And they should all be pretty straightforward from here on in...

  ‘Sara Cox speaking. Oh, hello Mr Cranleigh, we’re just getting everything ready for you...’ She tailed off as the male voice at the other end of the phone stopped her mid-sentence, her light-hearted mood evaporating as she listened.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Poor girl. No, please don’t apologise, it’s no problem at all as far as we’re concerned; please don’t give it another thought... Yes, yes of course. I totally understand. I’ll see what I can do as regards the billing... I’ll send you an email. So sorry. Yes, I know, better that she found out now than afterwards. Yes... okay. Goodbye.’

  ‘That sounded heavy.’ Karen set her bucket of cleaning things on the counter. ‘What’s up?’

  Sara shook her head. ‘This weekend’s wedding’s off.’ She felt as though her heart had plummeted into the pit of her stomach, dull dread filling her at the thought of what this would do to the cash flow. ‘The bride just found out that the groom’s been cheating on her.
They’re cancelling the whole thing.’

  She was trying not to panic at the thought of what this would mean for her income for the year. She needed every penny and this was a disaster.

  ‘Oh well, at least it means you can all have a few days off.’ She tried to make light of it, but the call had shaken her and her mind was a jangle of disjointed thoughts. She felt a rush of sympathy for the bride, identifying with the humiliation and heartbreak the poor girl must be feeling. And how awful, this close to the wedding—so many guests to be told, all of whom would have made travel plans... All that money... The father of the bride had sounded remarkably calm, under the circumstances.

  ‘Oh, God. Sorry, Sara. But better she should find out now than later. These things do happen. Reminds me of a friend of mine in Australia who discovered her fiancé trying on her dress and shoes the day before the wedding. Stockings, garter, underwear—the whole lot! That was another near miss, I can tell you.’ Karen’s grin faded. ‘But what a pain for you. What happens about payment? Will you lose out?’

  ‘Well, I need to ring round straight away and see if we’re in time to cancel anything at this end for them. The caterers and the florist might not have put in their orders for the weekend yet. I can ask them, at least. Henri Dupont will keep his fee, but that’s only fair as he’s unlikely to get another job at such short notice.’ She was thinking out loud as she pulled invoices out of the folder marked ‘Cranleigh—Gordon’.

  ‘The wine’s already bought, but we can roll that over to the next event... I’ll work out how much I can refund the Cranleighs after I’ve paid the salaries. It probably won’t be much, but they’re not expecting anything—“a total write-off” was the phrase Mr Cranleigh used—so anything will be a bonus for the poor man.’

  ‘Don’t they have insurance? I thought you always advise people to take it out when they book?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s an exclusion clause specifically covering last-minute cancellations due to the groom being a lying, cheating bastard,’ Sara said, an unintentional note of bitterness creeping into her voice.

  Karen raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Well, okay, perhaps it’s not phrased in exactly those words,’ Sara admitted, swallowing her anger. ‘But no, under these circumstances the insurance won’t cover it.’

  ‘But your profit...?’

  Sara shook her head and picked up the phone. ‘I’d better get on with this. Could you go and tell the girls and Antoine? If we just work up until lunchtime today then you can have the rest of the week off. You’ve all earned a break after last weekend in any case.’

  * * *

  Thomas was ecstatic. She broke the news to him when he came in at lunchtime, having spent the morning checking progress in the vineyard.

  ‘But this is wonderful news! Not for the poor bride, obviously, I’m sorry for her pain.’ He brushed Sara’s hair back from her face. ‘But you need a break from doing things for other people, and it means I can have you to myself for once. My lovely Sara, always working so hard. You look a little tired. This is definitely good timing.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘There, that’s better. A smile, at last. I want to introduce you to my family. Robert and Christine will be home this week to get ready for la rentrée—the children go back to school soon. And my father will be home next weekend too, to start preparing everything for the harvest. They all want to meet you. And I want to show you round the farm. You haven’t been back since that very first time when you and Gavin came to taste our wines,’ he continued. ‘I remember it well, this beautiful but unattainable princesse from Château Bellevue. I admit, I dreamt about you afterwards. And I was so happy when you rang to place your first order, as it meant I’d see you again, even if you were strictly off limits... There, now I’ve confessed: I’ve worshipped you from afar from the very first time I set eyes on you!’

  Sara laughed. ‘And now you know the reality, that the “princesse” spends her days scrubbing toilets and making beds in her dream château. Not to mention cooking and gardening.’ She spread her work-worn hands out for his inspection and he took them in his, planting a kiss on each of her calloused palms.

  ‘And she is all the more beautiful for it,’ he said, chivalrously. ‘What does she have on the agenda for this afternoon?’

  ‘Not much now. I’ll have to send an email to Mr Cranleigh, but otherwise I’m completely free for once.’

  ‘In that case, after lunch I propose to introduce you to another of our charmingly civilised French traditions, la sieste. Or in fact,’ he went on, his lips brushing the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist, ‘maybe we should make love first, then have lunch, then have our siesta again afterwards...’ and he led her by the hand, back to the cottage, to do just that.

  * * *

  Sated with love and sleep, Sara reached out a lazy arm to pick up her phone. ‘Don’t answer it,’ Thomas mumbled into her hair as he resurfaced from the depths of their afternoon siesta.

  She checked the name on the screen. ‘It’s Dad, I’d better take it.’

  ‘Sara, hello, we haven’t spoken for a while, so I just thought I’d call and see how things are going there. Still as busy as ever?’

  It was unusual for her father to ring; usually Sara called him about once a fortnight, touching base briefly and keeping up with the latest news of Lissy and Hannah. She felt pleased that he was making the effort to phone her for once, and chatted about last weekend’s celebrity wedding and now the cancellation, trying not to let her anxiety about the dent to her cash flow come through in her voice. ‘So it’s a pain it’s been cancelled, but I must admit it’ll be quite nice to have a weekend off in the summer for once... Dad? Are you there?’ She could hear her stepmother’s voice in the background.

  ‘Yes, yes I’m here. Lissy was just saying it’s a shame we’re not doing anything for the bank holiday weekend. The weather’s been dire here; we’ve hardly had any summer to speak of. So—and I’m just thinking aloud here, because of course it’ll depend on what Hannah has planned...’

  (Of course, it always does, thought Sara uncharitably. Although at her age you’d have thought she’d have left home and had her own life by now...)

  ‘... but why don’t we see if we can get a flight and come and stay? Make a long weekend of it. Seems a shame to waste the opportunity when you’ve got a château-full of bedrooms standing empty!’

  Suddenly Sara was wide awake, sitting up in the bed, pulling on her shirt. This was not what she’d had in mind at all. The prospect of a few precious days of holiday, preferably spent with Thomas, was receding rapidly over the horizon. She groped for an excuse, but failed to come up with any credible reason why they shouldn’t come and stay.

  ‘That sounds lovely, Dad,’ she said, her forced enthusiasm sounding hollow to her ears.

  ‘Great. It’ll be good to see you—we’ve been worried about how you’re coping with Gavin out of the picture.’ She smiled wanly at this. ‘We’ll check with Hannah and go and look at flights straight away. I’ll call you back...’

  Sara groaned as she flopped back onto the pillow beside Thomas. He opened one eye and grinned at her. ‘Yay! Family!’ he joked, poking her in the ribs.

  She closed her eyes. ‘Ugh. Just when I was looking forward to staying in bed for a week with my hot French lover... Oh well, maybe all the flights will be fully booked.’ She opened her eyes again and turned to face him. ‘You must think I’m a really horrible daughter, not wanting them to come.’

  He traced a finger lightly down her nose and then tapped gently on the tip. ‘No. Not at all. I know you’re not a horrible person, so there must be a good reason why you don’t want them here. Don’t worry, I know you have a complicated family; I’ve got stepbrothers and sisters myself, remember.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s just... with them everything always seems to be about Hannah. And it’s the same on Mum’s side. She’s always been preoccupied with Roger’s children; he was a widower when she met him and so she stepped into the role o
f their mother. I suppose they really did need her though, having lost their own mum so young. I always feel guilty for envying them and begrudging them my mother’s attention.’ She shook her head. ‘When Mum and Dad got divorced, I felt I didn’t belong to either of them anymore. I wasn’t special to anyone. Except my grandfather.’ Her expression softened as she remembered him. Thomas listened, watching her face intently. ‘I used to be packed off to spend the school holidays with my grandparents and I kind of latched on to him. He was a keen gardener and I used to follow him around, helping him to dig and weed. I was probably just getting in his way really, but he was always so patient and kind. It was from him that I learned how to garden. I think of him whenever I’m out there.’ She nodded towards the window where the Madame Alfred Carrière roses which framed it cascaded, a creamy froth against their dark green foliage, and fell silent.

  ‘And where is he now?’ Thomas prompted gently, still holding her in his arms.

  ‘He died a few years ago. Went into hospital for a minor operation and caught an infection. He never came out.’ She was quiet for a moment, remembering. ‘He would have loved it here. I know he’d have approved of what I’ve done so far. And he’d have been so excited about my plans for the gardens.’ Which are never going to happen now, she stopped herself from adding.

  The phone chirped again beside her. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Well, we’ve booked ourselves on the Bordeaux flight on Friday. So lucky, we got the last four seats—oh, yes, I hope that’s okay, Hannah’s bringing a friend. They were going to spend the day at the sea, but this’ll be even more fun for them. The tickets were pretty pricey at this late stage but, as Lissy said, it’s not as if it’s costing us anything at the other end... Can you come and meet us? Our flight gets in at midday. Great—can’t wait to see you. How lucky that you had that cancellation!’