by Fiona Valpy
‘I know, but that can’t be helped,’ said Gavin, his usual assured self, smoothly taking charge. ‘I need the money out. Bit of a change of plans,’ he avoided looking Sara in the eye, ‘so I’d be open to offers, within reason of course.’
His use of the word ‘I’ made Sara’s hackles rise.
‘Well, this client is going to be here next week. He’s looking for a possible business opportunity in France that he and his wife could run. I’ll put together some particulars and send them through to him, but I imagine he’ll be keen to see Château Bellevue while he’s here. It’s just the sort of property they’re thinking of.’
Sara felt her throat constricting, her heart pounding at the thought of losing the château. That old feeling, that she was losing her voice when in Gavin’s company, came flooding back. He’d walked back in here so brazenly, after everything he’d done, and taken over again.
She tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak emerged. The agent began to snap a few photos as Gavin pointed out the landscaping that they’d done. That she’d done. Her garden. Her home.
She cleared her throat. ‘No,’ she said.
The two men carried on, as if she hadn’t spoken. She marched over to Monsieur Bonneval and caught hold of his arm as he raised the camera to take a picture of the pergola-framed view. ‘No.’ She cleared her throat again, her voice stronger now. ‘It’s not for sale.’
The smile on the estate agent’s face froze and his eyes flickered with confusion. ‘But Gavin...?’ he asked, swivelling his head from one to the other.
‘I’m buying Gavin out. Château Bellevue is not for sale, Monsieur Bonneval. I’m very sorry you have had a wasted journey. It would have been better if Monsieur Farrell had called first, since he no longer lives here. As he so rightly says, there’s been a change of plan.’
Just then, Thomas’s van pulled up. He blinked as he took in the scene before him, doing a double take at the sight of Gavin, sensing Sara’s angry tension. He climbed out and came over to stand alongside her, and she was grateful for his reassuring presence. She wasn’t going to give up the château without a fight, so it was good to feel she had someone backing her up as she fought her corner. She’d never felt so sure of anything before in her life.
‘Thomas?’ Gavin said, disconcerted.
Thomas nodded coolly. ‘Gavin.’
The estate agent looked from Gavin to Sara and back again, then shrugged. ‘Ah well, I’ll leave you to sort it out between you. If I can be of help at any stage, Mademoiselle Cox, please don’t hesitate to call.’
Gavin glowered, angry that Monsieur Bonneval had deferred to her. ‘I want my money, Sara.’ His voice was low, but held an unmistakeable threat.
‘I’ll get it,’ she said, her own voice firm and clear. ‘Give me until the end of the season. That’s the very least you can do. I’m not selling.’
Sara and Thomas stood together in silence and watched as the two men drove off down the hill, seeing them safely off the premises. Then Thomas put an arm around her and she leant her forehead against the broad firmness of his chest, her legs shaking suddenly. She had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what she’d done. She still hadn’t been able to contact the bank manager to find out whether a loan might even be a possibility. He should be back in the office tomorrow so she’d ring him first thing to try and set up an appointment. But what if...
Thomas kissed her hair, and she looked up anxiously into his face.
He took her by the hand. ‘Come. Don’t look so worried. Let’s go and look at the view and you can tell me what’s going on.’
They sat, hand in hand, gazing out across the valley, and she told him about the letter from Gavin demanding his money back and her determination not to be bullied into selling. She now knew she had so very much to lose.
When she was all talked out, she turned and smiled sorrowfully at him. ‘Thanks for listening, Thomas. I know there’s nothing you can do to help sort out my problems, but it feels better having shared them with you.’
He took her in his arms again. ‘Oh, my poor Sara. You carry so much on these slender shoulders of yours, don’t you?’ He thought for a moment. ‘And actually, there is something I can do. I think I can at least help you get an appointment with the bank manager. Charles Dupuy was in the same year at school as my brother, Robert, so I know him well. And I’ll come to the meeting with you too, if you like.’ He held up his hands as she began to protest. ‘I know, I know! You are fiercely independent and perfectly capable of going alone, and your French is good enough to understand what’s being said. But perhaps at a time like this it would be nice to have a friend at your side? For moral support, if nothing else.’
Sara smiled and nodded slowly, reluctantly admitting to herself that it would, in fact, probably be helpful to have him there. She doubted she’d know all the right financial vocabulary, and Thomas would be a good ally to have when it came to tackling the inevitable daunting French bureaucracy that would undoubtedly ensue if she could actually persuade the bank manager to give her the loan.
‘Anyway,’ Thomas said reassuringly, ‘surely you’re making such a success of your business that they’ll lend you the money.’
She nodded slowly, doubts creeping in. ‘I’ll have to show them the detailed figures. This season looks okay, I think, given that it was our first, although last week’s cancellation certainly doesn’t help the bottom line. But I don’t have a single firm booking for next year yet, so that will count against me. If I have to sell, though, I’ll lose out big time. The agent did say that property prices have fallen since we bought the château.’
‘And would you really want to sell?’ Thomas’s voice was level, his tone carefully light.
Sara looked back at the château, her fortress, solid on its hilltop, and she felt, once again, a visceral sense of belonging here. It felt so right to be in this place. With this man. Feelings that she’d never in her life experienced with such certainty. Her eyes filled with tears, and her throat tightened with an unspoken emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She blinked to clear her vision but, before she could stop it, a single tear spilled onto her cheek.
Thomas wiped it away with his fingertips. ‘I see,’ he said, with a tender smile. And it seemed to Sara that a new light of hope flickered in his eyes for a moment. ‘So we need to persuade the bank manager what an excellent proposition Château Bellevue de Coulliac is and secure that loan. For all our sakes. Allons-y. Let’s go and have a glass of wine while we prepare our business case for tomorrow.’
She regained her composure and kissed him on the lips. ‘Thomas Cortini. What would I do without you?’
* * *
Monsieur Dupuy listened carefully as Sara presented her business plan, jotting down occasional notes on the pad on the desk in front of him. As promised, Thomas had phoned him first thing in the morning and managed to set up a meeting for that very afternoon.
When she’d finished talking, the bank manager leaned back in his chair, stretching out his arms and interlocking his fingers in an unconscious gesture which gave Sara the distinct impression that he was physically fending off her hopes and dreams. His smile was warm, his expression kind—but his body language told a different story.
‘I appreciate your plan, Mademoiselle Cox, and all the hard work you are doing at Château Bellevue de Coulliac to make a go of your business. Your weddings certainly bring economic benefits to the local area. If it was up to me, I’d happily give you the loan you are seeking. But a case such as this I will need to present to our Head Office in Paris. And I don’t wish to disappoint you but, as I think you know, banks are not in a very generous mood at the moment when it comes to lending money. The fact that you are seeking to underwrite such a large proportion of your business’—he reached for his pad to check his notes ‘– sixty percent, was it?— does not help. If it were a lesser amount, or if you had a track record of a few more years, then the case might be stronger. But with only on
e year’s figures, and nothing definite in the diary for next season, and because we live in very uncertain times, I suspect the powers that be will view this proposition with caution.’
He shrugged, turning to Thomas. ‘I promise you I will do my best, but I don’t want Mademoiselle Cox to be too disappointed if the loan is not approved.’ He stood, shaking their hands and ushering them to the door. ‘Either way, I’ll let you know by the end of the week.’
Sara and Thomas were silent in the car on the way home, each lost in their own thoughts. As they pulled into the drive, Sara looked up at her château and felt something switch off inside, her sense of ownership already diminishing as she sensed her dreams slipping through her fingers. The in-built safety valve that she’d cultivated through life’s disappointments was already making her begin to distance herself in self-defence.
She parked the car by the cottage and turned off the engine, and the two of them sat in silence for a moment longer. Then, as if reading her mind, Thomas reached out and took both her hands in his. ‘Courage, Sara. Don’t give up yet. There is still a chance the loan will come through.’
She nodded, wanting to believe this was true, but thinking that she already knew, in her heart of hearts, what the bank’s answer would be.
* * *
That night, Thomas drove her over to Château de la Chapelle for supper. ‘Papa wants to know why I’m hiding you away from the family and insists we come and sit at his table tonight. Robert and Christine will be there too. And, indeed, Christine will be cooking, which is good news as my father’s culinary efforts usually involve setting fire to something he’s shot. And as the hunting season doesn’t start again for a few more weeks, all he has left in the freezer at this time of year is a rabbit or two and possibly a pigeon.’
‘Either of those could be delicious in the right recipe,’ Sara laughed.
‘Ah, yes, but my father’s recipes start and finish with giving a chunk of meat a good roasting over an open fire, so it’s better to let him loose in the kitchen with a few venison steaks or maybe a slab of wild boar, which are better suited to that kind of treatment.’
Sara was pleased to be included and was looking forward to seeing Robert and Christine again; there hadn’t been much opportunity to talk to them at the Saussignac market, but she had come away with an impression of their easy warmth and ready sense of humour, as well as their kindness in including her own family in the conversation at that end of the table.
She’d been to the Cortinis’ farm before several times to buy wine, but this was the first time she’d had a chance to go there with Thomas. He pointed out the smaller house to one side of the main building, where Robert and Christine lived with their three children. ‘For the moment, Papa still rules the roost, living in the main house and, as the unmarried son, I’m still in the bedroom I had as a child. When I’m not in your bedroom, that is.’
‘You’ve lived in this house all your life?’ asked Sara. ‘That's amazing.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not so unusual around here. Especially where you have family estates. Why, how many different places have you lived in?’
Sara tallied them up in her head. ‘Five and a half—no, six and a half before I came here.’
He grinned. ‘A half? You’ve lived in half a place?’
‘No, I’ve half-lived in a place. When my father married Lissy, I went there every other weekend and some holidays. But it certainly never felt like home. By that time, neither did my mother’s place either, as she’d married my stepfather. He was a widower and she moved in with him and his children. It felt like they took her over, as she made such an effort to fill in for the mother they’d lost. She just never really had much time left over for me. And they are quite a bit younger than me, so I was expected to help look after them too. It felt like, at that point, I could no longer be a child myself. Whatever I might have felt about the divorce and all the changes that were going on around me got buried.’
‘How old were you when all this took place?’ Thomas’s gaze was compassionate.
‘Ten. I used to try to find reasons to stay late at school—volunteered for drama, sport, library duty, anything that kept me out of the house.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘That’s tough. We were lucky, I suppose, that my mother only left when we were in our late teens, so we were more independent. We never once doubted that this was our home.’ He smiled at her. ‘Maybe you think I’m being very ungrateful to want to leave all this—when you want your home so much and it’s under threat?’
Sara reflected for a moment. ‘I think perhaps it’s because you have such a secure home that you feel you can go. It’s like diving—you need a firm base from which to launch yourself, otherwise you can’t take off. I’d floated here and there with no strong sense of direction until I came to Château Bellevue. But now I do feel I have a solid base there. I don’t want to give it up yet. The feeling of being rooted, for the first time in my life, is such a powerful one: I think it’s given me a much stronger sense of myself, more confidence in my capabilities. Still, at least now I have got my springboard, if I can just find the courage to relaunch myself when the time comes.’
Thomas took her hand. ‘Perhaps we will dive together, as we did that day at the weir.’
For a moment, Sara contemplated the thought of travelling with him, footloose, through the world, no fixed abode. In her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t what she wanted. A childhood of being rootless meant that, now she could decide for herself, she would choose to find a home again in a heartbeat.
Before she could find the words to reply, Patrick Cortini emerged from the château, arms spread wide in welcome, and they climbed out of the van to greet him.
‘Lovely Sara,’ he kissed her hand gallantly, ‘welcome to my humble home! As you can see, it’s nothing like as grand as your own château, but we make do here.’
‘It’s such a beautiful spot.’ She looked about her. ‘It feels as if the hillside is holding the farm in its arms. The church spire is so pretty on the skyline there. And your vineyard looks immaculate.’
‘Well, for that we have Robert to thank. The vines are his passion. He only allows Thomas and me to drive a tractor very occasionally.’
‘Yes, or to help with the really tough jobs, like the pruning,’ Thomas chipped in. ‘Although even then he keeps coming to check I’m doing it right. He’s a real chip off the old block,’ he nudged his father fondly.
Fortunately Patrick’s passionate and somewhat technical explanation of pruning techniques, which then ensued, was interrupted by the appearance of Robert and Christine in the doorway.
‘Bonsoir, Sara,’ Christine smiled. ‘Come, let’s go and have a glass of wine before these three try to take you on a tour of the entire vineyard before dinner.’
In the garden on the far side of the house, she introduced Sara to her sons, who were throwing a ball to each other, hindered by the enthusiastic interventions of a friendly collie whose tail never stopped wagging as it ran between them, its tongue lolling happily.
They settled down at a table under the generous canopy of an ancient walnut tree, a cloud of birds—and even a red squirrel—who had been raiding the green-cased kernels, departing in haste as they approached. Thomas pulled the cork from a perfectly chilled bottle and poured glasses of the château’s crisp white wine for each of them, while Christine passed round slices of dried sausage and a bowl of plump olives.
‘À table!’ she called to the boys. The three of them came running and pulled up chairs. ‘But come and wash your hands first! And you can help me carry.’
Sara got up to lend a hand, but Christine patted her arm and shooed her back to the table, saying, ‘You spend your days doing things for others. Have a night off.’
‘Now, Sara, come and sit here by me,’ Patrick gestured. ‘I want to hear all about the work you’ve done at Château Bellevue. Thomas tells us your passion is the garden?’
The old man seemed genuinely in
terested, his bright eyes watching her shrewdly from beneath his bushy white eyebrows as she described the renovations and the way she ran the business. Robert and Christine listened too, asking questions of their own occasionally, and Thomas chipped in every now and then when he thought Sara was being too modest about her achievements, or had left anything out.
Sara found herself opening up, more than she’d intended to, about the financial impasse she now faced, her tongue loosened, no doubt, by the encouraging combination of wine, food and company as she tucked into the plate of carbonnade Christine had put in front of her, a delicious pork stew laced with thyme and the earthy richness of wild mushrooms.
Old Patrick chuckled as she ran through the different weddings they’d hosted at Château Bellevue that season. ‘Who’d ever have thought our little corner of the world would attract such a variety of people! Without a doubt the old château has witnessed much history in its time, through times of peace and darker times of war and sadness. How wonderful that now it’s the setting for so much happiness. I like the idea of your business, Mademoiselle Sara, bringing people’s dreams to life. What could be more satisfying? Let’s hope that young pen-pusher at the bank succeeds in persuading his smart Parisian colleagues to invest. Times are hard, but if anyone deserves a chance, it’s you. You bring the world to our door, buy our wines, provide employment. And, best of all, you’ve kept my son happy and busy this summer.’ He rumpled Thomas’s hair. ‘Une femme merveilleuse!’
They drove home in silence, Sara contentedly sleepy and replete. She realised that something was different tonight. Instead of her habitual sense of being on the outside looking in, her nose pressed against the sweetshop window, she felt the Cortinis had thrown open the door and invited her in, and for one happy evening she’d been included, with their generosity, natural warmth and genuine interest in who she really was.
