“It’s almost nine o’clock. You’ve been asleep for the past two hours. And dinner is served.”
Emilie sat upright, sleepy and embarrassed. “Sebastian, I’m so sorry.”
“No apology necessary. You’re obviously exhausted. Right, I’ve brought our supper in here as it’s very cold in that kitchen. The mistral was really blowing as I came back from the store. Dig in.” He indicated the steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese on the low table in front of her. “This wine we brought up from the cellar smells all right; let’s see if it’s drinkable.” Sebastian put his glass to his mouth, sipped, and swallowed. He nodded in pleasure. “That is spectacular. I hope I haven’t opened a few hundred francs’ worth of red to accompany our spaghetti bolognese!”
“There are so many bottles down there, I’m sure it’s fine to drink one.” Emilie reached for her glass and tried it. “Yes, it’s lovely.” She took a mouthful of the spaghetti, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “This is very kind of you. And you’re a good cook.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I know how to put a few basic ingredients together. Now, while you were asleep I took some time to think of the best way forward for the possible Matisse. I called a friend of mine at Sotheby’s in London, and he recommended a chap he knows in Paris. I have his number, so if you’d like to give him a call tomorrow, you can get the ball rolling.”
“I’ll certainly contact him, thank you, Sebastian.”
“He’s one of the top Paris auctioneers and comes with a glowing reference from my friend. I must say, I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he sees it, to know whether I’m right.” Sebastian smiled.
“Of course you can be here.” Emilie nodded. “When do you return to England?”
“At the end of next week, so I’m available until then to help you if you need me to. You have so much to think about just now. The main priority really has to be making sure that this house and you are safe. If you’d like me to, I could speak to the chap who’s coming to change the front-door lock tomorrow and ask him who he would recommend locally to fit an alarm system.”
“If you’re sure, then, yes, that would be helpful,” she said gratefully. “I wouldn’t know where to start with that.”
“Good. Now,” said Sebastian, in between forkfuls of spaghetti, “on to the more interesting subject of why there seems to be a secret hiding place in your cellar. Have you come up with any ideas?”
“No.” Emilie shook her head. “I’m afraid I know very little about my family history.”
“What I’ve been wondering, of course, is whether that room downstairs was used as a hiding place during the war. God, a few minutes down there would be enough to send you mad.” Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Can you imagine how it would have been for days, weeks, or even months on end?”
“No, I can’t. And I wish my father were still alive so I could ask him. I’m ashamed I know so little of the past. Maybe through the process of sorting out the estate, I’ll learn much more.”
“I’m sure you will.” Sebastian stood up and began collecting the empty plates.
“Please, you’ve done enough, let me. It must be time for you to be going.”
“What?” Sebastian looked horrified. “You honestly think I’m going to leave you here alone tonight with a front door we can’t lock? I wouldn’t sleep a wink. No, Emilie, let me stay. I can bed down here on the sofa in front of the fire, no problem.”
“Sebastian, I’ll be fine, really. Lightning rarely strikes twice in one day, does it? As I told the gendarme, I can lock my bedroom door. And I feel I’ve already put you to too much trouble. Please, go home,” she begged.
“Well, if you’re uncomfortable having me here, then of course I will.”
“It isn’t that, I just feel guilty for taking up your time,” Emilie replied hastily. “After all, we hardly know each other.”
“Please don’t feel guilty. The bed at my gîte is as hard as a board anyway.”
“Well, if you’re sure, then, yes, thank you. And, of course, you must take one of the bedrooms. It’s silly for you to sleep down here.”
“Deal.” Sebastian reached for the poker by the fire. “And I’ll have this by my bed, just in case.”
Having shared the washing-up, Emilie locked the back door, then guided Sebastian along the upstairs corridor and led him to a bedroom. “Margaux always keeps this made up for unexpected guests. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
“Just a little.” Sebastian surveyed the spacious room with its exquisite antique French furniture. “Thanks, Emilie, and I hope you sleep well.”
“And you. Good night then.”
Sebastian took a step toward her. On a gut reaction, Emilie swiftly closed the bedroom door before he could reach her and scurried along the corridor to her own room, shutting the door and locking it firmly behind her. She lay down on her bed, feeling strangely breathless.
Why had she done that? Sebastian had probably just wanted to give her a chaste kiss good night. She thumped the bed in frustration. Now she would never know.
• • •
After a disturbed night, every nerve ending alert to Sebastian’s sleeping only a few meters from her—it somehow felt so intimate—Emilie made her way downstairs the following morning to make some coffee. Presuming Sebastian was still in bed, she was surprised when she heard a car approaching and he appeared through the back door.
“Morning,” he said. “I went up to the bakery to get breakfast. Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got baguettes, croissants, and pains au chocolat. Oh, and some of my favorite French jam.” He laid his shopping out on the kitchen table.
“Thank you,” Emilie said, feeling she was using the words repeatedly to him. “I’ve made some coffee.”
“Collecting the fresh bread in the morning is actually one of the most pleasurable things about being in France. A tradition that has long gone in England. Oh, and the locksmith called me to say he’d be here in an hour.”
“I feel so stupid.” She sighed. “Of course I should have locked the back door when I left yesterday.”
“Emilie,” Sebastian said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You really have been under the most enormous pressure in the last two weeks. Grief and shock can affect you on all sorts of levels.” The hand on her shoulder began to move, massaging it. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Thankfully, there’s no real harm done. Just take it as a warning for the future. Now, what’s your breakfast preference?”
“Baguette, croissant … I don’t mind.” She walked away from Sebastian to pour the coffee, then sat at the table silently, chewing through her breakfast and listening to Sebastian call the various alarm-system companies the locksmith had suggested.
“Okay,” he said, putting down the receiver and jotting a couple of things on a sheet of paper. “They’re all saying they can provide a suitable system for the house, but would need to come and survey it before they can give you a quote. Want to book them in for tomorrow?”
“Yes, thank you.” She looked up at him suddenly. “Why are you helping me?”
“What a strange question. I suppose it’s because I like you and I can see you’re having a hard time. Besides, I’m sure Grandmother Constance would expect nothing less of me for her friend Édouard’s daughter. Now, do you want to speak to the chap in Paris who’s been suggested to come and value the Matisse, or shall I?”
Emilie was feeling sick after a breakfast she hadn’t wanted. “Perhaps it’s best if you do it, as you can talk the language he’ll understand.”
“Right. I’d also suggest he value the other paintings in the château while he’s here. It’s never a bad idea to get two or three estimates anyway.”
“Yes. And then there’s the art in the Paris house, which I must also have valued.”
“When will you return to Paris?”
“Soon.” She sighed. “But you’re right, while I’m here it’s good to do as many things as I can. If I decide to keep the
château, it will be only the beginning.”
“You think you might keep it?”
“Yes. Although if I can forget to lock the back door, perhaps it’s stupid of me to consider taking on a project which would be a challenge for anyone.”
“Well, just know I’ll be happy to do anything I can.”
“It’s very kind of you and I’m grateful.” Frou-Frou whined at the kitchen door to be let out. Emilie stood up and opened it for her. “Surely you must have your own life to lead?”
“I do, but as beautiful paintings happen to be my passion, it’s not exactly a hardship. Now, what about the library? Would you like me to investigate a good rare books’ expert to come and take a look at the collection?”
“No, thanks,” said Emilie quickly, her head spinning, “there’s no urgency as I’ll never sell the books. I must call Gerard, my notaire. He left me three messages yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t get back to him.”
“While you do that, I’m going to nip back to my gîte for a change of clothes and a shower. I’ll see you later. And don’t forget, the locksmith will be here any minute.”
“Thank you, Sebastian.”
• • •
Having shown the locksmith to the front door and left him to it, Emilie did at least manage to get a shiver of satisfaction as she called Gerard and told him she had things under control at the château. She arranged to meet him in Paris next week at her parents’ house, checked the locksmith’s progress, and walked into the library, needing to feel the calmness of its atmosphere. Wandering around the shelves, Emilie ruminated on what a huge job it would be to put the thousands of books into storage if she decided to either sell or renovate the château.
She noticed two of the books were standing proud of the others on the shelf. She pulled them out and saw that they were books on the cultivation of trees. Pushing them neatly back into line, she walked into the kitchen as she heard Sebastian’s car approaching across the gravel.
He burst through the back door, panting. “Emilie! I tried to call you!” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I just found your little dog lying on the side of the road. She’s very badly injured and we need to get her to a vet immediately. I’ve got her on the backseat of the car. Come on, let’s go.”
Horrified, Emilie ran out with Sebastian to the car, climbing in beside a bleeding and barely breathing Frou-Frou. Sebastian drove at speed, heading for the vet she’d told him had a practice in La Croix Valmer, ten minutes’ drive away. Tears dripped down Emilie’s cheeks as she stroked the lifeless Frou-Frou on her knee.
“I let her out this morning,” she sobbed, “then the locksmith arrived and I forgot to call her back in. She doesn’t usually stray, but maybe she was following your car … and once she was on the road, she’s blind and wouldn’t have been able to see anything coming… . Oh, God! How could I have forgotten!”
“Emilie, Emilie, try and keep calm. The vet may be able to save her,” Sebastian said, doing his best to comfort her.
One look at the vet’s grave face was enough to tell Emilie what her professional eye already knew.
“I’m very sorry, mademoiselle, but she has sustained serious internal injuries. We could try operating, but she is old and very weak. Perhaps it’s simply best for us to help her pass away comfortably. It’s what you would advise a client of yours, is it not?” he suggested gently.
“Yes.” Emilie nodded miserably. “Of course.”
Twenty minutes later, having kissed Frou-Frou a last goodbye as the vet injected her and her small body gave a final twitch of surrender, a devastated Emilie emerged and walked shakily up the steps from the practice, holding on to Sebastian’s arm for support.
“My mother adored her and I promised I would take care of her and—”
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home,” Sebastian said as he led her toward the car.
Emilie, catatonic with guilt and emotion, sat next to him as he drove. They walked through the kitchen door and she sat down at the table, resting her head on her forearms in despair.
“I can’t even take care of one small dog! I’m hopeless, just as my mother always told me! I can’t get anything right, nothing. And I’m the last in the line of such a great noble family! So many heroes, including my father, and look at me—I’m useless!”
As all the pain of her mother’s disappointment in her poured out, Emilie sobbed like a child, her head buried in her own arms for comfort.
When she eventually looked up, she saw Sebastian was sitting quietly at the table, watching her.
“Please,” she exclaimed, immediately embarrassed at her outburst, “forgive me, I’m … a mess! And I always have been,” she choked out.
Sebastian stood up slowly, walked around the table, then bent down on his haunches and offered her a handkerchief to wipe her dripping nose. “Emilie, I promise you, the picture that you have of yourself, which is obviously taken from your mother’s point of view, is completely inaccurate. For what it’s worth”—he smiled as he moved a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear—“having only just met you, I think that you’re a brave, strong, and intelligent woman. Not to mention beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” Emilie looked at him with ridicule in her eyes. “Really, Sebastian, I appreciate your trying to make me feel better, but barefaced lies only patronize me. I am not ‘beautiful’!”
“And I suppose that too is something your mother told you?”
“Yes, but it’s true,” she said with force.
“Well, forgive me for voicing my own opinion, but I thought it the day I first set eyes on you. And as for being a ‘failure,’ well, I’ve never heard such rot in my life. From what I’ve seen so far, you’ve handled what would have sent other people into total despair with amazing strength. And you’ve done it virtually alone. Emilie, listen to me,” Sebastian pleaded. “Whatever your mother’s attitude toward you was, you really must not see yourself through her eyes. Because, my darling, she was wrong. Very wrong. And now she’s gone and it’s your turn. She can’t hurt you anymore, she really can’t. Come here.”
Sebastian reached for her and pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly against him, and she continued to sob into his shoulder. “I promise you, everything’s going to be fine. And I’m here if you need me to be.”
She looked up. “But you hardly know me! How can you say all these things?”
“Well”—Sebastian chuckled—“I suppose it’s been a pretty dramatic couple of days. And I’m sure that if I’d met you in Paris and we’d just gone out for a few dinners, I wouldn’t feel as qualified to have an opinion. But adversity can sometimes reap positive rewards. Barriers that normally take weeks are broken through much faster. And I think I understand you. And I’d like to spend lots more time with you if you’d let me.” He pushed her shoulders away from him and tipped her chin up so she was looking directly at him. “Emilie, I know this is all happening very fast, and you’re scared and frightened, so the last thing I want to do is to push you. And I won’t, I promise. But I must admit that, just at this moment, I’d like to kiss you.”
Emilie looked at him and gave a small smile. “Kiss me?”
“Yes. Is that so shocking?” Sebastian mocked her gently. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to pounce on you. I just wanted to be honest.”
“Thank you.” Emilie stared at him and came to her own decision. She reached her head forward and tentatively touched his lips with her own. “Thank you, Sebastian, for everything. You’ve been so kind, I …”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her back, then broke away suddenly, checking himself. “Look,” he said, taking her fingers and entwining them with his, “please tell me if you’re comfortable with this. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you in any way. You’re confused, I’m sure you can’t possibly know how you feel just now, and—”
“Sebastian, it’s okay.” It was Emilie’s turn to comfort him. “I know
exactly what I’m doing. I’m a big girl, as you said. So, please, don’t worry.”
“Well then, I won’t,” he replied softly.
As Sebastian drew her back into his arms, Emilie felt the pain being slowly washed away by his tenderness. And surrendered to it.
6
Paris
January 1999—Nine Months Later
Emilie sat at the back of the auction room watching the gaggle of effortlessly chic Parisian women raising delicately manicured hands to bid for an exquisite canary-diamond necklace and matching earrings. She glanced down at the catalog on which she’d scribbled figures in the margin and realized that, by her reckoning, the sale had so far raised almost twelve million francs.
Over the next few weeks, apart from a few paintings and choice pieces of furniture that she had decided to keep and eventually ship down to the château, the entire contents of the Paris house would be auctioned too. The house itself was already sold, and its new owners would be taking up residence shortly.
She felt a slight pressure on her left hand and turned. “Are you okay?” Sebastian whispered.
She nodded, grateful for his empathy as she watched her mother’s precious jewelry collection go under the hammer. The money raised would pay off a big chunk of the overdraft Valérie had accrued, leaving Emilie the funds from the sale of the Paris house to finally begin renovations on the château. And the Matisse had been authenticated, thanks to Sebastian’s help. He’d immediately found a private client for it and had proudly handed her a check for five million francs.
“Such a shame Matisse didn’t sign the canvas. It would have been worth at least triple that amount,” he’d said, sighing.
Emilie glanced sideways at Sebastian, who was watching with amused interest the feverish bidding for the necklace and earrings. She often found herself staring at him in wonder and amazement that he’d walked into her life and changed it so irrevocably.
He had saved her. Everything was different now; she felt a little as though she’d woken up from a long and painful dream and stepped out into the sun. Reluctant in the first few weeks to believe in his feelings for her, frightened that at any minute he might disappear and leave her, his unwavering warmth had eventually broken down all her barriers. And now, nine months on, she was basking in his love, blossoming like a wilted flower suddenly given water. She no longer looked in the mirror and saw a reflection full of hopelessness; now she could see that her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed with a new luminescence … some days Emilie even thought she might be considered pretty.
The Lavender Garden Page 6
