A Perfect Home (7 page)

Claire couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. ‘Yes,' she said.

They bought a ring from a small jewellers on Rue des Francs-Bourgeois and afterwards Claire persuaded William to climb the Eiffel Tower with her. With Paris laid out beneath her Claire felt as though she was flying, as if, with William, anything would be possible.

Chapter Six

‘It's the perfect home for celebrating an idyllic Christmas. Candles, holly and warm mince pies around a blazing fire; what better way to keep out the winter chill?'

Claire had wiped the last handprints and pencil scribbles off the walls and scraped out all the bits of Play Dough from in between the floorboards. The house was unnaturally clean and tidy.

The children had the day off school and were eating a breakfast of brown bread and chocolate spread on the patio steps. Behind them, William mowed the grass. It had got too late the night before.

Claire hastily scattered as many Emily Love cushions as she could around the living room and strung some of her bunting across the kitchen beams. Looking in the hallway mirror she checked for lipstick on her teeth and smoothed down her hair. She had left it loose today and, newly washed, it shone as it fell onto her shoulders. If she'd had more time she would have bought a new outfit but the linen dress from last year's Boden sale looked pretty, complimenting the curves she usually hated. Her arms were brown and her summer freckles hardly noticed at all. Claire smiled at her reflection; for once she thought she looked quite nice.

At nine o'clock exactly, a small bright orange hatchback pulled up on the drive. The back windows were obscured by green foliage. A skinny young woman with a mass of curly hair, dyed a shade of red that clashed dramatically with the car, jumped out of the driver's seat. She wore tiny denim shorts and a pink halter-neck top.

‘Hi, I'm Babette. The stylist.' Her accent was Scottish. ‘You must be Claire. Is Stefan here yet? He's always late. I'll never get this tree out by myself. Christmas shoots are always crazy.' She spoke with a very high, very fast voice; Claire could only just understand what she was saying.

‘Love your house,' Babette went on. ‘I love the oldieworldy ones, but my flat is very modern. Sometimes I think I'd like to buy a cottage in the country like this, but I'd miss proper shops and I love my sushi bars and take-out coffees too much. Do you know what I mean?'

‘I think so,' said Claire.

‘And I don't suppose there's much chance of getting a good spray-tan in a twenty mile radius of here?' Babette opened the back of her car and Christmas tree branches started springing out in all directions. She pulled ineffectively at a few bits of tree. ‘It's stuck. I'll have to wait for Stefan. I knew he'd be late. Could you get the box on the front seat? It's got the fairy lights and some dried orange decorations. I make them myself. It's very effective for old-style shoots like this one. I have a fake pink tree at home, but obviously that's not what would look good here. My boyfriend hates it.'

Claire started to feel quite exhausted by Babette's incessant talking. Two days of this was going to be hard work. She took a large cardboard box from the passenger seat and asked Babette if she'd like a cup of tea.

‘Do you have peppermint?'

‘Yes, I'm sure I have.'

Claire led Babette around the side of the house to the back garden.

‘Actually, I'll have coffee,' said Babette. ‘Strong and black with two sugars. Oh, look at your children, aren't they gorgeous! I'd love to have children but my boyfriend's not so sure. We've only been together for eight months. Hi, you guys, are you going to be in some pictures?' She waved energetically at the little group on the lawn.

The children stared, amazed by this lively newcomer. Ben's face was smeared in chocolate spread. He grinned widely.

‘Is it Christmas now?' he asked.

‘Looks like it,' said Babette. ‘Are you excited?' She crouched down between the children. ‘I'm going to decorate your house with a tree and lights and I've got wrapped-up boxes in my car that are like presents, but they're actually just empty boxes.'

‘Oh!' the children groaned collectively.

‘But,' Babette went on, ‘I'll let you into a secret: some of them have actually got tiny wee presents inside, so when we're all finished maybe we'll open them and see if we can find anything for you?'

The children cheered, already enchanted.

‘Who's going to show me their bedrooms?' asked Babette, jumping up from the grass. ‘Let me guess. I bet you've got a pink one,' she said to Emily. ‘Pink is my favourite colour.'

‘Do you like fossils?' asked Oliver.

‘I love them,' Babette said. ‘My boyfriend has an ammonite he once found on a beach.'

‘I've got nappies in my bedroom,' said Ben.

‘Bet you do,' Babette said cheerily, as Ben and Emily took her hands and led her inside, closely followed by Oliver.

‘Which are your favourite kinds of fossils?' he asked as they climbed the stairs. ‘I've got ammonites and trilobites and a scorpion fossil from a desert in South America.'

Claire left them to it; Babette was obviously a big hit.

She was just filling up the kettle when she heard footsteps.

‘Hello again.'

Stefan stood in the kitchen doorway. He wore a loose pale blue shirt which complimented his tanned skin and dark brown hair. He was carrying a small box of vegetables.

‘I met a man in a van who gave me these,' he said smiling, as he put the box on the kitchen table.

‘Oh,' said Claire, feeling inexplicably flustered. ‘It's our organic veg box. I thought it was coming tomorrow.' She reached out to pull the box towards her, knocking a bag of tomatoes onto the floor. Yellow, orange and red tomatoes in assorted shapes and sizes rolled across the kitchen in all directions. Claire bent down and started to pick them up.

‘Is that your husband on the ride-on lawn mower?'

Claire looked up to find Stefan just a few inches away from her, collecting up stray tomatoes too.

Their eyes met and a half smile played across Stefan's lips.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘That's William.'

Claire thought of William chugging across the green expanse of grass and suddenly felt guilty.

She stood up.

Stefan stood up too and the cat greeted him by entwining himself around his legs as though he remembered him from the day before. Stefan bent to stroke him.

‘It all looks very tidy,' he said, glancing round the kitchen.

‘I've tried my best,' said Claire, her hands were still full of tomatoes, one fell onto the floor again but neither of them bent to pick it up. ‘With three children, it's hard to keep it perfect. Try not to make a feature of any Nutella handprints on the walls.'

Stefan looked around him again. ‘I like a bit of mess, personally. It adds character, makes a house a home. Sticky fingerprints, worn-out chair covers – it's all part of family life. William should see my sister's house; it's chaos but it's the loveliest home I've ever been in and in my job I've been inside a lot of homes.'

‘Coffee?' she asked, suddenly remembering about Babette upstairs with the children.

‘Tea would be lovely,' replied Stefan. ‘I'll make it while you sort out your vegetables. What are you having? Tea? Coffee for Babette, I'm sure. I bet she asked for herbal first. She starts a new detox diet every day and stumbles at the first coffee hurdle each morning.'

As Claire put away the carrots and potatoes in the larder she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the large stainless steel flour bin and grimaced. Compared to the coltish Babette, Claire felt frumpy. The dress she'd thought looked pretty suddenly made her feel ancient, she wished she'd made the time to go to get a proper hair cut. She undid a second button on her dress and wondered why she never seemed to have a cleavage.

Back in the kitchen Claire found Stefan adding milk to mugs.

‘Sugar?' he asked. She shook her head and he handed her a mug of tea. She felt like a guest; he seemed so comfortable and at home in her kitchen and it was Claire who felt slightly awkward and out of place. She glanced out of the window and saw a beautiful cream convertible parked on the drive. Its soft top was down, revealing dark red leather seats and a shining chrome and walnut dashboard.

‘Is that gorgeous car yours?' she asked, opening the window and leaning out to get a better look.

‘Yes,' he said, coming to stand beside her. ‘It's German; made in the same year I was born, I love old cars.'

‘My parents had a Morris Minor when I was a child and I had a boyfriend with a Triumph Herald when I was at college. It was duck-egg blue and he called it Penelope. I've forgotten why.'

‘I call my car Claudia,' offered Stefan.

‘Can I ask why?'

‘I'll tell you another time,' he said, laughing.

‘I hate the people carrier I have now. But it does the job of transporting three children, plus their friends and all the stuff that goes with them.'

‘My car's not very practical; she's always breaking down. But I'm very fond of her. Maybe I could take you for a drive later? Once round the village?' He paused and then added. ‘William too, if he'd like to.'

Claire felt flustered again. ‘I don't expect we'll have time,' she muttered, busying herself with putting mince pies on a plate. She immediately wished she had sounded more enthusiastic.

Stefan turned away and, picking up Babette's mug of coffee, set off to start the shoot.

William and Stefan dragged the tree into the living room and the children helped Babette decorate it with her fairy lights and dried orange slices. It wasn't exactly as Claire would have decorated it herself (she liked to use a combination of spun glass balls and brightly coloured tin decorations) but she had to admit that it looked lovely. Large sprigs of holly adorned the fireplace and Babette hung the Emily Love stockings that Claire had made late the night before on the mantelpiece.

‘Where do you get a Christmas tree in July?' asked Claire.

‘I know a man who supplies me every year. I do about ten Christmas shoots for different publications in the summer,' Babette explained.

‘The trick is no shots showing windows,' Stefan told them. ‘Otherwise you'd see trees in leaf and blooming flower borders which would spoil that festive feel.'

Claire looked at William; she knew that mowing the grass had been a waste of time. He was busy sliding cork coasters underneath the feet of the Christmas tree stand so that they wouldn't scratch the wooden floor.

‘Now we need to get you all dressed up,' said Babette. ‘No bare arms, no bare legs and no feet. You've got to cover up.'

‘But it's going to be 80 degrees by midday,' said Claire, already feeling uncomfortably hot in her thin dress. ‘And I'm sure you don't need me in the pictures do you?'

‘Oh yes,' Babette grinned. ‘You're the star. But we need you in something wintry but glam. What did you wear on Christmas day last year?' Babette asked Claire.

‘I wore a blue silk shirt,' said Claire.

‘She looked like Margaret Thatcher in her prime,' William said laughing. ‘It had a funny bow thing at the neck, very Tory party conference.'

Claire winced. At the time he'd said she looked like Grace Kelly.

Babette looked confused. ‘I always get muddled up between Margaret Thatcher and Cilla Black.'

‘What about the cashmere twin set I bought you for your birthday?' said William. ‘You look nice in that.'

‘Sounds perfect,' said Babette.

Thanks William,
thought Claire, her back already prickling at the thought of the hot scratchy wool, her frumpiness increasing by the second.

‘I know putting on a jumper seems unbearable in this heat,' said Stefan as though he'd read her mind. ‘But it's just for the pictures. We'll let you strip off completely in between shots if you want to.' Claire laughed and felt herself blush.

‘I'm sorry about this,' he said. ‘It will be worth it in the end – I promise.'

‘The children need to put on some jumpers, and some tights for Emily,' continued Babette. ‘Celia said that the children would be in traditional pyjamas for some of the shots?'

‘It was hard but I've managed to find two pairs of stripy winceyette pyjamas for the boys and I've made a Victorian-style nightdress for Emily out of an old petticoat. She looks gorgeous.'

‘Fantastic. You're truly wonderful,' said Babette, giving Claire an unexpected hug. ‘William, do you have a sweater you can pull on over your shirt? And perhaps a jacket on top?'

He looked unenthusiastic and Claire tried not to smile.

‘Great,' Babette said encouragingly. ‘You go and get changed but if you could just light the fire first, that would be fab.'

‘Fire?' William asked incredulously.

‘We'll need you sitting in front of a lovely cosy fire, opening your presents and looking happy,' explained Babette.

Claire glanced at her husband's face. He certainly didn't look happy. He looked fed up.

‘I'd better go and bring some logs in, then,' he said.

‘I'll come and give you a hand,' Stefan offered.

‘Wait while I get the woodshed key.' William called over his shoulder, disappearing into the hall muttering, ‘I can't believe all this pretence is really necessary.'

Stefan turned to Claire and smiled. ‘I know it's a long hot day for you all, but it's going to look beautiful. When you see the finished pictures you'll forget the heat and the hassle. You'll have photographs you'll treasure forever.'

‘We could use one for our Christmas card this year,' said Claire, laughing.

‘Great idea,' said Stefan. ‘Maybe I could Photoshop Santa hats onto you all?'

‘Somewhere William has a Santa outfit he wore one Christmas when Oliver and Emily were tiny.' Claire felt uncharacteristically giggly. ‘Shall I get it out?'