The French for Always (6 page)

They walked out, slowly, into the middle of the stream, titanium-blue dragonflies hovering about them. One landed on her bare shoulder, light as a wish, resting there for a moment before launching itself once more into the rainbow-filled air over the weir.

In the centre of the river, they stopped, the stones firm under their feet, a deep brown pool on one side of them and the frothing slope on the other, where the mermaids’ hair disappeared beneath a foaming bridal veil. As the water gushed around them and under them, Sara turned to face Thomas with an expression of pure delight. ‘Oh! It’s wonderful! Thank you for showing me this.’

He looked into her eyes. ‘Here’s to adventures, wherever we may find them.’ And then, for a fleeting second, his lips brushed hers, as light as the touch of a dragonfly’s wing.

Before she had time to respond (or even to think what the correct response should be) he turned and, with a whoop, leapt into the deep brown pool above the weir, disappearing beneath the water.

‘Thomas!’ she cried, frantically scanning the river. ‘Thomas!’

He resurfaced upstream, five long seconds later, his hair sleek as an otter’s, grinning broadly.

‘Dive in, Sara!’ he called. ‘Push away from the wall towards me and pull hard; that way you’ll be safely clear of the faster flow.’ She hesitated and he beckoned, treading water. ‘
Allez, viens
! It’s wonderful!’

Oh well, what the hell,
she thought, and leapt, diving smoothly into the unknown depths and pulling against the drag of the river’s powerful embrace. She too resurfaced, gasping at the combined effects of the chill of the deeper water and the flood of adrenaline that coursed through her body like quicksilver.

Side by side, they struck out for the bank, hauling themselves onto the grass on the far side of the river. They collapsed, gasping and laughing, the sun immediately starting to warm their goose-pimpled skin and dry their wet T-shirts and shorts.

Sara sat up. ‘Thomas Cortini! Isn’t it dangerous to swim near a weir?’

‘Of course. You have to know what you’re doing. But this river is small and slow-flowing enough, as long as you’re over this side and keep away from the sluice.’ He sat up beside her, hugging his knees, and gave her a sideways grin. ‘Anyway, you jumped too. You obviously trusted me!’

‘It wasn’t that at all; it was just because I thought you might need saving,’ she retorted, mock primly. She combed her fingers through her wet hair. ‘Lucky my watch is waterproof.’ She glanced at the time. Gone half past two. But suddenly she found she didn’t care about the time for once, and she flopped back onto the grass, closing her eyes against the bright sunshine. On this side of the river, the roar of the sluice was hushed. Fluting, liquid birdsong floated through the canopy of branches above them. They stayed like that for a while, side by side, in companionable silence, allowing the warmth of the dappled sunlight to soak into their skin.

Finally Thomas got to his feet and offered her his hand. ‘Ready to walk back across?’

As they packed up the picnic things, Sara shooed a couple of wasps away from the sticky plates. Thomas winced defensively as one flew in his direction. She laughed. ‘Not scared to dive into a fast-flowing river, but frightened of a tiny wasp?’

He grinned at her again. ‘Ah, you’ve discovered my Achilles’ heel, I am indeed a coward. But with good reason. I’m allergic to their stings.’

‘Better stand back then and let me do this.’

He sighed. ‘Are you always so independent and capable?’

‘When I have to be, yes.’

‘In that case, I have no doubt that you are going to stay on at Château Bellevue and make your business a huge success,’ said Thomas, suddenly serious.

‘Well, I shall expect you to send me postcards from all over the world,’ Sara replied. ‘And Thomas? Thanks for today. For sharing this beautiful place with me. It was just what I needed.’

T
homas looked bemused
. The team was assembled around the kitchen table for the Tuesday morning briefing and Sara had just handed him the request list for Saturday’s event.

‘What is “
The Gay Gordons
”? And “
Strip the Willow
”? And then we have a “
Foursome
”. And then,
mon Dieu
, an “
Eightsome
”! When I signed up to be your DJ I didn’t think I’d have to get involved in anything like that.
Oh là-là
, there have been rumours about what you English get up to at these parties at Château Bellevue, but I never imagined they were really true!’

Antoine and the Héls Belles were also looking a little alarmed.

Karen guffawed. ‘Never been to a gay wedding before then, Tommy-boy?’

‘Don’t worry, Thomas,’ Sara patted his hand comfortingly. ‘It’s Scottish dancing. Hamish and Matthew want to kick off the party with some reels. It’s fantastic; you’re going to love it. One of their friends is going to be the caller, to tell everyone the steps. All we have to do is download some Scottish dance music. I’ll help you find what we need.’

Sara scanned her notes. ‘Hamish and Matthew are entering into a Civil Partnership in Edinburgh. But because that’s not exactly romantic, they’re also having a short, unofficial ceremony in the garden here, to re-exchange their vows in front of their friends. It’ll be about as close as you can get to a wedding without it actually being one. Then it’s drinks, dinner, dancing, as usual.

‘Antoine, could you go and collect the champagne this morning?’ she continued. ‘They’ve ordered the very best, Louis Roederer Crystal, 2004. And vast quantities as well. Matthew Humphreys is an up-and-coming fashion designer and he evidently has an eye for perfection. Everything about this party is going to be stunning. Right, everyone happy with their shifts for the weekend? Then let’s get to work.’

As Karen and Sara stripped beds, bundling the linens into big canvas laundry bags, Karen asked nonchalantly, ‘So, Sara, what did you get up to on your day off yesterday?’

Sara smiled, remembering. She kept her voice deliberately casual. ‘Oh, nothing much. You know. The usual.’

Karen nodded. ‘The usual. Hmm. That’s very interesting because my husband saw you and Thomas Cortini turning in at the old mill when he was on his way home for lunch. So if that’s the “usual” then I think there’s something you need to tell me.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s always the quiet ones... And as they say, still waters really
do
run deep.’

‘Oh, my God! Can’t a girl get away with anything around here?’

‘Nope. If you so much as sneeze, people will be calling round with their own special cold remedies and a pot of chicken soup. Especially an
Anglaise
who’s been recently abandoned in her hilltop château, which happens to be one of the most prominent landmarks around these parts. You are currently the source of much local entertainment and speculation in Coulliac. Of course, it’s lucky for you that I am the soul of discretion and loyalty and would never divulge to the gossips a word of what really goes on up here.’

‘Well, unfortunately for me, very little
does
go on up here.’ Sara peeled off a pillowcase and plumped the pillow emphatically, adding it to the pile of bedding airing on a chair before the open windows.

Karen raised an eyebrow, pressing her lips together tightly.

‘What’s that look for?’ demanded Sara.

‘I’m saying nothing. Like I said, I’m the soul of discretion, me...’

Sara looked at her suspiciously, thinking. ‘Well it’s not me. And the only other person up here is Antoine.’

Karen pressed her lips together even harder, suppressing a smile.

‘You don’t mean...? But who...?’

‘All I’m saying is you’re not the only one to have romantic assignations with members of the opposite sex.’

Just then, Héloise popped her head round the bedroom door. ‘Sara, is it okay if I accompany Antoine to the wine merchant’s to help him carry the champagne? I’ve finished stripping the beds in the three end rooms and the laundry van will only be here with the clean linen in an hour.’

‘Yes, of course, Héloise. That’s fine.’ Sara kept a straight face until Héloise’s footsteps had clattered safely down the stairs and then she and Karen burst out laughing.

‘My goodness,’ said Sara, weakly, ‘it must be all this exposure to weddings. Love certainly is in the air.’

‘I’ll take that as a confession then,’ grinned Karen.

‘I was talking about Antoine and Héloise... Oh! You are impossible!’ Sara flung the other pillow at Karen.

‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much. All I’m saying.’

Just then, Thomas popped his head round the doorway. ‘Can you come and help me choose the Scottish music, Sara?’ He grinned. ‘I have found something called a
Highland Fling
!’

He turned to go, and Karen pulled a feather duster from her bucket of cleaning things and brandished it triumphantly at Sara, as though it were her magic wand. ‘Just you keep on kissing those frogs, Sara! Sooner or later one of them’s going to turn into a prince, mark my words.’

‘
H
ello
? Is there anybody there?’

Sara jumped. She hadn’t been expecting anyone for at least another hour.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you? My name’s Nicola Carter. I’m Hamish and Matthew’s Best Woman.’ A tall, slender woman, dressed in flowing white linen, stood in the kitchen doorway.

Sara came to shake her hand. ‘Please do come in. You’re most welcome.’

‘I’m staying at a rental property not far from here for the summer. Thought I’d come by before the Hibernian Hordes descend on you, because I’d like to see where the ceremony’s going to be on Saturday. I’m going to be conducting the proceedings—it’s a huge honour, but just a bit nerve-wracking too.’

‘Of course. Let me show you where I thought might be best.’

Sara led her to the viewpoint, where a wisteria-draped pergola framed the silver thread of the river in the valley below. Clusters of sweetly scented flowers hung amongst the lush green leaves.

‘We can set chairs out here, with this as the backdrop. The timing’s perfect as the wisteria’s just come into its second bloom.’

‘Oh, this is gorgeous!’ Nicola exclaimed. ‘What an amazing place. Of course, I’d expect nothing less from Matthew and Hamish. They’ve obviously done their research. Have you been here long?’ She quizzed Sara about the château and the restoration project with interest. They wandered through the grounds and Sara showed her the main buildings—the barn, chapel and château—and the pool.

‘It’s wonderful. Great job. You’ve clearly put in a lot of hard work to get it to this standard. It was clever of Matthew to think of having the party out here. This way it won’t be so noticeable who’s here and who isn’t. Hamish’s family would have refused to come even if it had been in Edinburgh; they just can’t deal with the whole gay thing. Matthew’s parents are coming though. At least they make an effort, even if it has been difficult for them to come to terms with.’

Sara felt a surge of sympathy for the pair: she knew all about feeling like an outsider within your own family. ‘Well, I’m glad to be able to help out. You’re
all
most welcome here. Now, would you like something cold to drink?’ Sara glanced at her watch. ‘They should be arriving any minute, so do stay—it’ll be a lovely welcoming surprise for them. I can offer you wine, beer, or something non-alcoholic?’

‘A glass of iced water would be great.’

Sara and Nicola settled themselves at a table on the terrace. ‘So you said you’re staying in the area for the summer?’

‘Yes. I’ve rented a
gîte
near the Buddhists. I thought I’d try and combine my summer holiday with a little spiritual self-improvement. I have to pop back to London every now and then for work, but it’s so easy from Bergerac. It was the wedding that gave me the idea since I’d be coming out for that anyway.’

Sara knew of the local Buddhists, who had a centre a few kilometres to the south, to which people gravitated from all over the world for retreats and to hear the Zen Master talk. She’d grown accustomed to the not-uncommon occurrence of finding herself standing behind a couple of shaven-headed monks in their brown robes at the supermarket checkout.

Cars began to pull into the parking area. ‘Here they are,’ said Sara. ‘Let’s go down.’

Amidst the slamming of car doors, cries of welcome rang out as the wedding party spotted Nicola. ‘Darling! You got here before us. You’re looking fabulous! All that sitting on a cushion meditating is obviously doing you the world of good!’

The throng were almost all as casually elegant as Nicola, beautiful people in beautiful clothes: pastel cashmere jumpers draped over shoulders (on the men) and lots of trendily crushed linen (on the women). It was easy to spot Mr and Mrs Humphreys amongst them, looking slightly lost in sensible, crease-proof M&S beige polyester, Mrs Humphreys’ features masked under thick face powder and bright pink lipstick. As Sara introduced herself, one of the good-looking young men produced a set of bagpipes from an instrument case and began to play.

‘Piped in from the very start, that’s most impressive,’ smiled Nicola.

‘I can’t tell you the trouble he had getting those onto the Ryanair flight! They charge extra for everything, even musical instruments,’ Hamish exclaimed.

Summoned by the skirl of the pipes, Antoine and Héloise appeared from the direction of the piggery (Héloise’s blouse buttoned up slightly skew-whiff, Sara couldn’t help noticing) to help carry bags and show guests to their rooms, and the colourful, chattering procession followed the piper up to the château.

T
he early morning
air was cool and fresh, the sun just beginning to infuse the clear blue sky with the promise of heat to come. Sara was going quietly about her work in the kitchen, setting out the breakfast things, when there was a hesitant tap on the door.

‘Mrs Humphreys, good morning. You’ve got a beautiful day for the party. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘Oh, dear, that would be lovely.’ She sat herself down at the table with a sigh.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine, thanks. Thank you, that’s so kind, just a tiny splash of milk. I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, I suppose.’ She sighed again, looking older without her makeup on yet, and her features seemed to have sagged with a sadness that Sara couldn’t help but notice. Mrs Humphreys’ shoulders slumped and she pressed her fingers to her temples and then her eyes.

‘Have you got a headache?’ Sara asked solicitously. ‘I can find you something for it if you like?’

Mrs Humphreys sat perfectly still, her head still resting in her hands as though it were too heavy for her to support. And then she said, very faintly, ‘We’ve lost him.’

Sara came over and sat down beside her, putting a gentle hand on her arm.

‘Sorry.’ Mrs Humphreys pulled herself together a little, fishing a tissue out of her pocket. ‘It’s just... he’s all we’ve got.’ She spoke hesitantly. ‘Matthew’s our only child. We’d dreamt of grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, being part of a bigger family. But Hamish’s parents won’t have anything to do with us—I think they blame us for Matthew and Hamish being together. And we don’t feel part of this world they’re in,’ she swept her arm wide, encompassing the château, the guests, the pastel cashmere and the crumpled linen.

‘But you must be so proud of Matthew,’ Sara patted her arm. ‘He’s famous! And going to be one of the top designers in the fashion world. And the two of them seem so happy together. I’ve seen a few couples come through here and I can tell you not all of them have looked as rock solid as Hamish and your son do.’

Mrs Humphreys blew her nose loudly and nodded slowly.

Encouraged, Sara continued, ‘I know it’s a very different world to the one you’ve known. But surely the most important thing is to support Matthew in being who he is. Having to pretend to be something you’re not is one of the most lonely, isolating things there is.’

As she said this, the sudden heart-felt surge of emotion she felt was surprising; she realised that there had been times with Gavin’s family—and especially his mother—when she’d felt inadequate. She’d tried to adapt to Mrs Farrell’s idea of what the perfect girlfriend should be: arm candy for her precious son. In fact, now Sara came to think of it, perhaps that was when she’d first begun to feel that she was losing her voice; she’d stopped venturing an opinion when she knew she’d only be ignored, finding it easier to defer to Gavin, just as his mother did. And of course in her own fractured family she’d quickly learned to put her own needs at the back of the queue, well behind those of her stepsiblings. No wonder she’d lost so much of her sense of self by the time Gavin left. Well, she’d learnt that lesson: she was going to be true to herself from here on in. And then she found herself reflecting that some people—say, well, Thomas, for example—seemed to like her just as she was...

She pulled her focus firmly back to Mrs Humphreys. ‘If Hamish’s parents see you getting on well with both of the boys, maybe they’ll come round in the end. And the last thing you want is to lose touch with your son. Anyway,’ Sara said robustly, ‘you’re going to want to be invited to be in the front row at his catwalk shows! What woman wouldn’t? I shall look out for you on the pages of
Vogue
and
Harpers
.’

Mrs Humphreys managed a faint nod. ‘Not to mention
High Society,
’ she said, with a watery smile.

‘Really?’ said Sara, impressed.

‘Yes, dear, didn’t you know? Nicola is the Editor. She’s already covered some of Matthew’s work. She’s become a good friend of both the boys. They didn’t want their wedding—or partnership, or whatever we’re supposed to call it—in the magazine though; that would have been too much for Hamish’s family.’