‘Yes, but the thing is…’ She shuffled, looking uncomfortable. ‘I don’t actually have much in my bank account at the moment. This trip to Paris wiped out my savings and I’m not paid again until the end of the month. They agreed to send me a few hundred, and I’ll probably collect that at some point. But I’m worried about going too far overdrawn.’
‘I see.’ He felt sorry for her. What an appalling situation to be in. No wonder she was unhappy about accepting what she saw as charity from them. ‘In that case, could I lend you some money? Just so you’re not completely without funds.’
She looked appalled, her eyes flying to his face. ‘No, thank you,’ she said in strangled tones. ‘I wasn’t begging when I said that about my bank account… I was just trying to explain.’ She stumbled over the words, her expression mortified. ‘Oh, I wish I’d never come to Paris. This whole thing has been excruciating.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ he said deeply, and meant it. ‘Because if you hadn’t come, I would never have met you, and never felt this incredible urge to paint again.’ He paused, very aware of her watching him, surprise in her face. He couldn’t say much more. It would be too humiliating. But he felt something extra was required. ‘As my grandmother was no doubt eager to tell you yesterday, it’s been rather a long time since I picked up a paintbrush. But I can tell you more about that at dinner. If you’ll come?’
She hesitated, and then said reluctantly, ‘All right, yes. I would like to hear more about your painting difficulties.’ Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, that came out all wrong. I meant, I’d like to hear more about your work in general. I love art,’ she added shyly. ‘Though I can’t paint for toffee.’
‘Toffee?’
She laughed open. ‘It’s just an English expression… It means I can’t paint at all. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. But I do love looking at paintings.’
He studied her, wishing he knew why this sensible, unshowy Englishwoman was so intriguing to him. Or how he could get her to relax enough to come back to the studio.
I do love looking at paintings.
Perhaps that would be a place to start… Talking about art, finding common ground, assuming they had any.
‘Eight o’clock,’ he repeated, and went in search of his mobile.
CHAPTER TEN
His uncle Henri was a jovial man in his late fifties, huge and bearded, and the father of nine children. Sophie and Marie, the twins, were his youngest children at seventeen. His wife Beatrice was also jovial and matronly, and when they sometimes got together as a family at Christmas, Henri and Beatrice would bustle about the Christmas tree with presents and eggnog and special delicacies for Noel, so like Father Christmas and Mrs Santa that it had become customary in the family to refer to them by those names. Speaking to Henri on the phone now, Leo was reminded of his Santa-like persona, listening to Henri’s deep, booming voice as they exchanged pleasantries at the beginning of the call.
‘Yes, uncle, I’m very well, thank you. I’m sorry I mislaid my phone earlier. Bernadette tells me you needed to speak to me urgently.’ Leo sat down in a quiet corner of the courtyard and stretched out his feet, carefully positioned in the shade to avoid the early afternoon sun. He was hungry, but he had no time for a meal. He had wasted enough of the day as it was, sleeping off his idiotic all-nighter. ‘What’s the matter, Uncle Henri?’
‘Well, Leo…’ Henri’s voice had lost its usual sparkling humour. He cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, I’m afraid there’s been an unfortunate incident here at the Cave Rémy warehouse.’
The warehouse was where they stored and sold wine, and held public wine tasting events, situated on the side of the road just outside their vineyard in the heart of Bordeaux territory. Compared to the modern house where that branch of the Rémy family lived, the warehouse and wine-tasting cellar was a lovely, old-fashioned space, wood-lined and redolent of vintage wines. The walls there were covered with huge, blown up photographs from days gone by: the harvest being brought in on wagons, or people in vats, grinning as they stomped the grapes down with their bare feet, and a large picture of his father alongside Henri, standing proudly outside the gates to the Rémy vineyard, both raising a glass of their own ruby-red wine.
Then there were the stores of barrels and bottles of wine, mostly housed in cool cellars deep beneath the public wine-tasting space.
Seriously alarmed by the thought that something cataclysmic might have happened, Leo sat forward, frowning. ‘What kind of incident? Is it serious? Have the wine cellars been affected?’
‘The wine is safe, thank goodness, but I’m afraid it’s not great news, Leo. I’m very sorry to say there was a fire last night. The sprinklers kicked in and we managed to put it out. But not before some damage had occurred. The pictures on the wall and most of the furnishings will need to be replaced. It could take weeks to put the place straight.’
‘Mon Dieu.’ Leo closed his eyes against the dazzle of sunlight on windows. If only he felt less exhausted. He wasn’t thinking straight. But he was smitten with guilt that because of his reckless behaviour, he had missed this opportunity to advise his uncle earlier. ‘That’s terrible news. And in the summer season too.’ He ran a hand through his hair, feeling grim. ‘I’m sorry I’m only just catching up on this news. Have you spoken to the insurers?’
‘That’s the first thing I did. They’ll cover the damage, but the excess on the policy is pretty steep. It’s going to put us back several thousand euros.’
Leo tried not to groan out loud, aware of his grandmother crossing the courtyard. He didn’t want to worry her unduly. ‘Yes, I see. How did the fire start?’
‘We’re still not sure. They’re sending somebody from the insurance company to examine the scene. But my theory is it was electrical. There’s no other explanation, really. We had some new equipment brought in a few weeks ago. It may be that something was faulty. Bad wiring, you know.’
‘Do you need me to come down there?’ He glanced at his watch, making hurried calculations in his head. ‘I could pack a bag and jump on a train. Be there later tonight.’
‘That’s very good of you, Leo, but there’s no need. We’ve got it in hand.’
‘All the same, it might be a good idea.’
‘Well, if you get the time… Just let me know and we’ll sort out a room for you.’
‘No, I’ll book into one of the local hotels. No need to cause extra work for Beatrice.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, Bea won’t do the work herself. Some of the children will help. You know I have a whole tribe here. Might as well take advantage of their free labour.’ His uncle gave a deep rumble of laughter. ‘Talking of my tribe, how are those young rascals Sophie and Marie getting along there? Not misbehaving, I hope?’
‘I believe Grandmère and Bernadette have been taking it in turns to show them around the famous sights of Paris. Yes, and take them to art galleries and museums, as you requested. All very educational, and with no excursions after dark. They did ask but Nonna shook her head. And when Nonna says no, nobody dares disobey her.’