Page 71 of The Paris Trip

‘Sorry?’

‘Him!’ She waved a ladle expressively, gobbets of sauce flying everywhere. ‘Him! Him!’

‘My father, I take it you mean?’ His half-sister had never acknowledged Sébastien Rémy as her ‘father,’ or even as her stepfather, despite him still being married to her mother when Bernadette was born, and his grudging financial support after their mother died. But that was because Sébastien had lost no opportunity while she was growing up to point out her illegitimacy and make her feel bad about it. ‘I’m sorry he’s come back and that he’s being as difficult as ever. But the château belongs to him. I don’t have the authority to make him leave.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ she spat, then bent to her saucepan again. ‘He says he’s planning to stay indefinitely. Not just for his honeymoon.’

‘My God…’ He found himself grinding his teeth at the thought of his interfering father constantly underfoot. But while it was an inconvenience for him, Sébastien Rémy’s presence was more painful for his sister. He supposed it was a reminder of how she had been sidelined all her childhood and youth as the illegitimate child, the girl who didn’t quite fit… ‘I’m genuinely sorry, Bernie. I know it must be driving you mad.’ He touched her shoulder gently and she jumped, but didn’t push him away. ‘Look, do you want me to talk to him? Try to get him to modify his behaviour when he’s around you?’

‘Oh, what’s the point?’ But she hesitated, stealing a sideways look at him a moment later. ‘Would you though? He might listen to you.’

He laughed, though it wasn’t funny. ‘Hardly.’

‘You’re his eldest son now,’ she pointed out. ‘Papa’s only child.’ He saw how she flinched at that inappropriate word, Papa. ‘He’ll pay attention to you far more readily than to me.’

He didn’t like the idea but had to admit that was probably true. ‘Well, I’ll try then. But I can’t guarantee anything will change.’

She moved away, seeming calmer, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘How did it go? Maeve, I mean. Grandmère and Nonna wouldn’t tell me anything about her grandmother. They said it was private.’

He shrugged, aware that he couldn’t reveal what Maeve had told him. But it didn’t seem indiscreet to admit a few bare facts. ‘They seemed to get on well enough. But then her mother turned up.’

Bernadette stared round at him. ‘Seriously? So she really does live in Paris too?’

‘Erm, apparently so.’ He pretended to take an interest in the bubbling stew, peering into the pan, disliking having to lie to his own sister. But he had promised Maeve not to reveal her secrets. ‘I don’t think she got on as well with her mother. But that’s hardly surprising. Her mother left when Maeve was a baby.’

‘How horrible… Why did she do that?’ Bernadette sounded on edge, no doubt thinking of her own difficult childhood.

‘She argued with Maeve’s father, I believe, and he wouldn’t let her bring Maeve back to France.’

‘God, some parents!’ Her voice shaking, Maeve reached for the ladle again, and he hurriedly backed away in case of more flying sauce gobbets…

But he was saved by Maeve’s sudden arrival.

Her face was lit up, her whole being glowing, like a ball of light had just descended into the cavernous kitchens.

‘What is it?’ he asked at once. ‘What’s happened?’

‘The British Embassy just rang the château to say it’s all been sorted out. I can collect an emergency passport whenever I like and go back home. Isn’t that amazing? It’s barely an hour since we left my mother, and she’s already managed to get it sorted out as she promised.’

He was delighted for her, but his heart sank too.

‘Yes, that’s marvellous news.’ He paused, willing his heart to stop thumping. ‘So, when will you be leaving?’

‘Oh,’ she said, coming to a halt before him. She glanced at Bernadette, then said falteringly, ‘I hadn’t thought. I was just so pleased by the news that it’s all over… But now I remember, you wanted to do another painting session.’ Her hands clasped together tightly at her waist, as though she were fighting nerves. ‘Of course, another night won’t hurt. In fact, the man from the Embassy said there was no hurry. That I could enjoy Paris for as long as I like before going home.’

Bernadette was smiling. ‘Congratulations… I’m glad for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Leo felt oddly sick, but managed a smile too. ‘Yes, I’m very pleased. But I have to admit I’ll miss you. You’ve brightened up our lives.’

‘Me?’ Her voice was a squeak, her look incredulous. ‘That doesn’t sound like me. I’m more usually known for telling people off or dampening everyone’s spirits.’

Bernadette laughed, returning to her stew. ‘Not in this house.’

‘She’s right,’ Leo agreed, ‘you haven’t been like that here. Quite the opposite.’

‘Oh, well,’ she murmured, blushing.

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