Page 77 of The Paris Trip

‘Of course, and I intend to, it’s just that…’ He shook his head, his gaze returning to her face. There was a sombre glint in his eyes. ‘I hate exhibiting my work. That’s the underlying issue. I love to paint but I hate people seeing what I’ve painted. It’s a real failing for an artist. Because if you can’t exhibit and sell your work, you can’t make a living.’

‘But you spoke so lovingly of Bordeaux and the vineyard… Maybe it will provide some fresh inspiration while you’re down there, so you produce work you’re eager to show to the world.’

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed.

Their hands were resting on the train table very close to each other. Her little pinky was almost touching his. They looked down at the same time, as though both were abruptly aware of the proximity…

Nerves flared inside her, and she shifted her hand, fussing with the picnic rubbish again, though it was all ready for the bin. ‘Tell me more about Henri and Beatrice,’ she said hurriedly to hide her reaction, ‘what are they like? I hope your aunt and uncle won’t be horrified to see me with you. I mean, they’re being expected to accommodate a complete stranger. It could be rather embarrassing.’

‘Nonsense, they love visitors. Besides, you’re a friend of the family now, so you’ll be as welcome as any of us, trust me.’ Leo held out his hand. ‘Now, give me that rubbish and I’ll take it to the poubelle.’

When he returned, he seemed more relaxed. He began to describe his Uncle Henri and Aunt Beatrice to her, chuckling as he retold humorous stories about them from his youth, while Sophie and Marie chimed in occasionally with jokes of their own. It was obvious that the two girls adored their parents, their fresh faces glowing with happiness the nearer they came to Bordeaux.

‘Nearly home,’ Marie murmured, checking her train app. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘But won’t you miss Paris?’ Maeve asked her in French.

‘Oh, yes,’ Marie agreed with a sigh. ‘All those amazing museums and art galleries…’ She clearly had an academic turn of mind.

‘And the designer boutiques,’ Sophie added, a twinkle in her eye.

‘But I’ll be glad to get home too,’ Marie admitted, smiling as she watched the countryside flash past. ‘I miss my dear FrouFrou.’

Maeve arched her brows. ‘FrouFrou?’

‘Her horse,’ Leo murmured.

‘He’s incredibly old, so nobody rides him these days, but he’s still a darling,’ Marie told her enthusiastically.

‘And I’ll be happy to sleep in my own bed again,’ Sophie said, stretching with a grimace. ‘No offense, Leo, but that old mattress I had at the château was an absolute nightmare. I’m sure it was stuffed with straw, probably sometime back in the eighteenth century.’

And both girls fell about laughing at Leo’s expression.

They arrived late afternoon, and were met at the station by Beatrice, a smiling, sun-tanned lady who looked about sixty, and a man whom she introduced as Pierre, her eldest son, who was driving a dusty, battered old minibus with Cave Rémy on the side. Pierre looked to be about forty years old. He was taciturn and moustachioed, with a thatch of pitch-black hair and olive skin the texture of well-tanned leather.

‘We’ve always needed a large vehicle, not just to carry crates of wine about the place, but for all our children and their friends,’ Beatrice told Maeve, seeing her surprised look as they climbed into the thankfully air-conditioned interior. ‘Though they’re nearly all grown-up now, apart from those two rascals, of course.’ And she grinned round at Sophie and Marie, already seated at the back and poring over their phones as usual.

‘How many children do you have?’ Maeve asked.

‘Nine.’

Maeve gasped. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say, nine?’

‘I know, I know, it’s a large number.’ Beatrice laughed. ‘Henri and I didn’t mean to have quite so many. We thought maybe five or six. But accidents happen, you know?’

Leo glanced drily at Maeve, who bit her lip.

‘The girls are seventeen,’ Maeve said slowly, thinking out loud. ‘But that means –’ She stopped, worried about offending the older lady.

‘Sophie and Marie were quite a surprise, yes,’ Beatrice agreed placidly. ‘I thought I was long past childbearing age. Even my doctor thought it. Then suddenly, in my early forties, I started getting queasy and oddly fat. I thought it was the menopause at last, but it turned out to be twins!’ She chuckled at the memory. ‘It was a tough pregnancy, I can tell you. Carrying twins isn’t easy at the best of times. I’d already had Michel and Jean-Luc in my late thirties, so I knew all about it. But it’s especially hard when you’re older.’ She shrugged. ‘But my older children were able to help out around the house and vineyard, so I got to spend most of my afternoons with my feet up. And I wouldn’t be without my precious Sophie and Marie, of course.’

‘They never stop talking though, those two,’ her son Pierre said in a deep drawl, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as they took a sharp right-hand bend at speed. Rather too lightly, Maeve thought, clutching the seatback in front as the minibus swung violently around the corner. And at rather too much speed…

He finally hit the brakes as they approached a large sign declaring Cave Rémy: Dégustation and turned off the main road onto a narrow dust track.

The track ran past a large, stately warehouse with a shop at one end, which was clearly closed for renovations. The family’s wine-tasting showroom, Maeve guessed, seeing how Leo turned to study the building with a frown as they passed.

‘Such a shame about the fire,’ Beatrice said unhappily. ‘But Henri is confident the shop will be open again by the weekend.’

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