Page 78 of The Paris Trip

‘That’s good news, at least,’ Leo agreed.

The girls were also peering back at the warehouse shop and exclaiming in horror, having been in Paris when the fire occurred.

Leo leant forward, saying quietly to his aunt, ‘Henri told me you’d been unwell recently. I hope you’re feeling better.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing serious. The doctor says… arthritis.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It keeps me awake at night,’ Beatrice admitted, sighing. ‘I was in a great deal of pain. At the end of my patience, to be honest. But he’s given me some exercises to do, and they do seem to be helping.’

Leo touched her arm. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Thank you, Leo. But I believe you’ve had some trouble too recently?’ His aunt glanced round at Maeve, a furtive look in her face. ‘We saw that photograph everyone was talking about… Oh, and then your father turning up out of the blue, and married to a woman half his age? Sophie and Marie told us all about it on the phone.’ She tutted sympathetically. ‘That must have been difficult. I know you and Sébastien still don’t get on very well.’

‘We’ve come to an agreement,’ Leo told her. ‘My father’s going to live in Nice with Chanelle, and I’ll continue running the business in Paris as before. With one big change.’ He paused, smiling. ‘Bernadette is going to be working with me, so I have more free time for painting. That was my condition for staying on.’

‘How marvellous. She’s such a capable woman. I never liked her being cut out of the family business.’

‘But you know what my father’s like. It’s nothing to do with Bernadette herself. It's about his hatred for my mother. He just refuses to treat her like one of the family, knowing another man fathered her. And the law in this country is on his side.’

‘It’s a shame.’ Beatrice shook her head. ‘But I’m glad you’ve made this deal with Sébastien. Perhaps if the business starts turning a profit, he may change his mind and name her in his Will. She certainly deserves it, the hard work she’s put into Château Rémy over the years.’

Maeve had been listening to this exchange with interest, fascinated by the internal machinations of the Rémy family.

But, as the minibus slowed to a crawl and they fell silent, she sat forward, peering eagerly out of the windscreen instead. The dust track had finally widened into a broad gravelled area, shaded by enormous cypresses, and within seconds they were pulling up outside the house itself, the girls quickly tumbling out of the vehicle.

Unlike the château in Paris, the Rémy house attached to the vineyard was a modern build, all glass and fancy brickwork, but with a charming terracotta-tiled roof like many of the older buildings she’d seen from the train as they travelled further south. The gardens were thick with lavender shrubs, several tall rows blooming a deep violet, a sea of bees drifting amongst the delicate flowers, their steady buzz audible even before they'd entered the gardens.

In an adjacent field, leaning over the gate with docile patience, was a large, dapple-grey horse. ‘FrouFrou,’ Beatrice told her cheerfully, having spotted her looking at the horse. ‘The children used to ride her but she’s too old for that now. Now she just gets lots of apples and hugs.’

Marie ran to embrace her beloved horse, while Sophie ran ahead of them into the house, shouting for her father. Soon, Henri emerged, a heavily bearded, jovial man who clasped both Maeve’s hands in his and drew her close for the traditional three-cheek kiss. ‘How lovely to meet you,’ he said in thickly accented English. ‘Leo told us you were coming and we were delighted. My wife has prepared a room for you. Oh no, please don’t worry… We have plenty of space now that so many of our children have flown the nest. It’s good to have new people in the house.’

While he and Leo spoke together about the fire that had devastated their showroom, Beatrice led her upstairs to a large room overlooking the vineyards. It had the prettiest pink curtains and a double bed decked out in lacy pink and white.

‘My second eldest daughter Michelle loves everything pink,’ Beatrice explained with an apologetic smile. ‘Not my style. But what can you do?’

‘No, I love it.’

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable, anyway. Please let me know if there’s anything you need. I believe you lost all your luggage in Paris.’

‘Yes, it was awful. I got my rucksack back in the end.’ She slung it off her shoulder. ‘But anything of any worth inside it had gone.’

Impulsively, Beatrice hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry you came to our country and had such a bad experience. Let’s hope we can make up for it, now that you’re in Bordeaux. There’s far less crime in our little corner of France than in the capital, and such beautiful countryside, you’ll soon forget your troubles here.’ She went to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled in. There’s a pool round the back if you’d like to swim.’

‘How lovely.’ Thankfully, she’d bought a swimsuit while waiting at the train station in Paris.

‘We tend to eat late here, because there’s always something to do in the vineyard, especially now we’re coming up to harvest. But if you get hungry beforehand, please help yourself to anything in the kitchen.

‘Thank you.’

‘Listen out for the supper gong,’ Beatrice added as she left, beaming back over her shoulder. ‘You’ll find us on the terrace.’

Once her host had gone, Maeve stood a long while at the window, staring out over the beautiful vista. The heat was so much more all-enveloping here than in Paris, and yet somehow fresher too, the air not hemmed in by brick and glass, but flowing freely across the fields.

The vineyard itself stretched far away, long dusty rows of dark green vines, heavy with fruit. Behind them, in the distance, rose the hazy bluish tinge of mountains, the piecemeal landscape in between punctuated by a few terracotta-roofed towns and avenues of tall, stately cypresses, perhaps grown in clusters to mark land boundaries.

Maeve sighed, hugging this spectacular view to her heart. She had come to France for a few days on her coach tour, expecting to see only Paris during her stay. The busy metropolis and river. The Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. She had seen all those, yes, but she had also travelled deep into the hinterland of this magnificent country.

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