Page 36 of Holiday with the Best Man

Again, the pace was slow and unhurried. If they’d taken the express train from St Pancras, they would’ve been in Paris already; but the slow journey through the French countryside was so much nicer, giving them time to look at their surroundings.

‘So tell me about the French side of your family,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you say they have vineyards?’

He nodded. ‘They’re all in the Burgundy area. One branch of the family produces Chablis, and the other produces Côtes de Nuits.’ He grinned. ‘They’re horribly competitive—but luckily because one specialises in white wine and one specialises in red, they’re not in competition with each other. But there’s a kind of race every year about how many awards and glowing reviews they can get.’

‘But I bet they’re the only ones allowed to be rude about each other, right?’

His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Right.’

‘So do you see them very often?’

‘Not as often as I’d like,’ he admitted. ‘It’s very pretty in Dijon, with all the old narrow streets and houses built of honey-coloured stone. The whole area is lovely and the views from the chateaux are amazing. Actually, I really ought to go and visit them soon, because I’ve been getting pleading emails about difficult roofs and I did promise to go and have a look.’

‘Do all old buildings have problematic roofs?’ she asked, remembering what he’d said about the roof in his family home.

‘It’s not just that—there’s damp, dry rot, death watch beetle, subsidence...’ He spread his hands. ‘And if someone hasn’t been careful enough to use the right materials when working on an old house—using modern plaster instead of lime, for example, or replacing a wooden floor with concrete—it can create more problems than it solves.’ He smiled. ‘But I’m not going to drone on about restoration work.’

‘Or glass?’ she teased.

‘There’s one glass building I’m definitely taking you to see in Paris,’ he said. ‘But don’t ask me what. It’s a surprise.’

‘No asking. I promise,’ she said.

‘One thing I was wondering about you, though,’ he said. ‘Why do you worry about the cost of things so much?’

She grimaced. ‘This stays with you? You’re not going to say a word to Bella?’

‘It stays with me,’ he promised.

‘I guess it stems from when I was little,’ she said. ‘My father wasn’t just unreliable about time—he wasn’t very good with money, either. I can remember the bailiffs coming round when I was about three, and it was pretty scary. I remember my mum crying her heart out when she thought I was asleep. I don’t ever want to be in that situation again.’ She shrugged. ‘Which is why I’m always very careful with money. I’m being sensible.’

‘I wasn’t accusing you of being a Scrooge,’ he said swiftly. ‘But don’t you ever feel you’ve missed out, sometimes?’

‘No.’ But her denial was too swift, and she could see in his expression that he thought so, too. And, yes, she knew she’d missed out on things in the past because she’d been too sensible and too careful. Just as she would’ve missed out on this trip today if she hadn’t for once thrown caution to the wind and agreed to his suggestion of helping each other out. ‘Can we change the subject?’ she asked, feeling antsy and cross with herself because she was ruining the mood.

‘Sure.’

‘Tell me about Paris,’ she said. ‘The first time you went there and what you really loved.’

‘That’s easy,’ he said. ‘My parents took all three of us, on the way down to Bordeaux. I must’ve been about five. It was Christmas, and we went to the Galeries Lafayette. The Christmas tree there was the tallest one I’ve ever seen in my life—before or since—and it was covered in lights and shiny red apples. And we went to a café for hot chocolate that had a cinnamon stick in it—something I’d never really seen in England—and we all had a slice of chocolate cake from the bûche de Noël. And my mum bought poinsettias.’ He smiled. ‘Philly of course loved the fact they’re called étoile de Noël because the leaves are star-shaped and red, gold and green are the colours of Christmas in France. She always does them up the French way in her shop at Christmas.’

Grace relaxed again as Roland chatted easily with her about Paris and Christmas and how his family mixed both French and English traditions.

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