Page 12 of Summer at the Château
‘Hard to do that from across the Channel, but I’ll do my best,’ Pixie agreed. ‘The place needs a family really. Right, the lamb should be done, I’ll take it out to rest while the roasties finish.’
Pixie glanced at Gwen as the two of them enjoyed their lunch. ‘Thanks for coming with me, Mum. At least I’m making some memories of this place, sleeping in the four-poster, cooking and eating, the two of us enjoying time here. If you hadn’t come with me, I wouldn’t have stayed here alone.’ She raised her glass in a toast gesture. ‘Thank you.’
Gwen smiled at her. ‘Glad to be of service.’ She reached for the champagne bottle and topped up her glass. ‘Here’s to us and the château.’
* * *
After lunch, as they cleared up the kitchen together, Gwen said she was going for a lie-down and to sleep off the effects of the champagne.
‘Good idea. I’ll just cut the rest of the lamb off the bone and put it in the larder and then I might go up and open my laptop.’ The germ of a possible story idea had unexpectedly popped into Pixie’s mind earlier and she wanted to write it down before it disappeared.
As she opened the larder door, she noticed the little stack of staple ingredients that Gwen had mentioned earlier. Putting the plate of lamb meat on the marble shelf, she picked up the tins, packets and jars one by one. There was nothing out of the ordinary, day-to-day stuff most housewives would have in their cupboards. But in amongst the olives, pasta, rice, instant coffee granules with their French labels, there was marmite, brown sauce, sugar, rice, custard powder, long-life milk powder, teabags, all with English labels. All ingredients that would have been bought in the UK to bring over to France.
Pixie let out a deep sigh of hurt as the realisation hit her. Food supplies in the larder. Clothes in the wardrobe. Frank must have spent some serious time here in the château. How many times had Frank been here without her? How many times had he been here with his woman? How many times in the past sixteen months had he lied to her? Importantly, why had he taken to coming without her?
Pixie slammed the larder door closed. She had to get a grip and stop asking herself these infernal questions. She was in danger of spoiling this, her one and only stay in the château, and she wanted her memories of the place to be good ones.
Photos, that’s what she needed. Tangible memories. Running upstairs, she grabbed both her phone and laptop from the bedside table. Where to begin? Top floor and work her way down, she decided.
Standing in the doorway of what would have been her writing den and library if their dream of moving here had come true, Pixie took a snap, before walking into the room and taking one from another angle, as well as one of the view from the window.
Her bedroom with its four-poster bed was next, and then the other bedrooms and bathrooms. Not wanting to disturb Gwen, she carried on past her room and took one of the long hallway. Downstairs, she photographed the kitchen, the hallway and the two sitting rooms. That should be enough to keep the memories of this Easter alive and Pixie sank into one of the old-fashioned armchairs. Wandering around taking the photos, she’d started to imagine how the château would have been in the past compared to the present day. Could she write a historical story set around life in the château? Doubtful, that genre really wasn’t her vogue, she wrote contemporary stories. A modern-day story then? Or even a time-slip one. She opened her laptop. No internet connection here at the château, but she didn’t need one to write down her ideas.
Her fingers were soon flying across the keys as she expanded on the original thought and the characters and several scenes for the story came into her mind. The block of the last two months had seemingly disappeared. Before Pixie knew it, over two hours had disappeared and Gwen was standing in the doorway saying the sun had finally come out and asking if she’d like a drink on the terrace.
9
Easter Monday and the sun decided to show its face for Fern, Anouk and Scott’s coffee morning visit. Pixie showed the three of them out to the terrace, where Gwen was busy putting cushions on the extra chairs. Scott was carrying the promised cake – a sumptuous coffee and cream gateau, which he placed down on the table with a sigh of relief before straightening up to take in the view.
‘Wow – what a backyard you have,’ he said. ‘Another week or so, those shrubs are going to look amazing. May I come back and photograph them in all their glory?’
‘We’ll be back in the UK, so I’ll miss seeing them, but yes, do. Perhaps you’d send me a copy or two?’ Pixie smiled at him.
‘Sure thing.’
‘Would you like to see around the château before or after coffee?’ Pixie asked.
‘Before, please.’
‘Moi, I stay and talk with Gwen,’ Anouk said. ‘I think the château it has a grande staircase, non, and my ancient legs don’t appreciate too much use these days.’
‘Make yourself comfy. We won’t be long, the château isn’t that big.’ And Pixie took Fern and Scott inside. Wandering through, showing off the château and trying to remember the little bits of history that Monsieur Quiltu had told them, Pixie felt a flash of proprietorial pride.
Scott was intrigued by the age of the château. ‘Did your Monsieur Quiltu ever mention the possibility of ghosts? A place like this could tell so many stories.’
‘Scott, stop it,’ Fern said. ‘You’ll worry Pixie.’
Pixie laughed. ‘No, he didn’t mention any ghosts, thankfully. And I haven’t heard any suspicious noises, like clanking chains or doors unexpectedly banging in the middle of the night. Come on up the stairs to the last floor.’
‘What a view,’ Scott said as the three of them stood looking out from the windows on the third floor.
Fern turned to Pixie. ‘If it’s not a rude question, what did you and your husband plan to do with the château? It’s a big place for two people.’
‘This floor was going to be my office and writing den and we were going to run retreats for… for anyone who wanted to come, basically, in the rest of the house.’
‘And now?’ Fern probed in a gentle voice.
‘Now I shall have to sell it,’ Pixie answered, pushing the ‘you don’t have to, you could keep it’ thought away. ‘Come on, I’m sure you’re ready for coffee and I’m longing for a slice of that cake.’
