Page 25 of Summer at the Château
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Gwen asked
Marcel shook his head. ‘Merci, mais non.’
‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Gwen said, turning to go.
‘The asperge,’ Marcel said, pointing to the pile on the ground. ‘You forget.’ He glanced at her. ‘Peut-être you like me to plant some lettuce and tomato plants here? There is still time.’
‘That sounds like a good idea, thank you,’ Gwen said, picking up the cut asparagus and making for the kitchen. She promised herself the next time she saw Marcel she’d ask him a bit about the history of the château, maybe even quiz him a little about Justine. Knowing how village grapevines worked, there was always the chance he’d heard something that could help explain her presence at the château and in Frank’s life.
18
During the first week with the builders there, things settled down into a routine. Pixie got up with the sun and wrote for a few hours, relishing the peace and quiet. Gwen rose early on the second day, ready to walk to the village for the breakfast croissants, only to find that Pixie had already driven in and collected a dozen croissants and two baguettes.
‘I’ve ordered two dozen for tomorrow to freeze so we’ll always have some handy.’
‘I was looking forward to the daily walk,’ Gwen grumbled. ‘I need the exercise. I’m used to being out and about in the village at home every day and going dancing once a week.’
‘I know but the walk to the village and back on your own is a step too far for you,’ Pixie said gently. ‘Don’t want you overdoing it.’
‘Don’t you start mollycoddling me, my girl. Walking is one of the best exercises. I’m certainly not going to sit around on my jacksy all summer.’
‘I don’t expect you to. I just don’t want you going for long walks on your own, that’s all. Once these edits are out of the way, we’ll go for walks together, okay?’
‘I give you fair warning, I’m not going to sit around waiting for you. I also intend to get stuck into some gardening. Marcel was saying we should grow some salad stuff alongside the asparagus. And the flowerbeds and urns could do with some tender loving care.’
Pixie, knowing that she too, could do with more exercise after hours of sitting in front of the computer, promised to help Gwen in the garden, so long as Gwen didn’t overdo things.
As Gwen prepared lunch every day, Pixie organised their evening meals, which, like all their meals, were usually eaten out on the terrace.
Weekends though, were different. No builders. No early-morning writing for Pixie – that’s not to say she didn’t do any work, she read through, edited and made notes over Saturday and Sunday so that when Monday arrived, she could carry on with the next section.
Saturday mornings, they joined the crowds in Carhaix market before a quick visit to a supermarket for the things they couldn’t find in the market. Saturday lunch was always the plat du jour in whichever cafe took their fancy.
Pixie had kept to her decision to avoid Justine and had yet to meet Ferdie, although Gwen told her he was a sweet little boy.
‘When did you meet him?’ Pixie demanded.
‘Justine came over one afternoon when you were writing to return the key Frank had given her to keep an eye on the place and to let the builders in. She seemed relieved when I told her you were busy. I hung the key on the board in the kitchen,’ Gwen said. ‘I offered her a coffee, but she wouldn’t stay. Ferdie was allowed to accept a chocolate biscuit though, so we must remember to get some more in the village tomorrow morning.’
‘Did you learn anything?’ Pixie couldn’t stop herself from asking.
‘If you mean did I quiz her with questions for the few moments she was here? No, I didn’t.’
Pixie hesitated. ‘Does… Ferdie look like Frank?’
‘Only in that he has blue eyes and fair hair – but then so does Justine.’ Gwen shrugged. ‘You’re going to have to talk to her soon.’
‘I know. Sorry, excuse me, I just want to write something down I need to add to the edits before I forget it,’ Pixie muttered, desperate to be alone, and she left Gwen weeding one of the large flower urns by the front door.
Instead of going back to the computer in the sitting room, Pixie ran upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door, before flinging herself down on the bed to stare unseeingly up at the ceiling. Above her head, she could hear Jerome and his son packing their tools away for the day and, within minutes, she heard their footsteps as they descended the stairs before walking past her door to reach the main staircase.
Turning her head, she saw the out-of-focus photo she’d propped against the framed one of Frank on the bedside table. Every time she looked at it, the image of Frank somehow became sharper, willing her to believe in the impossible – that Frank had been in the room that day.
She knew that he would be disappointed in the way she was behaving towards Justine and Ferdie. He’d always been first in line to offer help to people in need. He’d empty his pockets of his last penny to give to beggars outside supermarkets, as well as handing them a bag of food. Was Justine merely someone ‘in need’ like Gwen had suggested? Someone Frank was giving a helping hand to?
Pixie leant across and reached out for the photo, looking directly at the image, smothering a deep sigh. ‘I loved you so much, Frank. I thought we were soulmates and I trusted you with my life. Why didn’t you tell me about the château? Or about Justine? I never ever thought you’d keep such momentous events secret from me.’ Tears dropped onto the photo and she wiped it down on the bed cover before replacing it on the bedside table.
Whatever had been on his mind over the last year or so, deep down she knew that they had a strong marriage, that Frank still loved her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to rid her mouth of an unexpected sour taste. Gwen was right. She needed to talk to Justine who was the only person who could tell her what had been going on.
