Page 49 of Summer at the Château
‘Maybe,’ Pixie said non-committally.
* * *
The village was bustling with both locals and tourists when they arrived and as they strolled along looking at the boats and enjoying the atmosphere, Jean-Yves was greeted several times by both men and women. Most times he simply said ‘Bonjour’ as they walked past, but one woman was more persistent and stopped them, kissed Jean-Yves on both cheeks and insisted on being introduced to Pixie.
‘Martine, this is Madame Pixie Sampson, an English client of mine.’
Pixie, feeling the keen scrutiny of Martine and suspecting she was maybe being weighed up as a rival for Jean-Yves’ affections, which was just silly really, smiled politely as she shook the offered hand with a ring on every slender finger.
‘Désolé, Martine, but we have a dinner reservation. A bientôt.’ And Jean-Yves cupped his hand on Pixie’s elbow and led her away. ‘My sister-in-law. I think the English expression that explains it best is – on behalf of the family, she likes to keep tabs on me.’
Pixie laughed. She’d been surprised when Jean-Yves had introduced her as an English client, she’d thought tonight was about being friends, but now she understood. He was protecting himself from a nosy family member.
‘Are you still close to your wife’s family then?’
‘I’ve known them all my life. Deidre and I grew up together, lived in the same village, went to the same schools, colleges, different universities, but we were a couple from the beginning. Childhood sweethearts.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It never occurred to either of us our relationship would ever end, certainly not in the way it did.’
‘What happened?’ Pixie said quietly.
‘Deidre had an allergic reaction to a hornet sting, officially called an anaphylaxis, which requires immediate medical attention. Quite simply, it took too long to get her that treatment, we were out walking in the Parc d’Armorique, miles from anywhere. It was a dreadful time.’ Jean-Yves shook his head. ‘Even six years later I find it difficult to accept how quickly it happened.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Pixie said. ‘It must have been so hard for you and Marien.’
Jean-Yves nodded. ‘But as people kept telling me, time heals while life goes on. It’s true, of course, but it was the last thing I needed to hear and for months I wanted to punch everyone who said it. I didn’t, of course,’ he said, smiling at Pixie. ‘I joined a gym and broke their punchbags instead. Right enough. Let’s go eat and cheer ourselves up,’ and Jean-Yves took her across to the waterside restaurant where he’d booked a table. Here he was greeted by name again and they were taken out to a table on the terrace.
‘What a great location for a restaurant,’ Pixie said. The terrace was above the water and jutted out over the lake so diners had a panoramic view over the wide expanse of the lake.
Once they’d ordered their food and drinks – a non-alcoholic beer for Jean-Yves and a glass of wine for Pixie – Jean-Yves said. ‘How’s life been at Château Quiltu this week? Interesting I hope.’
Pixie smiled. ‘Interesting doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’ve made a decision and I’ve also discovered something.’
Jean-Yves looked at her. ‘Tell me the decision first?’
‘I’ve decided not to sell the château. Charlie is coming in with me as a partner and we’re going to run it partly as a retreat, but we’ll also offer courses in various things – writing, painting, photography and cooking. It’s going to take some setting up, so it will be next year before Château Quiltu Retreats opens for business, but that’s the new plan.’
‘I’m so pleased you’ve taken this decision. If I can help in anyway – especially with planning and French bureaucracy – you know you only have to ask.’ And Jean-Yves gave Pixie such a beaming smile at the news that she laughed.
‘Thank you. I’m glad you’re pleased.’
‘And now the discovery you have made? A secret door leading to a cellar maybe? Treasure at the château.’
Pixie laughed. ‘No nothing like that.’ Before she could say more, the waiter appeared at their table with bowls of steaming mussels. For several moments they both concentrated on their food.
‘So what is this discovery of yours?’ Jean-Yves asked.
‘Justine Wilson is Frank’s daughter and Ferdie is his grandson.’ Pixie glanced at Jean-Yves. ‘Did you know that?’
‘Not officially, no. But I did suspect that was the connection. Frank told me that they were both very dear to him, particularly the little boy, but it was a complicated situation and he needed time to sort things.’
‘Complicated doesn’t begin to explain it. I do wish though, that Frank had been able to confide in me about his unknown daughter the moment she contacted him – which was four years ago. I can’t help feeling that I let him down in some way, that he was so worried about my reaction to the news that he didn’t know how to tell me.’ Pixie shrugged. ‘I’ll never know the answer to that, so best I try and put it out of my mind.’
‘I think perhaps he was trying to protect you, trying to find a way to tell you without blowing your world apart. How did you react when you discovered the truth?’ Jean-Yves asked gently.
‘Honestly? Pretty badly, so I guess he was right to be worried. I’d goaded Justine about having an affair with Frank and she flipped.’ Pixie bit her lip, remembering the scene. ‘I apologised and asked her to tell me who her mother was. Apparently that is a question too far as she’s promised not to say.’ Pixie sighed. ‘Knowing only half the story is incredibly frustrating.’
‘Tell me, which came first: your decision not to sell or the knowledge that Frank had a daughter and grandson?’
‘Deciding not to sell.’
