Page 50 of Summer at the Château
‘That’s good.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you didn’t take the decision under pressure from anyone. You made it of your own free will.’
‘And that’s good?’ Pixie looked at him and waited for an explanation.
‘Yes, in two ways. First, you’re moving forward with your life, but also because under French inheritance laws Justine, as Frank’s daughter, has a claim on the château. It’s complicated but, put simply, she would have to agree to you selling it and the majority of the sale money would be hers.’
Pixie slumped back in her chair. ‘Even though I am the sole owner of the château now?’
Jean-Yves nodded. ‘You don’t have any children and she is Frank’s heir.’
Pixie picked up and drank the wine in her glass. ‘May I have another glass of wine please?’
‘Of course. Would you like the name of a gym and a good punchbag as well?’ Jean-Yves asked, a definite twinkle in his eye.
* * *
Out on the terrace, Gwen watched as Justine and Ferdie made their way over to the château five minutes after Pixie had left with Jean-Yves. Was that deliberate? Gwen wondered. She’d guessed that Justine had intentionally kept her distance. Ferdie, of course, had no such inhibitions and ran happily up to her when she held out her arms.
‘Hello, Gwen. We’re having pizza with you tonight.’
‘I know, Charlie has made them especially for you. You know I went to England recently? Well, I brought you something back.’
‘For my birthday? It’s soon and Lola is coming for tea.’ Ferdie’s little face was lit up with excitement. ‘I wish Mimi could come too, but she lives far far away.’
‘No, it’s not a birthday present. I bought it just because I thought you’d like it.’ Gwen reached under her chair and picked up the toy tractor and trailer package from where she’d hidden it.
‘Thank you. Can I open it now and play with it?’
Gwen nodded.
‘I’m going to show Mummy and Charlie first.’ And Ferdie sped off towards the pizza oven where Justine was standing talking to Charlie.
Watching him, a long-ago memory of another little boy playing in a Brittany garden up on the coast not seventy kilometres away slipped into Gwen’s mind. That special summer in the late 1950s when she’d looked after three small French children aged eight, five and three. A little boy called Thomas was the five-year-old, sandwiched between two sisters who alternated between spoiling him and being cross with him for not doing what they wanted when they bossed him around. Thomas had positively lived for the weekends when his big brother arrived and the two of them did things without the girls. Gwen smiled to herself, she too, had lived for those days and remembered them long after she’d left the family and returned home.
Charlie and Justine carried the pizzas over to the table.
‘I’m going to sit next to Gwen,’ Ferdie announced.
Justine glanced at Gwen. ‘It’s a bit late in the day to ask, but do you mind him calling you Gwen? You wouldn’t rather he called you, I don’t know, Auntie Gwen? Mrs Ellis?’
‘Gwen is fine. We’re friends aren’t we, Ferdie?’
Ferdie nodded, his mouth too full of pizza to answer.
‘My mother would think it was disrespectful, she’s a bit old-school about names and manners. I always had to call her friends Tante when I was growing up.’
‘Where did you grow up?’
‘St Malo. My dad was based there for work. Actually, he was based in Paris, but after Mum’s family home in Montmartre was sold they decided they’d prefer to live in Brittany and just keep a pied-à-terre in town.’
‘I spent a short time in Paris when I was young,’ Gwen said. ‘I loved it, especially Montmartre.’
'Mum and I prefer the countryside; that’s something we both have in common at least.’
‘Mummy, is Gangan coming for my birthday? And will she bring Buddy?’
