Page 7 of Summer at the Château
Fern was instantly contrite. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how hard that is to cope with.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Pixie said, her mind reeling from Fern’s words earlier. Frank had stayed here without her knowledge? Before she could say any more, a tall good-looking man appeared in the doorway, and acknowledged them with a nod and a smile.
‘Fern darling, I’m just going to walk the dogs. Back in about half an hour,’ he said, his American accent surprising Pixie.
‘Okay, Scott,’ Fern said as he disappeared. ‘I married Scott a couple of years ago,’ she said, looking at Pixie. ‘My first husband died shortly after your first stay here.’ She shook her head as Pixie went to speak. ‘I’m very lucky to have Scott in my life now. I hope you’ll find happiness again in due course.
There was a short silence before Fern spoke again, changing the subject. ‘Would you like dinner here this evening?’
‘Please. I seem to remember 7.30 being the time?’ Pixie answered, pulling herself together.
‘I’ll see you then.’ And Fern left her to settle in.
Pixie closed the door behind her and sank down on the bed. Why had Frank come here last year? And why hadn’t he told her about the visit?
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Pixie and Gwen declined the offer of a full English, settling for Fern’s home-made hot cross buns, offered instead of croissants as it was Good Friday, and delicious coffee. Fern placed everything on the table and left them to enjoy their breakfast. A breakfast Pixie found she had no appetite for after another night of tossing and turning, thinking about unanswerable questions.
She watched as Gwen cut open her hot cross bun and slathered it with butter. ‘You do know that’s not good for you, don’t you?’
Gwen shrugged. ‘I’m on holiday. You should try one.’
Pixie shook her head. ‘Not hungry. Coffee will do me.’
She sighed and Gwen glanced at her sharply. ‘Guess you didn’t sleep very well.’
‘There are so many unanswerable questions in my life right now that keep me awake. And one of the biggest is why did Frank come here a year ago without telling me?’
Gwen sighed. ‘No idea. Problem with the château? Hopefully the notaire will be able to shed some light on your questions this morning. I’m sure there will be a perfectly reasonable explanation.’
‘I bloody well hope so,’ Pixie muttered. ‘I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about things.’
‘Language!’ Gwen admonished.
‘Sorry,’ Pixie said, feeling despairing, not apologetic. What on earth had Frank been up to? And was she ever likely to learn the whole truth now that he was dead?
* * *
The notaire’s office was opposite a large supermarket with a cafe and Pixie parked in the car park and told Gwen she’d see her in about half an hour in the cafe.
The memory of walking into the modern building all those years ago when she and Frank had been excited about buying Château Quiltu threatened to overwhelm her as she entered the office foyer. They’d felt so upbeat that day, full of plans for the future. Well, that planned future was in the past now and she had to deal with the present without Frank.
Jean-Yves Ropars, the notaire, greeted her with a handshake and ushered her into his office. Pixie smiled to herself as she sat on one of the antique-style chairs in front of the painted French desk. Nothing had changed in here over the years. Jean-Yves himself looked no different either, apart from a few grey hairs sprinkled through his hair. His English had improved though, she noticed. He was fluent now.
‘I was so sorry to hear about your husband, Madame Sampson,’ Jean-Yves said quietly.
‘Thank you,’ Pixie replied.
‘How can I ‘elp you today?’
‘Frank neglected to tell me that the viager scheme had finished sometime ago and that we now owned the property, so I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,’ Pixie said. ‘Did my husband have a rendezvous with you in the months after Monsieur Quiltu moved out?’
‘Yes. Twice. The first time he came alone. The second time a few weeks later, he came with a woman.’
Pixie stared at him. ‘Did he say who she was?’
‘No. He simply said that she would be living in the cottage for the foreseeable future and he wanted to introduce her to me,’ Jean-Yves paused. ‘And that if she ever approached me for legal advice, I was to ’elp and send my invoice to him for payment.’
