Page 8 of Summer at the Château
That could only mean one thing, Pixie thought. The woman was important to him.
She took a breath. ‘The cottage is currently shuttered and locked, is she simply away for the Easter holiday or has she moved out?’
‘As far as I am aware, she still lives there, so she has probably gone away for the holiday.’
‘Do you have a key for the cottage? None of the ones I have fit and I’d like to look around it.’
‘Désolé, I don’t ‘ave a key and I’m duty-bound to tell you that, legally, you shouldn’t enter the cottage without the tenant’s knowledge, even though it is your property,’ he added as Pixie went to protest.
‘Does the tenant pay rent?’
‘No. That is something I discussed with your husband. With no rent book or formal agreement, neither party is protected and it would be difficult to evict the woman if necessary. Monsieur Sampson just said it was a purely private arrangement and thanked me for my advice, which he declined to take.’
‘Will having somebody living in the cottage affect things when I put the château on the market, which I intend to do in the near future?’ Pixie asked.
Jean-Yves nodded. ‘Maybe. The law would regard the woman as a squatter and you would need to evict her during the summer months. If she is still in residence in November, she will be able to stay there until the following March.’
Pixie stared at him. ‘I see.’
‘Perhaps you will be lucky and when you ask the woman to leave, she will go without protest.’
‘I certainly hope that is the case,’ Pixie said.
‘So, you do not intend to move here?’ Jean-Yves asked. ‘Didn’t you think about running retreats for writers?’
‘The plans we made were for us,’ Pixie replied, surprised that he’d remembered her mentioning retreats. ‘Things are different now. I can’t possibly move here and do the things we planned on my own. It wouldn’t be the same.’
Jean-Yves regarded her steadily before nodding thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose it would. How long are you here for this time?’
‘Six days,’ Pixie answered, standing up. ‘Thank you for your time. You will handle the sale of the château, won’t you, when I’m ready? Thank you,’ she said when he nodded.
‘Before you leave, I have a question for you,’ Jean-Yves said. ‘That first visit when he came alone, your husband brought the papers I’d sent him for the two of you to sign regarding the final transfer of the château. Your signature appeared to be genuine and yet you say you didn’t know about the end of the agreement?’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘I do hope your husband didn’t forge your signature. That would be highly irregular.’
Pixie was lost for words and stared at him as the implication sank into her brain.
Opening the door of the office to show her out, Jean-Yves said, ‘Enjoy your stay and happy Easter.’
‘Thank you. And the same to you,’ Pixie replied, her mind reeling. Surely Frank wouldn’t have forged her signature?
It wasn’t until she was crossing the road to reach the supermarket that she realised she’d hadn’t asked the name of the woman who was living in the cottage. Blast. Too late now to go back in and ask, there had been a couple waiting for their meeting with Jean-Yves. She’d have to wait and find out from the women herself when she returned.
* * *
In his office, a pensive Jean-Yves stood by the window watching as Pixie Sampson crossed the road. Should he have said something? Warned her? She seemed to be a lovely woman. Finding out the truth was bound to be hurtful. He rubbed his chin before taking a deep breath. He’d never broken a client’s confidentiality and he wouldn’t now. But he made up his mind that if Pixie, he suppressed a smile at her name, ever asked for his personal help, he would give it to her wholeheartedly and without question.
7
Gwen enjoyed herself in the supermarket waiting for Pixie. She’d taken a trolley and loaded it up with all sorts of delicious things. Things that she wasn’t supposed to indulge in, but what the heck, she was on holiday and it was a long time since she’d been to France. Several blocks of different cheeses, a couple of bottles of Bordeaux wine, a bottle of champagne, baguettes, a still-warm Kouign-amann from the patisserie counter, a roasted chicken, butter, tomatoes, milk, some cold meats, coffee, two luxury Easter eggs, one each, all that and more found its way into the trolley.
As Gwen wandered around, the memory of yesterday’s conversation about the Île de Batz with Pixie slipped into her mind. Seeing the island out there in the Channel had brought all the old dreams back and she’d spoken without thinking. She hoped Pixie would forget her words and not start asking probing questions about a past she’d never mentioned to anyone. That long-ago magical summer had been one of the best in her life. A turning point. Of course, it hadn’t been really magical, otherwise it would have been the beginning of the rest of her life with…
‘Excuse-moi, madame,’ a quiet voice behind her said.
Gwen jumped. She was blocking the fish counter. ‘Désole. Pardonnez-moi,’ the polite words she’d learned over half a century ago sprang instantly from her lips and she pushed her trolley to one side. This wouldn’t do; there was absolutely no point in thinking about what might have been. She needed to get a grip, and a coffee once she’d paid for the shopping in the trolley.
She’d barely sat down at a table in the cafe, a coffee in front of her, before Pixie arrived.
‘Gosh, Mum, you’ve been busy. I thought we were going to do the shopping together,’ she said, looking at the trolley. ‘Champagne? What are we celebrating?’
