Page 32 of A French Adventure
At the bottom of some well-worn steps, she saw a shop with the word ‘Quincaillerie’ written on a board across the top of the doorway. In the shop window amongst the manly tools were lots of cookery pots, cake tins, mixing bowls and electric kitchen aids.
‘This is like an old-fashioned yet modern hardware store,’ Vivienne said. ‘Natalie would love this shop. And they are open. Shall we go in?’ Without waiting for Maxine to answer, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was a cornucopia of household goods, DIY equipment and kitchen utensils. Vivienne wandered around trying to take it all in, knowing she was in the perfect place to buy Natalie a present.
The man behind the counter smiled at them as he said, ‘Bonjour mesdames.’ Vivienne picked up a cake tray for madeleines and a dozen moulds for some small cakes called canelés complete with a recipe leaflet and took them to the counter. Natalie was going to love experimenting with these.
Glancing at the receipt she was handed after she’d paid, the name on the top of the receipt jumped out at her – ‘Quincaillerie du Rocher.’ She looked at the man behind the counter, questions wanting to tumble out of her mouth.
Wordlessly, she pointed out the name to Maxine. ‘Can you ask him? I doubt he’d understand my poor French.’
Maxine smiled and moved closer to the counter. ‘S’il vous plaît, monsieur.’
Vivienne heard the words Rocher,un ami de la famille, saw the man shake his head and answer Maxine in rapid-fire French, that she couldn’t make head nor tail of.
‘Merci, monsieur,’ Maxine said eventually and the two of them left the shop.
‘What did he say?’ Vivienne asked impatiently.
‘He tell me the Rochers sold the business about twelve years ago. A family from Nice buy it and he works for them in their similar shop in Nice. He’s just helping out here today. They keep the name because it is an old business since 1921 and it made business sense. He personally knows nothing about any Rochers.’
Vivienne sighed. ‘I was truly hopeful for several moments. D’you think it’s worth asking in the Tourist Office?’
Maxine shook her head. ‘I think theMairiewould be better now we know a little about the family. Come on. It’s this way. We passed it earlier.’ She pointed to theHôtel de Villewith its French flag fluttering in the breeze.
The middle-aged receptionist in the office at theMairiecould speak a little English and nodded vigorously when Vivienne asked if a man called Pascal Rocher lived, or had lived, in the village.
‘Mais oui, he was theMaireseveral years ago. He lives in the rue near the church. Why you ask?’
‘He is a friend of my family from years ago, but they lost touch,’ Vivienne said, not wanting to say bluntly that he knew her mother in case the receptionist jumped to conclusions.
‘And you try to reconnect?Mais, sadly it is not possible today. He is not here. He is on holiday with his daughter. They go to Corsé. They return in a week. You come back then?’
‘I will try. Is it possible to leave a contact number for you to give him?’ Vivienne asked, scrabbling in her bag for one of her business cards that had both her telephone and email address, as the woman said, ‘Yes,bien sûr.’ ‘Thank you. I will try to come again before I leave, but if you can make sure he receives the card, I’d be grateful. Perhaps you could tell him Deidre’s daughter was asking after him.Merci.’
Maxine dropped Vivienne off at the apartment before locking the car in the garage and walking home. She’d enjoyed driving Vivienne around the countryside today, grateful to have her mind occupied with something else other than Leonie Toussaint. When Vivienne had quietly said she was a good listener if she ever wanted to talk, she’d been so close to confiding in her, but really the less people who knew about her past until she’d finally sorted things with the solicitors, the better. She couldn’t bear the thought of being judged, of being pitied. Once it was sorted, she could give everyone a sanitised version of things.
Reaching L’Abri, Maxine unlocked the letter box at the side of the front door and took out the weekly offering of publicity mail from local businesses, before locking the box again. Once indoors, she began thinking about supper. Something light after that lovely pasta at lunch time. There was no sign of Thierry being home, so she guessed she’d be eating alone, in which casea salad with a couple of slices of baguette washed down with a glass of red wine would do her.
As Maxine dropped the promo post on the kitchen table to look at later, she realised a white envelope had somehow got tucked in amongst the leaflets and she caught her breath. The London solicitor. She’d expected them to reply direct to her email, not with a formal written letter. She’d read it as she ate some food.
Quickly, she placed a slice of ham alongside some baguette slices, poured herself a glass of wine and, picking everything up, including the letter, went out into the garden.
Sitting at the table under the loggia, Maxine took a deep breath, hesitating before she opened the envelope, knowing that once she did, there would be a decision to make. A decision that could change her life once again. A change that she’d wished and wished for down through the years, but now it was finally a possibility, she couldn’t help but think that it was too late. Any attempts on her part to right the past and explain away the lies and accusations that were sure to be thrown at her were likely to be dismissed. And once again she would be left reeling and alone – just like thirty years ago, when her life had fallen apart.
That day had started normally enough. She’d woken early, left Daiva sleeping and crept down the hallway to have a shower. Leonie’s bedroom door was open and Maxine caught a glimpse of her beloved daughter, a thumb in her mouth and her arm clutching close the knitted soft toy mouse ‘Anatole’ that Maxine had bought her for her recent third birthday.
As she’d showered, Maxine had thought about her day. Daiva would usually leave for work at about seven thirty, she would getLeonie dressed and the two of them would have breakfast. Their walk, through the park to thel’école maternellejust a street away, was the highlight of her day. It had become their special time. After leaving Leonie at school, she would do a small shop for tonight’s dinner, drop her purchases off at the apartment, before going to work in theagent immobilierwhere she was a general assistant while she studied for her exams.
That particular day, Daiva hadn’t left for work as usual while she and Leonie had breakfast, which was strange. When she returned to place the dinner ingredients for that evening in the fridge, he was still there. Scowling at her as she came in. Maxine quickly put the shopping away before turning to leave. She knew better than to antagonise him when he was in a mood.
‘I’m off to work now. I’ll see you later.’
And she left quickly before he could stop her on some pretence or other. Stopping to ask what time he would be home that evening wasn’t worth the risk. Not for the first time, she inwardly berated herself for the situation she found herself in. How could she not have seen the real man behind the facade Daiva presented to the world? But the bigger question was – how the hell was she going to get herself and, more importantly, Leonie away from him?
It was mid-afternoon when she arrived at the gates ofl’école maternelleto collect Leonie.
A puzzled teacher looked at her. ‘Mais, Monsieur Toussaint collected your daughter early. His maman is ill and he’s taken Leonie to see her.’
