Page 42 of A French Inheritance
‘I’d love to, thank you, and I’m sure Mum will too – provided she actually turns up before Easter. Now stop worrying. I’ll see you tomorrow evening and then Saturday morning for work.’
* * *
Whilst Adam went to pick up Hannah and Debs from Nice airport, Lucy walked along the hallway to do a final check on their room. Growing up, they’d always chosen to share a bedroom and they were still insistent on sharing when they came home together. Lucy and Adam had shrugged and gone alone with it, although privately Lucy did wonder what would happen if they both came home with a boyfriend at the same. So far that hadn’t happened, but the spare guest rooms were always ready, just in case.
She was looking forward to having Debs and Hannah home for a few days and catching up with their lives, but it did mean pushing her weekend routine aside. Not that she minded, she loved having them home filling the farmhouse with laughter and noise. The house always felt so empty in the hours after they left. Now they were both working full-time, it was rare to have them both home together and she intended to make the most of their company this weekend. Besides, Easter was going to be a busy weekend, so her routine would be out of the window.
The room the girls shared was large and had originally been two rooms which Adam had knocked into one and created an en suite bathroom with both a bath and a shower unit. Light and airy, its windows overlooked the main farmyard and the driveway. There were two single beds with a bedside table in between, a large double wardrobe and a chest of drawers with a lovely vanity mirror Lucy had found in a local brocante, standing in the centre of the top. Satisfied that the room was ready, Lucy went on downstairs to the kitchen.
After asupermarchéshop yesterday, the fridge was stuffed with everything for Easter, plus the treats the girls liked – greek yoghurts, different cheeses, little pots of their favourite chocolate mousse – and the salad drawer was stuffed with enough lettuce, tomatoes, onions, avocados, asparagus, broccoli, carrots and courgettes to feed a mountain of hungry people. A large leg of lamb was in the fridge ready for the traditional Sunday Easter roast. A large piece of pork with an old-fashioned muslin cover over it was in the pantry ready for their Good Friday evening meal.
Lucy gave a happy sigh. She did love it when the family were all together and she could spend most of her time in the kitchen cooking food for them.
* * *
Once back home, Briony made herself a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea for lunch and sat out in the garden to enjoy it. Meg curled up happily at her feet, alert for every crumb that might be dropped. After lunch, Briony stayed out in the garden and sanded the ancient handcart down and afterwards gave it a coat of plain white paint, deciding that all the colour should come from an explosion of flowers that she’d get her mum to plant in the cart.
A quick shower to get the paint off her hands and she sat down on the terrace in the shade to start reading the five-year diary, something she’d been promising herself she’d do for days now. Her conscience was still troubled by the fact that diaries were such personal things, not meant to be read by anyone else but the owner. On the other hand, a lot of history was gleaned from such journals and she really longed to learn more about the history of both her family and this wonderful cottage that was now hers. There was always the chance too that the diary had never been used. That all she’d find would be blank pages.
She inserted the key and carefully turned the lock. A faint click and she lifted the leather cover. There was a handwritten inscription on the first page.
Always remember as my friend Henri Matisse would say, ‘Creativity takes Courage’. Forever your friend. EM.
Briony puzzled for a few moments over the EM initials before remembering so many of the postcards she’d found in the box bore the same initials.
Slowly and carefully, Briony started to turn the pages. She soon realised that the diary was more of a journal with infrequent entries and even a few pencil sketches – something which banished her guilty feelings over reading someone else’s diary. It wasn’t full of personal thoughts and dreams, although there were a few scattered on its pages. Cryptic entries, though, were frequent. Some pages simply recorded a trip. ‘Went to Antibes today with EM.’ Another, ‘How I wish I could have gone to the Carlton with EM for lunch today.’ On another page in the middle of the journal, the words, ‘EM says the Windsors were thrilled with the party she organised for them last night’ jumped out at her. Was that a reference to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor? Surely not.
Lots of entries referred to ‘EM’ meeting well-known figures, like Noël Coward, Aly Khan, Picasso. But there was no real clue as to whom the journal had belonged to – until the name Albert appeared, when Briony realised the owner could be Marie-Louise, her great-grandmother. ‘Albert says EM is not a respectable woman and he has forbidden me from seeing her.’
Briony turned the pages and read an entry in the middle of the journal which was so personal it made her catch her breath. ‘Albert is pleased that I am “with child”, as he calls it. He says it will put a stop to my antics. I will love this child when it arrives and hope that I am able to give it a happy life.’ If Great-grandmother Marie-Louise was the writer of these last two sad entries, then the baby had to be Giselle.
Briony closed the diary with an aching heart, resolving not to read any more until later.
When she walked Meg down to the lake that evening, Briony’s head was still full of the diary entries she’d seen. Elliot and Luna were there already and she sighed happily as she joined them.
‘Have you had a good day?’
Elliot nodded. ‘Quiet for some reason. Maybe everyone has taken their dogs and cats on holiday. How about you?’
‘Amongst other things, I painted the handcart. And I’ve sorted through some more boxes.’
‘Meg is looking good now she’s getting more exercise. She’s settled in with you so well,’ Elliot said as they both sat watching the dogs enjoying another evening swim in the lake.
‘She has. I love her to bits. I think Mum is going to adore her too.’
‘When is Jeannie arriving?’ Elliot asked.
Briony shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I’ve been waiting for her to ring and tell me what time to pick her up. I missed a call from her last night, but when I rang back she didn’t pick up and then this afternoon I got a brief text. “All well. See you soon. Love Mum.” And that was it. No date, no arrival time. No information at all. It’s so out of character for her.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s Good Friday tomorrow. I thought she’d be here by now. She did say she was having difficulty finding a flight. But not a word since, so I just don’t know what is going on.’ She gave Elliot an anxious glance. ‘Either something has happened or there’s something going on that she hasn’t told me about yet.’
33
Jeannie was trying not to feel guilty as she sat in the Departure lounge Thursday evening waiting to board her flight. Last night she’d pressed Briony’s number intending to tell her about the plan she’d made, but then her nerve had failed her and she’d cut the call before Briony could pick up. Then she’d doubled the guilt by not answering when Briony had called several times today by letting it go to voice message. Briony had only left one message and Jeannie knew from the stress evident in her voice that she was worrying about the silence. Hopefully, the brief text she’d sent in response would stop her worrying too much. She also hoped Briony would understand when she explained.
Jeannie glanced at her watch. Surely her flight should be boarding by now? She glanced at the flight departure board and saw that boarding had been delayed by half an hour. Jeannie groaned to herself. It was the last flight of the day to Nice, due to land at eleven ten. It was going to be gone midnight before she walked into the Arrivals Hall at Nice.
She took her phone out and typed a message.
Boarding is currently delayed by half an hour. It’s going to be a truly late night. Shall I get a taxi instead?
