A Wedding in Provence: From the #1 bestselling author of uplifting feel-good fiction

When Alexandra went into the kitchen, she was pleased to see the very large kettle and another pot sitting on the range for boiling water. The amount the range usually provided was never going to be enough for the piles of washing-up the lunch party had created. She glanced out at the terrace to see David clearing the table, and Stéphie helping. No one else was visible.

The washing-up could take days, Alexandra thought, her spirits suddenly descending into cold water, like the puddle on the floor by the sink. She should get on and start doing it.

But rather than scraping plates and stacking them and generally doing useful things, she sat at the kitchen table. Milou came in, and sensing she was unhappy, came and pushed his face into hers. Ignoring his dog-breath, she put her arm round him. He was so big it was almost like hugging a person.

‘What’s up, chicken?’ said David, coming into the kitchen with a basket full of dirty crockery. ‘Did seeing your illustrious relations make you homesick for Switzerland?’

Alexandra instantly felt better and she laughed. ‘Certainly not! But they were very exhausting and don’t you think it was rude appearing with no notice? And then disappearing off to Aix like that? I felt it was outrageous.’

David shrugged. ‘It was a bit high-handed, I suppose. Although as aunts they were very amusing, almost as good as the aunts in P. G. Wodehouse.’

This made Alexandra smile. Thinking of them like that put them in perspective. ‘They want me to marry Hubert, you know.’

It was David’s turn to smile. ‘I don’t think that will happen.’

‘Why not? I may be wayward but I’m a very lovely girl. I have that on the best authority!’

David shook his head, still amused. ‘Your cousin Hubert bats for the other team: I’d lay folding money on it.’

‘You mean …?’

‘He doesn’t like girls, however lovely or wayward.’ There was a wistfulness to his smile now. ‘If that was all it took, I’d make a play for you myself.’

Alexandra got up and poured a kettle of water into the battered enamel bowl they did the washing up in. ‘You mean a marriage of convenience? I like Hubert, he’s nice and very kind, but marry? Je crois que non.’

‘Well, they’ve gone now.’

‘And they didn’t want to stay the night! Think how awful that would have been!’

‘Are there enough habitable bedrooms?’ asked David. ‘Although bed linen wouldn’t have been a problem.’

He unloaded his basket, presumably so he could go back to the table outside and fill it again.

‘Do you know? I have no idea how many decent bedrooms there are here. I’ve only seen the ones I need to see.’ Something stirred in her brain. ‘We must explore,’ she said. ‘It would be really useful to know something like that. Do you think people would come on holiday here? Can you pass me the plates?’

‘Of course they’d come!’ David handed over the pile. ‘The English love France! There’s so much to do here. It’s an antiques collector’s paradise. Just the little stall in the market is like gold dust!’

‘I know,’ Alexandra agreed. ‘I’ve bought a couple of little things myself when I’ve been there. Just to keep my hand in. After all, I won’t be a nanny forever.’ She felt quite sad about this and rubbed her cloth over the plates thoughtfully. She didn’t want to leave this family; they and their happiness had become so important to her.

Alexandra and David had got through quite a bit of the washing up when Félicité and Henri came in holding packages wrapped in elegant paper and curled gold ribbons. Stéphie followed with nothing, her chin high and her bottom lip firmly clamped by her top teeth. She was very obviously trying not to show her disappointment.

‘Mummy’s gone home,’ said Félicité, ‘and she’s given us presents. Not Stéphie though.’ She didn’t sound enthusiastic and glanced at Stéphie nervously.

‘Open them!’ said Stéphie. ‘It’s all right. She’s not my mother. I do know that.’

Félicité’s present was a beautiful pale blue writing folder. It was leather, with all sorts of little pockets and places for letters and pens and stamps, everything you might need in order to write to someone. There was also a beautiful pad of paper and envelopes lined with tissue paper to match. Henri had been given one the same except that it was dark red and the envelopes were plain.

‘There’s a note in mine,’ said Henri. He opened it. ‘Oh. It’s so we can write to Mummy when we go to boarding school.’

Stéphie took in a shaking breath. Alexandra could see she was about to burst into tears at any second.

‘Oh!’ she said, getting up. ‘I’ve remembered something! No one move. Especially not you, Stéphie!’

She flew upstairs to her bedroom to the cupboard where she’d put the bits and pieces she’d bought from the brocante stall. She picked up one of the items, put a bit of tissue paper round it and then ran back down to the kitchen, offering a prayer to whichever saint was in charge of such things that her plan would work.

‘I bought you this, Stéphie,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to give it to you until I had something for Félicité and Henri. But now they’ve got their writing sets …’ Alexandra kept on praying, this time to the saint who cured disappointment. She so wanted to make Stéphie smile.

‘Oh! It’s a little range!’ said Stéphie, having unwrapped it. ‘Like we have here. Only tiny!’

‘Yes,’ said Alexandra. ‘And I think if you put methylated spirits in it, you can light it. It’s not new, I’m afraid.’

‘And not an antique,’ said David, observing from across the table. ‘But definitely worth collecting. Really, I should hire a van and fill it with stock and take it all back to the Portobello Road.’

‘I love it!’ said Stéphie. ‘It has little saucepans and everything. It’s wonderful! Thank you so much!’ She gave Alexandra a huge hug, genuinely delighted with her gift.

Antoine came in. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Mummy bought us presents,’ said Félicité, ‘but not Stéphie. Alexandra has given her a toy cooker.’

Alexandra couldn’t help herself; she looked up to see him looking at her. She suddenly felt terribly awkward.

‘That’s very kind of Alexandra,’ said Antoine, obviously feeling as awkward as Alexandra was.

‘It was so thoughtless of Mummy not to think of Stéphie,’ said Félicité, saying what everyone was thinking. ‘And if she thinks I’m going to go to boarding school in England and write her letters with envelopes like this, she’s in for a nasty shock!’

Alexandra opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Although she agreed with Félicité completely she was sure there was some rule that meant you weren’t allowed to criticise your parent even if they were wrong. No one said a thing.

‘You’re looking tired, Lexi. Why don’t you go up to bed?’ said David suddenly. ‘You must be exhausted. All the cooking and arranging everything—’

‘You did the cooking,’ she began.

‘But I didn’t have very frightening relations from Switzerland arriving without notice,’ David went on.

‘You don’t have to worry about reading me a story,’ said Stéphie, kindly. ‘Papa will do it.’

Antoine nodded. ‘I will. You go, Alexandra.’

She went, not knowing whether she felt cared for, or dismissed. By the time she got upstairs she no longer cared; she discovered she really was tired. But before she let herself fall into bed she wrote a letter to her cousin Hubert in Switzerland asking him for a copy of the will which gave details of her inheritance. He would get the letter when they all got home from their grand tour. Then she did her teeth and was asleep in seconds.

Stéphie ran into Alexandra’s bedroom in the morning. She was already dressed. ‘I’m not reading this morning, Lexi,’ she said. ‘I’m going out with Papa!’ She ran out again while Alexandra wondered how she felt about Stéphie calling her Lexi. She decided she quite liked it.

She got up and dressed in a clean dress and her one cardigan before going downstairs.

David was there, frying sausages. ‘I’m starving,’ he explained. ‘After you went to bed no one wanted any supper. Jack seems to be sickening for something and Antoine has taken the children out, so I’m making breakfast for whoever’s left to eat it. Which I think is just us.’

There were fresh baguettes and a basket of croissants on the table. ‘I am jolly hungry.’ She picked up a croissant and put it on her plate. ‘Did you go out for bread too? You must have been up very early.’

‘I do wake early, as you know, but Jack went to the village. He wanted to take my car somewhere later and so bought bread and viennoiserie before he left. That translates roughly as croissants, by the way.’

Alexandra reached for the butter. ‘Stéphie called me Lexi this morning. I like it. Did the children have any breakfast?’

He nodded. ‘Croissants and hot chocolate. With Antoine and the children away it means we’ve got the day to explore the chateau.’

‘Oh, that would be so much fun! After all the dramas of yesterday it’ll be lovely just being with you and not having to think what I’m saying all the time.’ She paused. ‘But I’d feel awkward snooping around the chateau without asking.’

‘Me too,’ said David triumphantly. ‘So I asked Antoine if we could. He said, “Help yourself and don’t overlook the cellar and find something nice to have with your lunch. We’ll be out all day.”’

‘Oh, that is nice!’ She finished her croissant and reached for the bread.

‘Leave room for the sausages, they’re local,’ said David, getting up to fetch them. When he’d put one on Alexandra’s plate he said, ‘You know, not long ago you wouldn’t have needed to ask permission to explore an empty house. You’d have just done it and trusted you wouldn’t be found out. Why the change, I wonder?’

‘Oh. Well, I expect it’s just because I’m a bit more mature than I used to be,’ she said. ‘And maybe being a nanny has given me a sense of responsibility.’

‘Maybe,’ said David, after a pause, obviously not convinced.

The chateau was bigger than Alexandra had realised. There were rooms at the back she had never needed to go into. And outside there were disused buildings: a wash house and what looked like a dairy as well as a house next to the stables where presumably the grooms once lived. There was a pigeonnier too, a little way away from most of the buildings and two storeys high. Its past was clear from the bird droppings, obviously accumulated over many years, but, as David said, it would make a perfect house to rent.

‘It’s like a village, with houses clustered round the big house,’ said Alexandra. ‘Only instead of the cottages just belonging to the big house, they’re there to service it.’

‘It’s a rather disturbing thought, isn’t it?’ said David.

A little bit separate from the house, across a lawn, was another building that David said was probably an orangerie. ‘Imagine, growing your own citrus,’ he said. ‘Your own lemons for your gin and tonic.’ He shook the door. ‘It’s locked. Do you mind if we have another look at the stables?’

‘They were so grand, weren’t they? I’d happily live in them myself!’

Later, as they walked back to the house, David said, ‘There is a lot of potential here. If Antoine really wanted to, he could have these buildings done up and rent them for the summer. Or even year round. Artists would come to paint, writers to write, and les Anglais to be objectionable and loud on their holidays.’

Alexandra laughed. ‘You’re not very kind about your fellow countrymen.’

‘They’re not very kind about me,’ said David.

Alexandra didn’t speak immediately. She was aware that there were things that went on in David’s life that he would never tell her about. ‘But I’d forgive them if they brought in enough money so Antoine didn’t have to go away all the time.’

‘I agree, it’s not good for the children being without a parent,’ said David. ‘And now Lucinda’s here, determined to take over Félicité and Henri’s lives, that leaves little Stéphie even more parentless. Just as well she’s got you, Lexi.’

‘I do feel quite maternal about her, I must say.’

‘She loved the little stove. Did you buy it for her?’ David asked.

‘Yes. I knew it would appeal to her. I do wish Lucinda would be a bit more thoughtful. Those children all think of themselves as true siblings. It’s not fair of her to treat them differently.’

‘I think Stéphie will be all right, with you fighting for her, Lexi.’ He paused for a second. ‘Do you want to tell me how things went between you and Antoine yesterday?’

Alexandra had known David would ask this so wasn’t unduly surprised at his change of subject. ‘Well, he knows how old I am and that I’m an heiress but that I’m not due to inherit until I’m twenty-five.’ She didn’t tell David about her getting it sooner if she married; she was still getting used to that idea herself. ‘And although he did originally say he should send me away, he realised it wasn’t really a good idea.’

‘Quite right too! You’re the lynchpin of this family,’ said David. ‘Now come on, let’s go to the cellar and find an amusing little bottle of something.’

‘And after lunch, I’ll make a cake,’ said Alexandra. ‘I think I’m missing Meggy and Lizzie from when we lived in London. Mme Wilson didn’t do cakes really, but Meg did.’

‘I’m sure a cake will go down well.’ David patted her on the shoulder. He understood her feelings without her having to go into too much detail. ‘And why not send Meg and Lizzie a postcard? Let them know how you’re getting on.’

Alexandra had just added a dusting of caster sugar to the top of her cake when Lucinda came into the kitchen.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in. I came in via the terrace. I’ve brought round some prospectuses for Antoine to look at. Schools for Félicité and Henri,’ she clarified.

There were a couple of shocked seconds before Alexandra and David sprang into life.

‘Would you like some tea?’ said Alexandra, hoping Lucinda would say no. David had brought some from England but it wouldn’t last forever.

‘Oh – no, thank you,’ said Lucinda. ‘But some hot water with a slice of lemon would be lovely.’

‘What about a piece of cake?’ asked David, a knife hovering over it.

‘I never eat cake,’ said Lucinda looking surprised to have been offered it. ‘Did you make it, David? Why?’

‘I made it,’ said Alexandra, trying to sound insouciant. ‘I felt like making one and I thought the children might like it.’

‘Oh, please don’t give it to Félicité! She’s all right now but if she got fat, her life would be a misery.’ Lucinda smiled quickly. ‘Well, not a misery perhaps, stuck here in the country where no one will see her, but girls at boarding school can be very cruel.’

‘So why would you send her to one, then?’ Alexandra realised too late that she was just the nanny and wasn’t paid to have opinions.

‘She’s got to be educated! And not all the girls she’ll meet will be bitches.’

Alexandra went to find a lemon for Lucinda’s hot drink. She might not like her, but she felt that Lucinda did have a point. It was important that Félicité had a proper education.

Alexandra’s cake was greeted far more enthusiastically by Antoine and the children, who saw it before they saw Lucinda, who was sitting impatiently at the table.

‘Cake!’ said Henri. ‘I love cake!’

‘You live in a country where they produce the most beautiful gateaux,’ said Antoine. ‘Why the excitement about something that looks quite a plain confection to me?’

‘In France we have gateaux; this is cake. They’re not the same,’ said Henri. ‘Grand-mère makes us English cake sometimes.’

‘Tsk,’ said Lucinda. ‘I must ask her not to do that. It’ll make you fat.’

‘Can I have some, Lexi?’ asked Stéphie.

‘Of course.’ Alexandra picked up the knife that was ready. ‘What about you others? Antoine? It’s an English speciality. A Victoria jam sponge, as seen in the very best English homes.’ She had decided to overlook his remark about it being a plain-looking confection.

He laughed. ‘In which case, I would be honoured to try it.’

‘Do you call Alexandra Lexi now, Stéphie?’ asked Félicité, accepting the cake she was offered, in spite of the dark looks it produced from her mother.

‘Yes. She doesn’t mind,’ said Stéphie.

‘Can we all do it?’ asked Henri. ‘Alexandra is rather a long name.’

‘Phff!’ said Alexandra shrugging her shoulders. ‘Comme vous voulez, mes enfants,’ she said in French.

‘You get more Gallic every day,’ said David, very amused. ‘What have you children been up to today? Be prepared to write an essay about it tomorrow.’

‘We went to see a friend of Papa’s,’ said Henri. ‘He had a son. We all went truffle-hunting with their specially trained dog.’

‘Was the son your age?’ asked Alexandra. ‘Did you play together?’ She felt sorry for Henri, who never had other boys to spend time with.

Henri snorted and looked at his older sister. ‘He was eighteen. He was more interested in playing with Félicité!’

Alexandra saw a blush creep up Félicité’s neck until it reached her cheeks.

‘There are girls too,’ said Félicité quickly, ‘but they were out. Which was annoying.’

‘More to the point,’ said David, apparently unaware of Félicité’s reaction to the mention of the boy, ‘did you find any truffles?’

‘No,’ said Antoine. ‘They had a specially trained truffle hound, a perfect area of woodland and not a single one.’

‘It was very disappointing,’ said Stéphie. ‘Can I have another slice of cake?’

‘Is Jack back yet?’ asked Henri. ‘He said he might try and find a guitar for me.’

‘You’re not learning the guitar,’ said Lucinda, without apparently needing to consider her answer. ‘You are a brilliant cellist. You’re not allowed to waste your time and talent on a guitar.’ She drew breath. ‘And I forgot to say, Jack is visiting my mother.’

‘Really?’ said Antoine, surprised.

‘Yes. And my mother’s old friend Gérard is also coming for dinner,’ Lucinda went on. ‘I came to invite myself to dinner here to leave them alone. The conversation will be very boring.’

‘But Jack is there?’ said David. ‘Visiting your mother? How very curious.’

Lucinda shrugged. ‘I would be jealous if I thought either man was romantically interested in my mother, but of course, they can’t possibly be.’

‘Why is that?’ asked David, who, Alexandra could tell, found Lucinda highly entertaining.

‘She’s a grandmother!’ Lucinda said, scandalised. ‘She is far too old to have admirers.’