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

Alexandra was up and about early the following morning. She’d done the hens and now she wanted to grind coffee and make sure that breakfast would be properly organised; it was a meal that was often an informal free-for-all and not fit for the likes of Véronique.

It was possible that Antoine had had the same thought for he appeared shortly afterwards, damp from the bath and freshly shaved. He was wearing a very beautifully cut suit and looked so attractive, Alexandra couldn’t breathe properly for a few seconds.

‘Morning!’ she said calmly, when she’d got her breathing back to normal. ‘Have you thought what to do about Stéphie’s truffle? She definitely wants to sell it, much to David’s disappointment.’

‘I’m going to telephone my friend the truffle expert before we leave for Marseille today and see if he can arrange to sell it. We could deliver it on our way if he can.’

‘Do you have any idea how much money it might fetch?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really. I don’t suppose it’ll be enough to make it possible for me to retire. Maybe I should put the money away for Stéphie’s future.’

‘Please don’t do that! No amount of money in the future is as important to her as having her father at home – if not all the time, at least more often.’

As he regarded her down the length of his long, slightly crooked nose, Alexandra wondered if she’d spoken too frankly, but then she realised he was thinking. ‘I’ll put the money aside to do some repairs on the chateau. Stéphie will be so proud to know it was her efforts that made it possible. And yours, of course.’

‘Stéphie would say it was all down to Milou.’

‘He is a prince among dogs,’ said Antoine, just the hint of a smile wrinkling the corner of his eyes.

Alexandra couldn’t help smiling back. She jumped when Véronique said, ‘Am I interrupting something?

‘No! No, of course not,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come before I make coffee. What else would you like for breakfast? Toast and marmalade?’ A fraction too late she remembered that toast and marmalade wasn’t really an option as they hadn’t any.

Véronique made a face at the suggestion. ‘No, thank you. I’ll just have coffee.’

After Antoine and Véronique had left for Marseille for the day, Alexandra took the time to telephone Donna in Paris. After quite a lot of enjoyable, gossipy chat, she established that Véronique was the gorgeous woman with Antoine the night he went to Donna and Bob’s dinner party. The knowledge didn’t make Alexandra feel any better about her.

Later, as she made her way to the kitchen to prepare lunch for everyone (leftovers were always so useful), she told herself she should really leave the chateau. She was never going to get over her ridiculous crush while she was living in Antoine’s house. But she’d told her relations that she would stay until the spring, and she didn’t feel she could leave before the children were settled with their father at home more regularly. Although Donna had said she’d be delighted to have her to stay in Paris. She could do Paris properly. It would be wonderful!

But Alexandra knew in her heart it was here, in rural Provence, in a slightly dilapidated chateau, that she really wanted to be. She would never be more than the nanny, or maybe the housekeeper, but it was still where she felt most at home.

It seemed to Alexandra that the chateau as well as its inhabitants gave a gentle sigh of relief when Véronique went back to Paris on the train a couple of days later. Antoine was due to follow her in a few days’ time but not having Véronique – not interested in food but still surprisingly critical – at the dinner table lightened everyone’s spirits.

Although it was November, it was a beautiful autumnal day, the colours of Provence as bright as a paintbox against a brilliant blue sky. Alexandra thought she’d take Milou for a walk – meaning she’d go for a walk and he might come too. She had time now she no longer had to worry about Véronique and her needs and wanted to think about her life and what to do. Walking would help. She was in the hall when the doorbell jangled.

It was Penelope, or Grand-mère, as Alexandra continued to think of her.

She seemed unusually diffident. ‘Good morning, Alexandra.’

‘Good morning!’ she replied. ‘Would you like to come in?’

‘You’ve got your coat on. You were about to go out.’

She’d borrowed an old jacket of Antoine’s she’d found hanging in a corridor, obviously long forgotten. It was embarrassing to be discovered wearing it by this daunting picture of elegance. ‘No, no. I was only going to take Milou for a wander. It’s such a beautiful day.’

‘It is. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to bring you this. It’s the little Sèvres soup bowl I mentioned to you before. It has handles and one has come off.’ She produced a tissue-wrapped package from her handbag.

Alexandra took it. It was beautiful, sky blue with a lot of gilt decoration. ‘Oh goodness, it’s fantastically valuable. I don’t think I could—’

‘Chérie, it isn’t valuable without a handle. Just do your best.’

Penelope had never called her chérie before, she realised with a start. ‘I will,’ she said.

But even after Alexandra had taken the little bowl and put it in a safe place on the mantelpiece of the salon, Penelope showed no signs of moving. ‘Can I get you some coffee, or a drink?’

‘No,’ said Penelope decisively. ‘You have your coat on; I have mine. Let’s go for a walk together. I’ve become a little homesick lately. Talking to a fellow Englishwoman will help.’

Alexandra was so surprised she couldn’t speak for a few moments. Penelope was so entrenched in her part as a French grande dame, she would hardly admit she wasn’t French. Now she was talking about being homesick, and wanting to go for a walk with the nanny. Somewhere, Alexandra imagined, hell had frozen over. Or, she thought, remembering what Jack had told her, perhaps she wanted to talk about her love life? This thought was even less likely than a sudden cold snap in hell!

Milou was on his best behaviour and followed the two Englishwomen meekly. Penelope didn’t speak as they walked down the path through a neglected but still pretty walled garden that would have produced vegetables for the chateau at one time but now held only a few roses covering the walls and beds of salvias, rosemary and lavender.

‘You must be delighted that Lucinda has come back from Argentina,’ said Alexandra when she could stand the silence no longer. They had left the garden and taken one of the paths that led into the wood.

Penelope nodded. ‘Yes and no. It is lovely for me to have her, but I don’t think she understands the children, having been away from them for so long.’

‘Oh?’ Alexandra concentrated on sounding non-committal.

‘She loves her own children, of course, but she doesn’t pay attention to la p’tite.’

‘Stéphie?’

Penelope nodded. ‘Lucinda is an only child and doesn’t understand jealousy. Not that Stéphie is ever jealous, but it’s hard for her to see her siblings – even if technically they are not her siblings – being given attention and gifts when she is not.’

‘I have tried to make sure she doesn’t feel left out,’ said Alexandra. Although I’m an only child too, she thought but didn’t say.

‘Yes! And I am truly grateful. You’ve worked very hard for the children and I do appreciate it.’ They walked on in silence for a bit longer. ‘You know, I had a sister who had a godmother who used to give her lavish presents. I understood that this godmother was special to my sister but it was hard. The pretty dresses from Harrods, the special Easter egg, wonderful crayons – I remember once I couldn’t bear it and burst into tears. I was so ashamed.’

‘That’s dreadful!’ Alexandra was stricken on her behalf.

‘My mother couldn’t do anything about it. It was a fact of my life. But I hate to think that little Stéphie might be feeling like I felt.’

‘Well, I gave her an antique doll’s stove that really works with little pots and pans that she loves. David and Jack are both aware of her possibly being left out too.’ Alexandra took a breath, hoping Penelope would be reassured by this, and went on, ‘But I feel the person who is suffering most is Félicité. She loves her sister, and she knows she must feel left out. The other day, when Lucinda took them shopping, Félicité bought Stéphie a dress. She must have been given the money by her mother, but I was so pleased with her thoughtfulness.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, too,’ said Penelope. ‘Lucinda didn’t tell me. We don’t always communicate very well.’

There was another quite long silence as they walked through the woods. Alexandra was enchanted by the changing colours but she was waiting for Penelope to carry on. She could tell she had more to say.

‘I have lived in France for a very long time. In many ways I am French,’ Penelope said.

‘Can I ask why you came to France?’

‘I had come here before the war, with a friend’s family. We had a wonderful holiday. I knew it would be quite different after the war, but my parents had gone to live near my brother and I wanted a complete change of scene. And I thought it would be good for Lucinda to become bilingual, and spread her wings a bit after spending the war at boarding school in England.’ She laughed. ‘She’d read so many stories about English boarding schools – too many possibly – that my parents had given her, she was convinced she wanted to go too.’

‘It must have been hard, going to a country where you knew no one. I at least had the children for company when I came here.’

‘It was hard, although having Lucinda helped. A neighbour – a friend of Hortense – took me under her wing. She had a daughter the same age as Lucinda and introduced me to her friends. It was through her that I met my second husband – you’ll know that I lost him too …’ She fell silent for a moment, and Alexandra heard the echo of grief. ‘That’s also how Lucinda met Antoine. Rosemarie was an Anglophile, which is partly why she was so kind, but she made sure I learnt French as quickly as possible. I felt her loss when she moved to Paris.’

The story sounded convincing, and yet Alexandra knew there was more. She was tense, wondering if Penelope would continue to be confiding or revert to being the starchy grande dame Alexandra had first met.

They had walked through the edge of the wood and come across a path that led back to the chateau.

‘You may be wondering why I’m talking to you, instead of Hortense, whom I’ve known for nearly twenty years. I’m wondering why myself.’ She smiled. ‘But Hortense has always known me as an upright pillar of the community. I could never reveal to her that I wasn’t always upright or a pillar.’

Alexandra laughed at Penelope’s little joke but inside she braced herself. This was about Jack; she was sure of it. Could she tell Penelope that she knew something of her story? Then she realised that she couldn’t.

‘You’re too young to know what love is but when you do fall in love you will feel that your love is the only thing that matters. Nothing else is important. You will be wrong – as I was wrong – but you will feel that just the same.’

Alexandra did feel she knew what love was but certainly wasn’t going to confide in Penelope about her feelings for Antoine. She was going to suppress them completely. She was determined that no one should know about them – least of all Antoine.

‘It is likely that, like most people, you will come to a place in your life when you have a choice. You can choose the safe, comfortable route that will give you security and possibly happiness. Or you can choose passion and risk losing everything you have built up for years.’ Penelope seemed to hold her breath for ages until she slowly exhaled.

Alexandra waited as long as she could. ‘Which is the right choice?’

‘I wish I knew, chérie. I am middle-aged but I’m not sure I shall ever have the necessary wisdom to decide between head and heart.’

Alexandra cleared her throat. She was suffering a similar dilemma: her head said, leave the chateau, forget all about Antoine; and her heart said, stay as long as she possibly could. She was very surprised to find herself in the same situation as Penelope.

‘Shall we go to the orangery?’ said Penelope after a second or two. ‘When Lucinda lived here, she and Antoine used to give parties in it.’

Alexandra was a quick thinker but she struggled with this change of tack for a second. ‘Of course. But when David and I explored the other day we found it was locked.’

‘I think I know where the key is.’

They walked to the building with its floor-to-ceiling windows that were now covered in creeper, one of which was like flames climbing over the roof. Penelope ran her hand over the top of the door and found the key. The lock was stiff but they got it open and went in.

‘Ah,’ she said with a long sigh. ‘I remember this.’

Alexandra waited. She didn’t think Penelope was remembering parties given by her daughter and her husband.

‘I came here once, lifetimes ago. The chateau was closed up; it was before Antoine took it over. A friend and I were walking in the grounds. Trespassing, probably. Suddenly there was a summer shower and we came in here for shelter. It was like it is now, overgrown but very romantic; not like it became later, when it was clean and ready for Lucinda’s parties.’

Alexandra’s heart was in her mouth. Was Penelope talking about Jack?

‘Nothing was the same after that,’ said Penelope.

There was a long, agonising pause. ‘I wonder how much it would take to clean this place up,’ she went on. ‘It would be a lovely venue for a celebration.’

Alexandra relaxed a little. It appeared there weren’t going to be any more confidences, but as she considered herself a bit of an expert in turning large dirty spaces into somewhere suitable for guests and parties she just focused on the orangery for a few moments. ‘A jolly good clean, plenty of flowers – it would be lovely.’

‘Yes. It would,’ said Penelope and then added, ‘Shall we go back? I think I need tea now. However French I may appear, I still like to drink tea in the afternoon.’

Emboldened by Penelope’s recent conversation, Alexandra said, ‘Maybe you could give me some tips how to make tea properly here in France. I can never get it strong enough.’

‘The secret is to persuade someone in England to send you proper tea, then it’s simple.’

A few days later the postman delivered a large package to Alexandra.

‘Oh, has someone sent you a present?’ asked Stéphie, excited at the prospect.

‘No, they’ve sent me a lot of papers which I have to read – a bit like someone sending me homework.’ She smiled. ‘And like the homework David and Jack set you, I have to do it. Why don’t you go and see if David’s made something nice for lunch?’

Antoine came into the hall. ‘We’re going to miss David when he has to go back to England.’

‘And Jack,’ said Alexandra.

‘I think he may well stay a bit longer,’ said Antoine, looking mysterious.

Alexandra undid the split pin that was holding the package together and peeped inside. Then she slid the papers out and saw that they were in closely handwritten French. She could barely read the words, let alone understand them.

‘Let me know if you need help with your homework,’ said Antoine.

She put the papers back into their envelope. ‘I might need Maxime.’

‘Maxime? Why?’

‘It’s legal stuff. From Switzerland. Very boring.’ She smiled. It wasn’t really a lie but it felt like it. She hated not being completely open but she didn’t want Antoine knowing the details of her inheritance. It was bad enough that he knew she was due to inherit money without him learning that she could have her fortune now, if she just got married. She wanted him to see her as the nanny, not as an heiress.

It wasn’t until the evening that Alexandra had the chance to look more closely at the papers. French legal language was as incomprehensible as she’d feared and she would definitely need help to understand it. She would ring Maxime when she could and ask his advice. He was a lawyer, after all.