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

As Alexandra walked through the doors of the tall, elegant building for her interview that afternoon, she was more nervous than she’d expected to be. Usually she had a lot of confidence, and it didn’t matter if she didn’t get the job. She hadn’t planned to have one, after all. She could have a few days in Paris and then hop on the train to Switzerland having had an enjoyable holiday.

But she found her lips were dry as she asked for directions at Reception and hesitated before knocking on the door of the office. She took a couple of deep breaths and told herself she was ready.

Having been asked to enter she found herself in a room with two grand desks in it. At one, by the window, a man was writing, and at the one directly in front of her was the sort of woman who might well be described as a dragon.

She was wearing a very smart black suit which could easily have been Chanel, had perfectly groomed hair, two rows of pearls, a too-white face and thin lips. Alexandra got the impression she avoided smiling to hold back the formation of wrinkles. It was only partially successful.

Alexandra now wished she’d borrowed something to wear from Donna’s extensive wardrobe. Her own outfit had travelled from London to Paris and witnessed a lot of rather desperate cooking involving onions, garlic and cream – the apron may not have been adequate.

As there was no point in regretting her clothes, Alexandra put on her best French accent, greeted the woman as politely and formally as she could manage and gave her name.

She received a nod of the head and a return of the greeting and an invitation to sit down at the chair in front of the desk.

‘I am Mme Dubois; I will be conducting this interview.’ Then she handed Alexandra a form. ‘Please complete this, mademoiselle. Here is a pen.’

On impulse, Alexandra added five years to her age and then completed the form in her best handwriting. She described her last position as ‘company chef’, although she wasn’t quite sure if chef d’entreprise quite described cooking lunch for board members of City banks. But it was the best she could come up with.

As she handed back the completed form, she consoled herself that as a first job interview it was already pretty tough. This meant that future interviews, where the result was more important, would probably seem easier. Being interviewed by a terrifying Parisienne looking at her disdainfully was surely a baptism of fire which would strengthen her for the future.

Mme Dubois read the form, which caused her to raise her eyebrows a couple of times. ‘So, you are English?’

Alexandra nodded.

‘But you speak French?’

Alexandra felt she’d demonstrated that fairly well already, but she nodded.

‘You are a reasonably competent cook?’

Alexandra nodded. ‘I said – on my form.’

‘Mam’selle, you wrote that you were the head of a company, and I suspect this is not the case.’ She narrowed her eyes, the nearest thing to a smile that she could manage. ‘Possibly your French isn’t as good as you think.’

Alexandra murmured apologetically.

Her interlocutor continued, ‘And you can drive?’

Alexandra produced her English driving licence as proof of this, praying Mme Dubois wouldn’t look beyond the first page and discover her real age.

Far from it. Mme Dubois barely glanced at the licence before handing it back between the tips of her fingers. ‘That seems satisfactory,’ she said. ‘The position is only for a month. You knew this?’

‘I did, madame.’

‘Very well, mademoiselle. This position is for a nanny – the children’s permanent nanny is away visiting her mother who is sick. Do you have the relevant experience?’

Alexandra took an inward breath. The thought of her looking after children was a bit of a shock; she’d hardly ever met a child, let alone cared for one. On the other hand, she’d had plenty of nannies herself and knew a good one from a bad one. ‘Certainly, madame,’ she said.

She was ready to explain that she hadn’t written this on her form because she didn’t know the job required nannying skills, but Mme Dubois didn’t seem to care.

‘There are three children in the family. They are older. Will you be able to cope with this?’

Alexandra nodded, relief that her charge wasn’t a newborn baby making her positively enthusiastic. ‘Oh yes.’

‘And three children? You will manage?’

‘Definitely.’ This probably was a bit over-confident but it was only for a month, surely that couldn’t be too difficult? She could take them on outings to the tourist destinations of Paris. Donna would come to help – it would be fun.

Mme Dubois studied her for several unnerving seconds. ‘You understand that we require the position to be filled urgently, or we would not consider anyone like you. However, the Count has been informed of your background, and as it is only a very temporary arrangement, you may be suitable.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alexandra, duly humbled.

‘We will check your references, and if they are not satisfactory, you will be dismissed forthwith.’

Alexandra had given Donna’s husband Bob as one reference, and the female cousin with the grandest name that included a title as her other. She really hoped the cousin wouldn’t denounce her. ‘Of course,’ said Alexandra meekly.

‘You look very young for your age, mademoiselle.’

Mme Dubois’s gimlet stare drilled into Alexandra in such a haughty way, it made Alexandra find her backbone. When she had written down the wrong date of birth on her form she had anticipated this question. Although in general she knew she looked fairly mature for a twenty-year-old, it was possible she’d be challenged. She gave the woman a sweet, wrinkle-inducing smile. ‘I know. I have always considered myself to be extremely fortunate.’

This induced a rise in one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Good.’ Mme Dubois opened a drawer and produced a fat envelope. ‘This is half the money you will be paid; you will get the remainder when you leave. And your train ticket.’

Alexandra’s hand had been outstretched to take the offered envelope. ‘Train ticket?’

‘Yes. The position is in Provence: you travel to Marseille. You seem surprised?’

‘Yes! I didn’t know – no one mentioned – I thought the job was in Paris.’

Mme Dubois looked at her as if this suggestion was odd. ‘But no, I thought this had been made clear when it was suggested you come for an interview.’

Alexandra’s mind was in turmoil. It had never occurred to her that the job wasn’t in Paris. Now she had no idea if she wanted the job or not.

At that moment, the man who’d been working in the corner got up and crossed the room to speak to her.

‘Mademoiselle, you would be looking after my children and, naturally, they are very dear to me. Can I trust you to look after them for me?’

Several things occurred to Alexandra all at the same time. The first was that this man was extremely attractive, the second was that he must be the man Donna had met at the dinner party, and finally that she felt she couldn’t let him down.

‘Of course, monsieur.’ Too late she remembered his business card said he was a count and corrected herself. ‘M. le Comte.’

He was tall, with hair that was almost black and dark eyes fringed with long eyelashes. He had a long, slightly hooked nose and a mouth that curled at the corners.

He was, Alexandra realised with a sinking feeling, almost impossible not to fall in love with. At that moment she felt she would go to the ends of the earth for him, let alone to Provence.

M. le Comte bowed slightly. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle, I am very grateful.’ Then he left the room.

‘Good!’ said Mme Dubois, a bit more unbending now Alexandra had obviously been passed as suitable by her employer. ‘I will write you a quick itinerary. You depart from the Gare de Lyon. I suggest you take some light summer dresses as it can be very hot in Provence even in autumn. You will be collected at the station when you arrive. There is a housekeeper at the chateau, so really your job will be very easy.’ She went on to relay a few more details of what was expected.

Alexandra smiled stiffly. As Mme Dubois relaxed she became more tense. ‘I will do my best to be satisfactory.’

Mme Dubois bowed and very nearly smiled properly. ‘But of course!’

Donna had arranged to meet Alexandra in a café near where Alexandra had her interview. Donna was bouncing with eagerness to hear how Alexandra had got on, while Alexandra just wanted to sit and sip a glass of cold water. She planned to follow this with a glass of cognac to calm her nerves.

‘Well?’ said Donna. ‘Did you get the job? Will they tell you later? Shall I order champagne?’

Alexandra nodded. ‘That would be lovely. Although I’m not sure we’re celebrating.’

Donna gave the order while looking at her sharply. ‘Why not? Didn’t you get it? Antoine – the man you met – seemed desperate when we spoke last night.’

‘I did get the job.’ Alexandra watched as the waiter filled her glass. ‘But it’s not quite what I thought it was.’

‘What do you have to do?’

‘Be a nanny, but it’s not that I’m worried about. The job isn’t in Paris; it’s in Provence!’

Donna’s face fell. ‘Oh. I had hoped—’

‘I know! So had I! I thought we could have had a lovely time in Gay Paree.’

Donna still looked full of disappointment. ‘I was so looking forward to having a friend in Paris. Now I’ll never see you again!’

‘You’ll see me when I come back. In a month. I have to come back to get the train to Switzerland.’ Alexandra was partly telling herself this. Although she had willingly accepted her task, she had misgivings. Provence seemed remote and far away from civilisation and she had no idea what her relations would say.

They drank their champagne and then, partly to cheer up Donna, who was looking so bleak, Alexandra said, ‘Let’s go shopping. I need underwear.’

‘Monoprix. That’s where you want to go. I can take you.’ Donna smiled a little sadly. ‘It’s not quite the Champs-Élysées but it’s what we need.’