To Provence, with Love

Faye nodded, wondering how much work there was for a personal assistant these days. As Miss Beech had said herself, there wasn’t much going on down here in the wilds of southern France and her social calendar was doubtless pretty empty. As she thought about it, Faye reflected she had now committed herself to six months far away from the big city, so the same was going to apply to her.

Mind you, she thought with a rush, she would emerge at the end of the contract with enough money to let her put down a deposit on a flat, or even take time out to write that second novel that had been going round and round in her head for a while now. And there was something really rather nice about Miss Beech and this wonderful place, not least the fact that it was a thousand miles away from so much unhappiness from which she had been dying to escape, whether in the form of her two-timing former boyfriend or her vindictive head teacher.

Miss Beech resumed her own questions, clearly keen to find out all about her newest employee. ‘And what about your family, Faye? Are they pleased you chose to go into teaching?’

Faye nodded. ‘My dad says he’s happy for me, but he’d probably say that anyway, even if I told him I’d taken up bullfighting.’

‘And your mother?’

Faye shook her head, the ever-present regret not far below the surface. ‘I haven’t got a mother. She died when I was just three.’ She read deep compassion on Miss Beech’s face and immediately felt sure she, too, had experience of tragic loss.

‘You poor thing. It must have been terribly tough growing up without a mother.’ The old lady’s eyes glistened and, whatever memories this had awoken in her, Faye could see she wasn’t far from tears.

Faye nodded and did her best to sound as positive as she could, for Miss Beech’s sake. There was so much she could have told her about her childhood: hating being different from the other girls, seeing the expressions on the faces as her dad came to pick her up from parties, going to the doctor with him, shopping for clothes with him. And she would never ever forget the day he had tried to explain the workings of the female body to her. She shook her head to clear it. ‘Yes, it was tough, but I survived.’

‘And your father, do you get on well with him?’

Faye nodded. ‘I love him to bits. He’s been mother and father to me growing up and it can’t have been easy for him. I was a right pain when I was a teenager.’

‘And since you and your boyfriend … Didier … broke up, is there somebody else in the wings, some nice young man you’ve got your eye on?’

Faye shook her head. ‘No, absolutely no men on the horizon at the moment. To be honest, I haven’t had the time or the energy lately.’ Then, deciding this sounded a bit too pathetic, she tried to sound more decisive. ‘Besides, after what’s happened, I’m off men for the foreseeable future. You know that old saying about once bitten, twice shy.’

‘Give it time, my dear. My heart’s been broken a good few times, too, you know. But you wait and see. Just when you’re least expecting it, it’ll happen.’ Miss Beech sighed. ‘Ah yes, the glance across the crowded room and then that amazing feeling when the spark comes, and you set off on the rollercoaster once again. Oh yes, Faye, it’ll happen, all right.’

Apart from the fact that there were unlikely to be too many crowded rooms when she came over here to work in the wilds of rural France, the one thing Faye definitely knew, with complete certainty, was that she had absolutely no intention of getting involved with another man, particularly another Frenchman, for a good long time. She gave Miss Beech a smile.

‘No, I really mean it. I’m just fine on my own.’

‘Being on your own can also mean being lonely.’ Miss Beech’s tone was gentle, sympathetic.

‘Well, I’m sure I won’t be lonely here. Everybody I’ve met here at the chateau so far has been so sweet and, of course, that includes Marlon.’ Faye nodded decisively. ‘Really, I’m just fine as I am.’

She avoided looking at Miss Beech’s face, preferring to return her attention to her meal.

As they were finishing their lunch and Faye had finally successfully managed to convince Claudette that she really couldn’t eat a second helping of îles flottantes, Miss Beech brought the interview to an end.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dear, I think I’d better go back upstairs for a nap. Claudette and Eddie will look after you for as long as you want to stay, and they’ll show you the stable apartment before you go.’ She reversed away from the table in her chair and hummed across to Faye’s shoulder. ‘I’m really so very pleased you’ve agreed to do this for me. I look forward so much to seeing more of you.’ She looked and sounded as if she meant it, and Faye felt another wave of happiness at the thought of forging a link with this kind, generous old lady. Not to mention her adorable dog.

She was about to stand up, but as Miss Beech was in her wheelchair it made more sense to stay seated. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you so much for offering me this amazing opportunity, Miss Beech. I promise I’ll do my very best to help you come up with something really great.’

The old lady took Faye’s hand in both of hers and gave it an affectionate squeeze. ‘I know you will, and I know it’ll work out well. By the way, I asked Silas to prepare a contract for you. Eddie’s got it somewhere. I’ll ask him to let you have it.’ She gave Faye a tired smile. ‘One thing you learn in Hollywood is that the old adage that a verbal contract isn’t worth the paper it’s written on is so, so right.’ Her smile broadened. ‘They say it was Sam Goldwyn who said that, but he never did, you know. Mind you, though, he told me once he wished he had done.’

Faye saw the old lady smile to herself at the memory, before refocusing as a sudden thought came to her.

‘Now I come to think about it, one thing Sam really did say was that nobody should write their autobiography until after their death. We’ll have to see if we can confound him.’

Faye smiled at the quote, but felt an immediate sense of regret that this dear old lady was approaching the end of her life. Somehow, she already felt a bond with her and knew she was going to enjoy this assignment more than she had hoped. ‘That’s very kind of you, Miss Beech. I’ll give in my notice as soon as I’m back at school so, all being well, I should be down here as soon as term ends.’

‘I look forward to it, my dear. Well, goodbye for now. It’s been lovely seeing you.’

‘Goodbye, Miss Beech, and thanks again. I really look forward to working with you.’ And she did.

Chapter Two

When Faye got back to England, she phoned her father to relay the wonderful news to him. He sounded delighted for her, if a bit concerned that she would be moving so far away.

‘Terrific, Faye, but what about accommodation? Where are you going to stay?’

‘The most amazing place, Dad.’ By the time she had finished describing it to him, she got the impression he was definitely coming round to thinking that she had made the right decision.

Faye’s tour of the stables with Eddie Marshal had been mouth-watering. Whereas the chateau was traditional old French style, with a distinctly medieval flavour, the inside of the first-floor apartment in the equally old stable block had had the full interior designer treatment not that long ago, and had been brought bang up to date in the twenty-first century. From the steel and glass stairs to the recessed lighting, state of the art kitchen and huge flat screen television, it was a symphony of modern chic. It looked as though it had just come out of the pages of a style magazine and Faye failed to see why on earth Miss Beech reckoned it needed to be redecorated.

It was immaculate, with a bedroom for her that was twice the size of the room she had been renting since splitting up with Didier, and a separate, comfortable guest suite with its own bathroom, if she ever chose to have visitors. The place was fully furnished, and everything from the sleek sofas in the vaulted lounge, to the comfortable-looking beds, screamed class and expense. She had been open-mouthed by the end of the tour, but, even so, Eddie Marshal had managed to flabbergast her even more.

‘We’ll make sure it’s spruced up for you before you come back, Faye. Recently, we haven’t had many guests staying over. It must be a couple of years since the last visitor was here.’ He glanced at her with disarming nonchalance. ‘That was that rather nice American gentleman, Mr Clooney.’

Faye’s jaw dropped. ‘George Clooney slept here?’

‘Yes, and I seem to remember him saying how comfortable the bed was.’

It took some days before Faye managed to get over the thought that she was going to sleep in the same bed as George Clooney, albeit not at the same time. It would have been nice to tell her friends about this, and indeed about the identity of her new employer, but one of the conditions of employment had been to promise to keep Miss Beech’s identity secret for the duration of the contract, only telling close family, and that just meant her dad.

The next weeks rushed by.

Faye handed in her notice as soon as she got back and was surprised and rather flattered at the attempts by Miss Dawes to get her to stay, all of which she cheerfully refused. At school, she burned the midnight oil, determined to do the very best for the students under her tutelage. She gave notice to her landlord and then spent more time than she had imagined packing her things, taking stuff to the recycling centre, paying bills, and informing people of her forthcoming change of address from London to Provence.

Often, as the weeks went by, she would take time to reflect upon how this major change of direction would affect her life. The writing job sounded fascinating, Provence charming and, even better, she knew that this would help her further distance herself from Miss Dawes and, above all, from Didier. Things were definitely beginning to look up at long last.

As far as her friends at the school and elsewhere in London were concerned, she could only tell them that she was going to France, where she would be working for a very secretive person, and she was constantly being bombarded with guesses as to just who it might be. Interestingly, George Clooney was suggested more than once, but nobody thought to mention Anabelle Beech. The interrogation became particularly intense on the last day of term, but she managed to keep the secret, even after her colleagues had forced liberal quantities of Prosecco upon her in the pub after work.

The next day her dad arrived in his car to collect her and her belongings. Faye hadn’t wanted to bother him, as she knew he was always so very busy, but she had just got too much stuff. Together, they loaded all her worldly belongings and drove back to Salisbury and, as expected, he spent most of the journey warning her to be careful of everything from poisonous snakes to the white slave trade, and issuing advice about exercise and diet, and even recommendations about what clothes to take to France. She didn’t mind, having got used to his incessant worrying for her wellbeing all the way through her life, and she put up with it with a smile. Her smile broadened as they arrived back home.

Standing on the drive outside the house she found a smart little white Fiat 500 with the red and green stripes of the Italian flag running along its side. She had asked her dad to find her a car, as she knew she would need her own transport and he knew the sort of thing she liked. She nodded to herself in approval. As they got out of his car, her father handed her the keys. ‘This one’s only a year old and it’s had one careful lady driver – or at least that’s what the salesman told me.’

‘Thanks, Dad. It’s exactly what I wanted. How much was it? With the huge wad of money I’m being paid, I should be able to afford it.’

He wouldn’t hear of it. ‘You leave that to me and save your money, Faye. Who knows how expensive life in Provence is likely to be.’

Somehow, Faye felt pretty sure that there weren’t going to be too many opportunities to spend money in St-Jean-sur-Sarde. Still, some time to herself, the opportunity to catch up with a whole heap of reading, and her own personal cinema promised to ensure that she wouldn’t be bored.

***

She left Salisbury late on Sunday afternoon and drove down to Portsmouth in the surprisingly nippy little car. She took the overnight ferry and managed to sleep reasonably well before arriving in France in the early morning. Although she probably could have done the drive in one long day, her father had insisted she should break her journey and, by the time she pulled into the car park of a budget hotel beside the motorway that evening, she was feeling very tired. That night, as she lay in bed, listening to the incessant rumble of traffic, the dominant thought in her head was how good it felt to be setting off on another chapter of her life, knowing that upon her return, she would be making a completely fresh start.

Next day she got up at seven, and by early afternoon was already in Provence, the road curling steadily upwards past olive groves and vineyards. She drove through sleepy little villages, the shutters of the houses tightly closed against the heat of the sun, with no living creatures to be seen. She blessed the instinct that had made her father select a car with functioning air conditioning, because it was absolutely scorching outside.

Shortly before three, she found herself at the self-same spot where she had stopped to ask for directions. This time there was no sign of a tall man and a black Labrador, but she knew where she was going. By the time she reached the gates of the chateau, she was feeling very excited at the prospect of what lay ahead.

She stepped out into the suffocating heat and pressed the bell. As she was waiting, she spotted a camera mounted high to one side, pointing down at her. Security, in a place like this, was clearly paramount. She gave it a little smile and a wave and wondered if anybody was watching. No sooner had she done so, than the gates began to open, so she gave the camera another wave before getting back into the car.

She drove round to the stable yard at the back of the chateau and parked right outside her new apartment, vaguely conscious of barking coming from the house. As she climbed out of the car, she was almost floored by the arrival of a very boisterous Marlon, clearly delighted to see her again. He was closely followed by Claudette, the housekeeper. She gave Faye a welcoming smile and dangled the keys to the flat in front of her.

‘Hello, Faye, and welcome back. It’s all ready for you. I’ve filled the fridge for you and Mr Marshal’s put in a few bottles of wine, but Miss Beech asked if you’d like to have dinner with her this evening. That is, if you haven’t any other plans.’

Faye disentangled herself from the Labrador and straightened up again, giving Claudette a big smile. ‘No, no other plans. Please tell Miss Beech I’d be delighted to have dinner with her. Your food’s so wonderful.’

‘By the way, that square thing on the key chain is the remote control for the gate, so you can get in and out any time you want.’ Claudette glanced down at the dog who was sitting at their feet, eyes trained adoringly on Faye. ‘And, if you want company, you can always take Marlon out whenever you like for a …’ She grinned at Faye. ‘I won’t use the word as he instantly recognizes it, both in French and in English. He never says no.’

Faye looked up. The sun was still shining down from a cloudless sky and it was very hot. Even so, a walk in the country with a big friendly dog sounded wonderful. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. Once I’ve got my stuff into the flat and got sorted out, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll take Marlon for a … you know what.’

‘Now, Faye, would you like me to give you a hand with your things?’

‘No, I’m fine, Claudette, thanks. I haven’t brought much stuff and I’ll easily manage. I’ll come over and collect the dog from you once I’ve finished, if that’s all right.’

‘Of course. I’ll be in the kitchen and the door’s just there on the other side of the courtyard. It’s never locked and there’s need to knock – just come in. Now then, Marlon, you come with me.’ Somewhat reluctantly, the dog got up and followed Claudette over to the kitchen while Faye opened the door to her new home and climbed the stairs, the feeling of excitement building inside her at the prospect of what was ahead of her. What she found in there only increased her delight.

The shutters were closed, but the windows were wide open and it was blissfully cool in there. A vase on the table held a lovely bunch of flowers, most probably picked from the garden, and their perfume filled the air. Faye went into the kitchen and found a fresh baguette on the bread board and half a dozen bottles of Gigondas on the worktop. She opened the fridge and saw that Claudette hadn’t been joking when she’d said she had filled it. It was packed with everything from salads to cheeses, ham, eggs, fruit and vegetables, butter and milk. Eddie had obviously decided that red wine wasn’t enough and there was a row of bottles of local rosé lined up in the door shelf, along with mineral water.

It took her barely ten minutes to bring her stuff up from the car and less than half an hour to unpack and put away the bulk of it. She was delighted to find there was a strong Wi-Fi signal in the stables and a similarly strong phone signal, so she would still be able to stay in contact with the outside world beyond the confines of this remote part of rural France. She was already wearing shorts so she located her old sandals in readiness for the walk. As she did so, she checked her watch and saw that it was almost four o’clock.

She went across the yard and into the kitchen, tapping on the door before opening it. It was a lovely big room, the ceiling supported by ancient beams, oak kitchen units around the walls to match – a perfect mix of medieval and modern. The floor was made up of the same pink terracotta tiles as in the lounge, while the marble worktop mimicked their faded rosy colour.

Faye found Eddie Marshal sitting at the table with a mug of coffee in his hand, Claudette hovering behind him. He was once again wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and Faye saw he had espadrilles on his feet. The housekeeper looked up as she heard the door and saw the dog charge across to greet Faye. ‘I’ve just made coffee and tea, if you’d like a cup, Faye. I just took some tea up to Miss Beech a moment ago, but she’s still having her afternoon nap.’

Faye was delighted to accept. This was a welcome opportunity to sit down and chat to Eddie and Claudette who, between them, surely knew all about Miss Beech and her life, at least since coming to live here in France. ‘Thanks. I’d like to go out for a you know what with our four-legged friend in a moment, Claudette, but a cup of tea, if it’s made, would be very welcome.’

‘Come and have a seat, Faye. How was your journey?’ Eddie Marshal pushed a chair out from the table and beckoned to her.

‘It was fine, thank you very much, Mr Marshal.’ Faye took a seat and felt the dog slump down onto the terracotta tiles against her ankle. A moment later she felt his tongue lick her toes and she was hard pressed to avoid giggling. She realized that, ticklishness apart, she really was feeling unusually cheerful.

‘Excellent, it’s a good long way from England, isn’t it? I don’t drive at the moment, you know. I’ve been having trouble with my hip.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about that. It must be very uncomfortable for you. So, if you don’t drive and Miss Beech doesn’t drive, how do you get about? Surely you need a car for shopping and things?’

‘My boy does the driving.’ Claudette looked up from where she was pouring the tea. ‘He looks after the garden and does all the outside jobs as well as driving the car. You’ll see him about. You can’t miss him.’ She brought the tea over, and inevitably, along with it came a plate of homemade biscuits. Faye took a look and an appreciative sniff and told herself it would be rude to refuse. She picked up a biscuit and nibbled it. It was exquisite.

‘Have you ever considered going into business making and selling your biscuits, Claudette? You’d make a fortune.’

Claudette smiled at her and shook her head. She had a lovely, open, friendly smile and Faye found herself thinking how wonderful it would have been to have somebody like this as a mother. She smiled back and thanked them most warmly for all the food and drink she had found in her flat, before asking a question about their employer. ‘Is Miss Beech feeling better now?’

Claudette glanced across at Eddie Marshal, deferring to him. He nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, thank you. She’s got a recurring condition that sneaks up on her from time to time, but she’s been okay for a few weeks now. I’m pleased to say that she’s moving around pretty well again.’ He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. ‘She’s been cared for by some of the very best doctors and clinics in the world, but anno domini is what it is. Nothing stays the same for ever.’ He paused and Faye registered the depth of the bond of affection he must feel for Miss Beech after half a century together. His serious look was immediately replaced by something more positive. ‘But she’s had a good run. Apart from this, she really can’t complain.’

Faye nodded. ‘She told me the same thing.’ She sipped her tea and scratched the dog’s ears with her free hand. Remembering her task, she gave Mr Marshal a hesitant look. ‘Um, Mr Marshal, I gather you and Miss Beech have been together for a long time. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions? You know, for the book. Miss Beech told me to find out as much as I can for the biography I’m supposed to be writing.’

‘Fire away. She told me to give you all the information I can.’ He glanced across the kitchen. ‘And the same applies to Claudette. We’re both at your complete disposal.’

Faye gave him a smile. ‘That’s terrific, thanks. So, what about you, Claudette? Have you known Miss Beech for long?’

Claudette smiled back. ‘I haven’t known Miss Beech anything like as long as Mr Marshal has. I first met her twenty years ago when she married the Marquis. They were still living in America then, but they regularly came back for holidays over the next few years. They moved back here properly about ten years ago now.’

‘So have you always worked here at the chateau?’

‘Sort of. I went to England for three years as a nanny when I was a girl – that’s where I picked up my English – but otherwise, I’ve been here all my life. My father and my grandfather both worked for the Marquis, so I suppose it was in my blood.’

‘So you’re the local expert then.’

‘I suppose so, but as far as Miss Beech’s life’s concerned, Eddie’s definitely the expert.’

Eddie Marshal nodded. ‘I’ve been looking after her since I was twenty-three. That’s fifty-two years ago now.’

Faye was amazed. ‘Gosh, that’s incredible. So you first started working for her when she was already big in Hollywood?’

‘That’s right. I was trying to make up my mind what to do after I’d finished school, and a friend fixed me up with a summer job skimming the pool and doing the garden in one of the swanky houses in Beverly Hills. It turned out to be hers.’

‘I thought Miss Beech said you were from Canada?’

‘And proud of it, but I did my law studies at UCLA. Anyway, that was the first time I met her and we became quite friendly, in spite of her being such a massive star by then. Around the end of the summer, just as I was about to head off back to Canada to become an attorney like my father wanted, she said she needed somebody to look after her, her affairs and her social diary, and asked if I’d like to try it for a few months. You can probably imagine my excitement. Here I was, fresh out of college, and I was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood greats.’ He was smiling into his mug of coffee now, as the memories came back. ‘It sounded like a hell of a lot of responsibility for a young man, but I didn’t hesitate. I told my mom and dad I’d give it a try for a little while, and look at me now.’