Книга - To Provence, with Love

To Provence, with Love
T A Williams


Escape to the south of France with this perfect feel-good summer romance!Anything is possible…Struggling writer Faye Carter just can’t believe her luck. She’s off to Provence to write the autobiography of a famous film star and she’ll be staying in the stunning chateau!So when she meets charming (and completely gorgeous) lavender farmer, Gavin, she knows that she’s made the right choice – even if glamourous, elderly Anabelle seems to be hiding something…But when the sun is shining, the food is delicious and the air smells of honey, anything seems possible. Will the magic of Provence help Faye finally find a happy-ever-after of her own?Perfect for fans of Zara Stoneley, Mandy Baggot and Caroline Roberts.Praise for T. A. Williams:‘Pure joy. One of my favourite T. A. Williams books of all time!’ – Rachel Gilbey (top 500 Amazon reviewer)‘A great light-hearted read!’ – Miss S. A. Coles (top 1,000 Amazon reviewer)‘A wonderful romantic tale that takes you on a picturesque, life-changing journey.’ – Adele B (Netgalley reviewer)‘Majestic scenery, intriguing history and scrumptious food. A delightful story.’ – What’s Better Than Books‘T. A. Williams has absolutely backed up that men can write chick-lit.’ ─ Reviewed The Book (Top 1000 Amazon Reviewer)‘Absolutely breathtaking.’ – Lu Dex (NetGalley reviewer)







Anything is possible…

Struggling writer Faye Carter just can’t believe her luck. She’s off to Provence to write the autobiography of a famous film star and she’ll be staying in the stunning chateau!

So when she meets charming (and completely gorgeous) lavender farmer, Gavin, she knows that she’s made the right choice – even if glamorous, elderly Anabelle seems to be hiding something…

But when the sun is shining, the food is delicious and the air smells of honey, anything seems possible. Will the magic of Provence help Faye finally find a happy-ever-after of her own?

Escape to the south of France with this perfect feel-good summer romance! Perfect for fans of Zara Stoneley, Mandy Baggot and Caroline Roberts.


Also by T. A. Williams (#ulink_445a22ba-6379-5730-885c-62ca4da7fc5b)

To Rome, with Love

When Alice Met Danny

What Happens in Tuscany…

What Happens in Cornwall…

What Happens at Christmas…

What Happens in the Alps…

What Happens at the Beach…

Dirty Minds

The Room on the Second Floor


To Provence, With Love

T. A. Williams






ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES


Contents

Cover (#u86cd3e08-9ee6-5846-a725-d91157ba4f12)

Blurb (#ud200bfc5-5fad-509e-819d-f7c6397f821c)

Book List (#ulink_8b0a0843-32d7-568d-ad0d-345f950c3e6e)

Title Page (#u92854172-f580-505a-b047-7f4acb3bb165)

Author Bio (#ud67af196-b21c-5337-8df6-961177a2a021)

Acknowledgements (#u0ca69781-b155-57c6-958f-fa2966c78cda)

Dedication (#uce08bef0-1d1d-5156-83f3-e49c6a971fd5)

Chapter One (#ulink_4be15bcb-e044-5379-8fcc-d9df4fd3b7db)

Chapter Two (#ulink_5112766a-bbfe-5877-b05f-752ac9965df0)

Chapter Three (#ulink_b61a0549-c6a6-57a8-8cbe-1686a95efbae)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


TREVOR WILLIAMS

lives in Devon with his Italian wife. He lived and worked in Switzerland, France and Italy, before returning to run one of the best-known language schools in the UK. He has taught people from all over the world, among them Arab princes, Brazilian beauty queens and Italian billionaires. He speaks a number of languages and has travelled extensively. He has eaten snake, live fish and alligator. A Spanish dog, a Russian bug and a Korean parasite have done their best to eat him in return. He has written historical novels, romantic comedies and thrillers. His hobby is long-distance cycling, but his passion is writing.

You can follow him on Twitter, @TAWilliamsBooks (https://twitter.com/TAWilliamsBooks), find him on Facebook: facebook.com/TrevorWilliamsBooks (https://facebook.com/TrevorWilliamsBooks) or visit his website: tawilliamsbooks.com (https://www.tawilliamsbooks.com).


Many thanks, as ever, to my lovely editor at HQ Digital, Charlotte Mursell.

Thanks, also to Phil Mason, the fount of all wisdom on that wonderful part of the world that is Provence.


To Mariangela and Christina, with love.


Chapter One (#ulink_2304854d-e2a2-5c9e-a268-f5157c8b99f4)

‘Whew!’

Faye ran her hand across her forehead and it came away damp. The late May weather in London that morning had been cool and overcast, but here in the south of France there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the high temperatures were even surprising the locals. The little hire car she had picked up at Nice airport was supposed to have air conditioning, but either it was broken or she just hadn’t been able to fathom out how to make it work. Whatever the reason, even with the windows fully open, it was like a furnace in there. But the air-con, she knew full well, wasn’t her only problem. She now had an even more serious one. She was lost.

She braked as she came to an anonymous turning to the right, slowing to little more than walking speed, muttering to herself in frustration as she looked for some indication as to which way to go. Then, as the car drew level with the turnoff, the frustration turned to annoyance. She definitely recognized the rusty old oilcan inverted over the top of a fence post, the red and white paint gradually peeling off in the hot Provençal sunshine. There was no getting away from it. She had definitely driven past this self-same spot only ten minutes earlier.

Giving an exasperated snort, she pulled the car onto the dusty verge at the side of the narrow road, turned off the engine, and reached once again for the map the man at the car hire desk had given her. It wasn’t the most detailed map in the world and she wasn’t the best map reader in the world, but one thing was clear: map or no map, she was lost – lost and alone.

She glanced out of the windows. There wasn’t a single sign of human habitation anywhere – just fields, hills, occasional trees, and the hot, dry road. For a moment, she felt a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her and shook her head angrily. She had been miserable enough over the past few months and being alone was nothing new to her. She took a few deep breaths and gripped the steering wheel, trying to work out what to do next. She was here now and she had a problem to solve. Crying wouldn’t help.

As she looked back out through the windscreen, knowing she was going to be late for her interview unless she worked out pretty quickly where she was, a figure accompanied by a big black dog appeared from a gap in the dry stone wall just a short way ahead of her. As she watched, they crossed the road, disappearing up a narrow footpath between two dusty cypress trees.

Faye didn’t hesitate.

Jumping out of the car into the full heat of the sun, she hurried over to the two trees and saw the retreating shoulders of the man a little way ahead of her. She called out, but he didn’t respond, so she cleared her throat and called again, louder. This time she saw first the dog, and then the man, stop and turn round.

‘Hello, please could you help me? I’m lost.’ Even in her best French this sounded pretty pathetic, but she was desperate. To her relief, the man started retracing his steps along the track towards her.

‘Did you say you’re lost?’ From his accent he was from these parts, but his tone wasn’t particularly welcoming. Nevertheless, Faye nodded, praying he would be able to help her. As he reluctantly walked back to her, the dog, a handsome black Labrador, came charging up to her, tail wagging. Just as he looked as though he was going to jump all over her, there was a sharp double whistle and his master’s voice rang out.

‘Viens là.’

The dog stopped dead, only a few feet from Faye, and waited for his master. She was impressed and relieved. She loved dogs, but she was on her way to an interview after all, and the last thing she needed was to be leapt upon by a dog, however friendly his intentions might be. She took a step back and studied the man surreptitiously as he approached.

He was wearing a battered T-shirt that had once advertised a Rolling Stones European tour. From its faded appearance, the tour in question had probably taken place in the years before the surviving members of the group had reached pensionable age – and that was a good while ago. On his feet were equally scruffy trainers and his strong, brown legs ran a long way up before disappearing into his sand-coloured shorts.

Sensing her eyes on him, he looked towards her and, to Faye’s considerable surprise, she realized that he was very, very good-looking. Somehow, out here in the wilds of deepest rural Provence, she hadn’t expected to meet a man whose face could have come off the front cover of a fashion magazine. She swallowed hard before answering.

‘Afraid so. Totally lost. I’m looking for St-Jean-sur-Sarde the chateau to be precise. I was told to follow the signs for St-Jean and then turn right after the restaurant in the centre of the village. Only I can’t seem to find any road signs at all and I’m just going round in circles.’

The man nodded. Satisfied that the dog wasn’t going to jump all over Faye, he released his grip on the collar and reached up to pull off his sunglasses. As he did so, Faye noted the network of lines around his eyes that would no doubt have been airbrushed away by a photographer. As it was, they only served to add character to an already remarkable face.

His eyes met hers for a second before he dropped them again and, in spite of herself, Faye was fascinated. They were the most amazing and unusual colour: a very light yellowy brown. They gave her the surreal sensation of looking into the eyes of a lion or a tiger – and a very fine-looking male of the species, although by the look of him, a rather unhappy male of the species. She was wondering why the expression on his face was so glum when he shot a glance at her, his expression not exactly hostile, but definitely lacking in warmth.

‘The chateau, eh? So, you’ve come to see our local celebrity, have you?’

Faye nodded cautiously, reaching down to pat the dog’s head. ‘I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so all I can tell you is that I’m going to the chateau.’

He nodded approvingly. ‘Quite right. She keeps herself to herself and why not?’ He ran a bronzed hand through his mop of rich chestnut hair and Faye was unable to stifle a brief image of Didier that leapt, unwanted, into her head. There had been a time, not so long ago, when that same simple action from her former boyfriend would have stirred her, but now, after all that had happened, the only stirrings she felt were of anger.

The sadness had finally begun to wear off, and in its place had come resentment and a deep mistrust of men, particularly tall, handsome men. Although she was rational enough to know it was unfair of her, she felt her expression harden towards this Frenchman, but he didn’t appear to notice. ‘Anyway, getting to the chateau’s easy. Just carry on up here for about a kilometre and then turn left by a tumbledown barn. No signs on that junction either, I’m afraid. So, just turn left. Left, okay?’

Just to reinforce the message, he extended his left arm - a strong, brown arm, covered with sun-bleached hair. ‘That’ll take you down to St-Jean and you’ll see the church on your left and the Coq d’Or on your right. Then, just like they told you, turn right straight after it and the chateau’s only a few hundred yards up the road. It’s on a little hill. You can’t miss it.’

Faye gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you so much. I had visions of driving round these roads for ever. I’m so glad I came across somebody with local knowledge.’ She caught those amazing tiger eyes once more, but both he and she looked away again immediately.

‘Anyway, now, I must go. Goodbye.’ He gave that same double whistle once more and the dog jumped to his feet. The man and the Labrador had already turned away before she managed to reply.

‘Well, goodbye and thank you.’ Faye stood there and watched the two of them disappear down the track. It wasn’t his fault he had reminded her of Didier. Maybe this man wasn’t a lying, deceitful cheat, but she had no intention of finding out. Shaking her head, she returned to her car and set off in the direction of the chateau of St-Jean-sur-Sarde.

***

The chateau certainly was quite a place. Faye drew up in front of an imposing pair of wrought-iron gates and climbed out to press the bell set in one of the gate pillars. There was no name, just a button. A few seconds later, a yellow light on top of the post began to flash and the gates started to open inwards with a mechanical hum. She jumped back into the car and squeezed carefully through the gates, continuing up a sweeping gravel drive, lined with colourful oleander bushes in full flower – the red, pink, and white contributing to make a striking display. Beyond them was a lush green lawn that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. Evidently the chateau had its own irrigation system.

She drew up at the foot of a fine stone stairway leading up to the front door and sat in the car for a moment, composing herself and admiring the view. From here she could see right down as far as the limestone cliffs of the hills beyond. Just down the slope from her was the village, a collection of red-tiled roofs clustered around the old church, its square tower pierced with Roman arches.

The heat of the sun had made the air hazy, but she felt pretty sure the dusty line on the horizon might be the mighty Maritime Alps. Although it hardly seemed believable on a day like today, the proximity of the mountains would probably mean cold winters and she wondered, for a moment, whether she would be here to experience that. All round the village the fields were filled with bright green vines and ripening corn, with serried rows of wonderful purple lavender bringing flashes of colour from time to time.

Turning back towards the chateau, she saw that this was even more impressive. It occupied the top of a small hillock and had probably started life more as a fortified castle than a manor house, its powerful stone walls rising up several storeys to a tiled roof. It had no doubt been built at a time when the owner had needed his home to provide protection from his enemies as well as shelter from the elements. It wasn’t absolutely enormous, like some castles Faye had seen, but it was very beautiful.

Over the centuries, window openings had been pierced in the walls and a fine entranceway built, opening out onto the terrace. This terrace extended along the front of the building, punctuated by green and yellow splashes of colour provided by lemon trees in ancient terracotta pots, and a mass of red and pink roses climbing the rugged walls. It was simply stunning.

Of course, Faye thought to herself, that was no surprise. She had been expecting something pretty imposing, after all. The owner of the house, the lady she was here to meet for the first time, was none other than Anabelle Beech, and she was genuine Hollywood royalty. No longer contemporary royalty, but definitely one of the all-time greats. Her name conjured up memories of iconic films of the post-war era, where she had appeared alongside such movie colossi as Humphrey Bogart, Gary Cooper, and James Stewart. Often compared to Grace Kelly as one of the most beautiful women in the world, there was no doubt she would have more than enough small change to buy even a fabulous place like this.

Faye glanced down at the rather short skirt she had chosen, beginning to regret not having dressed up a bit more formally for her first appearance before the great lady. Well, she told herself, it’s too late now.

As she opened the car door, she heard a cacophony of barking and came close to closing the door again and locking it. It sounded as if the Hound of the Baskervilles himself was in there, straining to get out. Cautiously, she made her way up the steps until she was level with the half-glazed front door that was visibly shaking. By this time, Faye was also close to shaking. The door, set into a carved stone surround, was made of sculpted oak and, thankfully, it looked solid, even though the upper half was made up of little square red, white, and blue stained-glass panels. Staring at her through the base of one of these, was the source of the noise.

A shiny black nose and an intimidating set of gleaming white teeth were very much in evidence, as were a pair of bright eyes that studied her approach. Then, as she and the dog made eye contact, the barking suddenly stopped, leaving Faye’s ears ringing. The dog dropped back to the floor, and in place of the barking, she heard low whines emanating from inside.

At that moment, the door was opened by a slim, grey-haired man in jeans and a crisp white T-shirt, his other hand firmly gripping the dog’s collar.

‘Good morning. You must be Faye. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’

He spoke in English, with a soft American accent, and he might have been seventy or so. He shot a glance down at the dog, who was wagging his tail so hard, the whole back half of his body was wiggling. ‘You must tell me your secret. I’ve never seen Marlon so pleased to see somebody before. I’ll let him go if you’re all right with dogs. He’ll probably try to jump up at you, but just push him down.’

Faye looked at the dog whose intentions were now unmistakably friendly and nodded her head. ‘Hello, yes, I’m Faye Carter. Do let him go. I’ll be fine.’

A split second later she found herself pinned back against the door by a pair of hefty, mercifully clean, paws – a big hairy Labrador head stretching upwards, a pink tongue trying unsuccessfully to reach her face. Marlon was definitely very, very pleased to see her. She recovered her balance, persuaded the dog to return to all fours, and bent down to stroke him. As if by magic, feeling her touch, he slid down onto the floor and rolled over, all four legs in the air, emitting an assortment of happy canine grunts. His tail was still wagging furiously, doing a very efficient job of sweeping the polished oak floor.

‘That’s quite amazing.’ The grey-haired man was still looking very surprised. ‘We normally have to shut him in the kitchen when somebody comes to the door.’ He stepped to one side and waved her in formally. ‘Anyway, welcome to St-Jean, Faye. My name’s Eddie Marshal. I’m Miss Beech’s PA.’

Faye walked in past him, trying not to trip over the dog. As she did so, she noticed a grey ponytail hanging down Eddie Marshal’s neck – not something normally to be found on an elderly gentleman. On closer inspection, there turned out to be a still-handsome face underneath the lines and wrinkles, and a definite sparkle visible in his pale blue eyes. She smiled back at him and held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Marshal, and did you say his name was Marlon?’

The man accepted her hand and shook it, before nodding towards the dog. ‘Named after the great man himself. Miss Beech knew Brando well and has always admired him. Now, if you’d like to come into the sitting room, I’ll go tell her you’ve arrived. She hasn’t been too well for the past couple of days and she has the nurse with her at the moment, so I’m afraid you might have to wait for a few minutes.’

He led Faye, closely accompanied by the dog, along the corridor, limping slightly as he walked. The walls were lined with paintings – not old masters, as one might have expected in a medieval environment such as this, but modern, abstract and impressionist paintings that, remarkably, sat very well in this antique setting.

At the end of the corridor they turned into a gorgeous high-ceilinged room, furnished with surprisingly modern leather sofas and armchairs. The ceiling was supported by hefty carved beams, the detail of the predominantly floral design picked out in red and gold against the dark wood. The floor was a stunning chequerboard of centuries-old pink and cream terracotta, worn down by the passage of countless feet. At the end of the room was a monumental stone fireplace, supported by sculpted pillars on either side. It was breathtaking.

‘Now, what can I get you?’ Mr Marshal was still standing by the door. ‘Over the years I’ve become pretty good at making cocktails. How about a Manhattan?’

Faye glanced at the time on an antique grandfather clock in one corner of the room. She had got up at the crack of dawn for her flight and it was still only just eleven o’clock, so although it might have helped to soothe her nerves, it was definitely too early for alcohol. She shook her head regretfully. ‘Thank you very much, but as I’m driving back to the airport again this afternoon, I’d better not.’

‘Of course. Well, a coffee maybe, or a cup of tea?’

‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’

‘Any special type of tea?’

‘Just bog-standard builders’ tea please, with a drop of milk.’

‘“Bog-standard builders’ tea …”’ She saw him smile, savouring the expression. ‘I’m sure we can find some of that. I’ll ask Claudette to bring you a cup.’

As Mr Marshal limped out of the room, leaving Faye vaguely wondering who Claudette might be, the dog trotted over to the fireplace and collapsed onto an exquisite, probably Persian, rug, clearly exhausted by the effusive greeting he had given Faye. Doing her best to control her sense of apprehension, she went over to one of the windows and peeked out onto a lovely, manicured ornamental garden filled with roses. Beyond it was what looked like a swimming pool flanked by lofty palm trees.

What a place, she thought to herself, as she turned back and wandered around the room, stopping to study a mass of photographs in frames that almost filled one wall. There was a clear theme to all of them: Anabelle Beech with John Wayne; Anabelle Beech with JFK; Anabelle Beech at various star-studded ceremonies, grasping a variety of awards, among them one that was unmistakably an Oscar. Every single photograph included Anabelle Beech, never twice wearing the same dress, and in every one, she looked stunning. Faye realized that, if she decided to take the job, she would have a lot of material in these photos right here in front of her.

The letter from the lawyer had come at an opportune moment, barely a week ago. She had arrived back home that Friday night to the house in South London she shared with three other people, feeling physically and mentally drained after the week from hell. Some of the kids had been particularly bolshie, the red tape ever more complex and time-consuming, the parent-teacher evening a nightmare and Miss Dawes, the head teacher, even more objectionable than usual.

Although initially she had loved her job, since the arrival of the ineffectual and vindictive Miss Dawes, Faye had been feeling increasingly frustrated. The break-up with Didier had been the last straw and she had already started looking round for a change of scene, preferably away from the problems of the inner city. Sometimes she would lie in bed at night and dream of teaching a small class of polite, motivated, bright young pupils in a little old stone schoolhouse in the midst of the countryside. So far, that particular dream hadn’t come true.

The solicitor’s message had been brief and intriguing. Almost without preamble, his letter had informed Faye that she had been chosen to assist a famous celebrity in writing her autobiography. The job was likely to take in the region of six months and for her efforts, if she decided to take the job, she would receive the jaw-dropping sum of one hundred thousand pounds upon successful completion of the contract.

There was no explanation as to why she, of all people, had been chosen. All right, she taught English as well as French, and she had self-published her first book, a psychological thriller, a couple of months back. This was now slowly beginning to sell, but it was hardly a bestseller. To be offered such an inordinate amount of money to work with a celebrity was mind-blowing. How on earth had they even heard of her? It was baffling. Nevertheless, she had emailed straight back, indicating her interest, and asking to know more about the job and the celebrity in question.

‘Good morning, mademoiselle. Mr Marshal told me you were hungry. Are you happy to speak French?’ Faye raised her eyes to find a friendly looking lady at the door. She was short, fairly stout, and she was probably in her late fifties or early sixties. Faye nodded her head, noting that this lady’s French accent, like the reticent man with the Labrador she had seen back on the road, was definitely local. ‘My name’s Claudette and I’m the housekeeper. I brought you some tea and a few bits and pieces in case you were hungry.’ Faye’s eyes opened wide as she saw that Claudette was carrying a tray laden with food.

‘That’s ever so kind.’ She held out her hand. ‘My name’s Faye Carter.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ After putting the tray down on a side table, Claudette shook hands with her. ‘You speak good French. Do you live over here?’

Faye shook her head. ‘No, I live in London, but I teach French and English.’ She could have added that she had also had a French boyfriend until a few months ago, but decided to leave Didier, the unfaithful womanizer, out of it. In fact, if she had been able to wipe Didier right out of her life and her memory for ever, that would have been even better, but that, she knew, would never be possible.

Suppressing a sigh, she let her eyes flit down to the table and she could hardly believe the quantity of biscuits and cake Claudette had brought in. There was a movement by her feet and the Labrador appeared as if by magic and positioned himself close by, nostrils flaring. Claudette looked down at him. ‘Don’t worry about Marlon. He won’t steal food from the table, but I’d advise you not to give him any bits or he’ll never let you alone. Always hungry, he is …’

‘Merci, Claudette.’ Mr Marshal materialized at the door so silently that even the dog jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Faye, is there anything else you require?’

‘No, goodness, no. This is amazing. Thank you so much.’

He nodded and turned to Claudette, addressing her in fluent French. ‘Then we’re fine, thank you, Claudette.’

‘Just call if you need anything else. See you later, mademoiselle.’ Claudette gave Faye a brief smile and scuttled off.

Mr Marshal walked slowly across the room until he adopted a relaxed position with his back to the fireplace, leaning against the stone pillar at the side for support. ‘So, you and Miss Beech are going to write a book?’

Faye made her way over to the table and nodded. ‘That’s right – if she wants me.’ She risked a direct question. ‘I don’t suppose you know why she picked me, do you?’

There was a momentary hesitation before Mr Marshal shook his head. ‘She knows lots of people – important people. I imagine somebody must have recommended you.’

This shot even more uncertainty into Faye’s head. Anabelle Beech might well know lots of important people, but Faye was pretty sure she, herself, didn’t. But there was no chance to enquire further as a uniformed nurse appeared at the door, a bag in her hand.

‘Monsieur Marshal, I’ve finished. Miss Beech says for her visitor to go right up.’ Her eyes strayed to the table full of food and Faye saw Mr Marshal’s face crack into a hint of a smile.

‘Do come in and help yourself to a cup of tea or coffee, while I show Faye up to Miss Beech’s room.’ He turned to Faye. ‘Now, Faye, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you up to see Miss Beech.’

Faye gave the nurse a smile as they crossed paths and she followed Mr Marshal out into the hall and over to the imposing stone stairway. On either side of the stairs were suits of shining armour, standing there like soldiers on guard.

‘Convincing, aren’t they? These are props from one of Miss Beech’s historical romances.’ Mr Marshal reached out and tapped one as they passed. Instead of a metallic clang, there was just a hollow clunk. Faye followed suit and found herself grinning.

‘Totally convincing. I was expecting you to tell me they’d been made for a medieval knight by the royal armoury.’

‘Nothing so exotic, I’m afraid. As I remember, these were made by a firm in Long Beach, California, who normally made surfboards.’

‘Long Beach, California, sounds pretty exotic to me.’ As did this whole place.

Mr Marshal climbed the steps slowly, taking them one at a time, his legs clearly giving him trouble. Once they finally reached the first floor landing, he led her down a wood-panelled corridor a short way to a bedroom door. When they got there, he paused briefly, gave a little tap on the door and, without waiting for a reply, ushered Faye inside.

‘Here’s Faye come to see you, Anabelle.’ At that moment, Faye felt a warm body slip past her legs and head over to the bed. ‘And Marlon’s come too.’

‘Well I never. Fancy Marlon leaving his favourite rug.’ The voice came from the bed.

‘He seems to have taken a real shine to Faye.’ Mr Marshal indicated a chair set beside the bed. ‘Do, please, take a seat, Faye. Claudette will be up shortly with some more tea. Anabelle, can I get you anything?’

‘No, thank you, Eddie. I’m fine.’ As he left the room, Miss Beech beckoned to Faye. ‘Come over and sit by me, Faye. Please.’

As Faye walked across the room towards the bed, she did her best to process the impressions she was receiving. The room was huge, with a high ceiling, and there was what looked like an old tapestry covering one wall. She couldn’t see very well as the louvred shutters were closed against the heat of the sun, and the light that filtered through cast geometric stripes across the floor as far as the bed. This was a quite magnificent four-poster and in the bed was a little figure, propped up against three or four crisp white pillows. The voice was low, but clear, and the accent unmistakably English.

As for Miss Beech herself, as Faye drew nearer, she saw that the beautiful, alluring young girl of the photos downstairs had now morphed into an old lady. A few hours spent on the internet earlier in the week had told her that Miss Beech was now in her early eighties, but even so, in spite of her advanced years, she was still a very good-looking woman. Her blonde hair was now silver, but had been pinned up on her head in a style recognizable from the photographs. She was even wearing diamond studs in her ears. More importantly, she was smiling. This came as a considerable relief to Faye, whose biggest worry had been that she might find herself having to deal with a spoilt, irascible diva.

‘Do sit down, my dear.’ Far from irascible, Miss Beech sounded warm and agreeable as she waved Faye into the chair beside her bed, nodding approvingly as she took a better look at her. ‘You’re such a very pretty girl, Faye. I love your hair. Is that your natural colour?’

Faye had had blonde hair as a little girl and it was still a very light brown now. She nodded. ‘Yes, this is the real me.’

‘And how old are you?’

‘I’m twenty-eight.’

Miss Beech gave a little sigh. ‘Ah, how I’d love to be twenty-eight again.’

Faye didn’t give her time to become nostalgic. Remembering how the housekeeper and the PA had referred to their employer, Faye summoned her most enthusiastic voice. ‘Miss Beech, I’m most terribly excited to meet you. I’d already seen a number of your films and since I heard you wanted to interview me, I’ve downloaded some more and watched them. I loved them all, particularly Faded Heart. Seeing you now is like being in one of the films.’

Miss Beech smiled graciously. ‘That was all a long time ago. Things change, I’ve changed.’ Faye felt the great lady still studying her closely, before the smile turned to a gentle grin. ‘And you don’t want to believe everything you see in the movies.’

‘But you still look amazing.’

Miss Beech’s expression remained the same, her eyes still fixed on her visitor. ‘You’re very sweet, Faye. Now, let me tell you what I’d like you to do for me.’

At that moment the door opened and Claudette reappeared with a tray bearing an exquisite Japanese tea set and another mountain of food. She put it down beside Faye and then went over to pour fresh water into the glass on Miss Beech’s bedside table. ‘Will there be anything else, Miss Beech?’ To Faye’s surprise, she was speaking English, and good English as well, with only a trace of a French accent.

‘No, thank you, Claudette. You get back to your cooking.’ Miss Beech glanced across at Faye. ‘You will stay for lunch with us, won’t you?’

‘That’s very kind. I’d love to.’ Faye waited until Claudette had left the room before whispering. ‘But, if that’s the case, I’d better not eat too many of these delicious-smelling biscuits.’

Miss Beech smiled. ‘Claudette’s a firm believer that a full stomach cures all known ills. Since I’ve been in bed this past week, she’s been doing her best to fatten me up.’

‘I’m sorry you aren’t well. I hope you get better soon.’ Faye dropped her eyes to the dog, now positioned at her feet. Absently, she rubbed him with her foot and heard him grunt contentedly.

‘Oh, it’s just a few aches and pains. I’ll be up and about again in no time, I’m sure. But, at my age, it’s to be expected that every now and then the body starts playing up. I certainly can’t complain. I’ve had an absolutely wonderful life. I’ve been spoiled and spoiled and spoiled. It’s the way of the world that we can’t stay young and healthy for ever.’

Miss Beech reached for the water glass and took a mouthful. ‘Do, please, go ahead and drink your tea.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If you eat a few of the biscuits, we can give Marlon another couple and Claudette will think you’ve had them.’ Faye was delighted to hear the old lady sounding quite mischievous, a naughty note in her voice and a twinkle in her eye. She discovered that she really rather liked Miss Beech. Picking up a biscuit, she did as bidden and found it was divine: homemade and still warm. Marlon wasn’t the only one in for a treat.

‘Well now, Faye, what I’d like you to do is to compile my biography for me. Just for me, you understand. I’m not planning on getting it published, at least as long as I’m still alive. What happens to it after my death isn’t going to worry me.’ Miss Beech looked across with a hint of a smile. ‘Over the years, I’ve kept a diary. Not religiously every day, but fairly frequently, especially when there were big events going on. You know, like getting married, winning an Oscar, getting divorced. That kind of thing.’ She gave Faye a grin. ‘I got married three times, won two Oscars, and went through two divorces, by the way.’

‘And you’ve still got those diaries?’

Miss Beech nodded. ‘There’s a box full of all manner of stuff, including a load of photos, in my study. I’ve also got a whole lot of notebooks and odd sheets of paper where I’ve tried to write down things as I remember them, but it’s all a hopeless jumble. That’s where you come in. What I’d like you to do is to go through it all with me and try to draw it together into a book. As I say, I don’t want to publish it. I just think it would be good to collect all my memories together. Would you feel able to do that?’

‘I’d love to try, Miss Beech, but I have to tell you, I’ve only ever written one book before, and that was a thriller, not a biography. I spend my working life doing my best to teach kids to read and write, but this would be the first time I’d be at the start of the creative process of anything like an autobiography.’

‘That’s very honest of you, my dear.’ Then she surprised Faye considerably. ‘Part of the reason I chose you is because I read The Devil Over Your Shoulder and enjoyed it. You write very well, very fluently.’

She’s read my book! Faye could hardly believe it. It was an e-book she had self-published just before the break-up with Didier and it had sold barely a hundred copies so far. This was just about the first time she had come across somebody outside of her circle of friends and family who had read it and she felt herself blushing at the praise. ‘Thank you so much. I’m honoured that you should have read it, and that you liked it. That’s quite made my day.’ And it had.

‘So, does the idea of writing a biography scare you?’

Faye had been asking herself precisely that same question for the past few days and the answer came back the same every time. ‘Yes, definitely, but it also fascinates me and attracts me. I’d love to. That’s if you’re happy to give me the chance.’

‘Excellent, Faye. I’m sure you’ll do a super job.’

Faye noticed the use of the future, rather than the conditional, tense and knew there was something she really had to say. She hesitated, searching for words. ‘Look, Miss Beech, there’s something I’ve really got to tell you. Mr Danvers the solicitor told me you were offering to pay me an absolute fortune. You could probably take your pick of any number of famous authors for that sort of money. Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?’

‘I’m sure I’ve got the right girl, Faye. Quite sure. But what about you? This will mean giving up your job in London, and I suppose that could damage your career plans.’

‘That’s not a problem. To be honest, I’ve been getting more and more disillusioned at work for a good while now. I love teaching and I love the kids – well, most of them – but the atmosphere there has been getting worse and worse since we got a new head. I’ve been actively looking round for something new for a few weeks now. I had an interview for a big teaching temp agency and they tell me there’s a shortage of language teachers. When the time comes, they say they’ll be able to find me a job in a very different environment and it could be just the change I need.’

Faye couldn’t help thinking just how much she was looking forward to getting away from Miss Dawes. The fact that a move outside of London would also put a good few miles between her and Didier was an added bonus. And, if she got this job here in Provence, that would be more like a thousand miles’ distance from him and that felt even better.

Miss Beech nodded. ‘You know what they say: a change is as good as a rest. Now, there’s one thing, though, Faye. I’m no good with all this internet stuff, so, realistically, you’ll have to come and live down here for the duration. Is that something you could do? I imagine a pretty girl like you has probably got a special someone tucked away somewhere – someone who won’t be able to live without you.’

Faye shook her head. Since the split with Didier, she had hardly been out socially, and certainly not with a man. ‘No, there’s no special someone now, Miss Beech. I’m a free agent.’ Miss Beech must have heard some regret in her voice, as did the Labrador, who pressed his nose against her bare leg in solidarity. Faye reached down and scratched his ears.

‘But there was?’

Faye took a deep breath before replying. ‘There was, but there isn’t now.’

‘Was it a bad break-up?’

Faye hesitated, desperate to avoid letting her emotions get the better of her. ‘The worst, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m so sorry, Faye, I’m sure it must have been awful. Although, to be totally honest, hearing you talking about boyfriends reminds me of my younger days.’ Faye looked up and saw a misty expression in the old lady’s eyes. ‘I do envy you the ups and downs of forming relationships, falling in and out of love. Yes, the break-ups hurt, but when you’re young and bright and beautiful, you know there’s always another man waiting just round the corner. Yes, I envy you that. So, what was his name, this one who broke your heart?’

‘Didier.’ Faye took a mouthful of tea and swallowed hard after saying his name.

‘That name doesn’t sound very English.’

‘No, he’s French, but he works in London.’ Faye did her best to keep her voice level. ‘We were together for almost five years and I thought everything was just fine, but it all went pear-shaped a few months ago.’

‘Another girl?’

Faye nodded. ‘Girls, plural, I’m afraid. It’s all been emerging over the past couple of months since I walked out on him.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Looking back on it, I feel such a fool. Everybody seemed to know what he was like except me.’

Miss Beech reached out and caught hold of Faye’s arm. ‘Love really is blind, you know, Faye. Take it from me.’

‘Personal experience?’

‘Bitter personal experience. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days.’ In spite of her tone, Faye spotted a sparkle in Miss Beech’s eyes and she felt sure that this biography was likely to be fascinating and maybe cathartic for both of them.

Miss Beech patted her arm before releasing it. When she spoke, her tone was much more positive. ‘Anyway, better to find out now than later on. That was the trouble in my day, you know, particularly for people like me in the public eye. Unless you were very, very circumspect, it was either a quick peck on the cheek at a cocktail party or it was marriage, with little in between. Being able to test drive a relationship for a few months or years like you can nowadays would have saved me a lot of heartache and a lot of time.’ She gave Faye a wink. ‘And a whole heap of money. So, do you miss him?’

Faye shook her head decisively and answered straightaway. ‘Absolutely not in the slightest.’ Conscious that that had come out a bit too forcefully, she did her best to moderate her tone a bit, but didn’t really succeed. ‘I certainly don’t miss being with him, now that I know what a two-timing rat he really was. In fact, if I saw him again now, I’d either hit him with that chair over there or run a mile. I suppose I do miss speaking French with him, but, to be honest, the only thing I really miss is that when we were living together we could afford our own little flat. Now that it’s just me, I’m back to sharing a house with other people.’ She glanced round Miss Beech’s bedroom and she couldn’t help comparing it to her current accommodation. The two were poles apart.

Miss Beech smiled at her. ‘Well, you’ll be able to speak all the French you like if you come here to help me, and I’d love it if you would. So, please, if you’re quite sure this is what you want, shall we shake on it?’ Miss Beech extended her elegant hand once more and this time Faye noticed the impeccably manicured and painted nails.

Faye nodded enthusiastically. The more she thought about it, the more she felt convinced that a few months over here were just what she needed. For the first time for ages, she felt a warm glow of happiness suffuse her body and a cheerful smile on her face. She caught Miss Beech’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘If you’re certain, then I’m honoured to accept. Mr Danvers told me he thought the contract would be roughly a six-month affair.’ That was about all the solicitor, Silas Danvers, had been able to tell her about the project when she had met him the previous week. ‘If that’s the case, we’d better get started as soon as possible.’

‘Absolutely, no time to waste. At the age of eighty-two, who knows what’s round the corner? Don’t get me wrong, Faye: I have no intention of dropping dead any time soon, but I think it’s fair to say that time is of the essence.’ Miss Beech was still an excellent actress. The smile never left her face as she speculated upon her looming demise. ‘Now, about accommodation. I was talking to Eddie about the possibility of your coming to stay and he suggested the old stable block. There’s a rather nice guest apartment above the stables and, in the hope that you’d say yes, I’m having it redecorated. It’ll be all ready by the time you come back and we’ll see that it’s all set up for you. Get Claudette or Eddie to show you round before you leave today. I think you’ll like it.’

Faye gave her a big smile. ‘That’s fantastic.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Will they be able to tell me about rent and other charges?’

Miss Beech shook her head and smiled back. ‘Don’t worry about that, Faye. I’m glad to see the place being used. It’s been empty for a couple of years now. Besides, I’ve got more than enough to see me out, and when the time comes, where I’m going – wherever that turns out to be – money’s one thing I’m not going to need. You just try your hardest to make this book as good as you possibly can. You never know, it might even get published one day.’

***

Miss Beech came down to the dining room and joined Faye for lunch. Over the meal they chatted and Faye did her best to ask Miss Beech about her early life. Although more than happy to talk about her experiences in Hollywood, she appeared a bit reluctant to speak about her family and her early years, and Faye didn’t push her at this stage. Hopefully, as the old lady took her into her confidence a bit more, she would open up. As it was, Miss Beech appeared very interested in Faye’s life and asked her all sorts of questions. Some were easier to answer than others.

‘So, did you always want to be a teacher?’

Faye had been asked this many times before. ‘Not necessarily teaching, but I always knew I wanted to do something involving language.’

‘And you teach English and French?’

Faye nodded.

‘And do you enjoy teaching?’

Faye answered as honestly as she could. ‘I love teaching. The problem I’ve had of late hasn’t been with the kids, it’s been with the administration. It’s been getting tougher and tougher over the past couple of years. I don’t mean lesson preparation, which is normal, or marking homework, but the endless bureaucracy. I seem to have no time to myself at all. Do you know, I haven’t read a book just for fun for months, years maybe. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been looking round for something different for a while now. And as for finding the time to go to the cinema …’

‘Well, you can remedy both of those while you’re here. Bring all the books you want. There’s not a whole lot to do around here and you’ll have bags of free time, and if you like films, there’s a cinema in the basement, and I’ve got hundreds and hundreds of films.’ She smiled. ‘Including all of mine, of course.’

‘All the films you’ve ever been in?’ Faye saw Miss Beech nod. ‘Then I’ll start with yours before I move on to any others. I need to be familiar with all your work.’

‘Most of them are available via the computer thing that’s down there; though the very early, lesser-known ones are on reels. But if you ask Eddie, he’ll run them for you.’

‘About Eddie … Mr Marshal, has he been with you long?’

‘Eddie? He’s been with me for well over fifty years.’

‘Wow, as long as that?’

‘Yes. He started as my pool boy, skimming the leaves and cutting the grass, but he soon became my personal assistant. He knows more about me that anybody alive.’

Faye made a mental note to add Eddie Marshal to her list of source material. ‘How come he speaks such good French? He’s American, right?’ A little voice in her head was wondering whether there had been more to their relationship than that. Fifty years ago both Eddie Marshal and Miss Beech would have been in their prime. This was not, however, the time to spring that question on the grand old lady.

Miss Beech giggled, a lovely friendly little girl giggle that took years off her. ‘Don’t let him hear you saying that. He’s Canadian, although he’s lived so long in California he can hardly remember Canada. But where he grew up, right on the edge of Quebec, he says they were all bilingual round there.’

‘So coming to live here in France must have suited him down to the ground.’ Faye looked across at Miss Beech. ‘But what about you, Miss Beech? What made you leave Hollywood and immerse yourself in rural France?’ She hesitated. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Of course I don’t mind. That’s what you’re here for, Faye. You can ask me anything. As for coming here, you maybe know that my last husband, dear Marcel, was French.’

Faye remembered reading about him. ‘Wasn’t he a marquis or a count?’

Miss Beech nodded. ‘Although he spent most of his life in Hollywood, this was his family home. The chateau was built by his God knows how many times removed great, great-grandfather, back in the Middle Ages.’

‘So how long have you lived here?’

‘Nearly ten years now. Poor Marcel died five years ago, but I’d grown to love the place by then and I decided to stay on, even though I still can’t do much more than ask for a cup of coffee in French.’ Miss Beech’s blue eyes caught Faye’s. ‘My old brain’s too old to learn another language. Anyway, the other reason for staying here was that I thought it was the right time to drop out of the public eye. I could have stayed on and gone down the whole cosmetic surgery route like a few I could mention, but I couldn’t stomach the thought.’

She gave Faye a little grin. ‘There’s one very well-known actress I won’t name who’s had so many nips and tucks, they say if she winks, her left knee lifts.’ Faye spluttered into her glass of mineral water. ‘Anyway, seriously, you can talk to Eddie about anything. We have no secrets between us. He’s been my PA for so long, he can remember stuff I’ve long forgotten. He’s a good few years younger than me, but, even so, he’s getting on a bit, and he’s waiting for a hip replacement, but his brain’s still working, thank God.’

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 (#ulink_44091bc3-5fcb-50a2-8d8c-81922695a84a)

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.’

Faye was genuinely touched at the devotion Eddie had shown to Miss Beech for over fifty years. She took a better look at him and saw that, underneath the grey hair and the wrinkles, there had once been a young man, excited to go out into the big wide world. Somehow, she had a very strong suspicion that a biography of Eddie could prove to be every bit as interesting as his employer’s.

Eddie was happy to chat about his early days in Hollywood, mixing with the stars, and Faye looked forward to hearing more of his stories as the days went by and to incorporating them into the book. When her watch told her it was half past five, she stood up, reluctant to interrupt his reminiscing. ‘I think I’ll take Marlon out for half an hour before dinner. Where’s the best place to go?’

It was Claudette, the local girl, who answered. ‘There are lovely walks in the fields all around us, or up on the open land: what we call the garrigue. Alternatively, seeing as you’re new to the place, why don’t you just take him down to the town? He can show you round. For all his faults, he’s an angel on a lead and he won’t drag your arm out of its socket. When you’re away from the road, you can let him off. He won’t run away.’

The lead was produced and attached to Marlon’s collar, inducing considerable excitement on his part. Faye took a pocketful of poo bags, the remote control for the gates, and then off they went. Claudette was right. Marlon didn’t pull at the lead and he definitely knew where he was going. Together they walked the few hundred yards down the deserted country road towards the sign announcing the village, or the town as Claudette had called it.

Clearly there was more to St-Jean than Faye had imagined. As they passed the sign, they came to a farm entrance on their left. As she did so, a dog barked, only once, and seconds later she and Marlon discovered they had company. Another identical black Labrador emerged from the shade of an old building and charged across to say hello. Faye glanced down apprehensively, but immediately saw that he and Marlon were old friends.

She stood and looked on as the two dogs, tails wagging furiously, became reacquainted. As she did so, she suddenly felt herself being watched. She raised her eyes and spotted a figure standing in the shadowy interior of the barn. She gave a little wave and received a hint of a wave in return, but the man didn’t venture out of the barn. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and Faye had a suspicion he might well be the same man who had given her directions on her first visit to the area. After all, she told herself, there surely couldn’t be too many identical black Labradors round here.

She returned her attention to Marlon and clicked her tongue, deciding to set off down the hill towards the village once more. As she did so, there was the same double whistle and the other dog turned and charged off back to his master.

Before they reached the Coq d’Or, Marlon led her off to the left along a narrow path and Faye was happy to unclip the lead from his collar and let him make the decisions as to where they should go. He was very well behaved and didn’t attempt to run too far ahead as they followed the path alongside a dry gulley running down towards the river in the valley below. From the collection of bone-dry branches and weeds caught in the bushes lining the gully, it was clear that this would turn into a raging torrent after heavy rainfall, but for the moment, there was no sign of water at all. Everything around them was terribly dry, the grass burnt brown by the sun.

She picked up a stick and threw it for the dog. He ran for it, picked it up, but then steadfastly refused to bring it to her. Clearly somewhere along the line, his brain hadn’t quite got the hang of the retriever part of his ancestry.

As they walked along, a succession of startled lizards ran frantically for cover and Faye found herself hoping there were no snakes about, and this reminded her of her father. She had texted him as soon as she had reached the chateau to let him know she was safe and well, and she resolved to call him later to tell him all about her first day. All around there was virtual silence, and for somebody used to the never-ending background hubbub of London, it was almost disconcerting.

After a short distance, threading their way between dry stone walls, covered with wild vines, and among ramshackle old buildings, Marlon, still carrying his stick, turned left once more and led her over a bridge composed of a single irregular slab of limestone, well over six feet long. Faye wondered how many centuries it had been lying there and how on earth the people who had laid it had been able to do so in an era surely long before motorized cranes and mechanical diggers.

On the other side of the bridge, she saw her first human being.

‘Hello, Marlon. Who’s this you’re taking for a walk, then?’ The voice came from the owner of a very large shaggy mongrel that looked like a cross between a sheep and a grizzly bear. From the wagging of tails that was going on, clearly Marlon and he were already on good terms, which was just as well because Faye had no illusions as to her chances if it came to having to step in to stop a dogfight with this monster. The dog’s owner, on the other hand, looked big and strong enough to separate a pair of fighting wolves, if he had to. He looked down at her, fortunately with a smile. ‘You’ll be the young lady who’s going to be staying at the chateau, I dare say?’

Faye nodded and took a good look at the owner of the Beast of St-Jean. They say that dogs and owners often come to look alike and this pairing certainly added weight to that hypothesis. The man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, was the size and shape of a wardrobe, with a hairstyle, if, indeed it could be called a style, not dissimilar to that of his dog. Fortunately, he was still smiling benignly at Faye and she summoned a nervous smile in return.

‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve just arrived. My name’s Faye. How did you know I was coming?’ She wondered for a moment whether this man mountain might in some way be related to Miss Beech, and it turned out she wasn’t far off the mark.

‘Name’s Albert. I’m the man who’s just spent a week redecorating the flat above the stables for you. My mum’s Miss Beech’s housekeeper and I do the garden and stuff.’ He extended a huge paw towards her in greeting. Gritting her teeth, Faye reached out and let him envelop her hand and shake it, mercifully remarkably delicately.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Albert. I’ve just been chatting to your mum now. I was telling her she should start selling her biscuits. They’re amazing.’

‘You’re telling me. My dad reckons that’s why I grew so much. By the way, most people call me Obelix. Can’t think why.’ He was smiling. ‘And I’m pleased to meet you, Faye. So are you going to be staying long?’

This was Faye’s first experience of a little village for a long time, but she knew the way the bush telegraph worked in a school and rightly assumed it would be roughly the same out here. If Claudette hadn’t told Obelix why Faye was here and how long she was staying, it wasn’t her place to enlighten him either. She took refuge in a little white lie.

‘I’m not sure. I’ve been teaching in London and I wanted a bit of time away from all the noise and bustle.’

‘Well, you certainly won’t have to worry about the noise out here. About the only thing to disturb you will be Marlon when he hears the postman. He barks the place down every time anybody he doesn’t know really well comes to the house. I dare say he barks at you too.’

Faye glanced down at Marlon who, after a bit of reciprocal sniffing with the Beast, had returned to take up position at her feet. His stick was now in the jaws of the Beast, and Faye didn’t blame him for surrendering it in the face of such a daunting adversary. For some reason Marlon appeared to have accepted her straightaway as a member of the household, if not a substitute pack leader, and it felt rather good. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was past six, so she knew she had better get back home in time to shower and change before dinner. ‘Tell me, is there a way back to the chateau without having to go back the way we came along the road?’

Obelix nodded and indicated a narrow footpath snaking off between two dilapidated stone walls. ‘Just follow that path up the hill until just before the lavender fields. You’ll smell them long before you see them and when you do, you’ll find there’s another path off to the left, just above the farm, that’ll take you home. Marlon knows it well enough. He’ll show you the way.’

‘Thank you … Obelix. Are you sure it’s all right to call you that?’

He grinned at her. ‘Everybody else does. My mum’s just about the only person who still calls me Albert.’

Faye smiled back at him. ‘By the way, the lavender farm – is that the farm I’ve just come past on the way down here?’

Obelix nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘And there’s another black Labrador there, just like Marlon?’

‘That’s right. They’re from the same litter. He used to be Robbie’s dog.’

‘Robbie?’

‘He used to run the farm, but now it’s his brother who’s taken over.’ Obelix’s expression became more serious. ‘After Robbie was killed in the accident.’

‘Oh, how awful. Was that a farm accident? They say farms are dangerous places, with all the heavy equipment and so on.’

‘No, it was a road accident, up by the gorge. Very sad.’

Faye nodded in agreement before deciding she really had to get back. ‘Well, Obelix, I’d better get off. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’ Faye clicked her tongue and was gratified to see Marlon jump to his feet immediately. With a wave to the giant, she set off up the hill to home.

When she reached the lavender farm, she was greeted by the sweet smell of the flowers and a repetitive series of thuds coming from a corner of a nearby field where a man was hammering in a new fence post. Faye recognized him immediately as the same man she had met before. Clearly, he had now decided to venture out of the shade of the barn.

The temperature was still high and it looked like hard work. He was sweating profusely, his T-shirt sticking to his broad shoulders, his hair plastered down on his head. Even so, he looked like a movie star: handsome and hunky at the same time. Not that that mattered to Faye; as far as she was concerned, still raw after her treatment at the hands of Didier, he could have been James Dean and she still wouldn’t have been interested. Nevertheless, she did her best to be friendly, not least as it looked as though they were now going to be neighbours.

‘Good afternoon. That looks like hot work.’

Hearing her voice, the man stopped work and set the heavy hammer down at his side. As he did so, a black shadow emerged from beneath a nearby rosemary bush as his dog recognized his brother once again. Marlon trotted across to greet the two of them with his tail held high, wagging encouragingly.

‘Hello?’ The man raised a hand to his forehead and squinted and, as he did so, Faye realized she had the setting sun right behind her. She was quick to explain.

‘Hello, I’m the clueless girl who got lost a month or two ago. I don’t know if you remember.’

Comprehension dawned on his face. ‘Oh, yes. And you’re with Marlon?’

‘Yes. I’m staying at the chateau.’

‘Right.’

Although he didn’t sound unfriendly, he was certainly no more communicative now than when she had first seen him. Nevertheless, Faye tried again. ‘New fence post?’

‘Yes.’

‘Must be hard work.’

‘Yes.’

‘And very hot work on a day like this.’

‘Yes.’

Faye’s conversational skills were being severely stretched by now and she took refuge in a glance at her watch and what was, after all, the truth. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stop and talk. I have to get back.’

‘Right.’ With a smooth movement, he reached down, clasped the handle of the sledgehammer, and swung it up in a graceful arc above his head. ‘Well, goodbye then.’

Faye called to Marlon and left the taciturn man to his labours. She carried on along the rough path up the hill to the chateau. A minute or two later, she felt a stone under her heel and stopped to remove it. Grabbing hold of a branch at the side of the track to steady herself, she slid off the sandal and flicked away the tiny piece of gravel. As she did so, Marlon pounced on her shoe and bore it proudly away.

‘Marlon, bring that back.’

He stopped and turned back towards her, but showed no sign of any intention of relinquishing his trophy. She called him again, dangled his lead, and even tried to whistle, but he was having none of it. He trotted obligingly enough back to her, even let her grab the shoe in his mouth, but then stubbornly hung on to it like a limpet. Finally, Faye had to leave it with him, rather than risk damaging either the sandal or the dog’s teeth, and she limped up the hill on one shoe, treating the dog to a few good old-fashioned English expletives as she did so.

***

At seven-thirty as instructed, Faye – freshly showered, her dusty right foot carefully washed – changed into a light summer dress and her good sandals and went over to the kitchen, tapped on the door, and let herself in. She had locked the door to her apartment behind her but somehow, protected behind the barrier of the electric gates, she didn’t think she had much to worry about, not least if Marlon lived up to his reputation as a very vocal guard dog. There was no sign of Eddie Marshal, but she found Claudette bending down, looking at something in the oven. She looked up as Faye came in.

‘Have a nice walk?’

‘Yes, thanks, although the last half was on one leg.’ She smiled as she explained what had happened. Claudette smiled back.

‘I saw him with a sandal in his mouth when I came into the kitchen and wondered if it was yours.’ She indicated the shoe, now safely lying on the worktop out of reach of the dog.

‘How did you get it off him? I thought he was going to pull my arm out of its socket.’

‘The way you can always get a Labrador to do anything – food. I offered him a piece of biscuit and he dropped it like a flash. I should have warned you of that. When he likes somebody, he always tries to take something of theirs.’ She pointed at the wicker basket by the range cooker. ‘See that tatty red rag in there? That used to be one of Miss Beech’s scarves. He’s had it for years. Anyway, it shows he likes you.’

‘I’ll have to dig out an old sock or something for him. Walking up the gravel drive with one bare foot was a bit uncomfortable.’ She glanced down at the dog who was staring at her adoringly from his bed. ‘But no more stealing shoes, all right, Marlon?’ He wagged his tail and, if she hadn’t known better, it almost looked as if he winked. Faye sighed and returned her attention to Claudette. ‘Anyway, while I was out, I met your son.’

‘It’s hard to miss our Albert. Did he tell you they all call him Obelix?’ Claudette grinned. ‘Not too sure what happened there. His father’s not a lot taller than I am.’

‘He’s certainly a big chap. I suppose he’s the star of the local rugby team.’

Claudette shook her head. ‘He used to play a lot of sport, but he gave it up a few years back. Did he tell you what his hobby is now?’

Faye shook her head. ‘Wrestling bulls, lifting weights, or tearing up phone books with his bare hands maybe?’

Claudette’s grin broadened. ‘Embroidery.’

‘Embroidery?’

‘He’s this year’s president of the village embroidery circle. They’re in the process of renewing all the kneelers in the church. You should see some of the things he’s made. He’s far better than I am. He’s got such a delicate touch and a very good eye for colour and design.’

‘Wow.’ Faye was suitably impressed. ‘I must go down to the church to take a look at his handiwork.’

‘Miss Beech is in the dining room if you want to go and join her. Go through that door there and you’ll find her. Off you go and tell her I’ll be serving dinner in about ten minutes.’

Faye made her way through to the dining room accompanied by Marlon. Miss Beech was in an armchair by the fireplace, staring into the empty grate, lost in her thoughts. Sitting in another armchair to one side of the fireplace, holding a newspaper, was Eddie Marshal. As he spotted Faye, he gave her a little wave. Faye hesitated at the doorway, loath to disturb Miss Beech who looked miles away, but Marlon had no such qualms. He trotted over to his mistress and laid his head on her knee. His arrival roused her and she looked up towards Faye, beckoning her into the room with one hand while scratching the dog’s ears with the other.

‘Faye, come in, come in. How lovely to see you again.’ The grand old lady looked genuinely pleased to see her.

‘Hello, Miss Beech. It’s good to be back.’ Faye took a better look at her. ‘And you’re looking well.’ That was an exaggeration, but Miss Beech definitely looked better than the last time, and there was some colour in her cheeks this evening. Miss Beech smiled.

‘You don’t spend a lifetime in cinema without learning a thing or two about make-up. My looks are mostly out of a bottle nowadays, I’m afraid, but it’s sweet of you to notice. Come and join us.’

Faye did as she was bidden and stood by the hearth. The dog slumped down onto his rug with a thud and a sigh, as Faye remembered to deliver Claudette’s message. ‘Claudette says dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

‘Excellent. That gives us time for a drink first. We really should celebrate your first night here, so I got Eddie to dig out a bottle of champagne. Would you like that? Otherwise we’ve got most things here. He could even make you a cocktail if you like.’

Eddie looked up eagerly, nodding his head. ‘Whatever you like, Faye. You name it, I can make it. Maybe a real American Martini?’

‘Champagne sounds absolutely wonderful, thank you.’ Faye spotted the foil-covered top of the bottle peeking out of an ice bucket. ‘But only if you’re going to have some. Please don’t open it specially for me.’

Miss Beech’s smile broadened. ‘Of course we’ll join you. I wonder, Faye, if you would feel like opening it, please?’

Eddie Marshal made an attempt at getting to his feet, but Miss Beech was quick to tell him off. ‘Eddie, for goodness’ sake sit down and let Faye do the honours. I’m sure she’s had lots of experience with champagne bottles.’ She grinned at Faye. ‘At our age, we deserve a sit-down. Besides, the doctor told Eddie not to put too much weight on that hip of his.’

‘I haven’t got much experience with champagne, but I’m a dab hand at opening Prosecco bottles.’ Faye went over to the ice bucket and managed to open the bottle without too much fuss. She filled three exquisite tall crystal flutes and took two of them across to the fireplace, handing them over one by one, before returning to pick up her own. Miss Beech raised her glass towards them both.

‘Cheers. Your very good health, Faye. Thank you for coming to join us.’

‘Cheers and thank you for having me. And cheers to you, too, Mr Marshal.’

‘Call me Eddie, would you, Faye? Besides, my name’s not Marshal really.’ In response to her raised eyebrows, he elaborated. ‘I’m really Eduard Maréchal, but the Americans couldn’t cope with the pronunciation, or the spelling, so I changed it to Marshal. So please call me Eddie like everybody does.

Faye went over and clinked her glass against Miss Beech’s, then Eddie’s, and took a mouthful. She watched as Miss Beech sipped her drink pensively before looking up. ‘Here’s something you can put in the book, Faye. They say alcohol slows the activity of the brain, but every time I drink champagne my mind’s flooded with memories of so, so many good times.’ She stared down into the wine glass. ‘To be quite honest, I’ve never really liked the stuff that much. Those bubbles always seem to go up my nose, but it’s what it represents, I suppose.’

‘Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to drink enough champagne in my life to develop a special taste for it, but this is gorgeous. By the way, talking of wine, thank you so much for all the food and drink you’ve put in the flat. The fridge is absolutely packed.’ As Miss Beech made a dismissive gesture with her hand, Faye took another mouthful of champagne. It really was excellent. She pulled up an ornate wooden stool and sat down to one side of Miss Beech, directly in front of the fireplace. ‘So, go on then, what’s running through your mind at the moment? What memories has this sip of champagne awakened?’

There was a moment’s silence while Miss Beech reflected on the question and then, to Faye’s surprise, she started giggling like a schoolgirl once more. ‘To be totally honest, Faye, it reminds me of the night I tipped a bucket full of ice into my leading man’s lap in an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills.’

Faye gasped, feeling a fit of the giggles rising up inside her as well. ‘You did what?’

She watched as Miss Beech dissolved into laughter, her whole face flushed with pleasure as the memory returned. ‘It was at the end of a day’s filming of Faded Heart.’ Faye knew this to be one of Miss Beech’s best-known films. ‘All that day we’d been riding around on horses. As I recall, I was trying to show him how the stunt boss had been teaching me to jump onto a moving horse.’ She looked up. ‘We did a lot of our own stunts in those days, not like today – and as I leapt to my feet and stretched out one leg to demonstrate, my foot hit the bucket and … splash!’

Faye was laughing by now. ‘Who was the leading man?’

‘Charlton Heston.’

‘Wow, and what was his reaction? Was he angry?’

Miss Beech shook her head. ‘Not at all. He laughed his head off. Said it cooled him down. He was a good, kind man, was Chuck. Not like some others I could mention.’

‘When we get down to writing, I do so hope you’ll mention the baddies as well as the goodies. It would be good to make this a real warts and all story.’

‘Oh, I can give you warts, all right.’ Faye was then amazed to hear Miss Beech reel off three or four examples of the most appalling behaviour by some of the best-known names in Hollywood. Faye listened attentively, knowing that anecdotes like these would be box-office gold if the book ever got as far as publication. She resolved to contact Miss Beech’s lawyer just to be on the safe side, so as to know just how far she could go at naming names in a book like this. Even though it was going to have Miss Beech’s name on the cover, it presumably wouldn’t emerge until after the old lady’s death and that left just Faye. And she had no desire to find herself in the sights of a bunch of American lawyers, baying for blood.

‘Dinner is served.’ Faye looked up to see Claudette at the door pushing a trolley laden with food. The Labrador immediately leapt to his feet and headed over to greet her, tail wagging hopefully.

‘I hope you’re hungry.’ Faye was amused to hear Miss Beech’s whisper. She turned towards her and spotted her mischievous grin. ‘I think Claudette’s worried you’re a bit too slim.’

‘Well I certainly won’t be if I start having too many big meals. I’m going to have to be careful.’

‘When I was your age I existed on celery and nicotine. You should have seen some of the outfits I had to squeeze into. But you’ve got a lovely figure. A good meal every now and then never did anybody any harm.’

The meal was, indeed, excellent. Tonight, Claudette had chosen turbot and had cooked it to perfection with prawns and braised fennel. The aroma rising up from the plates was heavenly. Eddie joined them at table while Claudette retired to the kitchen, presumably to prepare yet more food. Eddie and Faye finished the bottle of champagne between them while Miss Beech just sipped hers from time to time.

Once that was finished, Miss Beech insisted that Eddie open a bottle of white wine and Faye found herself on the receiving end of a ten-year-old Sancerre Premier Cru that tasted every bit as good as the champagne. As they ate and drank, they chatted, or, at least, Faye tried to get Miss Beech to talk, but it was Eddie who did most of the talking. As Faye had imagined, he had a host of tales to tell and his memory, thankfully, was crystal clear and far more agile than his legs.

By the end of the meal, Faye’s sides ached from laughing so much. There was absolutely no doubt about it. If she could reproduce Eddie’s stories, the book was going to be a great success. More to the point, if things continued like this, it was shaping up to be a lot of fun. She was still wiping the tears from her eyes at the end of Eddie’s description of how a brown bear got into one of the luxury trailers used by the stars on location, causing one very famous actor to emerge through a window with his pants in his hands, when Miss Beech decided she had better go to bed. Taking a final mouthful of water, she set the glass back on the table, stood up quite nimbly, and looked across at Faye.

‘I used to be able to stay up all night and drink men twice the size of me under the table. Now, once the clock’s struck ten, I know it’s time for bed, so I’m afraid I’ll have to love you and leave you now. I do hope you’ve enjoyed yourself tonight, Faye. I’ve certainly enjoyed your company.’

Faye made to get up in her turn, but Miss Beech waved her back to her seat. Faye did as she was told and returned the wave. ‘It’s been wonderful, thank you so much. And many thanks to Claudette as well for such a super meal.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘Could you and I sit down together tomorrow and make a start on the book? You mentioned a box full of documents and photos.’

‘Absolutely, Faye. How about meeting up at nine o’clock? I’m normally fairly bright in the morning. Would that be all right?’

‘That would be lovely. I’ll come across at nine. Sleep well.’

Miss Beech gave a little wave of the hand and made her way out of the door, walking unassisted. As she did so, Faye couldn’t miss an expression of contentment on her face. She felt sure her new employer had enjoyed the evening of memories and she looked forward to more of them. After her departure, Faye stood up and looked across at Eddie Marshal.

‘Would it be all right if I take Marlon for a walk now?’ As Faye said the word, she saw the dog’s eyelids open as if by magic. ‘I’d like a bit of fresh air. Where do you take him at this time of night?’

‘Are you sure you’d like to do that? Aren’t you tired after your long drive?’

‘No, I’d love to.’ By now, the dog had rolled himself onto his front, all thought of sleep gone, and he looked poised to jump to his feet. ‘So, where do we go?’

‘That’s easy. Just go out of the gate and down the lane, towards the town. There shouldn’t be any cars about at ten o’clock on a Sunday night, but take a torch just in case. When you get to the lavender farm, there’s a footpath off to the right that’ll bring you back up here. Marlon knows the way.’

She gave Eddie a smile. ‘Right, then, that’s what I’ll do.’ She looked across to the fireplace. ‘So, Marlon, fancy a walk?’ As the dog leapt to his feet and charged across the room towards her, she shot a quick grin towards Eddie. ‘That is what’s known as a rhetorical question. See you later, Eddie.’

Faye helped herself to a torch from the kitchen, retrieved her missing sandal, and hurried across the courtyard to change her shoes, making sure she put on trainers with laces this time. She had no intention of walking about in the dark with one shoe again. The dog came trotting up the stairs with her and had a good sniff round the flat while she changed.

As she was about to turn the lights off, she was just in time to retrieve her newly washed sandal from Marlon’s mouth before he stole off with it again. Taking Claudette’s advice, this was remarkably simple with the aid of a piece of biscuit. She slipped the rest of the biscuit into her pocket and made a mental note to look for some less important item for him to have tomorrow.

Back outside again, she clipped his lead on and they headed down the drive towards the road. The sky was clear and the temperature had dropped a little, but it was still very warm. When they emerged onto the lane she found that the moon, well over half size, cast enough light for her to be able to find her way without the torch. As Eddie had predicted, she encountered no traffic as she walked down to the farm, although sinister noises from the other side of a row of trees rather unsettled her until she came to a gate and saw the field full of sheep, still grazing by moonlight.

As she walked down the hill, she pulled out her phone and called her father. He sounded pleased for her and she resolved to ask him to come over for a few days once she had settled in. He was always working, and a bit of time off would do him good. As she said goodnight, above her the moon looked almost close enough to touch. It was so clear she could see actual craters just with the naked eye. It was a delightful sight and she felt a sudden surge of happiness to be here and to have left the cares of her previous life behind. So far, so very good indeed.

As she reached the lavender farm she saw lights on in the farmhouse but no other signs of life. Undeterred, she let Marlon off the lead and followed him to the right along a narrow track and away from the road. Within a few minutes she found herself in dense woodland, her feet rustling in the dry leaves, a warm smell of resin in the air. By now her night vision had improved to the extent that she could just about pick out the path as it weaved to and fro among the trees. She could hear Marlon crashing about in the undergrowth, having a wonderful time. Along with the resin, there was a strong scent of lavender in the air and she realized the purple fields must be close by.

Suddenly she was almost tripped by a black shadow that came shooting along the path straight towards her, scaring her half to death, closely followed by another identical one. Four bright eyes reflected in the moonlight as Marlon joined the other Labrador and both looked up at her. Faye stared into the shadows, looking for the other dog’s master but, try as she might, she couldn’t see anybody.

‘Hello?’ But there was no reply. She stood there for a few minutes, feeling slightly apprehensive, wondering if he would suddenly appear. She felt sure it had to be him, the farmer, but what if it was a stranger? Here she was all alone in a dark wood. Her sense of elation began to dwindle. Then, finally, a not so distant double whistle sounded and one pair of bright eyes disappeared like a shot. As the noise of his paws in the leaves receded, Faye looked down at the remaining dark shape on the ground before her, reassured that the whistle had belonged to the man she had met earlier, but she was puzzled.

‘That was a bit strange, Marlon. I wonder what that was all about.’ Pretty clearly the man wasn’t interested in talking to her and, although it was a bit weird, that suited her just fine. He was a man, a handsome one as well, and, as such, she knew she was not interested in the slightest. She addressed the dog once more. ‘So, why should I care?’

For a moment, she had the distinct impression that one of the eyes winked at her again, but she could have been mistaken.


Chapter Three (#ulink_748d1a10-13d1-598b-a89c-c5ca366c8469)

When Faye woke up next morning, it was to the drumming of rain on the roof and ominous trickling noises as water swept along the gutters and rushed down the drainpipes outside. She got up reluctantly, not really wanting to leave the wonderful comfortable bed where she had enjoyed a terrific night’s sleep, uninterrupted by dreams of the bed’s previous occupant or, indeed, any other man. After sitting up for an hour the previous night, scribbling down as many of Eddie’s stories as she could remember, she had dropped off almost immediately. She now felt rested and unexpectedly happy, in spite of the weather.

She went over to the window and peered out through the curtains. The day before she had had a view clear across the valley to the distant hills and even the mountains beyond. Today she could barely make out the village, although it was only a few hundred yards down the hillside. A thick grey blanket of rain had settled over everything, cutting the chateau off from the rest of civilization. Even so, even though she was now hundreds and hundreds of miles away from England, her father, and her friends, she knew she really didn’t mind. And the knowledge that she wasn’t going to have to face her irascible head teacher and a pile of paperwork brought a further smile to her lips. In spite of the rain, she was humming to herself as she went through to the shower.

When she got over to the main house just before nine, she found Claudette and Marlon on the kitchen floor, engaged in what looked like a wrestling match. What in fact was happening, Faye soon discovered, was that Marlon had returned from his early morning walk absolutely soaked and Claudette was doing her best to rub him dry with a towel, before letting him loose in the rest of the house. The kitchen smelt of a mixture of wet dog, toast, and coffee – an interesting, if unappetising, combination - but Marlon looked unapologetic.

He hurried across to greet Faye as she came in, wiping the rain from her hair and rubbing her laptop and notebook against her shorts to dry them as she did so. Although it was less than twenty yards from the stables to the kitchen, she was rather regretting not having thought to grab an umbrella before venturing out. Clearly, when it rained round here, it really rained. As she gently dissuaded the dog from jumping all over her and brushed the raindrops off her shoulders, she looked across to where Claudette was just getting to her feet again, wiping her hands on what was now a decidedly muddy-looking towel.

‘Good morning, Claudette, been for a walk?’

‘A swim, more like. I got drenched just walking up from the village so I thought I might as well take Marlon out for a quick walk. I’ve been trying to dry him off before he shakes himself in here.’ Claudette went across to the sink, dumped the towel in a bucket, and set about washing her hands. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I slept like a log,’ Faye answered honestly. ‘I went out like a light.’ She grinned. ‘I can see why George Clooney liked it.’

‘Mr Clooney! What a nice man he was. It’s such a shame he hasn’t been back. We haven’t had guests here at the chateau for a good while now. We used to have all manner of celebrities, but that’s pretty much finished nowadays.’

‘Is Miss Beech up? I’m supposed to meet her at nine.’

Claudette glanced up at the clock on the wall. ‘I would think so. I expect she’s in her study. Do you know where that is?’ Faye shook her head. ‘It’s the door right opposite the door to the dining room. You can’t miss it.’

‘Shall I take Marlon with me?’ The lower part of Faye’s legs were wet now, where the damp dog had rubbed himself against her. She saw Claudette’s eyes register the fact.

‘No, he can stay here with me until he’s dried off. Marlon, go and lie down.’ She pointed towards a dog bed to one side of the big range cooker and Faye was impressed to see him obediently trot over and slump down as instructed. ‘Good dog. You go on through, Faye. I’ll bring you both some tea in a little while.’

‘Thank you so much, Claudette.’ This would have been a good moment for Faye to tell Claudette she shouldn’t bring her too many of her wonderful biscuits, but her attempt at self-denial faltered and she said nothing. She was realistic enough to acknowledge that her resolve wouldn’t have lasted anyway when she smelt the next freshly baked batch.

She slipped through the door, closing it behind her, and walked along the corridor to the study. The door was open and a fine old grandfather clock was striking nine as she tapped on the door.

‘Come in, Faye, come in.’ Miss Beech had installed herself on a lovely old leather sofa and there was a big cardboard box on the floor in front of her. She was dressed in a long skirt and a voluminous but gorgeous linen blouse that somehow just emphasized how tiny and frail she really was. She wasn’t wearing make-up this morning and it showed. ‘I hope you slept well.’

‘Really well, thank you, Miss Beech. What about you?’

‘I was fine until the rain started. That woke me up and then I spent a long time trying to get back to sleep. I did a lot of thinking, though, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I really don’t want this to be a “kiss and tell” sort of book. We’ve all got skeletons in our cupboards if you look closely enough. I’d hate to think that my story might cause rancour in a community that’s been so good to me. Yes, I’ve met my fair share of bastards, but I’ve met a whole lot more good, decent folk. Last night you talked about “warts and all”, but I’d prefer it to be a celebration of my life and all the wonderful friends I’ve had the good fortune to make, instead of one of those rather nasty books that sets out to destroy other people’s reputations. Are you happy with that as a brief?’

‘Very happy, yes. And that way we won’t have any legal complications if it ever gets into print. That was going to be one of the first things I wanted to talk to you about. I loved Eddie’s anecdotes last night and it’s going to be great to include that sort of thing, but I’ll ensure that we pick the nice ones, rather than anything cruel or controversial. That way we should keep the lawyers off our backs.’ Faye glanced down. ‘So, is this the famous box?’

Miss Beech nodded and reached down, scrabbling at the cardboard as she tried unsuccessfully to bend forward enough to delve inside. Faye immediately saw the problem and picked the surprisingly heavy box up and set it down on the sofa between them. Miss Beech made an immediate dive for a cluster of battered diaries, held together with string, and handed the package across to Faye.

‘Here, Faye, your fingers are going to be better than mine at untying knots. Oh, dear, you’re going to get all dusty.’

‘These are old clothes. I’ll be fine.’ Faye made short work of undoing the string and arranged the diaries in chronological order on the coffee table in front of them. They covered most of the years from 1950 to 1980. She looked across at Miss Beech. ‘Where would you like to start? The beginning?’

‘No, let’s start in 1956. That was the year I got my first part in a film.’ Miss Beech hesitated. ‘My first speaking part, that is. Just think, in 1956, I was only twenty-two.’ She looked across at Faye. ‘That’s even younger than you are now, my dear.’

‘Erm, Miss Beech, that’s another thing I was wondering. Are you happy for me to mention your true age? I know some ladies like to subtract a few years.’

Miss Beech smiled. ‘No, publish and be damned, Faye. Tell them the truth. I was born on 17th March 1934 on the outskirts of Plymouth, and I don’t care who knows it.’

‘So you’re from Devon?’

Miss Beech nodded. ‘That’s right, a West Country girl.’ She looked up. ‘Where were you born, Faye?’

‘Salisbury. That’s almost West Country, isn’t it?’

‘And your father, what did … does he do?’

‘He’s an architect.’ She smiled at Miss Beech. ‘Quite a good architect, actually.’

‘And you didn’t fancy following him into architecture?’

Faye shook her head. ‘I’ve always had this thing about language and the written word. And that’s why I’m here.’ She leant over and picked up the diary with 1956 engraved on the cover in faded gold paint that was peeling off the brown leather. Wiping the dusty little book against the leg of her shorts, she handed it across to Miss Beech. ‘Let’s see how many memories this unlocks.’

Together, they spent a fascinating morning, interrupted only by a volley of barking as a distant bell rang and the postman came and went, and regular visits from Claudette, bearing food and drink. By lunchtime they had barely got through the first of the diaries and a handful of photos, and Faye still hadn’t seen any of the pages of notes Miss Beech claimed to have made, but she had already accumulated a mine of information.

As the hours went by and Miss Beech still showed no inclination to talk about her childhood and early years, Faye decided that she wouldn’t press her at this stage, but would begin writing from 1956. The early years could be added as and when the old lady decided she wanted to talk about them. From time to time there had been a hint of her youth, but nothing of substance. Hopefully, that would emerge later on.

Towards the end of the session, they started talking about Faye herself. Miss Beech demonstrated that her memory was still very good. ‘So, what about Didier? Are you over him now?’

Faye looked up and gave it some thought before replying. ‘I think so, or at least I’m getting there. At first I was angry, then sad, and then furious again. Now I’m just glad it’s all over.’ As she spoke, she was still turning the question over in her mind. No, she couldn’t really say she was completely over Didier, but there was little doubt that here, in such different surroundings, she had barely thought about him for a good while. That had to be good news.

Miss Beech nodded approvingly. ‘We need the downs in this life to help us appreciate the ups, you know. However badly it hurts at the time, it’s all good experience and it’ll make you better able to appreciate it when the real thing comes along.’ She gave Faye an encouraging smile. ‘And it will. Love’s like that.’

‘Well, for now, apart from my dad, there’s only one love in my life and he’s lying on the kitchen floor, drying out.’ As she said it, an image of the man from the lavender farm flitted briefly across her mind, but she made short work of chasing it away. ‘I was just thinking yesterday that even if James Dean came walking in the door, I wouldn’t be in the slightest bit bothered.’

Miss Beech didn’t respond, but Faye could read a considerable amount of scepticism in her eyes.

***

When Faye went back to her flat at lunchtime, having successfully persuaded Claudette that she really couldn’t eat anything more after consuming no fewer than four gorgeous, still-warm biscuits in the course of the morning, she made herself a mug of coffee and settled down to write up her notes.

At around four o’clock, she noticed the sky outside beginning to brighten and by half past four the first rays of sun were peeking through the clouds. The rain had finally stopped and Faye knew what she wanted to do. She put on her clumpy old walking boots, grabbed a jacket, and went over to the kitchen to see if the dog was interested in a walk. No sooner had her hand landed on the lead hanging on the back of the door than Marlon was at her side, raring to go. She was just clipping it to his collar when the kitchen door opened and Eddie came in. He was moving very gingerly and Faye raised an eyebrow as she greeted him.

‘Hi, Eddie, feeling a bit sore today?’

He gave her a smile and a nod. ‘Hi, Faye. Yes, it’s this damp weather – it plays hell with my hip. So, are you taking our friend out for a walk?’

‘Yes, I need the exercise and I’m sure he’s happy to go out. Any suggestions where to go?’

‘Long walk, short walk?’

‘Longish, I think. Say, an hour or a bit more.’

Eddie glanced at his watch. ‘Well, if you want a longer walk, you can turn left out of the gate, walk up to the top of the hill, and then if you turn right just after the big olive grove, you’ll find yourself on the open garrigue. Follow the track and it’ll take you to the top of the hill. The views from up there should be fantastic after all the rain.’ He looked down at her feet approvingly. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got a solid pair of boots. It’ll be a bit soggy up there.’ He grinned. ‘I gather from Claudette you lost a shoe yesterday.’

‘Claudette finally managed to get him to give it up with a bit of bribery.’

‘Here …’ Eddie reached for the biscuit tin. ‘Stick one of these in your pocket. Marlon can’t refuse them.’

‘He’s not the only one. I took one with me last night just in case, and I found myself nibbling it as I walked along.’ Faye wrapped the fresh biscuit in a tissue, wondering how long her willpower would last this time.

She followed Eddie’s instructions and headed up the hill. The olive trees as described by Eddie were unmistakable, their misshapen trunks often thicker than her waist. No doubt they were tens or, more probably, hundreds of years old. She turned off as instructed and soon they were splashing along a rough track that led in the direction of a scrappy clump of trees on the hilltop.





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