Libby
“Are you sure you don’t mind helping me clean the gîte? It is the last day of your holiday,” Libby asked Helen.
With their house purchase finally sorted, the Chambers had left and Libby needed to clean and prepare the gîte ready for Evie’s return. “I still feel as though I’m imposing on you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Helen said. “I’ve got the reward of an hour or two at the village fete this afternoon to look forward to.”
Between the two of them the gîte was quickly sparkling clean and the perfume from the vase of roses and lavender Libby placed in the sitting room began to waft through the small cottage.
“Are you going to transfer Evie’s belongings over from the auberge?” Helen asked.
Libby shook her head. “No. I did think about it but decided against it. She might take it as an invasion of her privacy. I’ll offer to give her a hand if she wants me to when she gets back.”
A horn tooted outside. “La Poste,” Libby said. Amongst the usual collection of promotion material there was a letter addressed to Evie.
“Strange. It’s got a local postmark. Didn’t think Evie knew anyone locally,” Libby said, propping it up against the vase of flowers after glancing at it curiously. “Right, lunch and then it’s fete time.”
Walking into the village later Helen said, “I’m so looking forward to bringing Peter here at the end of summer. You planning anything special for your birthday?”
“Don’t think so,” Libby said. “To be honest I’m not looking forward to the big four-oh. I’d far rather ignore it.” Like the last three since Dan had died. It had been impossible to celebrate without him at her side.
“Think Chloe will insist you have a party—and actually so do I! Come on, Libby, you must celebrate. It’s an important milestone in life!”
“Well with you, Peter and Chloe here I’m sure we’ll manage to crack a bottle of champagne, if not have an actual party,” Libby said. Helen sighed and shook her head at her in despair.
The fete, held in the village picnic area down by the canal, was in full swing when they arrived, with music blaring out from the loudspeakers placed either side of a temporary stage where a group of musicians were performing. A large circle of people, hands linked, were dancing a traditional Breton dance in front of it, whilst onlookers clapped their encouragement.
Libby and Helen made their way over to Brigitte and Bruno who were standing enjoying a coffee by the crepe stall while they watched the dancing.
“Isabelle not with you?” Libby asked disappointed. She’d been looking forward to catching up and hearing all her news.
“But yes,” Brigitte said pointing to the dancers. “There she is. It’s as if she’s never been away.”
“How is she?” Libby asked. “Everything all right?”
Brigitte nodded happily. “Yes.” Quickly she explained to Libby about Laurent’s promotion and Isabelle’s decision to move back. “We’re going down soon to help her pack. But before we pack we also have a short holiday in Nice.”
As the song the musicians were playing came to an end, Isabelle, accompanied by Lucas, left the circle and came across to join them.
“Libby, how nice to see you here. Come on, let me teach you Breton dancing.” And before she realised it he’d taken her by the hand and was leading her towards the circle of dancers as the music started up again.
Libby tried desperately to ignore the electric tingle that Lucas’s touch had ignited in her hand and arm as she said, “Lucas, I ca…”
“You’ll soon pick it up,” Lucas assured her. “It’s very easy. Just watch and follow my steps. It’s very repetitive.”
Libby smiled and gave in. “OK.”
As Lucas’s hand held hers even tighter, she took hold of the hand of the woman on the other side of her and as the music started she joined in with enthusiasm.
A minute later as Libby was happily stepping and swinging Lucas glanced at her. “Something tells me you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Brigitte taught me years ago,” Libby admitted. “Dan never liked dancing but as you don’t need a partner for this I could just join in with the crowd.”
“And there was me thinking I could teach you.” Lucas sighed.
Libby shook her head when at the end of the dance he asked, “Again?”
“Maybe later when I’ve got my breath back. I hadn’t realised I was so unfit.”
Looking around for Helen, Libby saw she, Brigitte and Isabelle had managed to secure a picnic table in the shade. “Shall we join Helen and the others in the shade over there?”
As he strolled alongside her, Lucas asked, “Libby, do you like jazz?”
“Some of it,” Libby said. “Not that keen on modern stuff—prefer the traditional. Proper jazz and swing.”
“There’s a group of us planning to go to the local Jazz Fest one evening. Would you like me to get you a ticket? It’s down by the river and is usually good fun—a mix of modern and traditional jazz.”
Libby hesitated. Going with Lucas and a group of people couldn’t be construed as a date could it? She liked Lucas a lot and she did need to expand her social life. Maybe some of his friends would, in time, become her friends too. But she didn’t want him to think it was a date.
“Thank you. I’ll look forward to it. Let me know how much the ticket is and I’ll…”
Lucas interrupted her and shook his head. “No need. My treat.”
Helen overheard the words ‘my treat’ and looked at her questioningly but before she could say anything Bruno and Pascal appeared carrying trays of cold drinks.
“Left the pépinière in safe hands this afternoon then?” Lucas asked accepting a lager from Pascal.
“I think most of my customers are down here, so not expecting a lot of sales,” Pascal said. “Besides with Mother opening this there was no way I was going to be allowed to miss it.”
“Where’s your mother now?” Libby asked, intrigued at the possibility of meeting the infamous Madame de Guesclin. She’d heard so much about Pascal’s matriarch of a mother from Brigitte.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed her. The heat this year is too much for her so once she’d cut the ribbon, declared the fete open and watched the first dance, she took a taxi home.”
“Talking of home,” Helen said glancing at her watch, “I’m going to have to make tracks if I’m to catch the evening ferry.”
“And I’ve got to get tonight’s evening meal organised,” Libby said regretfully getting to her feet.
“Are you full this week?” Pascal asked.
“All the rooms are taken but not everyone is having dinner tonight and of course Evie isn’t here—not that she eats a proper dinner regularly. So it’s just dinner for seven tonight.”
“Has Evie checked out?” Pascal asked.
Libby shook her head. “No—the opposite. She’s decided to rent the gîte for the rest of summer and has hared off to Paris to pick up some more of her things. Right,” she said. “Thanks for the drink. Helen and I are off. Isabelle, we must catch up later.”
Walking back to the auberge Helen said, “So you’ve got a ‘treat’ arranged with Lucas then?”
“Seems like it,” Libby said. “I’m spending the evening with him and a group of his friends at the jazz festival,” she added, knowing that Helen would keep probing until she told her.
“Sounds like a date to me,” Helen said.
“Hardly a date with so many people,” Libby said as her mobile rang. Chloe.
“Darling, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Is Aunty Helen still with you?”
“Leaving in ten minutes.”
“I need you to ask her to do me a favour,” Chloe said. “Alastair has invited me to his end-of-term undergraduate do and I need my ball dress—can’t afford to buy another one. It’s in the wardrobe in my room if she can please bring it back with her.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Libby said. “So this Alastair is a student then? Not someone you work with?”
“He’s a third-year medical student and I’ll tell you all about him when I come home, Mum, so stop fishing. Sorry I’ve got to go. I’m phoning from work. Thank Aunty Helen for me and tell her I’ll have the kettle on when she gets back. Ciao.”
“Ciao,” Libby echoed. No mention of actually bringing Alastair to meet her. Just ‘she’d be told about him’. Libby sighed as she turned to Helen.
“You have an urgently needed ball gown to take back with you if that’s OK? Alastair is taking her to his university ball. ”
“No problem,” Helen said. “And don’t worry—if, when, I get to meet this Alastair, I’ll phone you straight away with all the details.”
Libby bit her tongue hard to stop her saying aloud what the little voice in her head whispered, “I don’t want you to tell me about Alastair—I want to hear about him from Chloe herself.’