At breakfast, Angelique announced that guests could choose how they wanted to spend their last day. She informed them that Daniel and Tomas were available in the kitchen to give one-to-one tuition to anyone who wanted an extra lesson. Angelique also explained that a nearby street market that day, in the village of Poutaloux-Beauvoir, included vendors selling antiques and bric-a-brac. She’d received an invitation from one of the expats, and anyone who’d like to have coffee and cake at their home and perhaps participate in a game of boules was most welcome. She added that evening dinner would be a celebratory occasion at a surprise location.
‘By heck, I’m not sure what to do,’ Fran said as she finished a pain au chocolat. ‘I’d like to know more about sous vide cooking, but the market and boules sound like fun too.’
‘I’m up to my ears with cooking,’ Bridgette commented. ‘I noticed a collection of bicycles by an old stable at the back of the house,’ she said. ‘I might commandeer one and cycle into Poutaloux-Beauvoir. Anyone care to join me?’
Ahmed and the twins raised their hands, and to everyone’s surprise, Caroline said she’d like to join them, too.
‘Looks like you’ll be Billy-no-mates in the kitchen.’ Sally turned to Fran. She ran her fingers through her tousled pink mop. ‘I’m going to sort my hair out, which will take at least an hour.’
‘Do you think Daniel will put up with me alone?’
‘Of course, he will,’ Sally smiled, ‘but when you’ve finished, why don’t we take Romeo and catch up with the others?’
Fran pushed her chair back. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she replied.
* * *
A short while later, she stood with Sally and watched the cycling group set off. Teetering about on ancient rickety bikes, Bridgette rang her bell and peddled ahead, her Tilley hat rammed tight and baggy shorts billowing. The twins hoisted their skirts and wobbled into Bridgette’s slipstream while Ahmed and Caroline brought up the rear.
Fran returned to the house, and to her surprise, Daniel was warm in his greeting as she stepped into the kitchen. With only one class participant, he’d dismissed Tomas and now sat at the table, indicating that Fran sit opposite.
‘I know you wish to open a fine dining restaurant,’ Daniel said, studying Fran. Flicking his quiff of hair away from his forehead, he asked, ‘You will be the main cook?’
‘Well … that’s Sid’s dream,’ Fran faltered. ‘I’m not sure that I’m up to fine dining, but I intend to do my best.’
‘At the start of the week, I would have thought it impossible, but having seen your progress, I want to help you.’
Fran was puzzled.
How could Daniel assist her, and why was the chef being benevolent? Had he been struck by the kindness that had swept over Caroline in the last twenty-four hours? Or had Sally softened the man with her sexual prowess? Fran considered that whatever it was, she was eager to hear him out and reached for her notebook and pen.
* * *
A little while later, Fran was bewildered as she wandered from the kitchen to meet Sally, who stood beside Romeo, tying a silk scarf over her neatly styled hair.
‘You seem to be in a daze,’ Sally said and raised an eyebrow before placing sunglasses on her nose. ‘Are you experiencing a Daniel Douglas De Beers overload?’ she asked.
‘I think there’s a strong possibility I’m about to,’ Fran muttered.
She opened Romeo’s passenger door and climbed in. Still taken aback, she settled her rear on the soft leather upholstery, reached for the seat belt and fastened it over her tummy.
Sally hit the accelerator pedal, and as they roared off, she realised that she hadn’t a clue what Fran was mumbling about and decided not to pursue it. It was their last day, and with any luck, she’d grab photos at the market to complete her information gathering.
‘Vive la France!’ Sally called out as they raced through the gates of La Maison du Paradis.
‘Aye,’ Fran agreed, ‘whatever that means.’
* * *
The day had been a success, and a happy group of guests boarded the minibus to take them to dinner that evening. Waltho was beaming as he assisted everyone to their seats.
‘You look lovely,’ Waltho said, steadying Caroline’s elbow as she ascended the steps.
Caroline had caught the sun as she wandered the street market, marvelling at the mountain of bric-a-brac piled high under stalls draped in multi-coloured canvas. Waltho noticed a hint of bronzer, which complemented her tan and a light makeup application, including rose-coloured lipstick. As though a magic wand had been waved, Caroline, dazzling in peach silk and smiling, looked like a different woman to the pale, pompous figure who’d sat anxiously throughout the course.
And here comes the fairy who waved the wand, he thought as Fran followed behind Caroline and grabbed Waltho’s hand.
Decked out in a long animal print dress wrapped at the waist, Fran had fashioned a matching turban on her head and added glitzy jewellery.
‘Room for a little one?’ Fran asked. ‘My word, Waltho, you look like James Bond in that get-up,’ she added, stopping to admire Waltho’s beautifully cut suit. She plopped a kiss on his cheek. ‘Gawd, you smell gorgeous! Good enough to eat.’
With a cheeky wink, she followed Caroline onto the minibus.
Ahmed and Bridgette came next. Besuited and booted, Ahmed cut a dash in pale cream linen. Bridgette resembled a forest glade with swathes of foliage-patterned fabric draped around her body, held in place with a leather belt. The twins wore matching dresses with puff sleeves and a tulip hem, and Sally followed in barely more than a whisp of pink silk, styled with shoestring straps tied into bows on her shoulders.
Angelique, resplendent in a rainbow-coloured kaftan and sparkling beads, sat at the front while Waltho slipped in behind the wheel.
‘And we’re off!’ Fran called out as the minibus gathered speed and sped along the road leading out of the village.
* * *
As the guests travelled, the light began to fade along the narrow roads, and tall trees created an overhead canopy that allowed glimpses of a starlit sky. Occasional windows were aglow in distant houses dotted amongst a patchwork of fields bathed in the soft moonlight, and after a few kilometres, they turned off, passing through acres of vines that led to the driveway of an imposing chateau.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Caroline breathed. ‘I imagine beautiful chateaux at night and count them to help me sleep, and now, we are going to be dining in one.’
Remembering that it was her birthday that day, Caroline thought this location was the perfect place for her silent celebration.
The entrance to the chateau was marked by a grand wrought-iron gate, and Waltho guided the minibus along a driveway bordered by ancient shrubs. Centuries of history rose before them as the guests stared at imposing turrets and stone facades that had stood the test of time. In a courtyard, a cascade of silvery water danced in a floodlit fountain where a uniformed host welcomed them. He guided the guests up steps that led into a foyer, and they gazed at antique tapestries and opulent furniture.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Fran held Caroline’s arm to walk across a marbled hallway. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.’
‘Angelique told me this is where Tomas works,’ Caroline said as they stood in a salon and accepted a glass of champagne with myrtle berry liqueur. ‘It has an excellent restaurant, and I understand he took a week’s holiday to work alongside Daniel.’
They were led into the dining room, where a crystal chandelier cast an inviting glow above a table set with silver and glassware. Luxurious drapes lined tall windows. Portraits of the chateau’s predecessors gazed down at the guests, arrogant and aloof, as though challenging the visitor’s right to dine there.
‘It’s a bit spooky,’ Fran said as flames flickered from candles, casting shadows in ornate mirrors dotted around the room. She sat beside Bridgette, and a waiter flicked out a napkin and placed it on her knee.
‘A chateau has many hidden doorways and passages,’ Bridgette commented.
‘What for?’ Fran was goggle-eyed.
‘To allow discreet movement from one room to another. Always useful if one is conducting an affair.’
Fran’s mouth slackened in surprise, and she imagined Bridgette’s shenanigans over the years.
‘Who knows what capers the residents of this beautiful old building have enjoyed?’ Bridgette said.
When their starters arrived Fran tasted a delicate amuse-bouche, and as she bit into truffle-infused pâté served on crisp wafers, she sighed with delight.
Caroline pierced a perfectly seared scallop drizzled with a citrus reduction. ‘This is divine,’ she said.
‘I’m so pleased to see you enjoying food.’ Fran patted Caroline’s hand.
‘I keep thinking of everything I missed this week,’ Caroline admitted when a creamy vichyssoise, garnished with chives, came next.
Fran saw Ahmed hold up a heavy silver spoon and heard him call out, ‘Almost as good as your bean soup!’
The main course arrived with drama as the head chef of the chateau was followed by Daniel and Tomas. The chefs presented filet mignon on a silver platter and flamed it in brandy. The glow glinted on razor-sharp knives as the chefs sliced the tender beef.
Hot from assisting in the kitchen, Daniel mopped his brow with the back of his hand and flicked his wayward quiff under his hat. ‘SOS,’ he said to Tomas, who placed portions of beef onto gold-edged plates and added a rich brown sauce.
‘Sauce on the side,’ Fran grinned knowledgeably at Daniel’s culinary term. ‘Oh, doesn’t Tomas look grand in his finery,’ she added, waving at the young man.
Bridgette pierced white asparagus with her fork. ‘It looks like a Roman candle,’ she said and bit into the tender stem, then licked garlicky butter from her lips.
Wine was served to complement the dishes, and now artisanal cheeses followed, presented on long wooden boards representing flavours of the region. Fran chose a creamy brie while Ahmed took a pungent Chabichou du Poitou. He spread it on thinly sliced bread and drizzled the cheese with honey.
‘Magnifique!’ Ahmed exclaimed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he offered the cheese to Caroline.
Caroline remembered the smelly lump Ahmed had purchased in the market and marvelled at his taste buds. ‘What the hell.’ She laughed and took a bite. But her eyes bulged as the overpowering lactic taste hit the back of her throat.
‘Here, have a slurp of this.’ Fran held out a glass of Pineau des Charentes and nodded as the sweet pudding wine soothed Caroline’s palate.
A classic tarte tatin ended the meal, and guests, stomachs bulging, found room for caramelised apples surrounded by a buttery crust and a quenelle of velvety vanilla bean ice cream.
‘I can’t believe I’ve eaten so much,’ Caroline confessed, falling back onto a soft upholstered chaise in the drawing room. ‘What a memorable meal,’ she said.
‘The perfect way to end the week,’ Fran added and flopped beside her.
Having photographed each course as it arrived, Sally had produced her camera and now flicked through her digital library.
‘Have you gathered everything you need for your articles?’ Ahmed asked as he stood behind Sally’s chair and leaned in to study her work.
‘More than enough,’ Sally replied. ‘I will be writing about this week for some time to come.’
Bridgette sat beside a fireplace, where logs crackled in a vast grate. Staring into the flames, she cradled a brandy. ‘I do hope that we all meet up again. I would love to have you all come and stay at the manor.’
‘We’ve never been to Lancashire.’ The twins nodded. ‘We’d like to see your interesting gardens.’
‘And I would enjoy revisiting Bath,’ Bridgette replied.
‘My partner and I would be honoured to host you all at our home,’ Ahmed added, ‘I will make many of the dishes I’ve prepared this week.’
‘Always room with us, here in France,’ the expats called out, ‘and we will beat you again at boules!’
Fran rolled her eyes. Earlier, after enjoying coffee and cakes at the home of one of the expats, she’d agreed to join in with the game. Now, everyone laughed as they remembered Fran trying her hand. She’d found it impossible to keep her feet together in the designated circle. When she tossed her metal ball into the air, aiming for the cochonnet, or ‘jack’ as Fran knew it, she’d almost decapitated Bridgette, who’d thrown herself, nose down, on the grass.
‘What about you?’ Bridgette asked Sally. ‘Will you join in with our reunions?’
‘You bet.’ Sally grinned. ‘There is a story in each of you, and I promise to keep in touch.’
‘Everyone is very welcome in Blackpool to come and try my fish and chips,’ Fran said, ‘and should our dreams come true, you must come to our fancy restaurant.’
The guests turned to Caroline, keen to press her on her future.
Ahmed posed the question they all wanted an answer to. ‘Caroline,’ he began, ‘your life will change when you leave here, and we all wish you the best.’ He paused. ‘But will you remember us?’
Caroline felt Fran squeeze her hand.
‘This week has been life-changing for me,’ Caroline said and looked at the faces reflected in the glow of the fire. ‘With your help, I have found the confidence to face my problems, and I hope with all my heart that we keep in touch.’
She looked up to see Waltho staring at her.
The butterfly dance began in her tummy, and Caroline fought the urge to rise to her feet and fling her arms around him. Here stood the man who’d given her confidence and, together with Fran, helped her face up to her problems. But she knew Waltho wouldn’t reciprocate in anything more than a friendship. A man like that would never entertain romance with an ageing failure.
Before Caroline had time to continue, Waltho suddenly held up his hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘as this extraordinary week draws to a close, I feel that the occasion calls for a few words.’