On a warm summer day in the middle of July, a gentle breeze whispered through the trees at La Maison du Paradis. The ornate gates, adorned with blooming wisteria, were open, and a noticeboard, perched on an old painted-splattered easel, welcomed guests. Waltho removed his sunglasses to study the wording and, with a satisfied nod, began to walk.
Passing rustic tubs brimming with a kaleidoscope of colour, he moved slowly along the driveway. When his gaze swivelled to the house, he stopped. La Maison du Paradis stood tall and proud, with shutters flung back and doors open wide, and Waltho felt the centuries-old stones ooze with romance and mystery.
It was the perfect setting for a celebration.
In the courtyard, beneath a newly extended gazebo, Waltho watched Angelique and Arletta. Centralised arrangements of flowers surrounded by tall, pillared candles stood on tables draped in white linen, and Angelique fussed at the sweet-smelling roses, tweaking wildflowers into place. Arletta tied sprigs of fresh lavender to napkin rings and placed them on silver-edged place settings beside sparkling crystal.
A little boy dressed in navy dungarees and polished leather sandals ran excitedly through the tables.
‘Fabien!’ Angelique said. ‘Be careful, please.’
Waltho picked up a sunflower-bordered place card to admire the elegant print. ‘You did a good job of these,’ he told Arletta.
He watched as Fabien ran into the garden to the swimming pool, where sunlight dappled the surface, rippling the water like a million tiny diamonds under the azure blue sky. Fabien zigzagged along the lavender-lined pathway, to a red carpet which formed a petal-lined aisle to an area prepared for a ceremony.
Waltho hurried to reach the boy. Taking his hand, they stood on the manicured lawn. Flanked on either side stood rows of empty wooden chairs tied with pretty bows, facing a sizeable arbor. It was threaded with ivy and trailing white ribbons. Sunflowers wove through the greenery amongst eucalyptus leaves and wisps of delicate ferns.
Fabien tipped his head to one side, his little face puzzled. ‘Uncle Waltho,’ he said, ‘why have the birds stopped singing?’
Waltho looked up to see birds gathered on branches perched high. Fabien was right. Not a sound could be heard from the trees, and the air felt heavy with anticipation of an impending event.
‘Like us, they are excited,’ Waltho replied.
‘Are they holding their breath? I do that sometimes when I want something good to happen.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Waltho smiled and scooped the child into his arms. ‘Soon, they will be singing.’
‘Is the party going to start?’ Fabien asked.
Waltho took one last look around and stroked the top of Fabien’s head, satisfied that all was in order. ‘Yes, little one,’ he said, ‘a magical summer wedding is about to begin.’
* * *
In the kitchen, Caroline stood at the table and, picking up a clipboard, studied a lengthy list and called out items to Tomas, who circled around her.
‘Oui, all in order,’ he replied, checking cloth-covered food and opening fridges and cooler boxes to delve deep inside. ‘Everything is ready.’
‘Then, there’s just time for a cool drink before I get changed.’ She smiled and patted Tomas on the shoulder. ‘You’re a star. We couldn’t have done this without you.’
‘Does that “we” include me?’ a voice called out, and Fran appeared, looking frazzled.
‘It’s been a team effort,’ Caroline said. ‘How’s your mushroom pasta?’
‘It will feed five hundred,’ Fran said and wiped a hand across her brow.
Tomas grinned. ‘Daniel will be proud of you both,’ he said, and with a wave left the kitchen.
‘Come and sit with me and drink a cordial.’ Caroline reached for Fran’s arm. Leading her out, they sat companionably on the garden swing.
‘Is it really a year since you were here?’ Caroline asked.
‘It is, and I can’t believe all that’s happened.’
‘I don’t know how you do it – where do you get your energy from?’
‘Sid calls me his battery-operated bunny. The more I work, the more charged up I get, and despite my age, I’ve never felt so well.’ Fran cradled her cordial and sighed a happy sigh.
‘I’m so thrilled at your success. Fran’s Finest Fare is a credit to you both, and you’ve put Blackpool on the foodie map.’ Caroline turned to Fran. ‘Your dreams really have come true.’
‘I know, me and Sid can hardly believe it. But your story is the one that needs telling,’ Fran said. ‘Just look at you, you’re glowing and that bit of extra weight really suits you.’
Caroline laughed. ‘The pounds have piled on and I really don’t care.’
‘I know we chat on the phone,’ Fran continued, ‘but now that I’m here, I want you to tell me all the gory details of the past year.’
Caroline glanced at her watch. ‘You can have an edited version, will that do?’
Fran smiled and settled more comfortably. ‘Aye, lass, it will have to.’
* * *
After her journey from France, when Caroline returned to Kensington, she’d found the house dark and empty. A For Sale board had appeared in the front garden and she hurried inside to turn on all the lights to see exactly what Stanley had left behind.
It wasn’t very much.
Shockingly, he’d removed most of the furniture, and several antiques that she’d been hoping to sell had disappeared too. Ornaments that held any worth had vanished and paintings had been removed from the walls. Other than a worthless print or two, any artwork of value had gone.
‘You rotter,’ Caroline cursed as she threw open cupboards and wardrobes. All her best linen and china had been taken. ‘How quickly you must have worked,’ she angrily hissed, marvelling at Stanley’s ability to suddenly get off his rotund rear and clean her out. No doubt he was salvaging as much as he could to pay for debts he’d probably kept hidden from both Caroline and the wretched Celia Ackland.
Unsurprisingly, his wine cellar was empty too.
‘What a mess,’ Caroline cried as she sat on her bed, ‘what on earth am I to do?’
She had no energy to call Stanley and rant and rave, it would serve no purpose and making threats through a solicitor would only incur cost.
As Caroline waited for the house to sell, and as days turned into weeks, she gathered her clothes and sourcing out second-hand agencies, began to sell off her designer wardrobe. Studying vacancies for jobs, she even went out on interview – but knowing that it was unlikely that anyone would employ an ageing housewife whose only experience was a failed catering business, Caroline’s desperation increased.
When Waltho rang, she ignored his calls, speaking to him only by text.
All okay, she’d texted him. House going through. Got a couple of interviews.
How could she admit that things were so grim? If he knew the truth, he’d only turn away, besides which, he’d told her he was painting again and life in France was good. The last thing he needed were her unsolvable problems.
Leo was kind, he invited Caroline to lunch and told her to try not to worry. ‘Dad has treated you terribly,’ he’d said, ‘you must tell your solicitor.’ But Caroline didn’t want to burden her son with her problems, so kept their conversation light.
In the long days and worrying nights, Fran was Caroline’s saviour.
No matter how tired, or how much work Fran had to do, she regularly called and her chats were uplifting and warm. On the pretence of asking for advice, Fran sent food deliveries, asking Caroline to try the products and feedback, for Fran’s Finest Fare.
Sally too, kept in touch, as did Bridgette, both asking Caroline to come and stay.
But Caroline was sliding, and knew she wouldn’t be good company, even if she could afford the train fare. The hope and optimism she’d felt in her last few days at La Maison du Paradis had faded, along with her wishes and dreams.
* * *
‘So what suddenly changed?’ Fran asked. She pushed her foot on the ground and rocked the swing gently. ‘You left before the house sold, and it was very sudden.’
Caroline sipped her cordial. The sun was warm on her face, and smiling, she closed her eyes. ‘It was a call from Waltho that changed my life,’ she said.
‘Whatever did he say?’
‘He must have borrowed a phone because I didn’t recognise the number and thinking it might be news of a job, I answered.’
‘And was it?’
‘Well, yes.’ Caroline said, ‘I was shocked at first and couldn’t speak when he asked me not to hang up.’
‘But what did he say?’
‘He told me he was in a pickle; he’d decided to run a painting course, which had filled very quickly. Some of the students were residential, and he had no one to cook or care for them.’
‘Where was Angelique?’
‘With her family in Holland.’
‘And Tomas?’
‘Working at the chateau with no holidays left.’
‘What about the housekeeping lady?’
‘Her husband was ill and she was caring for him.’
‘Oh, he was in a pickle alright.’ Fran nodded.
‘Waltho said he would fund my travel and pay me if I could help him. He asked me to take a leap of faith.’
‘A big leap but too good an offer to turn down.’
‘Yes, in the end it was.’ Caroline turned to Fran. ‘I came to La Maison du Paradis and never returned.’
‘Hallelujah!’ Fran waved her hands in the air.
Caroline stood up. ‘I can’t believe that you came here to help with all the food preparations for the wedding,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t have managed without you.’
‘Ah, nonsense.’ Fran brushed Caroline’s comments away. ‘What are friends for, eh?’
‘You are the best friend I’ve ever had.’
‘Well, I’m not much of a friend if I let you turn up at Sally and Daniel’s wedding in that mucky old chef’s jacket.’ Fran took hold of Caroline’s arm. ‘There’s a bride to be that needs a hand and we must get glammed up, we can’t let the happy couple down.’
Caroline and Fran entered the house to get ready as puffy white clouds drifted high above the garden. Suddenly, silhouetted against a backdrop of blue, the soft coo of nature could be heard above the beating of wings, and as the sunlight caught their feathers, the birds began to sing.