A French Pirouette (12 page)

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.’

Chapter Fourteen

Evie

Evie settled back into her seat with a sigh of contentment as the train pulled out of the Paris station. The weekend had been good but now she was glad to be leaving. A couple more hours and the heat and bustle of the city would be behind her and she’d be back in the quiet countryside of Brittany to enjoy the summer on her own terms.

It was good that Malik had at last accepted her decision to disappear for the summer. She hoped so long as she spoke to him on the phone regularly, promised to keep exercising and be back in Paris for September, he’d stop worrying. Sitting there as the train gathered speed and hurtled past vineyards and then fields of sunflowers before finally reaching the large artichoke fields of Brittany, Evie let her thoughts drift.

She had so many plans for ‘Evie’ to enjoy a normal life for the next couple of months. She’d get involved in village life, visit the coast, wander around the exhibition at Pont-l’Abbé, make friends with Libby. And all the time she’d be incognito, enjoying just being herself.

Evie even had the germ of a tentative, exciting, idea about where her future could lie. Researching its feasibility would be easier without the pressure of people asking all the time, “But what will you do without dancing?”

It was late afternoon when her taxi from the station pulled up outside the auberge. As the driver got the two bulging suitcases out of the boot, Libby appeared.

“Evie. Welcome back. The gîte is all ready for you. Gosh however did you manage one case, let alone two?” she said struggling to pick up the larger one. “This weighs a ton.”

“With difficulty,” Evie admitted. “But there was so much I thought I might need.” If she was truthful too, she was trying to avoid the possibility of having to return to Paris again before she was ready, to collect some item that suddenly became indispensable in the coming weeks.

Setting the suitcase down in the sitting room Libby said, “I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in. I’m expecting a friend to call in for tea. Dinner’s at the usual time if you’d like some?”

Evie shook her head. “I won’t bother tonight, thanks. I’ll get on with things in here.”

“I have put a few things in the fridge for you if you get desperate,” Libby said. “Before I forget, I left your clothes and other things in your bedroom in the auberge. If you’d like a hand moving them over, just ask.”

Once on her own in the gîte, Evie opened the suitcases and set about turning her temporary home into her own space. A large cream throw over the settee, a couple of her red velvet embroidered cushions strategically placed, perfumed candles on the coffee table, her favourite pillow on the bed, musical box on the chest of drawers in the bedroom.

Books and photographs on the bookshelves, CDs alongside and her laptop on the kitchen table, plugged in and charging. She placed a round pink stone floor light in the corner at the foot of the stairs and switched it on before looking around her with satisfaction. She’d even managed to make a small space to do some barre work by tying the handle of the broom between two chairs. Not ideal, and there was no mirror, but it would be good enough for her to at least start practising movements again.

It was only then that she noticed the envelope Libby had propped against the vase of flowers in the sitting room. Curiously Evie looked at it. Madame Evie Patem.

Carefully she opened it and pulled out a glossy black-and-white postcard photograph of the old village school circa 1900. She turned it over and read the message scrawled on the back. And smiled. An invitation to dinner from an unexpected source. A telephone number to ring if she wanted to accept. If she didn’t ring it would be understood she’d declined the invitation and there would be no hard feelings.

Thoughtfully Evie placed the postcard on the table. To go or not to go? She’d think about it while she finished emptying the suitcases of her clothes and hanging them in the wardrobe.

An hour later and everything was in place. Now to get her remaining things from the auberge bedroom. The front door was open and hearing the authoritative voice of a TV news presenter coming from the direction of the sitting room, Evie went in search of Libby.

About to gently knock on the sitting room door before walking in, she froze as she heard, “Mystery surrounds the disappearance of ballerina Suzette Shelby from Monaco ten days ago after incurring another injury during rehearsals. Sources close to Suzette say they are worried as it is completely out of character.”

Evie held her breath as she waited for the news presenter to say more but as a brief clip of Suzette dancing faded away, he switched to the next story.

A voice Evie didn’t recognise said, “Surprised it’s taken this long for the media to pick up on this story. Everyone down south was talking about it before I came up. Apparently she’s hugely depressed over the amount of injuries she’s had these last couple of seasons and knows it signals the end of her career.”

“Must be hard though,” Libby answered. “Having to give up a career like that which has been your whole life.”

“Bit like footballers really—they pass their sell-by date at a young age,” the unseen other person replied.

Evie wanted to scream out, “It’s nothing like footballers. Top professional ones earn scandalous amounts of money—unlike me! I still have to earn a living.”

Instead she took a deep breath before quietly walking away and going quickly up the stairs to her old room.

Gathering together the clothes she’d left hanging in the wardrobe and a couple of books from the bedside table, Evie checked that she’d picked up everything and went back downstairs. Libby was on her own in the kitchen and smiled at Evie. “Can I give you a hand?”

Evie shook her head. “No thanks. I think I’ve emptied the room of my things.”

“No worries. I’ll be cleaning it tomorrow and if there’s anything you’ve missed I know where to find you!” Libby said. “You all right? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” Evie said. “Bit tired with the travelling and everything. Must go and finish organising the gîte. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She smiled at Libby and virtually ran out of the kitchen.