Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Your rooms are all in the east wing,’ said Claire, indicating a staircase to the left. ‘They have the best views over the valley and they all have access to the pool.’

  ‘There’s a pool?’ said Tilly, doing a little celebration dance.

  Max boomed out a laugh. ‘Of course there is,’ he said, opening a pair of French windows and ushering them through. ‘Where do you think Hettie spends all day every day?’

  ‘Tilly, don’t run!’ called Amy as her daughter scurried off in search of her playmate.

  ‘Too late,’ smiled David. ‘But don’t worry, I gave her the talk of doom at the airport. No pool time without an adult, armbands at all times. Hopefully it sank in.’

  Amy watched as Tilly ran around the edge of the pool, wishing David hadn’t used the word ‘sank’. Tilly had been having swimming lessons, but this was not just a pool; it was more like a series of landscaped grottos with an ornamental bridge crossing the middle and diving boards at either end.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on them,’ said Josie with a reassuring smile, disappearing down the steps. Amy watched her go, wondering if she was thinking the same thing as her: this was all a long way from Westmead.

  The adults settled down on the terrace on a series of chic outdoor sofas and Claire brought out a tray of drinks. David took his and offered a toast: ‘To Provence, sunshine and’ – he looked meaningfully at Amy – ‘relaxation with friends.’

  Amy tried not to think about her Mode application and raised her glass.

  ‘No one had better even think about working,’ said Max. downing his drink. ‘Crappy phone signal, only internet’s via the satellite, and the post only comes about twice a week. Can’t even get the TV to work, not that you’d want to watch it.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve brought a book,’ said Amy. ‘I can’t actually remember the last time I read one all the way through.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Juliet. ‘I’ve brought an Agatha Christie, and this time I’m determined to finish it.’

  ‘I read all the time,’ said Max.

  David laughed. ‘Yeah, right. I seem to remember at Oxford that you once paid a second year to read a book for you.’

  ‘In my defence, it was a deathly dull thing on jurisprudence about a foot thick. But nowadays I’ve got more time and I’ll read anything: thrillers, biography, science stuff, you name it.’

  ‘We have a library,’ said Claire proudly. ‘You’ll see it next to the dining room.’

  ‘This place is like a living game of Cluedo,’ said David. ‘You’ve done well, Maxie. Considering what an idiot you are, of course.’

  Max raised his glass. ‘Duly noted.’

  ‘So how often have you managed to get here since you bought it?’ asked Amy.

  Claire pulled a face. ‘The twins and I are here most of the summer, but Max flies in and out when he can.’

  ‘Busy busy,’ said Max.

  ‘Isn’t it a little, well, big for just the four of you?’ asked Juliet.

  ‘I’ll be honest, I was as surprised as you,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What he means is that he hadn’t actually seen it before he bought it,’ said Claire, raising an eyebrow.

  Amy and David gaped at him.

  ‘Funny story,’ said Max, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Met this guy in Monaco, Jean-Claude. Belgian he was, but loaded, private jet, all that. Says he’s got this place in Provence but never gets to go there, some sort of tax wrinkle. Asks if I want to buy it.’

  Claire leaned forward. ‘Just to add, Max was pissed.’

  Max waggled his hand. ‘A little refreshed, I will admit. Anyway, I said I’d take it off his hands. So I wrote him a cheque—’

  ‘A blank cheque,’ interrupted Claire.

  Max nodded. ‘Luckily Jean-Claude had been on the pop too, so I think he missed off a few zeros. Total bargain.’

  Claire shook her head ruefully. ‘Even so, you’re right, Juliet, it is a little too large.’

  ‘Well, we’re certainly happy to help you out by filling up a few rooms,’ said Peter, raising his glass again.

  ‘So, how about we go out to dinner?’ Max suggested.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Amy. ‘Tilly will be knackered after the journey.’

  ‘Which is why you brought Supernanny, right?’

  ‘She’s not the nanny, Max,’ she said in a hushed voice that urged him to do the same. ‘She’s a friend of the family who’s doing us a favour, so don’t treat her as an employee, okay?’

  Max held up his hand. ‘Whatever you say. We can go to La Petite Table another day.’

  ‘La Petite Table is supposed to be fantastic,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Had to pull a few favours. Saturday night in August. People have had their names down for a table there since birth.’

  ‘Well I don’t know about you, but the cocktails have perked me up,’ said David, patting Amy’s leg encouragingly.

  ‘I can watch the children if you want to go.’

  Amy looked up to see Josie standing awkwardly at the top of the steps. ‘They’re in bed already anyway.’

  ‘How on earth did you pull that off so quickly?’ said Max.

  ‘I bought this at the airport,’ said Josie, holding up a book with hand-drawn animals on the cover. ‘I used to love it as a kid. Always made me drop off dreaming of mice and the moon within five minutes.’

  ‘Where are Hettie and Alex?’ asked Claire warily.

  ‘In their rooms. They came into Tilly’s room for the story, then I told them to go to bed. So they did.’

  ‘Can you come and live with us, please?’ said Claire, shooting Amy an impressed look.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ said Max, rubbing his hands together. ‘Let’s go and see whether this French wine is all it’s cracked up to be.’

  It was a twenty-minute walk into the village. Max led them through the gates and down a series of winding lanes, the waning sun slanting through the poplars, casting giant shadows across the parched fields. Amy was glad of a chance to stretch her legs. The air was warm and smelled delicious, and the grand chateau on the edge of the village glowed against the peach sunset. The soft buzz of summer seemed to be all around them. She linked her arm through Juliet’s as the others walked ahead.

  ‘Isn’t it perfect?’ she said.

  ‘Exactly. So stop worrying,’ said Juliet.

  ‘I’m not worrying.’

  Her friend raised her eyebrows. ‘Of course you’re not,’ she said with a knowing smirk. ‘But I’m sure Josie is perfectly capable of looking after three children, especially when they are all already in bed.’

  ‘How do we know she isn’t smoking weed and inviting the locals round for a party?’

  ‘Not sure she’d have switched to drug smuggling so soon, not on her first day in the job anyway. And if she knows anyone in Lourmarin to invite to a party then she’s a better networker than Max.’

  Amy nodded. Juliet was right, of course. It was silly to fret over every little detail – but then that was what she did, wasn’t it? She had made a career out of making the trains all run on time.

  ‘So what’s really bothering you?’ said Juliet finally. Amy glanced at her friend, then sighed. Juliet knew her too well.

  ‘I just hate leaving the office, you know that. And it’s such a bad time, too. Apparently Douglas is taking three days off, but he’s spending it at the Edinburgh Festival schmoozing advertisers. And here I am lying about in the sun. I’m worried he’ll think I’m a slacker.’

  ‘Unlikely. You’ve hardly taken a single day off since he came to the company. And I’m in the same boat, remember?’

  Amy nodded, not entirely reassured. Of course she couldn’t say so, but Juliet’s magazine did not have the same weight of expectation heaped on it. Livin
g Style was well loved, of course, but it didn’t attract the revenue or the headlines like Verve, and consequently she didn’t feel the pressure as much.

  ‘So are you applying for the Mode job?’ asked Juliet.

  Amy glanced at her, knowing from the sly smile on her friend’s face that she wouldn’t be put off with a shrug.

  ‘You do know the sweepstakes have already started,’ pressed Juliet. ‘The Evening Standard has you down as a five-to-one shot, the dark horse coming up on the rails.’

  Amy didn’t know whether to laugh at that or feel insulted. Five to one?

  ‘So who’s the favourite?’

  ‘There’s a lot of speculation that it’s going to go to an outsider. People are even saying Kate Moss might be interested.’

  ‘Kate Moss? Well, if Douglas can persuade her to come in for interview, we might as well give up now and go home.’

  Juliet clearly wasn’t going to be deflected. ‘Come on, you know as well as I do that you’d be fantastic,’ she said.

  Amy didn’t want to tell her friend how much she wanted the job. Apart from anything, there was some truth in those wild rumours: a brand as strong as Mode didn’t need an experienced editor. They could, if they so chose, appoint someone from the world of high fashion. A respected figurehead like that would still attract the all-important advertising money, and might, Amy had to admit, actually make the title look more edgy and ambitious. All of which made her application even more difficult.

  ‘It’s a huge job, Jules,’ she sighed. ‘And it’s even more ginormous when you have a five-year-old.’

  Juliet snorted. ‘Don’t tell me it’s not what you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘Of course, but seriously, I’m not sure I’m what they’re looking for.’

  ‘I thought you’d left that behind,’ she said more sharply.

  ‘Left what behind?’

  ‘That reverse snobbery, that “everyone else is better qualified, better connected” nonsense. You’re as good as any of them, Amy. Better, because you haven’t been handed it on a plate.’

  ‘Well, what about you?’

  Her friend gave a soft snort. ‘I’m the editor of Living Style, not Silk or Major or Underground or any of those super-fashion titles.’

  ‘I know,’ said Amy. ‘But plenty of people have landed the top job on a big fashion title without ever having been on a single front row. Besides, no one has more class than you.’

  ‘Precisely. I’m too posh. Too English, too twentieth century. Besides,’ Juliet smiled, ‘I like my life. I like that my job isn’t too demanding, that I can do it standing on my head. It means I can be gone by four o’clock on Friday to the house in Hampshire and not come back until Monday morning. I’m not sure life would be like that as editor of Mode.’

  Amy wasn’t sure if her friend was trying to make a point after David’s announcement that they had come here to relax, but she saw the wisdom in her words anyway. David made no secret of the fact that he hated her disappearing to fashion weeks in Paris and Milan twice a year; as editor of Mode, she’d be practically living in the shadow of the Duomo. No one ever said more work and more pressure made for a better lifestyle, did they? David kept talking about moving away from London altogether, about how it was a poor environment to bring up a child, and Amy couldn’t really disagree with him on that. Like any working mother, she was constantly whipping herself with the thought that she wasn’t spending enough quality time with her daughter, that she was being selfish, perhaps even setting her up for insecurities in later life. What if Tilly only remembered the time she’d spent with Claudia? What if she only remembered the fun holiday with Josie, who’d always had time for her? Christ. It was a minefield being a modern parent.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve already made my decision,’ said Juliet. ‘I’m backing you.’

  Amy looked at her in surprise, and Juliet laughed.

  ‘It’s like the contest to be leader of the Tories or something, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll get the nod from the party, so I’m putting my weight behind whoever I think is going to win. Maybe that way I can get a job in cabinet.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to work for me, would you?’ said Amy, half wondering if Juliet was serious. Juliet stared at her, then burst out laughing.

  ‘No, you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if you got given better handbags than me.’

  Amy grinned. ‘Well, if I do get the job, I’ll split them with you, fifty-fifty.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ laughed Juliet. ‘Now let’s catch up with Max before he’s drunk the village dry. We are on holiday, remember?’

  Lourmarin was near perfect, like a Disney version of a cute Provençal town. Surrounded by fields and vineyards and nestled in the shadow of the medieval chateau, the streets were cobbled and winding, lined by shuttered houses draped in wisteria and shops selling pretty objets d’art that spilled out onto the dusty streets: terracotta pots bursting with long stems of lavender, artfully distressed picnic tables, stylish straw totes, muslin scarves in every colour.

  ‘I could buy up most of the things in there,’ said Juliet, emerging from one of the most chic-looking stores.

  The tempting alleyways finally converged on a narrow square where half a dozen bistros and cafés had set out tables and umbrellas, jostling for candlelit perfection under a bruising purple sky.

  ‘Monsieur Max! Mon ami!’ The rotund patron of La Petite Table stepped forward and embraced Max, gesturing to a long table set back from the main drag. ‘You see? I save the best table in the village for you and your friends.’

  Max shrugged. ‘Then how can we refuse?’

  The six friends sat down and ordered drinks, and charmed by the ambience, Amy finally felt her shoulders relax. She looked over at David, laughing with Peter, and smiled indulgently. He was handsome and funny and he’d always supported her ambitions, but wouldn’t it be nice to spend more evenings like this, drinking red wine under a warm purple sky with people she loved? Maybe David was right: maybe they should move to the countryside, enjoy each other’s company and watch Tilly grow up. What was the point of chasing another pot of gold, then another and another? Eventually the rainbows stopped for everyone.

  ‘Max Quinn, is that you?’

  A tall grey-haired man in a white shirt approached their table to a cry of recognition from Max.

  ‘Charles, you old bugger! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Got a place over in Vaugines,’ replied the man, as Max rose to clasp his hand and air-kiss his wife.

  ‘Come and join us,’ he said, waving his hand extravagantly towards the table. ‘We have wine, olives and the very best company. Everyone, this is Charles, my old boss at McKinsey.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think anyone can ever claim to be Max’s boss, but yes, I tried.’

  Amy smiled, but felt her heart sink. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to meet this friend of Max’s, but she spent half of her working life glad-handing strangers, making small talk with advertisers, agents and management, and sometimes she just wanted to switch off. She scolded herself for being so uncharitable as Charles introduced his wife, Pandora, and Daniel, le patron, brought over two more chairs.

  ‘So was he really that bad?’ asked David. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

  ‘Rotten!’ shouted Max.

  Charles laughed. ‘Well, I will say our loss is retail’s gain. I do read the business pages and feel proud.’

  ‘Proud that you fired him?’ asked Juliet with an almost straight face.

  ‘I wasn’t technically fired,’ said Max. ‘It was more that I stopped going into the office.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that . . .’ smiled Charles.

  Max leaned across to clap the older man on the shoulder. ‘Seriously, Charles, if you hadn’t thought I was complete crap, I’d still be stuck in middle management.’


  ‘I never thought you were crap, Max. Far from it. I just always knew you were destined to be your own man rather than a company one.’

  Ice broken, Max poured more wine and began to regale them all with tales of his rank incompetence in the world of work: missed meetings, and, on more than one occasion, theft of office stationery. Amy laughed along, every now and then catching David’s eye and exchanging a secret shy smile. No, she could definitely get used to this kind of life, she thought.

  ‘So how did you all meet?’ asked Pandora, after Daniel had brought out a superb crème brûlée to round off their meal.

  ‘University, would you believe,’ said Juliet, looking meaningfully at Max.

  ‘Oxford, wasn’t it?’ said Charles.

  Juliet nodded. ‘Class of 1995. Feels like two minutes ago, but it was over twenty years.’

  Pandora nudged David and nodded at Amy. ‘So come on, were you two college sweethearts?’

  Max put his arm around David’s shoulder. ‘True love never dies,’ he said, batting his eyelids.

  ‘We were housemates,’ said Juliet, taking charge. ‘Max and David were at Lincoln; I was at St Hilda’s, desperate for some male company.’

  ‘I assume you found it,’ said Charles, nodding genially in Peter’s direction.

  ‘No, I’m a Cambridge man,’ said Peter. ‘Horses brought us together.’

  ‘This sounds like a romantic story,’ said Pandora, clapping her hands.

  ‘Didn’t start that romantically, actually,’ said David. ‘It was a weekend party at an estate near Oxford and I’d taken Jules as my date.’

  ‘Platonic,’ said Juliet quickly. ‘Very platonic.’

  ‘Peter was a friend of the host,’ continued David. ‘Anyway, we’d all arranged to go for a hack at the crack of dawn, but I had a hangover, couldn’t face it, so Juliet and Peter were the only two who turned up. And then Peter saved her life.’

  ‘You saved her?’ gasped Pandora. ‘How?’

  Peter waved his glass modestly, so Juliet sat forward.

  ‘My horse was skittish. We were crossing a field and disturbed a grouse; it flew up and frightened the horse, which then bolted, galloping through a gate out onto a road.’