‘Sir, I require you to attend the birth until it is all over, whatever might happen. I can pay you, of course. I will pay you double for your time. But I want you upstairs, in the chamber now.’ He fixed the doctor with a stern glare.
‘Alas, the midwife does not want my presence.’ The doctor raised his hands in a gesture of submission.
‘It’s not her decision to make. It is mine. Now go, and do what you can for my wife. Or you will not be paid for today at all.’
The corners of the physician’s mouth turned down, but he put down his brandy glass and left the room. Pierre heard his tread on the stairs and sighed. He’d done all he could now, to help Catherine. It was up to her, the midwife and the doctor. And God, he realised. He rang the bell for a servant and sent a boy to run for Père Debroux at once. The priest lived in a rough cottage on Pierre’s estate now, rent free, as he no longer had an income from the State. While he waited for the priest’s arrival, Pierre paced back and forth, muttering prayers.
It seemed hours until the priest arrived, hours in which there was no more news from upstairs, and only occasional cries of pain and anguish, turning to screams, from Catherine. Each cry broke Pierre’s heart. He could not lose her! She was such a sweet, gentle soul. He had promised to protect her always, and he had done so, but he could not protect her from the terrors of childbirth. Only God could do that. Oh where was that damned priest?
At last the priest arrived and was shown into the library. Pierre explained the situation, and the two men knelt to pray.
‘I will stay until the outcome is known,’ Père Debroux said. ‘In case there is some further service I can perform.’
He meant delivering the last rites, Pierre realised. For either Catherine or their child or both. Pierre’s heart sank at the thought. No, it could not be! ‘Let me offer you some refreshment while we wait,’ he said, and rang the bell to order as fine a meal as the kitchen could prepare, under the circumstances.
They were halfway through eating, served by Madame Bernard herself, when Claudette came rushing into the room, without knocking. Her face was red and sweating, her eyes wide but there was an expression of joy on her face.
‘Oh, sir, come at once! It is over!’
Pierre jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over. ‘And? What is the outcome, girl?’
‘A son! Fine and healthy.’
‘And my wife?’
Claudette’s face fell a little. ‘She is alive. But exhausted, and she has lost much blood. The next couple of days are critical, says the doctor.’
Pierre took the stairs two at a time, closely followed by Père Debroux. He barged into his wife’s bedchamber, and fell to his knees at the bedside, kissing her ashen face, holding her limp hand. ‘Oh, my sweet! Well done! A son, I am delighted!’
Catherine gave him a wan smile and lifted her hand to stroke his face. ‘I am so tired, Pierre.’
‘Of course. You must rest. Sleep, and when you wake you shall hold your son.’ Catherine turned her face away and he realised she was already asleep. Only then did he look around the room for his child, who was swaddled and cradled in the midwife’s arms.
‘It was a difficult birth,’ the midwife told him. ‘But I’ve never lost a breech baby yet, so I wasn’t going to start today.’ She pulled back the shawl to show him the baby’s face, red and mewling like a kitten, and Pierre’s heart was filled with love for this tiny being, who had so nearly taken his mother’s life. Still might, he realised. He looked at the physician, who was standing in a corner, away from the bed.
‘And what can you do for my wife?’ he said.
‘She needs rest, and I can offer this potion to help her sleep,’ the doctor said, taking a small bottle out of his case.
The midwife scoffed. ‘She needs nothing to help her sleep. She needs someone to sit with her, though.’
‘I will do that,’ said Claudette, stepping forward and then blushing.
Pierre nodded at her. She was a good, loyal servant. He appreciated her help. ‘Thank you. I will have some food sent up for you. Is there anything else you need?’
Claudette shook her head. ‘No sir. I will do what I can for Madame. And you can leave the baby here too, so that he is here when she wakes up.’
The midwife nodded her agreement. She was collecting up her things, preparing to leave. Nothing remained to be done but to pay her and the physician, send for the wet-nurse and then leave Catherine in Claudette’s care and God’s hands.
Chapter 21
Lu
As the summer wore on, Gray’s relationship with Aimée progressed nicely. He even stayed away from the château on a few occasions, coming back the following morning whistling cheerfully. Aimée had never yet stayed over at the château though. She’d come for dinner on several occasions but always Gray would stay off the alcohol and drive her home.
‘It’s as though,’ Phil said to me late one night after Aimée had been for dinner, ‘he’s treating us like his daughters. Not wanting a girlfriend to stay when we’re in the house. It’s a shame.’
‘He needs to get over that. Aimée is perfect for him. There’s no problem with her staying here now and again,’ I said. Phil was right. For years Gray had kept his relationships separate from his daughters, even though it led to his break-up with Leanne all those years ago. And now, apart from the odd dinner, he was keeping Aimée at arm’s length when the four of us were around. ‘His girls are coming to visit next week, aren’t they?’
Phil nodded. ‘Think so, yes.’
And they did come. An excited Gray drove to Nice airport on Saturday afternoon and arrived back with Hope and Clemmie in the back seat, both looking glossy and gorgeous, giggling with excitement as Gray showed them around the château. They were delighted by everything, and had brought thoughtful gifts for us all – things for the château, and a couple of bottles of champagne which went down very well on their first night with us. They’d even bought a squeaky toy for Felix, stuffed mice toys for the kittens and a huge rosette for Clarabel. They shared a guest room. We had enough space for them to have a room each, but they insisted on sharing. ‘Like old times, eh, Clemmie?’ Hope said. ‘We can have pillow fights and midnight feasts and everything.’
‘Aw, can I come to the midnight feast?’ asked Gray.
‘Course not! You’re an adult!’ Clemmie said. ‘You’re supposed to tell us off for having it!’
‘Um, you’re both adults too,’ Gray pointed out. ‘Twenty-six and twenty-four, if I remember correctly.’
‘Not as adult as you though, Dad. Not alpha adults.’ Clemmie stuck her tongue out at him, and Gray chased her around the garden, followed by Felix who thought it was all a wonderful game, while Clarabel skipped nimbly out of the way and watched them with disdain. It was good to see Gray still had such a great relationship with his daughters. I wondered whether he’d introduce them to Aimée or not. So far, he hadn’t mentioned the maire in their presence, and following his lead, neither had the rest of us.
But he had to – a couple of days later when we were with the girls in the village, shopping at the market, we bumped into Aimée who was buying olives. Gray, Hope and Clemmie and I were there, the others had wandered off to buy cheese and vegetables at other stalls.
‘Aimée, good to see you,’ I said, kissing her on both cheeks. Over her shoulder I could see Gray blushing horribly. ‘Aimée, this is Hope and this is Clemmie. Girls, this is Madame la Maire.’
‘A woman mayor, that’s awesome,’ Hope said, taking Aimée’s hand. ‘Dad, you never said you were friends with the mayor. Mixing with important people!’
‘Ah, I am not so very important,’ Aimée said with a smile, then she turned to greet Gray. ‘Hello. I hope you were not too hungover after our night out last week?’
‘Er, um, no, not at all,’ he stuttered, blushing yet more furiously. I noticed a look pass between Clemmie and Hope – they had clocked his confusion and that he’d had a night out with Aimée, as well as her squeeze of
his shoulder as she kissed his cheeks. They’d put two and two together and their maths was good.
‘I’m thinking the mayor is actually quite an important person at least to Dad, am I right?’ Clemmie said, so that only I could hear. I smiled and gave a tiny nod.
It was a day or two after we’d met the maire in the market that Clemmie asked Gray whether we’d be inviting her for dinner at all while she and Hope were visiting. We were washing up after breakfast – me washing and Clemmie drying. Gray was clearing up and putting things away.
‘Because we only got to meet her very briefly in the village,’ Clemmie said. ‘And I think we’d both like to get to know her better.’
‘Why? She’s just … the mayor,’ Gray stuttered.
‘I think she’s more than that to you, isn’t she?’
I glanced at her and she winked at me.
‘Why, who’s been talking to you? Lu, what have you been saying?’ Gray’s tone was a mixture of fake outrage and confusion.
‘Me? I’ve said nothing, have I, Clem?’
‘Dad, no one’s said anything. But your face when we met the mayor said it all. Honestly, Dad, if there’s something going on between you then we both think that’s brilliant, don’t we, Hope?’ Hope had walked into the room bringing a few coffee cups from the patio.
‘Yeah, fabulous! Invite her for dinner. That’d be OK, wouldn’t it, Lu?’
‘Of course. We love having Aimée here.’ Oops. I’d let on now that it wouldn’t be her first visit.
‘And maybe she could stay the night,’ Clemmie went on.
Gray shook his head. ‘Ah no. That wouldn’t be … no. That’s just not right.’
Clemmie put down her tea-towel and went over to her father, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Dad. We are grown-ups. We don’t mind. We want you to have a relationship, a sex life. It’s good for you. And Aimée seems lovely.’
‘She is lovely. But she can’t stay here, not when …’
‘Not when Hope and I are here? Maybe after, then?’
Gray shrugged and turned away to put some coffee cups back into the cupboard. He’d clearly decided the conversation was at an end. But at least he now knew that the girls knew about Aimée and were happy for him.
‘How about Friday?’ I blurted out, without really thinking. ‘Aimée could come then. It’s the girls’ last night with us, and we were planning a big dinner anyway. There’ll be enough for one more.’
‘Sure. I’ll text her,’ Gray said, without looking at me or Clem. He closed the cupboard door and left the room.
‘Grumpy sod,’ Clemmie said. ‘But thanks, Lu. It’s time he grew up where we’re concerned. He could have had fifteen years of marriage to Leanne if he hadn’t been so squeamish about Hope and me knowing what was going on. We call her “the one that got away”.’
I laughed. ‘So do we.’
‘So is Aimée as nice as she seemed? Do you think she’s right for him?’
‘She is, yes. She’s lovely. Very sophisticated compared with us lot, but genuinely nice. Whether she’s right for him – well, that’s up to them, isn’t it? They just need to let their relationship progress naturally and see where it leads.’
Clemmie nodded. ‘Tell him that, will you? He thinks you’re wise. He’ll listen to you.’
‘Me, wise?’ I laughed. ‘But yes, I’ll try to find the right moment for a heart to heart.’
Clemmie hugged me. ‘Thanks, Lu. He’s lucky to have you, and the others, as friends.’
‘We’re lucky to have him, too. And he’s lucky to have you two lovely daughters. You’re coming back over for Christmas, right?’ I hugged her back.
‘Definitely.’
We sat outside that evening, enjoying the last of the sunshine as it dipped down behind the mountain, and sipping our glasses of wine. It was one of those evenings when I’d look around me – at the château, the garden which was beginning to look beautiful, the surrounding mountains and of course, my best friends – and think how very lucky I was to be here, living like this. It had been hard to settle at first, but I was getting there.
Our conversation had somehow drifted around to all that we had achieved since we moved to France. We’d looked back on where we’d been on that fateful night when the idea had been conceived, and where we were now. Clemmie and Hope had wanted to hear the full story of that night.
‘Take Phil, for example,’ Gray said. ‘He was a fat bastard with a heart condition. And now he’s fit and healthy and fast becoming the greatest gardener in the Alpes-Maritimes.’
‘Ha! And look at you – from sad loner to having snagged the Alpes-Maritimes’ most eligible lady mayor,’ retorted Phil.
‘Yes, it’s all working out for us, isn’t it?’ Manda looked at me. ‘What about you, Lu? Back then you’d just come out of years of being a carer – first for your mum, then for Phil. Always helping other people. Only ever as happy as the least happy person around you. Now you can spend your time on yourself at last.’ She leaned over and gave me a quick squeeze.
I was surprised. Is that how they saw me? Always doing things for other people and not myself? Since moving to France, I felt I’d had loads of me-time – all those walks with Felix, plenty of time sitting with a book or researching the history of the area. Possibly too much me-time. I still felt at times that there were too many hours to fill each day. The project I really wanted to get on with was solving the mystery of the tower room but that would have to wait. We’d had the woodworm treatment done but were still waiting to replace the floorboards and repair damaged joists.
‘You still miss teaching though, don’t you?’ Steve said. He missed project managing, and tended to assume we all missed our old day jobs.
I thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose I do, sometimes. I did enjoy teaching. The thrill when students really got what you were telling them. Knowing that at the end of term they were in a better position for their future lives than at the start, partly because of what you’d taught them. Enriching lives. Not much beats it.’
‘Shame there’s no way you can use your teaching skills now, really,’ Phil said. ‘It’d be good for you.’
‘My French is not up to teaching here, and I wouldn’t have the right qualifications, anyway.’
‘Teffle,’ said Clemmie.
‘You what, love?’ said Gray.
‘Perhaps Lu could do TEFL. Teach English as a foreign language. That’d make use of her teaching skills.’ Clemmie smiled at me.
‘How does that work, then?’ Gray asked. ‘Wouldn’t she need better French to be able to teach?’
Clemmie shook his head. ‘I have a friend who did it in Spain for a summer. It’s basically conversation classes for people who already know English but want to improve. The whole class is run in English.’
‘Sounds good,’ Steve said. ‘What do you think, Lu?’
I shrugged and smiled. ‘Don’t know. Maybe. I’ll find out more about it.’
‘You’d be great,’ Manda said. ‘You’re a born teacher.’
I tuned out of the conversation then, and sat quietly sipping my wine and wondering. Was teaching English something I could do? Something I should do? It was worth investigating. I did miss teaching. Of everyone, I’d been the first to give up my day job, to care for Mum. I’d effectively retired far sooner than I would have, otherwise. Was I ready to come out of retirement and teach again? It would certainly help keep me busy, and would allow me to get to know more people locally.
In bed that night I asked Phil his opinion on the idea, as we turned out the lights and snuggled under a lightweight duvet. ‘Do you think I should give it a go?’
‘Sure, why not? If you need something more to do. Either that or you could help me in the garden …’
‘Hmm, no thanks,’ I replied. ‘You’d only give me all the heavy, boring work to do.’
‘Yep, of course. No point having an assistant if you can’t give them the lousy jobs!’
I gave him a bash with my
pillow for that. ‘So I thought I’d go and enquire at the mairie tomorrow, to see how to go about getting involved in that. I guess that’s the best way to start.’
‘Uh huh,’ he replied, and I realised he was already close to sleep. Always takes me ages, but oddly I find the sound of Phil’s gentle snores relaxing. I lay back and planned a first lesson.
The following day I took Felix on the walk beside the river into the village, past the old wash house and round to the mairie. It was a hot day, but the village square was shaded by large plane trees and the ubiquitous game of pétanque was in progress beneath them.
At the mairie, I tied Felix up outside in a shady spot. Aimée’s assistant told me she was out at the moment. Gray had gone out early today too – neatly dressed and wearing an abundance of aftershave. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but who knew?
I asked the assistant – a young man in his twenties, named Pascal – about the possibility of teaching English locally. His eyes lit up.
‘Yes, Madame! We have much need here. We often get the enquiry about who can lead a conversation class. Give me your details – I make a poster. You will have a full class in no time.’
‘Marvellous! Would people expect me to be fluent in French too? Because I’m not …’
He shook his head. ‘Mais, non. People who come will want to speak only the English, to practise. I will come. I am wanting to work in London one day.’
Pascal seemed open and helpful, so I sat down to discuss how these classes should run. Pick a conversation topic each week, he said, and lead the conversation. Make sure everyone is encouraged to join in. Ask questions. Try to use future and past tenses. Set homework – optional – of preparing a short talk on a subject for the next lesson.
The Secret of the Chateau Page 20