He grins, puts it back, and squeezes me into his side. ‘You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.’
‘Only for your translation skills.’ The truth is, there are probably worse places to be than with a gorgeous man’s arm draped across you. His woody aftershave is wrapping itself around me and he drops his arm every time a customer comes up, and I kind of wish they’d just go away, because I like his arm around my shoulders much more than I probably should.
Theo and Jules keep up a steady chat and I’m impressed by his French, as always. I’ve never been interested in languages, and I’ve never been much of a traveller, so saw very little point in trying to learn one, but it is impressive to watch him speak another language fluently.
I manage to serve the odd customer by myself, in French. Jules has taught me some essentials, the kinds of things people might ask me on a cake stall. It takes me a while to figure out what people are saying to me, and what the right response is, and I may as well be wearing a flashing neon sign that reads ‘English person: guaranteed to butcher all pronunciation of your beautiful language’, but I manage it. Jules is true to his word. He doesn’t leave my side for a moment when someone’s peering at the stall, but he doesn’t butt in either. He lets me take it as far as I can, until they say something I haven’t got a clue about, and then he steps in. He’s respectful and reassuring. He doesn’t try to take over, but he’s there as a living, breathing safety net when I get out of my depth, which is with pretty much every customer.
And his hoody is soft, and his arms are solid when he flops his arm around me again, a celebratory hug each time I successfully send a customer on their way without breaking into English. Which, really, is when they simply stand at the stall, point at the things they want, and hand me the correct change. I’m still barely more advanced than ‘merci beaucoup’ and ‘au revoir’.
Julian’s idea about putting that sign up proves to be spot-on. It’s not long before someone comes over and mentions Le Château de Châtaignier. Of course, those are the only words I catch because the man is yammering excitedly in French, but Julian takes over expertly.
I serve someone else while they talk, and when I turn back to them, they’re both looking happy and excited. Julian introduces me. At least, I hear my name and the word ‘français’, so I assume he’s telling the man I don’t speak French, and the man shakes my hand like we’re being introduced.
‘This is Arleth,’ Jules says. ‘He knew Eulalie and the duke. He says he had dinner with them at the château often and it’s made him sad all these years to see the place falling into ruin. He’s really pleased it’s occupied again.’
Not for much longer, I think to myself, the words sounding so bitter in my head that I can almost taste them. Not by me, anyway.
Arleth continues talking so fast that it makes Usain Bolt sprinting look like a tortoise, keeping me a part of the conversation even though I clearly don’t understand a word, and he’s speaking so fast that Julian doesn’t have a chance to translate anything. I nod and smile politely, trusting Julian to tell me what he said later, and then I wonder about using the words ‘trust’ and ‘Julian’ in the same sentence. How can I trust him to do anything, even translate a conversation? This man could be giving him the coordinates of Eulalie’s buried treasure for all I know, he wouldn’t tell me that, would he?
It’s ages before Arleth pays for his cakes and olive bread before shaking both our hands again, clasping them between his and looking at us like long lost family as he walks away.
Jules drops his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me against his side, resting his stubbly chin against my forehead.
If my knees go a little bit weak, it’s because I’ve been standing up all morning, nothing more.
If I slide my arm around his back and squeeze his waist just a little, it’s because he’s been standing up all morning too and probably needs a bit of support with his posture or something.
‘Do you know anything about Eulalie’s chestnut recipes?’ he murmurs against my hair.
‘No. What are they?’
He shrugs and lets me go because a customer comes over.
‘I don’t know,’ he continues when she leaves without buying anything. ‘I couldn’t really understand it because I didn’t know what he was talking about. Something around harvest time, he said. When the chestnuts fell, Eulalie made things from them and sold whatever it was that she made.’
‘Here?’ I say, unable to imagine Eulalie standing on a market stall by herself like we are.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
I didn’t even know ‘The Chestnut Castle’ existed, and now he expects me to know something about chestnut recipes? It’s yet another part of Eulalie’s life that I knew nothing about, and Arleth isn’t the only villager to come over and talk about it.
‘That’s the third person to mention chestnuts,’ Jules says as yet another elderly woman dodders away after shaking our hands and congratulating us on being part of such a legacy. ‘I don’t get it. I haven’t seen any chestnut recipes, have you?’
‘No, none.’
He shakes his head. ‘Next time, I’ll ask them outright what they mean.’
There’s such a lovely atmosphere in the market area. Julian’s right in that it doesn’t feel like a competition between sellers, even though there are many of us. We’re not the only stall selling baked goods, but no one seems to mind. I watch customers select baguettes from one stall, savoury pies from another stall, and then come over here, where they buy a roll of butter from Theo and a cake or two from us.
It genuinely feels like there’s room for everybody.
It doesn’t take long before Jules gets his chance. Another elderly man stands in front of the stall reading the sign, looking between it and us.
‘Ah, Le Château de Châtaignier,’ he says, sounding overjoyed. ‘Such a beautiful old place. I met my wife there.’
He’s got short grey hair growing into a sharp widow’s peak on his forehead, and I’m certain I recognise his hairline from one of the old photos Jules found. He’s dancing with a woman in it, and I wonder if she’s the wife he met, and it feels weird to be standing here talking to an actual part of our home’s history. Does he, like Eulalie, believe the house was somehow responsible for this meeting between future husband and wife?
From the sappy look on his face, I guess that’s exactly what he thinks.
After he’s talked for a bit longer in his heavily accented English, Jules jumps on the chance to ask him about the chestnut recipes.
The old man looks between us like we’re playing a prank, and as I stumble through an explanation, he shakes his head and a fond look settles across his face.
‘If you don’t yet know, maybe the château is not yet ready to tell you.’
He winks at us as he walks away, and I look at Julian. ‘Why do I feel like everyone in this town knows more about our house than we do?’
‘Why do I feel like everyone in this town thinks our house has got magical romantic powers?’
‘Well, that “maybe the house isn’t ready to tell you” was straight out of Eulalie’s riddle. Maybe they’re all in it together. Maybe we’ve entered some kind of cult or something.’
He laughs and drops his arm around my shoulders again. ‘Yeah. The Illuminati branch of soppy old codgers.’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of an old horror film I saw once where elderly people lure young people in and then drink their blood to regain their youth.’
‘And you tell me off for going on about The Shining at bedtime.’
We get a steady stream of customers. They can’t all be local because there’s simply not room for that amount of people in this tiny village, and it makes me wonder how far people travel to visit Saturday morning markets in France. This is a real thing for the French, as much a part of their routine as doing a weekly grocery shop is for Brits, but this is a much nicer way to do it.
Across the space from us, there’s a woman selling all manner of handmade pottery. Mugs, vases, teacups and saucers, all handpainted in a bright array of primary colours and polka dots. They’re so quaint that just looking at them makes me smile, and I struggle to imagine finding anything so cheerful on a trudge round the aisles of a supermarket in Britain. There’s another woman selling tea towels, and the cheese man is nearby too, wafting across smells that range from stomach-gurglingly delicious to smelly socks after a week in a locker.
‘Ah, the joys of French cheese,’ Jules says as the man gets a particularly stinky round of Brie out and cuts into it.
And it seems to be going well. I want this to be a success for Kat. She deserves it. The money bag on my hip is weighed down, we’ve already sold out of coconut and raspberry tarts, and are running low on Kat’s speciality breads, and it’s barely eleven a.m. If we’re going to do this again next week, we both need to bake a lot more. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but I know there’s a sudden tightness in my throat because next week will be my last. I can do this again next Saturday if Jules will too, and one glance at his glowing face and wide smile tells me he will, but next Saturday will be it for me. I’m going home on the Tuesday.
I think about Jules coming here on his own the week after. Will he help someone else on the stall? No, surely Kat will hire someone who speaks French and doesn’t need his help, but he’ll come here to shop, won’t he? And I’ll be at home, trying to persuade customers to try a square of whatever plasticky cake the supermarket has been paid by the manufacturers to push.
I could eat a whole round of that smelly-feet Brie and it wouldn’t make me feel as sick as the thought of going home does.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kat’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat when she arrives, and it’s not just because Theo is nearby.
She’s got pink and green fake dreadlocks twisted into her hair, long ones that hang down way past her own spiky blonde locks, a neon-pink snood around her neck even though it’s only the beginning of September, and an apple-green leather jacket over a red patent skirt, but she pulls it off. Anyone else would look like a walking Halloween decoration, but she just looks like Kat.
She hands me a bottle-shaped brown paper bag. ‘A present for both of you, seeing as you’ve both refused payment for doing this.’
‘What is it?’ I ask, holding the bottle out to show Jules.
‘Calvados. Normandy’s finest apple brandy,’ she says. ‘It’s a local speciality, made on local farms with local apples. You can’t be here and not try Calvados, it would be a crime.’
‘Thanks,’ we both mumble. I feel guilty for taking anything off Kat. We refused payment because this doesn’t feel like a job. Personally, I’d pay Kat for letting me do it.
‘It comes with a condition though. You have to share it. Together.’
I glance at Jules and he grins back at me. ‘I could be persuaded.’
Kat wanders over to Theo’s stall. Despite serving butter, he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she walked in.
‘Bonjour, Theo,’ Kat says shyly, suddenly the complete opposite of what her bold clothing would have you believe.
Julian nods pointedly at him, like he’s silently encouraging him to do something.
Theo reaches across the table and lifts one of Kat’s twisted dreadlocks, rubbing it softly between his forefinger and thumb. ‘You take these colours from the rainbow and put them in your hair so you shine brighter than the brightest sun and light the darkest of nights,’ he says in perfect English.
She may as well swoon on the spot. She goes the colour of an overripe tomato and fans a hand in front of her face.
It’s a bit too sickeningly lovey-dovey for me. I struggle not to laugh, and I feel Julian shaking beside me as he fights to hold it in too.
I elbow him in the ribs. ‘Don’t tell me you taught him that?’
‘I may have…’ He turns around and nearly doubles over giggling.
‘Aww, you old romantic, Jules,’ I say, giggling too. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘It sounded a lot better than when I said it. French accents make everything sound more romantic than it is. Theo could tell her about emptying the bin and it would sound romantic.’
I don’t know. Personally, I’d take a Scottish accent over a French one any day.
Kat and Theo are both staring at us, Theo looking worried he’s done something wrong, and Kat’s face openly telling us to grow up.
I stand up and straighten myself out, then I catch Julian’s eyes and we both dissolve into giggles again. Just the sight of his eyes crinkled up and glistening with tears of laughter at something that isn’t even funny is enough to set me off again. I love laughing with him. He makes me feel young and carefree, and I know that’s one of the things I’ll miss most when I leave. At the château, he has a way of seeing the funny side of things. He makes problems seem much less severe than they are because he laughs at them, whereas, without him, I’d panic myself into an overwhelmed stupor.
When we’ve both composed ourselves, Theo comes over and gives Jules another manly hug and clap on the back – that thing men do. Clearly it’s spread across the continent.
Theo turns to me and rushes through a spiel of French.
‘What’s he saying?’ I ask Jules.
‘That we’re a perfect match and we make a lovely couple.’
I screw my nose up and poke my tongue out to show my disgust. ‘Ew, no. I’d rather have sex with a stapler. Can you tell him that? I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.’
Julian says something in French and Theo’s head spins in my direction with a look of horror.
‘What did you tell him?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. I just said thanks but you prefer office equipment. Apparently photocopiers are really good in bed.’
‘Julian!’ I go to whack him but he dodges me easily.
‘Now you’ve got Kat, I’m going to see what plants are on sale today. Back in a bit.’ He waves over his shoulder and wanders off through the thinning crowd.
Theo goes back to his butter and Kat rounds on me.
‘So,’ she demands, hands on hips. ‘Selling cakes or cuddling?’
‘What?’
‘I might not be able to follow Theo when he goes off on one but I can translate basics. He said you’re the most adorable couple he’s ever seen and you’ve been standing around cuddling all morning.’
‘He put his arm around me, like, once,’ I lie. ‘And I removed it as soon as I could. He was just being his usual annoying self. I asked him not to leave because I can’t understand what people are saying, and he took it a bit too literally and glued himself to my side to annoy me. Thank God you came when you did or I’d never have got rid of him.’
She narrows her brown eyes at me. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’
I unclip the money bag and hand it to her instead. ‘Look how well it’s going.’
‘Yes.’ She nods towards the woman selling pottery. ‘She’s one of my regular customers. I just took her usual loaf over and she said the pair of you haven’t stopped smiling all morning.’
I blush. ‘Oh, that’s just being polite for the customers. Nothing else.’
Kat raises an eyebrow.
‘Maybe I’m smiling because I’m going home soon. In a week, I’ll never have to lay eyes on Julian McBeath ever again.’
If Kat notices my breath catching in my throat, she’s nice enough not to mention it. ‘Oh, don’t remind me you’re leaving. I’m gonna miss you so much. Who am I supposed to eat breakfast with every day? I’ve got a bit too used to our morning cuppa and chats on your gorgeous terrace.’
‘Oh, please. You only come for Julian’s abs.’
‘That’s not true. He hasn’t taken his top off for ages now and I still come. It’s a welcome break in the middle of my round and a lovely chat with a fellow cake-loving Brit, and I
get to try whatever you’ve been cooking. It’s nothing to do with your gorgeous housemate, and let’s face it, I think there’s only one woman he wants ogling him, and it isn’t me.’
‘You’re imagining things. He doesn’t want anyone ogling him. He’s actually very insecure when you get to know him, and he’s not interested in relationships, even if I was, which I’m not. I can never trust him. He only wants one thing out of this château and it’s certainly not me, and I wouldn’t want him anyway, he’s vile,’ I say, feeling horrible for saying it.
‘You know what I just said about protesting too much?’
I poke my tongue out at her. She’s been a great friend while I’ve been here but she doesn’t really know me or Julian. I’ve not told her anything about the treasure riddle, which is surely still the only reason Julian’s here.
‘He likes you too, you know.’
I look at her in surprise. ‘He does not.’
‘As someone who’s spent an inordinate amount of time watching him for that gorgeous body, I can see he does. He’s as protected as you are though. He relaxes around you and then suddenly realises he’s let his guard down and snaps it back into place.’
‘The haze of Theo’s butter has gone to your head. Jules likes me about as much as I like him.’
‘Ex-bloody-actly,’ Kat mutters.
When Jules walks back through the market towards us, he’s got his arms around a tree of some kind in a pot resting on his hip.
‘To me, it looks like the one thing he wants out of the château is the gardens,’ Kat hisses in my ear before he reaches us.
I can’t help smiling at the sight of him with another plant. If there’s one thing we don’t need at the château, it’s more plants. He may as well go and buy some bats while he’s at it. Better not suggest it though – knowing him, he would. ‘All right, what is it this time?’ I ask, unable to keep the affection out of my voice.
‘A plum tree,’ he says. ‘It looked lonely on the stall over there. We’ve got most other kinds of fruit tree on our grounds, but no plums, so we may as well have one. It’s old enough that it’ll be quick to fruit too, so we should have a crop from it next year.’
The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters Page 23