A French Pirouette

by Jennifer Bohnet

  “And after the casino?” Brigitte asked.

  “We’ll need to make our way up to the palace before midday to watch the changing of the guard,” Isabelle said. “I thought afterwards you’d like to see the cathedral too—it’ll be nice and cool in there. Then we’ll lunch.”

  “Sounds good,” Brigitte said. “I can’t believe we’re nearly at the end of our holiday. All this sightseeing has made the days go so quickly. But tomorrow we start the packing, yes?”

  Isabelle smiled in agreement. “Yes. Then at the end of next week it’s back to Brittany.”

  “We’ve got a lot do before then,” Brigitte said.

  It was only as they stood with the crowds in front of the palace later that morning to watch the changing of the guard that the truth behind the newspaper photograph dawned on her.

  An involuntary “Voilà!” left her lips.

  Isabelle turned to look at her.

  “Sorry,” Brigitte muttered. “I’ve just realised something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Evie

  Evie, sitting outside the gîte enjoying the Sunday afternoon sunshine and trying to sketch an embroidery pattern for a bolero she intended making as a surprise for Libby, glanced up as Pascal arrived in his mud-splattered Land Rover. She smiled in welcome as he jumped out closely followed by a black-and-white dog who raced across to her.

  “Bonjour,” Pascal said. “Lola, behave.”

  “She’s adorable. Is she yours?” Evie said stroking the dog. “Tibetan Terrier?”

  Pascal nodded. “You like dogs?”

  “Having one is high on my list as soon as…” Evie paused before finishing, “As soon as it’s possible.”

  “I’m on my way to walk Lola. Care to join me?” Pascal asked.

  Evie hesitated, briefly wondering whether her ankle was up to a long fast walk.

  “Won’t be a marathon, I promise,” Pascal said.

  “In that case, I’d love to. I’ll just put this away and change my shoes.”

  “I also have the dinner invitation my mother threatened you with,” Pascal said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large square envelope. “I’m afraid she’s old-fashioned and still insists on using these formal cards.”

  Evie glanced at him as she took the invitation. “Is it going to be a formal dinner too? How many invites has she issued?” Too many and she would definitely send a regretful ‘unable to accept your kind invitation’. As much as she liked Pascal, the idea of being scrutinised by his mother and her friends for several hours over dinner did not appeal.

  “Two of her closest friends and their husbands. Be about eight of us I expect—mother can’t abide odd numbers at the table. It will be a proper old-fashioned dinner party. It’s the only kind my mother knows how to do. You will come though, won’t you? Cook always does us proud.”

  “You have a cook?” Evie said surprised. Pascal’s family was turning out to be even grander than she’d thought.

  “My mother is a terrible cook so my father insisted on employing one. Now he’s gone I doubt that mother would bother to eat if it wasn’t for Marie,” Pascal said.

  Thoughtfully Evie placed the card on the table. Should she plead a prior engagement? Would Pascal believe her if she did? Maybe there would be safety in numbers. Madame de Guesclin would surely limit herself to polite social conversation in front of her friends.

  Five minutes later Pascal was driving the Land Rover in the direction of Gourin and heading for Tronjoly Park. Leaving the car and clipping Lola’s lead on they began to wander through the grounds surrounding the chateau. There were a few other people about and strolling along the paths with Lola running ahead, her extension lead stretched to its limit. Evie began to remember long-ago walks in Parisian parks with her mother.

  Solange Gady, disliking city life intensely, had taken every opportunity to escape either into the countryside surrounding Paris or even, when time allowed, out to Versailles where she would happily spend hours wandering around the grand chateau’s grounds. A young Evie though, preferred their local park where she could feed the ducks and go on the swings. Teenage Evie, while enjoying the freedom from continual dance practice the train excursions gave her, knew it was her fault they had to live in Paris and she began to harbour feelings of guilt for making her mother live somewhere she hated.

  “It won’t be for ever,” Solange had said repeatedly. “Once you’re an established star I shall move back to the country.”

  Sadly that had never happened. Solange had lived long enough to see Evie become a principal dancer with a Parisian ballet company, had even proudly travelled with her once or twice internationally. But when she’d finally decided it was time to release the reigns and find her country cottage, fate stepped in and denied her the chance.

  In the weeks before she died she talked to Evie in a way she never had before. Her sadness over the way she’d lived her life was almost the last thing she admitted.

  “I know you adore to dance and are blessed with a rare gift, but promise me you’ll one day try to live a different life. A normal one that involves people. Don’t isolate yourself from people like I did. I don’t want you to die with regrets like me.”

  The phrase ‘die with regrets’ had haunted Evie ever since.

  “You are quiet,” Pascal said. “Perhaps we walk too far?”

  “Non,” she hastened to reassure him. “I was just remembering long-ago walks with my mother,” Evie added, suppressing a shiver at the memory of her mother’s last words. “It’s really beautiful here. Oh look there are ducks on the lake.”

  Pascal looked at her pensively. “I think you are cold. We go for a coffee in Gourin.”

  The centre of the town was quiet with a few tourists wandering around and inspecting the replica of the Statue of Liberty in the main street. Placed there as a reminder of the large number of emigrants from the area who had fled to America in the early part of the twentieth century in search of a better life, its presence dominated that area of the town. For Evie it brought even more memories flooding back.

  “Have you ever seen the original?” Evie said.

  Pascal shook his head. “Non. You?”

  “Several times, but the first time is the one I remember.”

  Pascal glanced at her.

  “My mother was with me. It was her first—and only—visit to New York too. Seeing the statue made her cry. It was the first time I ever saw her show emotion in public. She was a very private person, keeping everything to herself. Never allowed anyone to see her true feelings.” Evie bit her lip. Mother had been so unhappy on that trip.

  “Did she say why the statue affected her so much?”

  Evie nodded. “Her only brother was disowned by the family and emigrated when she was twelve. She never saw him again. He was killed in World War Two leaving a widow and a year-old son.”

  “So perhaps you have relatives in America?”

  Evie nodded. “I tried to persuade my mother to search for them while we were there but she wouldn’t. She said she’d think about it for her next visit.” Evie raised a hand to her face to brush a tear away. “Sadly she never went again. She died two months after our visit. The Big C.”

  Gently Pascal took her hand and squeezed it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” Evie said. “I rarely talk about it.”

  “I’m glad you have. I would like to know everything about you in time,” Pascal said quietly. “We get our coffee.” And still holding her hand he led her over to a nearby café and ordered their drinks.

  “Your mother? She was born in Brittany?” Pascal asked as they waited for their coffees to arrive.

  Evie nodded. “A little hamlet about twelve kilometres away from here.”

  “Is that why you came here after your accident?”

  Evie recoiled. Did Pascal know who she was? She hadn’t told him about her accident.

  Sensing her anxiety Pascal held her gaze. “Brigitte t
old me when you arrived at the gîte you said you’d been ill and were recovering from a slight accident.”

  Evie smiled. She should have remembered how notorious small villages were for knowing everybody’s business. “It was part of the reason. I do have vague memories of a holiday somewhere around here once when I was about—oh nine or ten I suppose. I also came here because I wanted to go somewhere as different from Paris as possible.”

  The young lad doing the waiting arrived with their coffees, carefully placing them on the table with an audible sigh of relief at not having spilt a drop.

  Gravely Pascal thanked him as Evie smiled.

  “First-job nerves, I think,” Pascal said. “I remember suffering.”

  “I still do,” Evie said quietly remembering the many First-Night nerves she’d suffered during her career. Not wanting to explain further as she saw Pascal’s quizzical look she deliberately changed the conversation. “Business is good at the garden centre now the weather is warming up?”

  Pascal smiled at her before saying, “Oui. Business is brisk. And you? Have you thought any more about living somewhere other than Paris?”

  Evie shook her head. “Non. I have a few more weeks before I have to make the decision. Peut-être by then I will have the answer.”

  It was an hour later before Pascal dropped Evie back at the gîte. As she opened the passenger door he said, “My mother’s dinner invitation—you haven’t said yes yet.”

  Evie gave Lola a pat on the head before saying, “Give me two minutes and I’ll give you my formal reply.” And she slipped out of the Land Rover and went into the gîte.

  Quickly she found a suitable piece of paper, wrote her reply, folded the paper and put it in an envelope. Back outside she found Pascal leaning against the Land Rover and handed the envelope to him.

  “It’s probably not formal enough for your mother but I’m afraid it’s the best I can do,” she said.

  “So, are you coming to dinner or not?”

  “You’ll have to ask yourmother,” Evie teased. When she saw the look on Pascal’s face she impulsively leant forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for this afternoon. I’ve had a lovely time with you, and Lola is adorable. And, yes, I’ve accepted your mother’s invitation.” Though heaven only knew what kind of evening she was letting herself in for.

  Watching Pascal’sLand Rover disappear along the canal path, Evie smiled to herself. She’d told Pascal the truth when she’d said she’d had a lovely time but it was more than that. Pascal made her feel young again. Made her feel that she really was at the beginning of the rest of her life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Libby and Evie

  “So what d’you think?” Libby asked Evie. She’d just given Evie the guided tour of her small apartment at the top of the auberge, hoping that she would be able to give her some inspiration for decorating the sitting room in a few weeks’ time.

  “It doesn’t work at the moment, does it?” she asked now, looking around. “Strip it down and redecorate?”

  “I don’t think it needs redecorating,” Evie said slowly. “The walls are a good neutral colour. A cream throw over the settee would make a big difference. It’s quite a dominant feature in the room. Perhaps even change it for an old-fashioned daybed you can pile with cushions. Place it against the wall and leave the centre of the room free.”

  Libby clapped her hands in delight. “Evie, you’re brilliant. It’s my English furniture that’s all wrong, isn’t it? I need some French stuff up here.”

  “An antique ormolu mirror on that wall would look good too,” Evie said. “Gold decoration always adds something to a room.”

  Libby looked around thoughtfully. “I need to think…oh what’s the phrase? Shabby chic. That’s what I’ll aim for. Shabby chic. Pale colours, distressed wood and an ornate mirror. I’ll ask Lucas if there are any places around here that sell traditional French furniture. Old would be better than modern I think.”

  “I have some cream velvet material I can make up into cushion covers for you,” Evie offered. “I saw a couple of tapestry designs at the festival that I’d like to try and copy.”

  “Thank you. I meant to ask you—how did your day with Pascal go?”

  “It was great fun. I like Pascal a lot,” Evie said. “And the festival was amazing. I got so many ideas and…” She hesitated before adding, “It confirmed that something I’ve been thinking about could be possible.”

  Libby looked at her and waited.

  “Could I bounce some ideas off you? I think discussing things would help me to decide what to do. And now you know my secret,” Evie smiled. “I can talk to you.”

  “Of course,” Libby said. “Start bouncing!”

  “Let’s go down to the gîte and I can show you everything I’ve worked out so far.”

  “OK,” Libby said. “Give me five minutes while I check on the guests in room number two. They said they were staying in for the evening. I’d like to make sure they have everything they need.”

  While she waited for Libby to join her, Evie placed the large file with her ideas, brochures and contact addresses on the small outside table and sat down ready to go through them again.

  Should she stick to Plan A? Go back to Paris, dance a final ballet and then retire gracefully to her apartment. Or was the Plan B that had been forming in her mind for days now at all feasible? Hopefully talking it all over with Libby would help clear her mind. Highlight the pros and cons of both plans.

  Libby when she arrived looked at all the paperwork. “You have been busy.” She picked up a glossy brochure showing lots of highly decorated haute couture dresses. Reading the accompanying price list she glanced at Evie.

  “Gosh. Do people actually pay these prices?”

  Evie nodded. “Yes.”

  “So, what d’you want to talk about?” Libby asked.

  “I know my embroidery is as good as anything I’ve seen,” Evie said. “The embroidery fete has convinced me I can make a business out of it. The big question though is—where do I set up business? Paris or somewhere down here?”

  “Why d’you want to stay in Brittany anyway?” Libby asked. “I mean I love it here but you’ve lived in Paris for so long. Surely you’d miss the hustle and bustle of the place?”

  Evie shrugged. “I’ve discovered I like it here. Maybe it’s in my genes with my family originating from here years ago.” She frowned as she searched through the file. “I thought I had some sample materials in here. They seem to have disappeared. Oh, maybe I dropped them in Pascal’s car. I’ll ring him tomorrow and check.”

  She sighed, picked up some loose papers and replaced them in the folder. “I feel a bit guilty actually. Pascal told me I could do this from anywhere but I snapped his head off. Told him moving to Brittany wasn’t a part of the plan for my future. Only since then I’ve been thinking, why shouldn’t it be? Rather than go back and become Suzette Shelby the retired ballerina who is now a needlewoman—why don’t I stay here to do it? Continue to live as Evie Patem?”

  Libby looked at her, dismay written all over her face. “Oh Evie. You can’t be serious. Move to Brittany—yes, but stay as Evie Patem? You simply can’t.” She put the brochure down on the table.

  “Just think about the problems it would create for you. Not with your work—although I think the name Suzette Shelby would open doors that might remain closed to an unknown Evie Patem—but with your personal life. Things like finding somewhere to live, registering with the doctor, opening a bank account. They’d all have to be done in your real name so certain people would know who you were. Your name would be almost certain to leak out. Oh!” She stopped.

  “I’ve just realised why you paid me in cash! You—Evie—don’t have a bank account.” Libby sighed. “If you do decide to live in Brittany, why not come clean and just tell everyone who you are?”

  “I’m not sure about doing that,” Evie said shrugging. “The thing is—I like the anonymity of being Evie.”

 
“I think people would be thrilled to have someone famous living in the village and would respect your privacy, once they knew,” Libby said. “I take it you haven’t told Pascal your real name?”

  “No. That’s another problem.” Evie was silent for a moment. “I like Pascal a lot but so far there’s been no reason to tell him. We’re just friends. If I do decide to stay, then yes I will tell him. But if I go back to Paris…” Evie shrugged. “That will probably be the end of our friendship anyway. Long-distance friendships rarely survive. And we all know how much Pascal hates going to the city.”

  “I’m sure he’d cope with visiting you,” Libby said.

  “Once the media get hold of the story they’ll be swarming all over the place for days until something else grabs their attention. Pascal would hate all that.”

  They both turned to look at the canal as the sound of a boat’s engine chugging downstream reached them.

  “Do you have to go and work the lock for them?” Evie asked curiously.

  Libby shook her head. “No thank goodness. People have to do it for themselves these days. This barge looks like one of the charter ones from up Brest way—they usually have a skipper on board to tell everybody what to do.”

  As they watched, a man leapt onto the quay and began the process of opening the lock.

  “I’ve never actually seen a boat going through the lock before,” Evie said. “You don’t seem to get many on this stretch of canal?”

  “It’s because they blocked the canal to build the dam at Lac de Guerlédan. I think there are probably more on the stretch down to Nantes,” Libby said turning back to Evie.

  “Like I was saying, I’m sure Pascal… Evie whatever is the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Evie didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. She merely stared at the man who was now striding towards them.

  “Surprise surprise, Suzette. I’ve come to visit with you for a few days,” Malik said kissing her cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Suzette/Evie

  Suzette, staring in shock at Malik, barely registered Libby’s whispered, “I’ll leave you to talk to your friend,” before she left to return to the auberge.