by Jules Wake
‘Were you?’ asked Laurie. She couldn’t imagine sharing anything that personal with either of her parents.
Cam looked off into the distance, his shoulders drooping slightly. ‘Yeah … I probably was some days. She was fragile, needy. I was too immature and not the right man for her. I could have been kinder,’ he pulled a face, ‘should have been kinder. I regret that now. But she’s OK now … she ran off with a rich contact of mine,’ he laughed with self-deprecation, ‘I sold him a Ferrari and he got my wife. She’s probably a million times happier with him.
‘So how did you meet Robert? And how long have you been engaged?’
The abrupt change of subject made it clear he was done with talking about his ex-wife.
‘We met in the library, where I work. He came in, we got chatting.’ She shrugged. It sounded so dull.
‘So how long have you been together?’
‘Just over two years.’
‘And when did he pop the question? He didn’t introduce you as his fiancé at the funeral.’
For some reason she suddenly felt defensive. ‘A couple of weeks ago.’
‘Interesting timing,’ observed Cam with a devilish glint of mischief.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Laurie didn’t like the tone of his voice, even if her own thoughts had occasionally meandered down the same track. What was responsible for Robert’s sudden and ardent proposal?
‘Nothing. I’m being old fashioned. In the olden days, people used to wait a suitable period of mourning, that’s all.’ He shrugged.
‘My dad died nearly two years ago and then Miles. Robert felt I might like the security of being married.’
‘What about your mother?’
Laurie snorted. ‘She’s not exactly the maternal type.’
Cam held her gaze. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’
Laurie shrugged. ‘Can’t remember,’ she lied. ‘Shall we get the bill?’
With some discreet signal, he managed to summon a waitress who locked onto them and headed their way like an Exocet missile fixed on its target.
‘Good afternoon m’sieur, would you like to pay the bill?’ Her husky voice and fractured French accent brought an appreciative glance from Cam. Laurie felt like an oversized English sheepdog next to the elegant young woman. Why was it so many French women looked like they might be related to Audrey Tautou? And there was Cam responding with his charming smile. Any minute he’d be doing that cheesy kissing her fingers, he was so busy fawning over her.
‘Yes please … he glanced at the badge above her breast. ‘Monique.’
To Lauren’s jaundiced eye, the name badge had been placed with flirtatious aforethought, deliberately to draw the eye to the perky cleavage on display and Cam was definitely availing himself of a good long look at the creamy flesh tastefully bared.
‘Are you ’ere on ’oliday?’ she asked with a winsome smile. ‘Staying in Honfleur?’ The way she said it was full of sexy French promise that had Lauren wincing at her own earlier whimsical attempts.
‘Sadly not, just passing through.’ Cam’s regretful smile was charmingly done.
‘Zat is a shame,’ the French girl murmured. ‘It is a ver pretty place.’
‘Maybe another time,’ responded Cam.
Monique blushed and her cheeks dimpled.
Laurie pointedly ignored their pigeon English conversation and focused on tapping out a text she knew she’d never send to Robert, but it made her look busy and indifferent. Cam was a free agent; it was nothing to her who he flirted with, but it would have been nice if he didn’t do it quite so blatantly in front of her.
‘Are you ready, Laurie?’ His matter of fact tone was very different to the softer one he’d used talking to Monique. Not that it mattered one jot.
The second leg of the journey started well enough with Laurie determined to be cool but friendly to Cam. He’d opened up briefly to her and they were on a long journey together; they needed to get along but she also needed to remember he wasn’t above exercising his undeniable charm when it suited him. Somewhere just north of their destination they got caught in a horrible traffic jam which left Cam anxiously checking the temperature gauge.
Ironically the heating had to go on full blast as he was worried the engine might overheat which meant that she definitely didn’t need the cardigan or the fleece she’d made sure she kept with her. By the time they arrived at their first hotel it was late and Laurie felt dishevelled, hot and sticky and Cam’s white linen shirt stuck to his back, his curls damp around his forehead.
Feeling like a tramp who had no place in the richly appointed foyer, she approached the check-in desk, furtively looking for a room rate list but it was the sort of discreet establishment which didn’t believe in such things.
A receptionist with a neat bun, a pristine white shirt and a big floppy black scarf looked up and immediately fired a thousand kilowatt smile in Cam’s direction as if Laurie didn’t exist.
‘Bonjour Monsieur, Madame. How can I help you?’
‘We’d like some rooms, s’il vous plait,’ Cam responded with a ready smile, dropping his bag at his feet. ‘Preferably with a long cool shower and a beer.’ He undid a button and fanned himself, exposing more of the strong column of his neck. The receptionist gave him a very interested look. He leaned towards her and in a husky voice said, ‘It’s been a very long day.’
Laurie gave him a suspicious glance. What did he mean by that? Had her company been that onerous?
‘I am sure we can provide everything you need, Monsieur.’ Something glimmered in her eyes and her body language suddenly suggested a whole lot more. Her back straightened, her boobs went out and her voice dropped an octave.
Like a horse to water, Cam leaned on the desk, his tanned forearms resting on the surface, looking completely at home. She tilted her head towards him. ‘We pride ourselves on our excellent service.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
Laurie wanted to kick him hard on the ankle.
‘Do you have reservations, monsieur?’
‘We have rooms booked,’ Laurie snapped, irritated that she should even care. Cam was such a player. He’d flirt with anything. Resolutely she refused to look at him, even though she could feel his gaze suddenly boring into her.
The receptionist looked momentarily startled and then her ultra-professional mask smoothed back into place. ‘Names please.’
‘Miss Browne and Mr Matthews.’ She sounded shrewish but she refused to care.
‘Room 101 and 102. I’ll get your keys. Please could you fill these in?’
She disappeared.
‘What the hell was that about?’ asked Cam.
“I’m sure we can provide everything you need, M’sieur” retorted Laurie. ‘I’ll just bet she can. All part of the service, M’sieur.’
Before Cam could respond, the receptionist returned with two large keys with large gold tassels on them. Laurie took one, feeling the weight. Sumptuous like everything else. It all felt very expensive.
‘I’m afraid the restaurant is fully booked this evening, but you can order room service if you would like to eat with us.’
Laurie turned to Cam, suddenly unsure. Normally when she and Robert stayed in a B and B they’d go out for a McDonalds or something. Room service had never been an option before.
‘Go ahead, Laurie.’ Although Cam’s face seemed impassive, Laurie knew she’d offended him. ‘I need to get out for a run.’ He rolled his neck, pushing his shoulders back and she heard a slight click.
He picked up the keys, handed her one and thanked the receptionist in a burst of fluent French to which she responded with several rapid fire sentences before wishing him bonne nuit with another flirtatious smile.
Laurie let out an irritated huff.
Cam glared and strode ahead, leading the way towards the rooms. She could see him rubbing his shoulder and hurried to catch up with him. Crimping his six foot frame into the driver’s seat for so many hours must be har
d work. Was that why he was suddenly in such a bad mood?
It also explained why the route Miles had planned was so strung out.
Cam thrust the key to room 102 into her hand.
‘I’ll say good night. Breakfast is at 7.30. Which is what the young lady at the desk was just telling me. Probably best to get a head start before the day gets too warm. And just for the record, I was being friendly.’
He let himself into the room next door and slammed it, without giving her chance to draw breath.
She stared at the closed door, her teeth tugging at her lip. Talk about making a prat of herself. He was right. Just looking at that gorgeous face gave her the tingles, how could she complain if another woman thought so too? It wasn’t as if Cam sought the attention. Again she remembered him at the funeral. He’d been charming, attentive and friendly to the many women that sought his company but if she were totally honest, he had been nothing more than polite.
Damn and now she was going to have to apologise to Cam. She looked at the firmly closed door. Probably best to wait until the morning.
Besides she had humble pie eating to do with Robert first. He always came around eventually; it just took a certain amount of grovelling. Unsurprisingly the home phone went unanswered. When her own voice kicked in on the answer machine, she hung up, there was no point leaving a message. Robert would be there but refusing to answer. She tried his mobile. It rang twice and then was cut off.
She texted him.
First leg completed. All going well. Love Lx
Her room service meal, a simple Tuna Nicoise overpowered by strong dark black olives and an odd chemical taste, added to her overriding sense of disappointment.
She felt cheated. She’d finally decided to commit to the big adventure and this dull but expensive room felt commonplace. She could have been anywhere. Having wandered around the room and tried to sit and read, she found the silence too overpowering. The plastic, double-glazed units of the window made it feel as if she was hermetically sealed off from the world, there was no sense of noise or smell or temperature. It felt unreal and disconnected.
Where was Cam? Had he come back from his run? Probably in the shower by now.
And that was so not an appropriate thought.
She pushed the tray of half eaten salad outside her door and headed for bed, setting her mobile as an alarm. Sitting in a car all day doing nothing was exhausting.
Having nervously practised her apology, she sat down at the breakfast table where Cam was half way through a croissant.
‘About last night, I’m sorry. You were quite right. I was unfair. I shouldn’t have …’ Her words dried up at his amused smirk.
‘Laurie, I was tired and grumpy. You rubbed me up the wrong way. Let’s just forget about it. Now, we’ve got a couple of easy days of driving, is there anywhere you fancy going?’
And that was that. She kept peeking at him when he wasn’t looking to check that he really was OK, but he seemed perfectly happy as he discussed possible routes to get them to their next destination.
Over the next two days they headed south to Le Mans and then east to Orleans and Laurie successfully managed to avoid driving. Not that it was that hard, Cam clearly relished driving the Ferrari and the journeys to Miles’ prescribed destinations were relatively short hops.
She felt slightly self-conscious at first when writing the postcards to Ron. It wasn’t as if she knew him that well but somehow it felt mean not writing something more personal. He’d clearly been a great friend of her uncle and she could remember what a lift she’d got each time she received one of his postcards.
In Le Mans she selected a card of the view of the town from the river featuring the old stone buildings with their round turrets. On the postcard from Honfleur, she’d commented how pretty the place was, she could hardly do the same on this one. Instead she mentioned how well the journey was going and how much interest the car elicited wherever they went.
In Orleans she chose a picture of the Cathedral and told Ron how Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, dominated the city. She also thanked him for making all the arrangements. To her huge relief, Ron had organised payment for their accommodation in advance which meant she could relax.
She also found that spending hours on end with Cam in the car wasn’t too bad. During one leg, he insisted they went out of their way to take in the glorious Cathedral at Rouen after she mentioned how much she’d enjoyed Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth.
To her surprise he was an avid reader, although their taste differed enormously. He loved Lee Childs and Mark Thorne thrillers but unlike Robert didn’t disdain her love of historical novels and romance.
Talking in the car wasn’t that easy over the pulse of the engine but the glorious June weather encouraged them to make frequent stops, which Cam insisted were necessary to ensure the car didn’t overheat. In every one of the small villages and towns he insisted on driving around to check out where the local mechanics were, just in case they might break down on the next leg. At each stop he would open up the bonnet and um and ah like an anxious mother over the engine. Laurie had no idea what he was looking at but didn’t for a minute think it was because he was really worried about the car. He just liked gloating over its superior engine.
After the third town, where Cam spent several hours fussing at one of the garages but not appearing to do much but chat to the owners, she decided that rather than waste the time in a boring wait she should make the most of being there. She took to abandoning Cam and wandering off to visit bustling markets, local galleries and tiny churches.
For lunch they would buy fresh French bread and local cheese. Having not been abroad since she was a child, the choice of different foods amazed her as did the busy markets and the variety of local architecture. Listening to the chatter of French around her made her old life seem a million miles away, instead of just a couple of day’s drive.
Cam was easy company and despite the punctuation of regular texts from an increasingly maudlin Robert, she realised as they left the hotel in Orleans, she was really enjoying herself.
Today’s text from Robert was pitiful and she was starting to get quite cross with him.
We would have been married for five days by now.
Replying to them took so much energy. She’d tried to phone but Robert never answered. Instead she sent diplomatic responses but she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘forgive me’.
I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. X
From the thick wooded hillside of the Loire Valley, the spires of a fairy tale-inspired castle rose. All the perfect chateau lacked was flying ramparts from the round pointed turrets. Laurie took in a deep breath as she stared at the crenelated towers outlined against the skyline and tugged at her ponytail, curling the ends of her hair around her wrist, over and over. Tension skimmed along her nerves like a tightrope walker.
New people. Friends of Miles’. He’d asked them to call in. No hotel was booked; they’d been offered hospitality at the chateau. She thought back to the glittery, smart women at his funeral and felt a fraud arriving in this gorgeous shiny monster, dressed in comfy Next jeans and an oversized grey T shirt.
The Comte and Comtesse. She could picture the Comtesse already. Immaculate in some black dress with hair in a chic perfect bob. Laurie wanted nothing more than to slink on to the nearby town and find a hotel. Surely a postcard from the town was enough.
‘You’ll be fine.’ Cam’s voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘Stop worrying about what they’re going to think of you. They might be nervous about meeting you.’
‘What? Why would they be nervous of me?’
He shrugged. ‘Exactly. And they’d probably be equally horrified at the prospect of you being nervous about meeting them. They’re good friends of Miles’, looking forward to meeting his kin.’
She pulled a face and poked her tongue out at his smug expression. ‘I hate it when you do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘Be sensible and rea
sonable.’
‘It’s a talent.’
‘Hmph,’ snorted Laurie, tossing her ponytail.
Chapter 9
‘Lovely isn’t it?’ asked Cam pulling over to the side of the road on the edge of the valley.
‘Bet it was hard work building it into the hill like that.’
Her observation drew a chuckle from Cam. ‘No romance in you, is there? Ever practical. Needs must in those days, I guess. Pretty good defensive position. No one’s going to sneak up on you, not with sentries posted on each of those towers. Probably had archers ready and waiting as well as boiling oil to pour over the ramparts.’
She gave him a sudden amused grin. ‘I hate to disappoint you but it’s not that old.’
‘Whatcha mean?’
‘Mid Victorian. Gothic reproduction principally.’ You had a lot of time to read in a library. She knew all sorts of miscellaneous facts and this wasn’t the real deal. ‘Made to look medieval.’
Cam looked suspicious as if she were teasing him.
‘The Chateau was considerably enhanced in the 1890’s by the Beaulieu family who inherited the land by default and came by their money from tobacco rather than wine.’ Where had that knowledge popped up from? Not the library, for sure. And there was more. It filled her head like an old song she’d heard on the radio and could remember every single word. ‘Rumour has it that the owner murdered his brothers so he wouldn’t have to share his inheritance.’
‘Have you swallowed the guide book or something?’
‘It just popped into my head. I think Miles told me during a tasting … I can’t remember where we were.’ She had a vague memory of being in some kind of wine cellar.
‘How old would you have been?’
‘Probably about fourteen but I remember it, because the wine was possibly the best I’ve ever tasted in my life.’
‘Nice age to start learning to have a discerning palate.’
‘You’re joking! It was disastrous. Spoilt me for anything ever since. I got used to the expensive stuff. Once I ordered a glass of red wine in a pub. Nearly spat it out all over the bar. Robert thought I was being pretentious.’