A French Pirouette (9 page)

After Dan’s death they’d leant on each other for support and had grown close in the process. There had been times when Libby had thought their relationship was more akin to sisters than mother and daughter, especially when Chloe was being upfront with her about boyfriends and the things she and her friends got up to—giving her Too Much Information in the process.

The weekly Skype call and text messages they were reduced to now they were living in different countries were not the same. There were days when she longed for Chloe to walk into the auberge kitchen, clutching a bag of croissants to accompany the inevitable coffee, and tell her everything about her day at work. Instead she was probably sitting in Helen’s kitchen and chatting about her new life to her.

When Helen rang to ask if it was OK if she booked a ferry ticket to come for a visit soon and casually added, “I’m loving having Chloe here; she’s such fun,” Libby was ashamed of the huge stab of jealousy that flooded her body at the thought of Helen sitting in the auberge, telling her things about Chloe that she longed to hear from Chloe herself.

“Just you? Peter not coming with you?”

“He’s too busy,” Helen said. “Can’t spare the time for a holiday.”

“I’m beginning to know that feeling,” Libby said. “I’ll probably rope you in to do some of the chores around this place if you do come.” Maybe the thought of a working holiday would put Helen off.

“Happy to help with anything. So can I come? I really need a break—and I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course you can come,” Libby said. How could she possibly refuse what sounded suspiciously like a plea for help. “Book the ferry ticket.” Switching off the phone she prayed the ‘something’ was nothing to do with having Chloe living with her and reminding Helen of the family life she’d longed for but had been unable to have.

From the day she’d married Peter, Helen had been desperate to have a family. Instead miscarriage after miscarriage had happened. For years Helen had been unable to accept the situation and at one time she’d even refused to have friends with young children visit her. She simply couldn’t handle it.

It was with some trepidation when Chloe was born that Libby and Dan had asked her to be godmother, only to be surprised by the alacrity of Helen’s acceptance—and by her devotion to Chloe. Years later Helen had confided in Libby that becoming Chloe’s godmother had been a real turning point for her. It had helped her to accept things and had quite simply saved her sanity by giving her a baby niece to lavish love and attention on.

Thoughtfully Libby made a mental note to ask Chloe next time she spoke to her if she knew what was troubling Helen.

The day after lunch at Brigitte’s, Libby was tidying the kitchen and planning to spend a couple of hours getting to grips with the weeds in the front garden and preparing the pots for their annual geraniums, when Lucas rang.

“Hi. Are you free this afternoon? I’ve heard about a car that might suit you. The problem is it’s down in Morbihan so it’ll take a couple of hours to get there and back. You have dinner guests this evening?”

“No—only Evie and she’s not bothered what time she eats, if she eats at all. But can you afford the time to take me?”

“I have a few hours off until evening surgery. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

Libby sighed as she replaced the receiver. That was the gardening put off yet again then. She’d been expecting to not exactly have time on her hands when she moved to France, but certainly to live a more leisurely pace of life, giving her time to do things. Instead it had been non-stop almost from the time she’d put the key in the auberge door—and that had been before any proper guests arrived expecting breakfast and dinner.

She ran upstairs to freshen up, slap some make-up on and get her bag. No need to change. That was another thing about living here. In the summer unexpected guests could arrive any time so Libby was trying to get into the habit of being what her mother would have called ‘presentable’ at all times.

Whether she would have viewed the jeans and T-shirt Libby generally wore these days as being ‘presentable’ Libby didn’t dare think about. She pulled a pink sweatshirt over the T-shirt and combed her hair before applying a splash of lipstick.

She pushed a small sigh of disappointment away when Lucas arrived in his muddy estate car. A drive in the vintage Delage would have been nice.

A pungent smell assaulted her nose as she opened the car door—a mixture of disinfectant and antiseptic.

Lucas smiled as he registered her involuntary gasp.

“Smells like a hospital in here,” she said.

“
Desolé
. It comes with the job. Some people have been known to refuse lifts because of it,” Lucas said. “You can open a window if you like.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get used to it.” And Libby pulled her seat belt around her. The smell wasn’t that bad after the initial shock. Sort of cleansing somehow.

“So where are we off to?”

“The other side of Pontivy,” Lucas said.

“Nice town,” Libby said, remembering a couple of occasions she and Dan had visited. “Love the river there.”

“It is where I had my first job when I finish
vétérinaire
school,” Lucas said. “I enjoy my time there.”

Fields full of brilliant yellow rapeseed and pale blue flaxseed plants began to flash by as Lucas took the
route nationale
across country. Libby’s favourite flower, the poppy, was waving around in the breeze too, adding its colour to the roadside hedges and verges.

“Thank you for taking the time and trouble to help me,” Libby said. “I do appreciate it.”

Lucas shrugged. “It’s never a waste of time to help a friend. Beside, I like you and am happy to spend time with you.”

“Lucas, only a Frenchman would say that!”

Lucas looked puzzled. “I am French!”

Libby laughed. “Very!”

They were on the outskirts of Pontivy before Libby realised Lucas hadn’t told her how much the car was—or even what make it was. She should have asked him before of course.

“This car—what make is it? And how much is it? How did you hear about it?”

Lucas answered the last question first. “It belongs to the wife of a friend. She is having a baby and needs a bigger car.”

“What sort is it?

“Italian.”

“A Fiat?”

“
Non
. An Alfa Romeo Spider.”

“What? Oh Lucas, I should have said I don’t have that much money to spend on a car. An Alfa is sure to be too expensive and I’ll have wasted your time.” Libby sank back down into her seat, frantically trying to remember what the few Alfa Romeos she’d ever seen had been like but couldn’t. All she could remember about them was Dan once saying they were superbly engineered.

“The car is not new and my friend she not ask a lot of money. I think you will like the car. I see you driving it,” Lucas said. “It is the kind of car you should have.”

A minute later and Lucas turned down a lane and pulled to a stop outside a cottage with a garden full of roses and lots of colourful pots and hanging baskets everywhere.

“What a lovely cottage,” Libby said, watching as a pregnant woman opened the front door and made her way over to them.

“Lucas darling. This is Libby? Welcome. I am Natalie. Come, I show you the car.” And she led the way round the side of the cottage towards an outbuilding.

Parked in front of the building were three cars. A large four-by-four, an immaculate silver estate and a scarlet two-seater sports car.

“This is Bella,” Natalie said opening the sports-car door and handing Libby the keys. “Take her for a drive. I’d come with you but I can’t actually get in her any more.”

Libby knew she was a lost cause the moment she sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition on. She glanced across at Lucas as he slid into the passenger seat.

“I need a sensible grown-up car.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because, because…” Libby’s voice trailed away. “Because I’m a grown-up.”

“Not the correct answer.” Lucas laughed. “Come on, drive.”

Driving around the lanes surrounding Natalie’s house, Libby tried to rationalise her thoughts. This Spider was only a two-seater—did that matter now she was on her own? Was she being silly even considering buying a sports car?

It was a lovely car to drive. She’d always wanted a sports car—particularly a red one—but there had never been a time in her life when it would have been practical to buy one. Besides it had always been Dan who’d chosen their cars and he’d gone for the sensible option every time.

“Sitting on the left and changing gear with my right hand is going to take some getting used to,” she said, stopping at a junction.

“Has to be easier than driving a right-hand car on the right though,” Lucas said. “You’ll soon get used to it. You can at least see properly for overtaking—and reversing!”

“It is a dream to drive,” Libby said, deciding to ignore the comment about her reversing. “I can just imagine driving with the roof down in summer too.”

Parking the car back at Natalie’s Libby sighed as she turned off the ignition. What to do? The car was beautiful. But was it the right car for her to buy?

“What did you mean earlier saying it was the kind of car I should drive?” she asked, suddenly remembering Lucas’s words.

“It’s a very feminine car—like you.” Lucas said quietly.

“Oh!” Not the reply she’d been expecting. “But is it a sensible car for me to have?”

Lucas shrugged. “Why do you have to have a sensible car? Is it not better to have one you like and enjoy driving?”

“I do like it a lot,” Libby said stroking the steering wheel. “OK next question—how much is it?” After all that would be the deciding factor. When Lucas told her the price she smiled at him in delight.

“Are you sure? That’s under my budget! I can actually afford this car.”

“Re-registration will be a couple of hundred euros don’t forget,” Lucas said. “But the tyres are good; the control technique is new. I think it is a good buy.”

“Let’s go find Natalie and tell her Bella has found herself a new owner,” Libby said, giving the steering wheel one last loving stroke and making her mind up. Who’d have thought she’d ever own a car called Bella?

Chapter Nine

Libby

“I’ve put you upstairs in the apartment with me,” Libby told Helen. “Technically it’s Chloe’s room but she’s not here, so…” Libby shrugged as she looked at her sister-in-law. “Thought you’d prefer to be up with me rather than downstairs in a guest room or over in the gîte.”

“Definitely,” Helen said following Libby up the stairs. “I’ll just dump my stuff and then you can give me the guided tour.”

“The Bichets are in a couple of the rooms and Evie is in another, so I can’t show you those but the rest of the auberge is open for your inspection,” Libby said.

“I’m not sure I could take complete strangers into my home,” Helen said. “Don’t you think it’s a bit of a risk?”

Libby laughed. “Never thought about it. It’s what auberges and B & Bs do. Besides the Bichets have been coming here for years. Brigitte speaks very highly of them.”

“But this Evie. What do you know about her?”

“She’s a guest—what do I need to know about her?” Libby glanced at Helen, puzzled. Evie was fast becoming more of a friend rather than just a guest now and no way would she hear a word against her—especially from someone who had yet to meet her.

“Isn’t it a bit, well, chancy, letting complete strangers into your home?” Helen said now. “Foreign strangers. You never know what they might do. Murder you in your own bed and run off with the silver!”

Libby looked at her sister-in-law in astonishment. She hadn’t been here five minutes and already she was questioning Libby’s judgement.

“Might do? Murder me? Oh Helen, I think you’ve been watching too many repeats of
Midsomer Murders
.” Libby laughed. “Come on let’s do the guided tour bit and then we can go back down and have a cuppa. You’ll meet everyone later and you’ll see then how nice and ordinary everyone is. Not a closet killer amongst them.” It was going to be a long visit if Helen continued to be so suspicious of everything and everybody.

“So tell me, are you and Peter still enjoying having a teenager in the house?” Libby said once they were back downstairs in the auberge sitting room.

“It’s fun. Haven’t seen a lot of her,” Helen said. “It’s long hours—she rarely gets back to us before eight or nine. She’s definitely enjoying the job though—not to mention the social life. Told you about her new boyfriend?”

“How new?” Libby said. “She didn’t mention anyone last time we spoke.” Determinedly she pushed the jealous ‘Chloe should have told me before Helen’ thought away.

“He’s the brother of someone she works with. Doing a medical degree somewhere. They’ve been to the cinema and had dinner together a couple of times. His name is Alastair and he comes from Edinburgh. That’s basically all I know. Suppose it’s a bit early to call him a boyfriend really but she obviously likes him a lot. She’ll probably tell you more next time you speak.”

Chloe and Alastair had a good ring to it, but why hadn’t Chloe mentioned him to her if she really had met someone she liked a lot?

Libby smothered a sigh, hoping Helen wouldn’t notice. She was as guilty as Chloe really. She’d stopped telling her about all the little day-to-day things that were happening in her life, just filling her in with the big events during their weekly conversations. Maybe if she’d stayed in the UK she and Chloe would still be chatting about the more personal events in their lives. Not that she had anything personal to tell Chloe.

It was silly to think things wouldn’t change as Chloe became more independent. Inevitably she would meet somebody to love and spend her life with. Was it going to be this Alastair?

“She sounded pretty tired the other evening when she rang,” Libby said. “Burning the proverbial candle at both ends by the sound of it.”

“We all did it at that age,” Helen said. ”And some of us fail to outgrow the habit.”

Libby looked at her. “Peter? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes. Since his promotion he’s been busier at work—he’s chasing all over the country by day and then entertaining clients in the evenings. Can’t tell you how many dinner parties I’ve had to go to—and organise—recently.”