A French Pirouette (8 page)

Suzette felt a guilty pang for switching off her mobile phone for the past couple of days. She knew she owed Malik an explanation. Her finger hovered over the reply button before she remembered the time and replaced the phone back on the table. Malik wasn’t known for being an early riser. If she woke him he was sure to be grumpy with her. She’d ring him later at a more civilised hour.

Fully awake now, Suzette pushed the duvet away and got up, wincing as her right foot touched the floor. Her ankle, still too painful and swollen to start exercising it, now sported a mass of fading psychedelic blue, black and yellow bruises as she took the support bandaging off.

Ten minutes later Suzette collapsed back on the bed exhausted from trying to stand and wash in the shower. It would have been easier to jump in the bath. Towelling her hair dry she looked at the brown pixie-cut wig on the dressing table.

She’d been determined to keep her flight from Monaco out of the papers and hiding her hair under a wig with a totally different style to her normal one had been the answer to her passing incognito through the airport. The question now though was, did she continue to wear the wig and keep up the pretence here in the wilds of northwest France?

If she pushed Suzette Shelby into the background of her life for a week, would it help her to decide about life without dancing—or not? Was this the chance she needed to truly be herself? Decide which way to go for the rest of her life?

Apart from anything else, how embarrassing it would be to go downstairs and say, “Actually Libby, my name is Suzette Shelby. I’m a ballerina—you may have heard of me.” The evening she’d had supper with Libby in the kitchen she’d felt so comfortable, felt that they were on similar wavelengths as well as being similar in age. The close confines of the world of dance she’d lived in for all her adult life until now, meant that the opportunities to make friends—proper girl friends—had passed her by. As Evie, surely she’d find it easier to make and keep Libby’s friendship?

Decision made, she pulled the wig into position over her head. While she was staying at the Auberge du Canal she would be Evie—and leave the missing Suzette Shelby to deal with the world she’d left behind at a later date.

Her mobile buzzed. Malik. He was up early for once. Taking a deep breath, she pressed his number.

“Where the hell are you?” Malik demanded angrily when he answered. “I’ve been off my head with worry with you not answering my calls.”

Suzette sighed. She’d been dreading this conversation.

“I’m sorry. I was going to call you later today. I’m just having a little holiday where no one knows who I am,” she said. “I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but I’m fine.”

“You being fine isn’t enough. For goodness’ sake, Suzette, the press will have a field day with you when they find out you’ve gone missing.”

“They don’t have to find out,” Suzette said. “I’m not planning on telling them and I hope you won’t? All I’m asking for is some private time to really think about my future while my ankle heals.”

“Why can’t you do that in your apartment in Paris?”

“Because I can’t.” How to explain that everything crowded in on her there? Stopped her thinking coherently. Too many memories, too many might-have-beens and definitely too many regrets about her life there. Here she hoped she could truly step back and think about life dispassionately. Work out a plan.

Malik was silent. Even down the phone line Suzette could sense his frustration.

“How did Monaco go in the end? Donna perform well?” she asked, hoping to change the conversation.

“Yes,” Malik said. “She’s a star in the making that’s for sure.”

It was Suzette’s turn to be silent. So many years since that had been said about her.

“How’s the ankle?” Malik asked.

“Responding well to gentle exercise,” Suzette lied, standing on one leg and wincing as she tried to make a circling movement with the offending ankle. No point in telling Malik it wasn’t fit enough to exercise yet.

“Good. I presume you’re still planning on doing
Swan Lake
with me? You’ll need to be in tip-top condition for that.”

“Stop worrying,” Suzette answered. “My ankle will be good by then.”

“So, exactly how long are you planning to stay wherever it is you are?” Malik demanded. “Likely to be back before I go off to Geneva next weekend? Can’t mention any names but somebody there is interested in sponsoring a modern ballet I’m keen to choreograph so I have to go for a meetup.”

“I’m staying here for the week, so no, I won’t be back before you go to Geneva,” Suzette said. “I’ll talk to you when you get back.”

Although clearly disgruntled with that answer, Malik didn’t press her on the subject again and the call ended.

Thoughtfully Suzette crossed over to the bedroom window and stared out at the canal and the wood on the far side. Down below in the auberge grounds, Napoleon and the chickens were enjoying dust baths over by the fence.

She’d not been entirely truthful with Malik when she’d told him she intended to stay for just the rest of the week. If she was brave enough to put the idea that had occurred to her in the middle of the night into practice, she would be here for the whole of the summer. Alone and anonymous with nobody from her real world having any idea where she was.

She just hoped she could persuade Libby about the feasibility of her idea. She’d wait a couple of days before putting the suggestion to her. Crossing her fingers tightly, Evie hoped Libby wouldn’t dismiss the idea out of hand.

Chapter Seven

Brigitte

Brigitte hummed softly to herself as she weighed, chopped and mixed various ingredients for the recipes she was preparing for the celebratory lunch she was cooking. It was not yet nine o’clock but she’d been busy for a couple of hours and already the result of her labours were showing.

Looking around her kitchen Brigitte sighed with satisfaction. The yeasty bread rolls were rising nicely in the small oven of her new top-of-the-range cooker, the duck was marinating in a red wine sauce on the worktop and the rouleau filled with chocolate cream and covered with white chocolate was rolled up and in the fridge.

Her wonderful modern kitchen was living up to all her expectations—she was going to be so happy preparing meals in here. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed feeding friends and family. When Isabelle had left home, guests at the auberge had filled the cooking gap in her life but now there was only Bruno to feed regularly. She’d have to invite friends around often, she decided.

The sun was shining in through the kitchen window and she could see the willow tree with its newly green leafy fronds quivering in the gentle breeze as she set the coffee to brew. Bruno came in just as the coffee finished percolating.

“Good timing,” she said reaching for two cups. “Biscuit?”

“Thanks. Furniture cleaned and back out under the loggia ready for lunch,” Bruno said. “We could sit out there now.”

Sitting companionably drinking their coffee, Brigitte said, “Everything’s beginning to come together here,” she said. “I’m really looking forward to today’s lunch—although I hope I’ve done the right thing inviting Evie.”

Bruno glanced at her, surprised. “Why?”

“I told Pascal it would be just Libby—you know how shy he can be with strangers—and I don’t think he’d have agreed to come if he thought it would be more than just the three of us. I didn’t think about him when I invited Evie.”

Bruno shrugged. “It’s not as if it’s a huge crowd. Pascal will be fine. It’s only when his mother is around that he tends to clam up. You haven’t invited her, have you?”

Brigitte laughed. “
Non
.” She hesitated before adding, “I hope Libby and Pascal get on.”

Bruno wagged a finger at her. “You’re not matchmaking are you?”

Brigitte shook her head. “
Non
. But they are both single so anything is possible.”

“And you plan to help them along,” Bruno said smiling. “Lunch should be interesting.”

Libby and Evie arrived together promptly at twelve o’clock in the village taxi. Evie, knowing there was still no way her ankle was up to walking to Brigitte and Bruno’s, had invited Libby to share the ride.

The four of them were sipping aperitifs when Pascal arrived. Brigitte quickly introduced Evie to Pascal.

“
Enchanté, mademoiselle,
” he said shaking her hand. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Brittany.” He looked at her for several seconds before adding, “Would we have met before?”

Evie laughed. “I don’t think so. I only arrived a few days ago.”

“Evie lives in Paris,” Libby said. “So unless you frequent the city?”

Pascal visibly blanched at her words. “I hate cities so rarely go—even to Paris.” He turned again to Evie. “It must be that you remind me of someone else.”

Once their starters were finished—individual walnut and onion tarts with a salad—Brigitte placed the duck with asparagus and sauté potatoes on the table to accompanying cries of delight. “Enjoy.”

“This is so delicious,” Libby said a few minutes later. “I have a favour to ask,” she said addressing Brigitte. “I’m going to need some help during the daytime and with the evening meals—especially at weekends. Any chance of you being free? Just until I’ve got into the swing of things. Only if you’ve got time and want to,” she added. “If not can you recommend someone?”

Brigitte sighed. “Libby I’d love to.” She glanced at Bruno. “But Bruno here, he no want me to work every day.”

Bruno shrugged his shoulders. “You decide but remember our plan to have several
vacances
this year.”

“Maybe I come just on Saturdays?” Brigitte said. “I will tell a woman in the village, Agnes, that you need help during the week. She is a good worker.”

“Thanks,” Libby said. Hopefully this Agnes would want a job and be as good as Brigitte said.

Bruno was busy filling wine glasses when Brigitte said, “I’m thinking about starting a monthly Ladies’ Supper Club here. I miss the cooking and now I have this wonderful new kitchen I must put it to use and if I feed Bruno too much he will get fat.”

“Brilliant idea,” Libby said. “Can I be your first member?”

“It is a shame to limit it to the ladies though,” Pascal said. “Why not a Supper Club open to all?”

“Maybe that would be a better idea,” Brigitte said.

It was two hours later, after the chocolate rouleau had been eaten and the coffee and petits fours served, when Pascal pushed his chair back and apologised. “Brigitte, that was a wonderful lunch but I am sorry—I have to go back to work.”

He turned to Libby and Evie. “May I offer you both a lift back to the auberge?”

“I need to do some things in the village before I go home,” Libby said. “But I’m sure Evie would appreciate a lift.”

Evie nodded. “Thank you. I was going to call the taxi.” The telephone rang as they were all saying their goodbyes and Bruno went to answer it.

Brigitte was alone and clearing the table when he went back outside. “Who was it?” she asked, absently piling plates on top of each other.

“Isabelle.”

Brigitte looked at him sharply. “Is something the matter? It is not like Isabelle to ring during the day.”

“She is coming up for a weekend next month,” Bruno said.

Brigitte smiled. “What a treat. How long is she staying?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Is Laurent coming with her?”

Bruno shook his head. “No. She is coming on her own.”

“I expect he’s too busy at work to take the time,” Brigitte said before seeing the look on Bruno’s face.

“She said she wants to talk to us about the future.” Bruno paused. “I think Isabelle is maybe planning on coming back to Brittany permanently. But I’m not so sure Laurent is in agreement.”

Brigitte looked at him in dismay. Surely not. She couldn’t bear it if Isabelle’s marriage had failed.

Chapter Eight

Libby

Life, Libby found, was slipping into a routine. One that she knew was bound to get busier as the season wore on and the auberge filled with visitors. Brigitte had warned her that while running the auberge would be fun and interesting, it would also be harder for her as a single woman, but she hadn’t realised just how hard it would turn out to be.

Mornings she was up early to feed the chickens and ducks before letting them out—egg collecting came later in the day. A quick croissant and coffee before starting on breakfasts for the guests and making her to-do list for the day.

She’d thought she was getting used to life without Dan but since arriving in France all her despairing emotions of two years ago had surprised her by resurfacing. Shaking them off was proving even harder this time. She kept telling herself, “Buying the auberge was my decision nobody else’s.” Deep down she was convinced it had been a good choice—she just hadn’t prepared herself mentally to face the many memories that were being stirred up daily by being alone in a place they’d both loved.

Dan’s presence seemed to be everywhere. Out on the terrace drinking a glass of rosé with her. Striding alongside her on the canal path as she walked into the village. Watching her in the kitchen while she prepared food. Every time she took his old toolbox out of the shed to do some little repair job she half expected him to take it out of her hands saying, “This is a job for me.”

He’d always been a bit chauvinistic over DIY. She’d been happy to let him do things his way but now she had to learn how to do stuff herself. Nothing major—refreshing the grouting in the bathroom, painting the walls of two of the bedrooms and screwing the latch securely onto the chicken house door had been her limit so far.

What she really missed was his companionship. At the end of the day sitting out on her balcony with a glass of wine she longed to be able to talk to him, go over the day’s events, laugh at some incident together.

If she was honest too, she was missing Chloe far more than she’d anticipated. Libby had always treasured the good relationship she had with Chloe—sorely tested during difficult teenage years admittedly, but since Dan had died there had been a dynamic shift into a fully fledged adult friendship as they consoled each other.