A Wedding in Provence: From the #1 bestselling author of uplifting feel-good fiction
A Wedding in Provence: Chapter 9

Alexandra was in a very deep sleep when she was awoken by Milou barking. It wasn’t the full-throated deep bark he used for intruders, but it was still a noise. He must have heard something and gone down to investigate. Alexandra thought she should do the same. It was probably David or Jack wanting something from this end of the chateau.

Knowing Milou was down there already gave her courage but although she wasn’t a nervous person and was accustomed to being in a large house on her own, she was trepidatious. She pulled on a light dressing gown but didn’t put on slippers which clacked on the stairs. She wanted to be silent.

She was aware that Milou’s noises had changed to a strange whimper she hadn’t heard before and when she reached the hall she saw he was on his back legs, his front paws on the shoulders of a man. She could hardly see him because the dog was in the way but she knew it was Antoine.

He was talking to Milou in a low voice, in French; she couldn’t quite follow what he was saying but it sounded very fond.

At last Milou jumped down and then saw Alexandra and came up and barged into her with his shoulder, in case she was feeling left out. The Comte de Belleville looked up. ‘Ah, Alexandra, is it not?’ he said in English.

Alexandra thought her name had never sounded so wonderful. She cleared her throat. ‘Yes. I heard noises and thought I should investigate.’ She spoke in English too. Her French was good but not perfect and she didn’t want to make a mistake.

‘That’s very brave of you.’ Antoine looked at her in silence for a few moments.

Alexandra felt very conscious of her long cotton nightie – she’d bought it from the brocante stall at the market in Saint-Jean-du-Roc together with the simple cotton wrap she wore over it. Her hair was down over her shoulders, in need of a trim. She wished she’d had warning of his appearance; she’d have at least got dressed.

‘I knew Milou would protect me if need be. Can I get you something? Have you been travelling for hours?’

‘Yes, and yes. What is there to eat?’

Alexandra remembered that the kitchen was in a state but she also remembered she had made onion soup the day before. ‘I have some soup. Why don’t you go into the salon? I’ll bring it to you.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Antoine. ‘We’ll go into the kitchen. Will the stove be in? I’m cold.’

He’d set off down the corridor before she could stop him. He halted at the door of the kitchen having switched on the light. The single bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling made the kitchen look more than just the site of a drunken party, it looked spooky, like a crime scene in a film. Alexandra was mortified. Antoine was looking at the table crowded with glasses and bottles, the draining board piled with dirty plates, and the floor, which had piled-up saucepans on it.

‘What on earth’s been going on in here?’ he asked. ‘In case it isn’t what it seems?’

‘This’, Alexandra said with dignity, ‘is the remains of our dinner. I have arranged for two tutors to come and teach the children. Your mother-in-law agreed it was a good idea. They arrived yesterday and I was too tired to do the washing up last night.’

‘Why is washing up your job? You are employed as a nanny, are you not? We have Mme Carrier for cooking, don’t we?’

She managed a smile, hoping it didn’t look as if she was complaining. ‘It’s just me at the moment. Would you like some soup?’

‘Just you?’ He looked at her intently, not for the first time. ‘What happened to Mme Carrier?’

Alexandra could hardly remember. ‘Her mother is ill, I think.’

‘You look far too young to be taking on all this.’

Alexandra was bitterly regretting lying about her age on her application form but then realised she probably wouldn’t have got the job if they’d known she was only twenty. ‘Would you like the soup?’ she asked again.

‘Yes, please,’ he said, and Alexandra went to the larder to fetch it.

When she came back with the pot in her hands, he was lighting the range.

‘I haven’t found the knack of keeping that in overnight, I’m afraid.’ She ladled some soup into a saucepan and took it to the small cooker. It was ‘French onion’ as taught by Mme Wilson, at her cookery school. But although Mme Wilson was French, Alexandra didn’t think her version of it would compare with the real thing, which her boss would be accustomed to.

She cleared a space on the table while Antoine was snapping bits of kindling and by the time he’d returned with some logs, she had a space on the table and a lot of the dirty dishes organised into a pile in the corner. She toasted some bread, piled grated cheese on it, and put it back under the grill.

The fire in the range was going well and the table more or less cleared before Antoine turned his attention to his supper. Alexandra put a bowl of steaming soup in front of him and next to that, a plate of cheese on toast.

‘Please remember I’m English when you’re eating it and don’t compare it to what you’re used to having.’ She wished she’d stayed silent. She was making excuses for herself before he’d even tried it.

‘This is good!’ he said, slightly surprised.

The soup had simmered on the range for a long, long time and the onions were dark brown. Alexandra had been aiming to impress David with it, although in the end they hadn’t had it with supper; David and Jack had filled themselves up with pâté and cheese and so they’d all gone straight on to the inevitable chicken casserole. Now, she thanked the god of English employees who had to cook for Frenchmen for this accolade.

‘Do you want anything to drink?’ she asked. ‘I could get you some wine …’

‘Cognac please. Do you know where it is?’

As she went to fetch it, Alexandra wondered if she should have pretended she hadn’t discovered it, and drank at least some of it. She was still wishing she hadn’t lied about her age. She must remember to tell David she was supposed to be twenty-five.

‘Bring a glass for yourself,’ Antoine said, ‘and tell me how my children are. Do you like them?’

‘I love them,’ Alexandra heard herself saying, when a moment’s thought would have made her more circumspect. ‘They are delightful. Stéphie and Henri are easier of course.’

‘But Félicité is more of a challenge? I am accustomed to governesses telling me she’s wilful and uncooperative.’

Alexandra was offended by this. ‘She is more of a challenge, but I sympathise with her. She’s too old for a nanny, really. She needs a companion.’ She remembered when she was promoted from having a nanny to having a companion. It had seemed a big thing at the time, an advantage, but really it hadn’t been that different. There were good and bad companions in the same way there were good and bad nannies; good ones were good, and the bad ones were bad.

‘She’s not “playing you up”? Is that how you say it?’

‘Not really. And why should she obey a young woman who’s not much older than herself? Not very much older, anyway,’ she added hastily. ‘It’s why I thought we should have tutors. It was after their grandmother came to say she was worried they weren’t getting an education. And their mother—’

‘Yes?’

‘She talked about sending Félicité and Henri away to boarding school in England.’

‘You know that little Stéphie isn’t …’

‘Yes. I was a bit shocked when your wife—’

‘Ex-wife.’

‘Appeared not to know her. I found out then that Stéphie is adopted.’ Alexandra paused. ‘She and I are very good friends.’ She didn’t tell him that Stéphie got into her bed in the mornings so they could read together and that someone had not paid enough attention to teaching her to read. She’d been quite happy muddling through her job as nanny, doing what seemed to work best. Now her boss was here she wished she was properly qualified. ‘The older children adore her, of course.’

‘Yes. They missed their mother very much when she left and so when Stéphie came about two years later, they gave her all their affection. It was charming, but also a bit concerning. They might benefit from having Lucinda back in their lives.’

Alexandra wondered if they would when she seemed keen to send them away but didn’t comment. It wasn’t her place, and it was accepted wisdom that mothers were a good thing. Not having had one herself, she didn’t really know.

‘More brandy?’ Antoine held the bottle up.

‘No, thank you. I should probably make up your bed or something.’ Alexandra hadn’t been in his bedroom ever – there had been no reason to go, but at least she knew where the sheets and other bedlinen were kept.

Antoine smiled at her suddenly and Alexandra felt herself melt.

‘I think you should go back to bed. I can manage my sheets.’

‘The mattress might be damp—’

‘It won’t kill me. Don’t worry about me, Alexandra – if I may call you that?’

Alexandra nodded. She would never tire of hearing her name on his lips.

‘You are here for my children, not to be the housekeeper.’ While he didn’t say it out loud, his expression said, ‘Run along now.’

‘Well, if you don’t need me, I’ll see you in the morning.’ Alexandra smiled politely and left.

Once she was back in her room she gave herself a very strict talking-to. ‘You are not in love with him; it’s quite impossible that you should be; you don’t know him! He’s not even that good-looking! He may be dark and have lovely eyes with long lashes but when did you become so shallow as to like someone because of what they look like?’

She rattled on to herself in this vein as she brushed her teeth again, brushed her hair and eventually got back into bed. It took her ages to get back to sleep.

She was woken by Stéphie shaking her. She felt as if she’d only been asleep for about an hour.

‘Alexandra! Wake up. Papa is here. Come down and see him!’ Stéphie ran out of the room, leaving Alexandra half tempted to allow herself a bit more sleep.

But then she realised she couldn’t stay in bed when she’d been invited to meet Papa, although unlike Stéphie, who was wearing her dressing gown and no slippers, she needed to be dressed.

She didn’t let her desire to hurry stop her paying proper attention to how she looked, though. She brushed her hair (again) and coaxed it over her shoulder so while it was loose, it looked tidy. She put on a clean dress and added her cardigan and the espadrilles she had bought at the market the last time they had been. She dithered about make-up. She was the nanny, it was first thing in the morning, it would look very odd, and as if she was trying to snare M. le Comte, her boss, if she arrived in the kitchen in full maquillage. But she couldn’t ignore the fact she was going to see a very attractive man she could (just possibly) be in love with. There was a compromise!

She dabbed a bit of lipstick on her finger and patted it on to her lips so it hardly showed. She put a bit of eyeliner round her eyes and carefully rubbed it off again so only the tiniest trace remained, and she inspected her face for flaws. The tiniest dab of powder applied to the end of her nose, and she decided she’d done all she could and went down to the kitchen.

‘Oh, you’re dressed!’ said Félicité, who wasn’t.

‘I do try to get dressed every day,’ said Alexandra, sounding a hundred times calmer than she felt. ‘It’s got to be a habit with me. Good morning, M. le Comte,’ she said formally.

There were many reasons why she shouldn’t appear too familiar with her boss and one of them was that she knew Félicité would be absolutely furious if she thought Alexandra was trying to ingratiate herself with her beloved papa.

‘Papa came home in the middle of the night!’ said Stéphie, still very excited at the wonder of this event.

Alexandra and Antoine exchanged a glance. ‘I heard him,’ said Alexandra. ‘At least, I heard Milou. I went down to see what was going on.’

‘That was brave of you,’ said Félicité. ‘Weren’t you scared it was burglars?’

‘I knew Milou would protect me if I needed protecting,’ Alexandra said. ‘Shall I make breakfast? I see the range is going well.’

‘Papa knows how to make it stay in,’ said Henri.

‘Good morning, Alexandra,’ said Antoine. ‘She was very brave to investigate my arrival, but perfectly right that Milou would protect her. Do you know, children, in England they have a book where the nanny is a dog?’

‘Peter Pan,’ confirmed Alexandra. ‘I did always think that was a little strange when I was growing up. Still do! What did we think about breakfast?’

‘I’m starving,’ said Henri.

‘Me too,’ said Antoine.

Alexandra smiled at them both and went to replace her apron, glad that she’d bought something prettier to put over herself than the overall the previous chatelaine of the kitchen had worn.

‘Come and see the hens, Papa,’ said Stéphie. ‘Alexandra can pick them up!’

Antoine and his youngest daughter walked through the corridor to the courtyard while Alexandra focused on the kitchen.

She turned on the tap to get the washing up started at the same time as she got going on breakfast. As always there were plenty of eggs but there was also some leftover ratatouille and some local sausages. She put some duck fat in a pan and cut up some sausages. Soon she had a couple of things sizzling away.

‘Good Lord!’ said a carrying male voice. ‘The smells are from heaven!’

‘Or from Provence,’ said David, ‘whichever happens to be nearer. Good morning!’

Both David and Jack were dressed and well groomed and ready to be sociable.

Inevitably, Antoine and Stéphie chose this moment to come back into the kitchen.

Usually, Alexandra liked people and having a full kitchen didn’t put her off but just now she stifled a desire to scream. Just at that moment she wanted everyone to go away and leave her to cook and wash up. She was a nanny who cooked, nothing more. But there was no one else who could act as hostess so she had to make the introductions.

‘Ah, Jack, David, good morning! I hope you slept well. Let me introduce you to …’ She hesitated. She knew his name but at that moment she could only think of him as Antoine or Papa, neither of which would do.

Antoine got up. ‘I am Antoine, Comte de Belleville – these children’s father. Am I right in thinking you are here as tutors?’

‘That’s the idea,’ said Jack. ‘I’m Jack Andrews, maths and music. I’m properly qualified to teach maths but I’m also a professional musician.’

‘And I’m David Campbell: actor, antiques dealer, gourmand and gourmet, and most importantly friend of Alexandra’s. Shakespeare is my speciality, or at least, it’s why I’m here. We only arrived yesterday so no one has learnt anything yet.’

‘Except I can do a card trick,’ said Henri.

‘That was just a little ice-breaker,’ said Jack. ‘I do intend to teach you algebra.’

‘What’s algebra?’ asked Stéphie, intrigued by the word.

‘Difficult,’ said David. ‘Shakespeare is much more fun.’

‘Hey! Algebra can be fun too!’ said Jack. ‘But you may not need to learn it yet, Stéphie.’

‘How do you propose to teach Shakespeare?’ asked Antoine.

Alexandra withdrew to her stove. They could talk amongst themselves now. She could focus on getting people fed.

‘That was a stupendous breakfast,’ said David a little later. ‘I was expecting a bit of baguette and butter and maybe a croissant.’

‘We’d have to drive to get bread in the morning,’ said Alexandra, ‘and I thought you’d all be hungry.’ She meant she thought Antoine would be hungry, and how he felt was somehow very important to her.

‘Do you intend to start lessons immediately?’ she asked.

‘Do we have to?’ said Stéphie. ‘Papa has only just got back! We need to hear all about his adventures.’

‘Maybe we should have a day to get used to each other before we start lessons,’ said Jack. ‘David and I could go to the local town – Saint-Jean-du-Roc?’ Antoine nodded. ‘And possibly buy some things, to save Alexandra some work—’

‘It’s market day,’ said Alexandra. ‘I could give you a list.’

‘No one wants to come with us?’ asked David, looking round the kitchen. ‘I see that no one does.’ He smiled. ‘So, when we’ve done the washing up—’ ‘

‘No need!’ said Alexandra. ‘Really! I’ll be fine on my own.’

She and David knew each other very well and as their eyes locked she managed to convey to him how much she wanted everyone out of the way.

‘Children, we should assist Alexandra—’ said Antoine.

‘No! Really, you need to be together, after so many months apart.’ She paused. ‘And really, I want everyone out of my kitchen!’

‘It’s not your kitchen,’ said Félicité.

‘While I’m cooking in it, it’s mine!’ said Alexandra, more sharply than she meant to. She moderated her tone. ‘I mean, while I’m responsible for the meals it is my place of work. You go and get dressed and then you can spend time with your father. He must have missed you dreadfully.’

‘Neatly done, Lexi,’ said David when everyone had left. ‘You’re doing very well here.’

‘Thank you. I’ve had to learn an awful lot in a very short time and it is a bit exhausting sometimes.’

‘I can’t wait to get to the market, buy some wonderful Provençal specialties and cook for you, instead,’ he said. ‘And I like the children. They’re very bright and we can have fun together.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it. I’ve had the grandmother and the mother more or less telling me I’m not fit to care for them. If they could learn a bit about their English heritage, I’d feel less inadequate.’

David frowned. He obviously wanted to argue but Alexandra flapped her hands at him. ‘Go to the market. It’s best to get there early.’ Although it was already too late to be early, she thought.

She just had a bowl of really hot water and a saucepan on the stove boiling some more in case the hot water ran out when Antoine appeared.

‘You must let me dry the dishes—’ he began, picking up a cloth from the bar in front of the range.

‘No, M. le Comte!’ said Alexandra firmly. ‘Please! I am happy to do this. Go and be with your children. They have missed you badly.’

Alexandra realised she’d put her hands on her hips and must have been looking very confrontational as she spoke to her boss. She smiled, to soften her commanding appearance, and he laughed.

‘In which case, I will do that – I have presents for them. But really, we must get some more staff.’

‘That would be a good idea.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I’ll see to it. And please call me Antoine. I don’t like using my title unless I have to.’

She nodded agreement and he left.

Later that day, Stéphie came up to Alexandra while she was in the courtyard picking grapes from the vine that grew under the eaves and said, ‘Isn’t it lovely that Papa is home?’

‘It certainly is,’ Alexandra replied. ‘You must be so thrilled.’

‘Yes, because while Félicité and Henri have their mother – and I don’t like her at all – I only have Papa, so it’s nice for me when he’s home. Although of course the others like him too.’

‘And I’m not sure they like their mother very much either,’ said Alexandra. ‘But when they get used to her being here, they may like her more.’

‘Do you think so? I think she’s very rude, although she is pretty and smells nice.’

Alexandra couldn’t help wondering how Antoine would feel about Lucinda after not seeing her for years. ‘Is being pretty and smelling nice enough?’ she asked, not expecting Stéphie to understand her question.

‘I shouldn’t think so. Félicité says being pretty isn’t important,’ Stéphie said and then paused. ‘I think you’re very pretty. Maybe it’s not important but it is nice.’

Alexandra laughed and put her free arm around her. ‘Come on, let’s take these grapes back to the house. David, my friend who came yesterday, is cooking supper tonight. We can have grapes for pudding.’

‘Oh,’ said Stéphie, disappointed. ‘I’d rather have pudding like you make. With fruit and the biscuity stuff on the top.’

‘Fruit crumble is all I’m fit for after cooking a proper meal,’ said Alexandra. ‘But we’ll ask David about it. I’m sure he can make it too.’