A French Pirouette (18 page)

“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 told 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.

“Malik, what are you doing here? More to the point—how did you find me?” Suzette demanded as Malik air-kissed her cheeks. “And why? I told you I needed time alone.” She glared and moved away from him.

“You don’t sound very pleased to see me,” Malik said, fingering the folder of papers that was still on the table. Suzette quickly snatched it up before he could start looking through it.

“I’m not,” she said. “
Desolé
, but that’s the truth. I’ll just put this indoors.” When she returned Malik was standing looking at the auberge.

“Have to admit you’ve found yourself a lovely hiding place,” he said as she rejoined him.

“You haven’t answered my questions,” Suzette said. “Why and how?”

“I was concerned for you,” he said. “Worried that you were maybe having a breakdown.”

“I told you I needed time to think about the future. Do I look as though I’m having a breakdown?”

Malik shook his head. “No. You look very well. You’re going to have to lose that extra weight though before
Swan Lake
.”

Suzette shrugged. “It’s only a couple of kilos. Won’t take long to shift. OK—you were concerned about me; that’s the why question taken care of. Next, how did you find me?”

“It was easy in the end. Your concierge,” Malik said. “Although to be fair he didn’t actually tell me. He gave me the envelope with your forward address on it and asked me to post it. I think he thought I knew where you were anyway. So I decided to act as postman. It’s on board the boat waiting for you to collect.”

At the mention of the boat Suzette glanced down towards the canal. “Someone down there seems to be trying to attract your attention.”

Malik turned and waved his hand in acknowledgement. “That’s the skipper. He’s waiting for us to go on board. The crew have supper waiting for us. Shall we go?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Malik sighed. “So sit and watch me eat. We need to talk. And you can tell me whether you playing at being a wannabe Greta Garbo—‘I want to be alone’—has had the desired effect. Helped you reach a decision about the future.” He held out his hand to Suzette. “Come on.” Reluctantly Suzette took his hand. “Besides, I have a suggestion for you to think about,” Malik said.

“You said before. Why are you being so mysterious about it,” Suzette said. “I wish you’d just tell me.”

“Soon, I promise,” Malik said.

He continued to hold her hand as they walked away from the gîte and down towards the canal. Pascal’s Land Rover was driving along the path towards the auberge as Suzette and Malik neared the boat. Raising her free hand in acknowledgement Suzette smiled at him and waited for him to draw up alongside them.

“Pascal meet an old friend of mine from Paris.” She hesitated before adding, “Malik—Pascal.” No reason to think Pascal would immediately know who Malik was.

As the two men had shook hands, Suzette said, “Were you coming to see me?”