To Provence, with Love

‘Yes.’

‘And very hot work on a day like this.’

‘Yes.’

Faye’s conversational skills were being severely stretched by now and she took refuge in a glance at her watch and what was, after all, the truth. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stop and talk. I have to get back.’

‘Right.’ With a smooth movement, he reached down, clasped the handle of the sledgehammer, and swung it up in a graceful arc above his head. ‘Well, goodbye then.’

Faye called to Marlon and left the taciturn man to his labours. She carried on along the rough path up the hill to the chateau. A minute or two later, she felt a stone under her heel and stopped to remove it. Grabbing hold of a branch at the side of the track to steady herself, she slid off the sandal and flicked away the tiny piece of gravel. As she did so, Marlon pounced on her shoe and bore it proudly away.

‘Marlon, bring that back.’

He stopped and turned back towards her, but showed no sign of any intention of relinquishing his trophy. She called him again, dangled his lead, and even tried to whistle, but he was having none of it. He trotted obligingly enough back to her, even let her grab the shoe in his mouth, but then stubbornly hung on to it like a limpet. Finally, Faye had to leave it with him, rather than risk damaging either the sandal or the dog’s teeth, and she limped up the hill on one shoe, treating the dog to a few good old-fashioned English expletives as she did so.

***

At seven-thirty as instructed, Faye – freshly showered, her dusty right foot carefully washed – changed into a light summer dress and her good sandals and went over to the kitchen, tapped on the door, and let herself in. She had locked the door to her apartment behind her but somehow, protected behind the barrier of the electric gates, she didn’t think she had much to worry about, not least if Marlon lived up to his reputation as a very vocal guard dog. There was no sign of Eddie Marshal, but she found Claudette bending down, looking at something in the oven. She looked up as Faye came in.

‘Have a nice walk?’

‘Yes, thanks, although the last half was on one leg.’ She smiled as she explained what had happened. Claudette smiled back.

‘I saw him with a sandal in his mouth when I came into the kitchen and wondered if it was yours.’ She indicated the shoe, now safely lying on the worktop out of reach of the dog.

‘How did you get it off him? I thought he was going to pull my arm out of its socket.’

‘The way you can always get a Labrador to do anything – food. I offered him a piece of biscuit and he dropped it like a flash. I should have warned you of that. When he likes somebody, he always tries to take something of theirs.’ She pointed at the wicker basket by the range cooker. ‘See that tatty red rag in there? That used to be one of Miss Beech’s scarves. He’s had it for years. Anyway, it shows he likes you.’

‘I’ll have to dig out an old sock or something for him. Walking up the gravel drive with one bare foot was a bit uncomfortable.’ She glanced down at the dog who was staring at her adoringly from his bed. ‘But no more stealing shoes, all right, Marlon?’ He wagged his tail and, if she hadn’t known better, it almost looked as if he winked. Faye sighed and returned her attention to Claudette. ‘Anyway, while I was out, I met your son.’

‘It’s hard to miss our Albert. Did he tell you they all call him Obelix?’ Claudette grinned. ‘Not too sure what happened there. His father’s not a lot taller than I am.’

‘He’s certainly a big chap. I suppose he’s the star of the local rugby team.’

Claudette shook her head. ‘He used to play a lot of sport, but he gave it up a few years back. Did he tell you what his hobby is now?’

Faye shook her head. ‘Wrestling bulls, lifting weights, or tearing up phone books with his bare hands maybe?’

Claudette’s grin broadened. ‘Embroidery.’

‘Embroidery?’

‘He’s this year’s president of the village embroidery circle. They’re in the process of renewing all the kneelers in the church. You should see some of the things he’s made. He’s far better than I am. He’s got such a delicate touch and a very good eye for colour and design.’

‘Wow.’ Faye was suitably impressed. ‘I must go down to the church to take a look at his handiwork.’

‘Miss Beech is in the dining room if you want to go and join her. Go through that door there and you’ll find her. Off you go and tell her I’ll be serving dinner in about ten minutes.’

Faye made her way through to the dining room accompanied by Marlon. Miss Beech was in an armchair by the fireplace, staring into the empty grate, lost in her thoughts. Sitting in another armchair to one side of the fireplace, holding a newspaper, was Eddie Marshal. As he spotted Faye, he gave her a little wave. Faye hesitated at the doorway, loath to disturb Miss Beech who looked miles away, but Marlon had no such qualms. He trotted over to his mistress and laid his head on her knee. His arrival roused her and she looked up towards Faye, beckoning her into the room with one hand while scratching the dog’s ears with the other.

‘Faye, come in, come in. How lovely to see you again.’ The grand old lady looked genuinely pleased to see her.

‘Hello, Miss Beech. It’s good to be back.’ Faye took a better look at her. ‘And you’re looking well.’ That was an exaggeration, but Miss Beech definitely looked better than the last time, and there was some colour in her cheeks this evening. Miss Beech smiled.

‘You don’t spend a lifetime in cinema without learning a thing or two about make-up. My looks are mostly out of a bottle nowadays, I’m afraid, but it’s sweet of you to notice. Come and join us.’

Faye did as she was bidden and stood by the hearth. The dog slumped down onto his rug with a thud and a sigh, as Faye remembered to deliver Claudette’s message. ‘Claudette says dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

‘Excellent. That gives us time for a drink first. We really should celebrate your first night here, so I got Eddie to dig out a bottle of champagne. Would you like that? Otherwise we’ve got most things here. He could even make you a cocktail if you like.’

Eddie looked up eagerly, nodding his head. ‘Whatever you like, Faye. You name it, I can make it. Maybe a real American Martini?’

‘Champagne sounds absolutely wonderful, thank you.’ Faye spotted the foil-covered top of the bottle peeking out of an ice bucket. ‘But only if you’re going to have some. Please don’t open it specially for me.’

Miss Beech’s smile broadened. ‘Of course we’ll join you. I wonder, Faye, if you would feel like opening it, please?’

Eddie Marshal made an attempt at getting to his feet, but Miss Beech was quick to tell him off. ‘Eddie, for goodness’ sake sit down and let Faye do the honours. I’m sure she’s had lots of experience with champagne bottles.’ She grinned at Faye. ‘At our age, we deserve a sit-down. Besides, the doctor told Eddie not to put too much weight on that hip of his.’

‘I haven’t got much experience with champagne, but I’m a dab hand at opening Prosecco bottles.’ Faye went over to the ice bucket and managed to open the bottle without too much fuss. She filled three exquisite tall crystal flutes and took two of them across to the fireplace, handing them over one by one, before returning to pick up her own. Miss Beech raised her glass towards them both.

‘Cheers. Your very good health, Faye. Thank you for coming to join us.’

‘Cheers and thank you for having me. And cheers to you, too, Mr Marshal.’

‘Call me Eddie, would you, Faye? Besides, my name’s not Marshal really.’ In response to her raised eyebrows, he elaborated. ‘I’m really Eduard Maréchal, but the Americans couldn’t cope with the pronunciation, or the spelling, so I changed it to Marshal. So please call me Eddie like everybody does.

Faye went over and clinked her glass against Miss Beech’s, then Eddie’s, and took a mouthful. She watched as Miss Beech sipped her drink pensively before looking up. ‘Here’s something you can put in the book, Faye. They say alcohol slows the activity of the brain, but every time I drink champagne my mind’s flooded with memories of so, so many good times.’ She stared down into the wine glass. ‘To be quite honest, I’ve never really liked the stuff that much. Those bubbles always seem to go up my nose, but it’s what it represents, I suppose.’

‘Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to drink enough champagne in my life to develop a special taste for it, but this is gorgeous. By the way, talking of wine, thank you so much for all the food and drink you’ve put in the flat. The fridge is absolutely packed.’ As Miss Beech made a dismissive gesture with her hand, Faye took another mouthful of champagne. It really was excellent. She pulled up an ornate wooden stool and sat down to one side of Miss Beech, directly in front of the fireplace. ‘So, go on then, what’s running through your mind at the moment? What memories has this sip of champagne awakened?’

There was a moment’s silence while Miss Beech reflected on the question and then, to Faye’s surprise, she started giggling like a schoolgirl once more. ‘To be totally honest, Faye, it reminds me of the night I tipped a bucket full of ice into my leading man’s lap in an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills.’

Faye gasped, feeling a fit of the giggles rising up inside her as well. ‘You did what?’

She watched as Miss Beech dissolved into laughter, her whole face flushed with pleasure as the memory returned. ‘It was at the end of a day’s filming of Faded Heart.’ Faye knew this to be one of Miss Beech’s best-known films. ‘All that day we’d been riding around on horses. As I recall, I was trying to show him how the stunt boss had been teaching me to jump onto a moving horse.’ She looked up. ‘We did a lot of our own stunts in those days, not like today – and as I leapt to my feet and stretched out one leg to demonstrate, my foot hit the bucket and … splash!’

Faye was laughing by now. ‘Who was the leading man?’

‘Charlton Heston.’

‘Wow, and what was his reaction? Was he angry?’

Miss Beech shook her head. ‘Not at all. He laughed his head off. Said it cooled him down. He was a good, kind man, was Chuck. Not like some others I could mention.’

‘When we get down to writing, I do so hope you’ll mention the baddies as well as the goodies. It would be good to make this a real warts and all story.’

‘Oh, I can give you warts, all right.’ Faye was then amazed to hear Miss Beech reel off three or four examples of the most appalling behaviour by some of the best-known names in Hollywood. Faye listened attentively, knowing that anecdotes like these would be box-office gold if the book ever got as far as publication. She resolved to contact Miss Beech’s lawyer just to be on the safe side, so as to know just how far she could go at naming names in a book like this. Even though it was going to have Miss Beech’s name on the cover, it presumably wouldn’t emerge until after the old lady’s death and that left just Faye. And she had no desire to find herself in the sights of a bunch of American lawyers, baying for blood.