Pictures in Provence by Lorna McKenzie

Author:Lorna McKenzie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: retro;throwback;virginal heroine;secret past;classical music;musician;France;Paris;gothic
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2014-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

He was right. There were staff to deal with everything: to open doors, bring in luggage, show Joanna to her room, and down again to the library, for a night-cap with Gilles.

Françoise, a bright-eyed girl of about her own age, with a strong Provençal accent, had been assigned to look after her, and was waiting in her room, where she had already put away Joanna’s clothes, to help her prepare for bed.

The room was large, with pale apricot walls, and stucco work picked out in gilt. A pale Aubusson carpet covered the floor, and was delightfully soft underfoot. Everything, from light-fittings to furniture was solid, yet exquisitely ornate.

“I’ve run you a bath, mademoiselle,” said Françoise. “Monsieur Ledoux explained about your arm. I shall help you with everything.”

“Thank you, Françoise.”

She had already discovered the en suite bathroom next door, with gold taps on a large, old-fashioned bath that stood on clawed feet in the centre of the room.

As she lay in the huge bed a little later, she reflected on this sudden change in her life-style: first she had expected to go off to America with Gerry and the others, to give a concert tour; then, after her accident, she had resigned herself to spending months at home in Berkshire, recuperating; now, here she was, in the home of the man she loved, being cosseted and thoroughly spoilt, and with a tailor-made job to boot. With a happy little sigh she snuggled into the pillows and went to sleep.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

Joanna was not fast asleep, just lazily dozing, but she woke up properly as the curtains swished open, revealing the soft light of day.

“Bonjour, Françoise.”

“I thought you might like breakfast on the balcony,” Françoise told her cheerfully, opening the French windows and depositing a tray on the table outside.

“Wonderful!”

How good the food tasted under the gentle Provençal sky: the juicy nectarines, the aromatic coffee, the black cherry jam she spooned on to her croissant. The view from her balcony was superb: hills and valleys bathed in a misty haze that would later clear to reveal the view in all its perfection.

Françoise was bustling unobtrusively about the room, tidying the bed, putting the bathroom to rights and setting out clothes for the day. She had put out a crisp, cream linen suit and a matching silk vest top.

“You are to meet the staff this morning,” she explained to Joanna when she re-entered the room. “I think the suit is good, yes?”

“Perfect,” Joanna agreed, recognizing that Françoise was more au fait with what was required than she herself.

“Monsieur Ledoux will be waiting in the library at ten o’clock.”

She found him there looking coolly elegant in a sand-coloured suit with a paler shirt that emphasized his dark colouring. He stood up, his eyes sweeping her from the neat chignon Françoise had arranged to the strippy sandals on her feet, missing nothing.

“How’s the wrist?” he enquired.

“It doesn’t hurt at all this morning. It’s definitely on the mend, and Françoise won’t let me do a thing.”

He nodded approvingly.

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