The Matchmaker of Perigord by Julia Stuart

Author:Julia Stuart
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780061877575
Publisher: HarperCollins

Two days later, Émilie Fraisse sat on the curiously unworn steps of the Romanesque church in Amour-sur-Belle fiddling with a lizard baked like a biscuit in the sun that she had picked up from the ground. The châtelaine had no idea whom she was waiting for. She had received a phone call from Guillaume Ladoucette, who sounded in a particularly gleeful mood, telling her that he had found her the most perfect match. The gentleman was an outstanding communicator, with a particular interest in trees, who had suggested that they go to the floralies at Saint-Jean-de-Côle. The matchmaker then explained that the annual flower festival had been delayed by a couple of weeks while the village recovered from the scandal caused by its mayor getting caught with his fingers in another woman’s Venus flytrap.

While Émilie Fraisse failed to understand the matchmaker’s euphemism, of which he had initially been proud but later deeply regretted, she happily accepted the suggestion, immediately remembering the village as a rival to Brantôme on account of its beauty. As soon as she put down the phone, she abandoned the heavy, dusty tapestry she had been repairing and raced up the stone spiral staircase, her bare feet slapping on the lamentable repairs. Opening her wardrobe, she scanned the row of antique dresses, hanging like captured butterflies, which she had found in the leather chest studded with brass. But suddenly she was no longer certain of their appeal. She then heaved open the gentleman’s chest under the window, but when she tried them on, she feared that the doublets and hose would be too hot in such weather. Returning to the wardrobe, she searched again through the silk and taffeta and came across a cream organza gown which she had never worn. And when she tried it on, to her surprise it fitted. She hurried back downstairs, the hem of the dress rippling down the lamentable repairs, found the kitchen scissors and hacked off the bottom third, as well as the arms that had been ravaged by moths. She then ran upstairs again, looked into the mirror dappled by age, put up her hair and secured it with a jewelled pin from the tortoiseshell box on the dressing table. Before leaving, she rubbed the llama’s tailbone for good luck and crunched her way across the pigeon droppings on the drawbridge.

As she waited on the church steps, the châtelaine noticed Madame Ladoucette approaching on the other side of the street. Émilie Fraisse had not seen her since her return. But the old woman failed to hear her greeting and the châtelaine watched her slow crane-legged procession, wondering what the red splat marks were on the back of her green dress, and why she was being followed by a shuffling crowd of pigeons, which had grown morbidly obese since forgetting how to fly.

Soon after Madame Ladoucette came Fabrice Ribou sporting an unfathomable haircut, and for a moment Émilie Fraisse thought that it was he she was waiting for. But the bar owner simply returned her greeting, cursed the heat and continued on his way.

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