‘Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything!’ Lily said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You can never have too much champagne,’ Sam said, with a wink, handing her one of the bottles. ‘Let’s crack one open, shall we? Just to make sure it’s not corked.’
‘That sounds very sensible,’ nodded Lily, with mock seriousness. ‘Just to protect the guests, of course.’
‘Of course!’
‘Where’s Gabriel?’ she asked. ‘Did he decide not to come after all?’
‘Apparently he’ll be along later,’ Sam said with an eye roll. ‘He couldn’t bear the idea of infringing on our champagne and gossip time.’
‘Sensible man,’ Lily said, as they walked through to the kitchen.
‘Wow, it’s looking great!’ Sam said approvingly.
‘Thank you. I mean, it’s scrubbed up OK, right?’ Lily said, quite proud of the way everything was looking.
‘It looks amazing,’ Sam said. ‘There’s just one thing missing…’
‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t seem to have a glass of champers in my hand.’
Before she could rectify this, Chloé arrived, an enormous Tupperware container in her hands. She was wearing a navy dress, cinched in at the waist, that fell around her calves in delicate folds and looked – as always – absolutely perfect. ‘Les quiches,’ she said, before Lily could say anything. ‘I am sorry, I only make three.’
‘Wow, thank you,’ said Lily, smiling as she took the plastic box. ‘It’s really kind. And you look lovely.’
‘Ah, but so do you!’ Chloé said, looking at Lily’s strappy dress approvingly.
In the kitchen, she introduced Chloé to Sam. ‘Ah, I ’ave seen you at the lake, non?’ Chloé said.
‘Yes, probably. And I think my aunt stayed with you one year when we were renovating?’ Sam replied.
Formalities over, they finally popped the champagne cork and sat out on the terrace watching the children run amok in the enormous space. ‘So, is your friend, Emily, still coming?’ Sam asked.
‘Ah, Emily is coming?’ Chloé said. ‘She is a good friend to come so far.’
‘Yes, yes, she is,’ said Lily. ‘She should be here at three – her plane’s in about one,’ She looked at her watch. ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of her today at all.’
‘Ah, but she is travelling! It is not easy.’
‘She’s probably switched flight mode on.’
‘Yes.’ Lily nodded, still a bit perplexed that none of her messages had been answered. Worse, she still hadn’t been able to get hold of Ben and although there was probably no need to worry, she felt a frisson of anxiety in her chest whenever she thought about it. She took a gulp of champagne and felt it fizz coldly down her throat.
‘Steady on,’ Sam said. ‘You’ll be legless by the time anyone else arrives.’
‘Ah, just calming my nerves,’ Lily said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll slow down.’
‘Ah, you don’t need to be nervous,’ said Sam, brushing her arm, ‘it’s going to be grand.’
‘Thanks.’ Lily smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to explain to Sam that she was also worried about Ben. Not least because she might well start crying and be streaked with mascara by the time the guests arrived. She was just feeling emotional because of the house-warming and the rite of passage it felt like. It felt like one of those occasions where everyone important in your life should be there, making the ones who aren’t loom large in your mind.
‘Bonjour!’ said a voice behind them, and they both jumped, Sam giving a little squeak and spilling a slosh of champagne on her front.
‘Frédérique!’ Lily said, turning. ‘You scared us.’
‘I am so sorry, Mesdames,’ he said, seriously. ‘But the door is open and I am carrying thees.’ His arms were wrapped around an enormous speaker, from which a microphone dangled on a wire. ‘My karaoke machine, uh?’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Lily said, hoping she wouldn’t come to regret her decision to let him bring it. ‘Let’s put it in the living room for now.’
‘The living room?’
‘Le salon.’
‘OK, bon.’ He disappeared back into the house and Lily got up to follow him.
‘You actually let him bring a karaoke machine?’ Sam said quietly, grinning.
‘I know,’ Lily said. ‘But it could be fun.’
‘Perhaps it’s finally time for that serenade?’
‘Don’t encourage him!’
Lily entered the kitchen and walked through to the living room where Frédérique was in the process of plugging the speaker into the wall. ‘Let’s leave it for now,’ she said. ‘We can set it up later, when people are here?’
‘As you want, mon coeur,’ he said, turning and smiling dazzlingly at her. He took her in his arms and planted a soft kiss on her lips, leaving them tingling as always. She leaned in for another, pressing her body against his. What was it about this man?
‘Ah, I ’ave missed you, non?’ Frédérique said as they moved apart. ‘I ’av been thinking about what you said – about how you need to be old-fashion… how you want to be slow. But I miss you.’
’I missed you, too,’ she said.
There was a knock at the door and she jumped slightly out of his arms as if she were a character in a soap opera caught in a clinch with someone else’s husband. ‘I’d better get that,’ she said, rushing to the door.
‘’ello love!’ Dawn and Clive stood there, clutching a bottle of red.
‘Oh hello!’ she said, exchanging slightly awkward kisses with the couple before standing back to let them into the hall. ‘If you want to go through, and out the back, there are drinks and nibbles waiting.’
‘Thanks, love.’
More people began to arrive, and after a while she drifted through to the back, leaving the front door open for any latecomers.
It was a good turnout. Claude and his wife – who was stunningly beautiful, with long black hair caught up in a casual chignon – a few expats she recognised from the party, as well as Dawn and Clive; Chloé, Chris the translator and his wife, who was just as fluent in French as her husband and was soon nattering away to Chloé with such a flawless accent that Lily resolved to book up some lessons as soon as the party was over. All in all, there were nearly twenty people there; most of whom she knew and many of whom had helped her in some way.
She flitted from group to group, making sure wine was topped up, nobody was left out, and felt a little like a bride at a small wedding – surrounded by people who wished her well, who had already become part of her life, or might well be in her life moving forward.
She’d made up a party tunes playlist on her phone and streamed it through a speaker she’d brought out into the garden. Derek and Claudine danced, swinging each other around in a way that looked a bit precarious to Lily, but that didn’t seem to bother Sam a bit. Even Gabriel turned up – tall, but with a slightly awkward stoop. He was clearly a little uncomfortable, but greeted Lily warmly. ‘So this is the woman who steal my wife!’ he joked. ‘It is nice to meet you at last, Lily!’
An hour in, and the only fly in the champagne was the fact that Emily still hadn’t appeared. But she’d checked the flight times from Limoges and seen there’d been a half hour delay. Her friend would arrive soon, she reassured herself. And probably, any minute, she’d get a call telling her to open some red wine in readiness. It would be fine.
Frédérique was behaving himself, almost too well, and had spent some time speaking to Claude, then Chloé, periodically appearing at her side to make sure she was happy and didn’t need anything. It was almost too good to be true.
And, of course, the moment she had this thought, the music suddenly went off.
People glanced around vaguely, not particularly bothered, and went on with their conversations as Lily walked to her phone to check it hadn’t drained its battery. But before she could reach it, she heard a noise that made her stiffen.
‘Madame Buttercup!’ it boomed. ‘Mesdames et Messieurs, ladees et gentlemens, may I ’ave your attention, please!’ All heads turned in the direction of the terrace, where Frédérique stood, holding a microphone. His speaker had been propped in the living room window and was booming his words out across the garden, and probably to everyone on the beach and beyond.
Lily shook her head and tried to catch his eye. Sam had been right he was going to serenade her! But surely Frédérique realised that it wasn’t something she wanted him to do – particularly here?
She braced herself for some gentle French crooning, a little embarrassment that she could laugh off. And hoped now that Emily wouldn’t turn up – at least for the five or so minutes it would take her boyfriend to lay down a love song.
Only Frédérique didn’t start singing.
‘Lily, mon coeur, come ’ere,’ he said, holding his hand out and flashing his brilliant smile. She walked forward as if on autopilot and he took her hand.