The baby chose that moment to give an almighty kick, the outline of its foot visible through the front of her red dress.
‘Show me,’ Didi insisted, pressing the flat of her hand over the tiny protruding heel. ‘We can’t stand the suspense.’
Shay passed her the envelope and watched as she opened it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper, creased and yellowed with age. Unfolding it, Didi saw that it was headed notepaper from the Hotel Ciati, where they’d stayed all those years ago.
The short note written in black biro was in Shay’s unmistakable hand. Dated fifteen years ago to the day, it said: Tonight I built a snowman with the girl I’m going to marry.
She gazed at it in silence for several seconds.
‘I kept it in my diary,’ said Shay. ‘Even after we broke up, I couldn’t throw it away.’
Didi broke into a broad smile. ‘I always did like a man who knows what he wants. Especially when he wants me.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Shay wrapped his arms around her. ‘Always did. Always will.’
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Turn the page to read the opening chapters of IT STARTED WITH A SECRET . . .
Chapter 1
Lainey could hear the helicopter before it came into view over the tops of the trees, the powerful thud-thud-thud of the rotor blades quite thrilling out here in the depths of the French countryside. She wondered what it would be like to actually take a trip in a helicopter.
Blinking, she shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. ‘Here they are then, right on time.’
Bill, standing next to her on the ancient stone steps of the chateau, said, ‘Remember, anything they want, they get. Before they even know they want it.’
The faint tremor in her boss’s voice signalled just how vital it was that this stay was a success. Lainey passed him a tissue so he could mop his brow. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’ They’d worked so hard; every eventuality had been covered. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, apart from water pipes bursting, ceilings falling in or the electrics blowing up, but now wasn’t the time to think about things like that.
Together they followed the grey and silver helicopter’s trajectory as it drew nearer, descending from a cloudless cobalt-blue sky and aiming for the landing pad in the centre of the front lawn.
Bill puffed out a lungful of air and wiped his palms with an already damp and mangled tissue. ‘Everything has to be better than fine. It needs to be perfect.’
Lainey felt his pain. Behind them, Bill’s wife was shrilly calling out to everyone to gather on the steps in order to greet their all-important guests, Downton style. Bill and Biddy, in their late fifties, were lifelong Francophiles who had made the decision two years ago to take the plunge and exchange their immaculate semi in Hounslow for a dilapidated twelve-bedroom chateau in the Loire valley, with the aim of living the good life, enjoying the warmer weather and spectacular scenery, and socialising with like-minded expats and friendly locals alike. In order to finance the dream, the plan had been to host guests at the chateau, and hold weddings and special events there too.
In theory it had sounded like everyone’s idea of an idyllic existence, but it hadn’t turned out to be nearly as easy or as much fun as they’d envisaged. A centuries-old chateau was an always-ravenous money pit, and the small bequest left to them by Biddy’s parents had soon been swallowed up. The moment the fences were repaired, the drains collapsed. Once the leaking roof was fixed, fifty huge window frames needed replacing. No sooner were the chimneys unblocked than the ancient plumbing system disintegrated and the floorboards developed dry rot.
But Bill and Biddy had valiantly ploughed on, addressing the locals in loud mangled Franglais and getting frustrated when they were unable to make themselves understood. A year ago they’d taken on several members of staff, Lainey amongst them, and finally opened their expensively refurbished doors to paying guests.
Today’s were the most VIP visitors by far. Wyatt Hilstanton, a member of a hugely wealthy Boston banking dynasty, had relocated to London several years ago, and was arriving here with his British girlfriend, Penny, with the intention of proposing to her. It was to be the ultimate romantic surprise, and every last detail had been planned for weeks. The chateau was full of Hilstantons, who had arrived earlier and were currently hiding upstairs until it was time to celebrate.
Best of all, Wyatt’s father had booked the chateau for an entire week in August for the wedding itself.
As Lainey straightened her shoulders, footsteps sounded behind her and a hand came to rest lightly on her bottom. Turning, she glimpsed the flash of a grin before Anton raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? protestation of innocence. But his hand stayed where it was, and now it was her turn to smile. Maybe when they were off duty later tonight, they could celebrate Wyatt and Penny’s engagement in their own way.
The helicopter settled at the very centre of the landing pad. When the rotor blades had stopped turning, the guests alighted and made their way across the grass. ‘Just remember, everyone,’ Biddy murmured. ‘Be nice.’
‘Welcome, welcome to Chateau de Rafale!’ Bill pumped Wyatt’s hand in greeting and bowed, then shook Penny’s hand even more energetically and did a kind of manly curtsey. Biddy followed his lead, whilst the rest of them stood there and beamed until their cheeks ached.
Lainey studied Penny Carter, Wyatt’s girlfriend, and was relieved to see she wasn’t an obvious gold-digger type. Unless this was the nifty double bluff employed by all the most successful gold-diggers. But no, she was pretty certain that wasn’t the case here. While Wyatt was encased head to toe in Ralph Lauren, possibly a size too small for him, Penny was dressed in a white sleeveless cotton top, a plain knee-length pink skirt and sensible low-heeled espadrilles. Her hair and nails were short and unadorned. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face and a sweet smile.
‘I can’t believe how beautiful this place is,’ she marvelled. ‘I’ve never stayed in a chateau before!’
‘Everything’s ready for you,’ said Bill. ‘Let me show you upstairs to your rooms.’
‘My favourite stepson,’ Majella exclaimed with delight when she heard Seth’s voice on the phone. ‘Hello, darling! How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. I’ve just taken a look at the ad on the website.’ As always, Seth came straight to the point. ‘Did you write it?’
‘No.’ Majella was frantically searching the kitchen for her car keys. ‘I called the agency and explained what we needed, and they told me to leave it with them. Oh dear, is there a problem?’ She hadn’t spotted any errors, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
‘Right, let me read it out to you: “Live-in domestic couple, full-time permanent position, cleaning and organisation. Competitive salary. Cornwall.”’ Seth paused. ‘And that’s it.’
‘Oh. Is it wrong?’
‘It’s so . . . bland.’
Majella sighed. ‘I know. But that’s what those kinds of adverts are like.’