She falls in alongside me as we continue on.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m good, and you?’
Her smile is warm and engaging, and I see that she’s rather gingerly carrying a little box from the boulangerie in her hand.
‘Wonderful pastries.’ I smile at her, nodding at her parcel.
‘Oh, the best!’
‘I didn’t know you lived so close to the palace,’ I add.
She gives me a rueful look. ‘I don’t. But I know a young man who does.’
I kick myself mentally for the offhand remark, but she simply grins back at me.
‘Another day of filming. How is it going?’
‘Very well, thank you. There are moments when it all makes me catch my breath. I’ve dreamt of being here for such a long time.’
She turns to look directly at me as we stop for a moment to look both ways before crossing the busy road in front of us.
‘I can tell. When there is a personal connection it has even more meaning,’ she enthuses.
‘You knew someone who worked here in the past, too?’ I hazard a guess but can see that I’m right.
She nods. ‘My first boyfriend, several years ago. We met at a seminar and he invited me for a visit. Versailles grabbed my heart on that trip, and I knew that someday I would end up making my way back. However, it wasn’t to be with him, and he no longer works here.’ She laughs out loud and I give her a smile. ‘Life moves on and now I’m seeing someone who lives close by.’
Interesting. I did wonder about a possible relationship between Solange and Ronan, but it seems I was wrong about that.
‘Do you have a partner back in the UK?’ she enquires matter-of-factly.
‘Um… no. I’m married to my work.’ Why did I say that? It sounds lame. ‘Guys come and go, but I haven’t found anyone I consider a keeper yet.’
‘Ah, that’s sad, but we have to live in hope. I’m hopeful at the moment and I think he is, too. You’re staying in the little courtyard behind the boulangerie. I was in the shop when I spotted you walking past.’
‘Yes. It’s a perfect little place to stay and an easy stroll away.’
‘And you have met Renée,’ she replies.
I look at her in surprise. ‘Yes.’
‘She is my boyfriend’s grandmother.’
Well, that’s unexpected. ‘A lovely lady, I just wish my French was better. But we manage to chat a little,’ I reflect.
‘And I want to thank you; Philippe is a plumber and replaced her tap last night when we went to see her after work. As soon as she mentioned your name, I made the connection. She’s very independent, but she isn’t getting any younger, I’m afraid. I call in on her from time to time when Philippe is away working. To be honest, if number four comes on the market, he has it in his head to buy it and I think it’s a wonderful idea.’
‘It must be hard being away from your family.’
‘It is,’ she admits as we walk through the outer gates of the palace and she slows, indicating that she’s heading into the ticket office. ‘My father and I haven’t spoken since I left. But my life is based here now and he must learn to make his peace with that if he truly wants me to be happy and not just be a dutiful daughter, pining away for dreams that remain unfulfilled.’
‘Well, if you’re ever in need of a chat, you know where I live.’
She looks at me intently. ‘Thank you, Lexie, that is most kind. I will remember that.’
As we part, I walk away thinking that following one’s dream isn’t always easy. How can anyone be sure that the choices they make will turn out to be the right ones? Or how different life would have been if they’d gone in another direction? I suppose it’s about listening to what your gut instincts tell you and making the best of it, whatever happens.
I’ve lost my pride a few times over the years and it does shake your confidence, but the lessons I learnt were invaluable. Hardest of all though is when a family member turns on you – it’s a hurt that never goes away.
‘Three… two… one!’
My eyes shift from Cameron to face the camera, my expression easing into what I trust is an engaging and welcoming smile.
‘Louis XIV ruled France for seventy-two years and the palace and gardens are a testament to his belief in the absolute power of monarchy. His aim in creating a fitting environment for his divine presence was to showcase the power and wealth of his nation.’ I half turn as Elliot pans around, then zooms in to take a close-up of the magnificent spectacle below us.
‘We’re standing on a balustraded terrace in the South Parterre, overlooking the magnificent Orangery. Below us, reached by a flight of stone steps flanked by statues of sphinxes with bronze Cupids astride them, the South Parterre is sheltered from the prevailing cold winds.’
I step aside now, to allow Elliot unrestricted access as he continues to zoom in on the extraordinary detail as I resume my narrative.
‘The gardens take the word “manicured” to a whole new level. Separated by the gravel pathways are intricate swirls of lush-looking grass set in a pattern, so meticulously trimmed that the attention to detail is astounding. It really is akin to looking at the finest example that ever came from an embroidery needle; almost too perfect to be real. Each of the six swirling patterns are edged with low-level hedging, the lines of which are crisp and even.
‘In the centre of the first block of four of these areas is a circular pond. On one side it’s bordered by the immense edifice of the Orangery itself. To my left, in the distance is the Lake of the Swiss Guards.’
It’s captivating. My imagination conjures up hazy images of ladies in elaborate wigs and beautiful gowns, escorted by dashing young men. A time when a stroll wasn’t simply about getting a little exercise; there was intrigue, romantic liaisons, plotting, social climbing and the necessity to make oneself visible. It was a very different world here for the courtiers and, while privileged, it came with what was often quite an onerous and restrictive set of rules.
Elliot brings the camera back around to face me.
‘In creating a microcosm, the Orangery parterre covers three hectares in total. Many of the twelve hundred planters are kept inside the building during the winter months.
‘Today some of the palms, citrus and pomegranate trees are still inside the Orangery, protected from the early-morning and late-night chill. Traditionally, the placement of the containers on the wide, gravelled pathways is regimented. Long straight lines of trees and shrubs, interspersed with a host of specimen topiary for which Versailles is renowned. Spaced and arranged so meticulously that it takes hours to reconstruct when all of the containers are brought back out after their spell indoors.’
I half turn, indicating for Elliot to zoom in.
‘The circular pond behind me breaks up the straight lines beautifully, cleverly focusing the eye and lending yet another dimension. Here the containers add a second concentric circle, the height of which reflects the outline of the trees upon the watery surface. It is, most certainly, a garden fit for a king.’
I draw to a close. Elliot gives me a thumbs up, lowering the camera and kneeling down to make a few adjustments.