‘Here you go, Maisie. Let’s get you out of that school uniform and make you more comfortable. Say goodbye to Auntie Lexie.’
I can imagine the doleful look on that angelic little face.
‘I miss you,’ Maisie croaks into the phone.
‘Miss you, too, darling girl. Don’t forget to wear that smile and I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.’
Shellie’s voice looms up again. ‘Let’s watch a little TV, then you can have a nice, relaxing bubble bath. What do you say?’
Maisie doesn’t respond.
‘I’ll call you later when I’m home, I promise, and we can have a long chat.’
‘You’re coming home?’ Maisie’s voice sounds hopeful.
‘Oh, no, I meant my home here in France. But I have lots to tell you, all about how they take little cuttings to make new plants. We could have a go at that when I get back.’
‘Where are you now?’ Maisie asks.
‘I’m having a picnic with a friend.’ I screw up my face, thinking that will pique Shellie’s interest and I daren’t look in Ronan’s direction.
‘I wish I was there, too,’ Maisie replies.
‘One day maybe we can all come here together for a little holiday. Now, get that onesie on and snuggle up. Love you!’
I jump up, slipping the phone into my bag, and Ronan and I scoop up the edges of the blanket, shaking off the crumbs and folding it into four.
‘Sounds like someone’s having a tough time. You’re missed,’ he comments.
‘Yes. My niece Maisie is such a blessing, but it’s tough not seeing her as she’s such a big part of my life.’
‘Sounds like she’s in need of her auntie right now.’ He grins. ‘It must be nice having close family around you, though. Knowing that you make a difference to their lives.’
‘I’m lucky,’ I admit, trying not to sound homesick. ‘But, getting back to business, I’ll make sure you’re paid promptly and I want you to know how grateful I am for what you’re doing to help out.’
He looks a little embarrassed, chewing his lip before turning away to put the blanket in the boot of the car and slamming it shut.
‘I wasn’t, I mean, when I said about affording my lifestyle here it wasn’t a hint. Please don’t think that. I’m not desperate for money, but I am at that point where if I can’t get any further with the third book that I’m working on then I have to make some tough decisions. I’m more than happy to help out until Elliot gets back, because chances are this is the line of work I’ll be looking to get back into. So, it’s good practice for me because it’s either that or taking a job teaching French to foreign businessmen, by the look of it.’
I’m rather shocked he’s that close to giving up on the final book in the series. That would be such a shame.
‘I found one of my grandma’s notebooks that has a little more information in it that might be of interest to you.’
That seems to get his attention.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I tried to put them in some sort of chronological order, and I glanced over the first page of each one. Do you have time to head back with me and take a quick look?’
‘You bet,’ he says, sounding very keen indeed. ‘But how about we take a little detour, first?’
16
Twists and Turns
Standing on the pavement outside the florist’s shop, we tip our heads back and stare up at the tiny first-floor balcony. Whoever lives there now certainly loves their plants. The balcony is a riot of spring colour with baskets and tubs full of red and yellow tulips.
‘Stay here,’ Ronan says, looking at me rather pointedly. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
I continue to gaze upwards, ignoring the flow of people weaving around me. It’s the address in the back of Grandma’s notebook. Amazingly, it’s less than a five minute walk away from where I’m staying. When I head up to the palace I’m literally following in her footsteps, and the thought of it sends a little quiver of excitement coursing through me. Taking a half-step backwards, I inadvertently bump into a pedestrian. Mumbling an apology in my best French accent, the man gives a courteous reply in return in English. I guess my accent isn’t quite as liltingly French as I’d hoped.
The white and green awning over the shopfront adds to what is a very colourful picture. An abundance of shades of green, pink, purple, yellow, white, pale blue… and that smell. There is a heady mixture of perfumes and earthy notes from the woody bark of cut stems, mingling rather tantalisingly in the tightly packed space. Pots of fragrant spring bulbs, everything from grape hyacinths to crocuses, and buckets full of freesias and irises extend out, taking up half of the pavement. It’s the perfect framing for a magnificent window display, which is burgeoning with a myriad of colours and textures.
While I love the more formal displays around the palace, this is a riotous, tumultuous display that delights the eye as it searches out hidden treasures. A trailing ivy hangs down over some clipped bay standards in elegant pots, which are covered in the start of the new season’s growth. A bucket full of vibrant yellow daffodils partly obscures a common Buxus, shaped into a ball.
I’m so caught up with my thoughts that I don’t notice that Ronan has returned, until a bunch of sweet-smelling narcissi is thrust under my nose.
‘These are for you,’ he says with a flourish. ‘And I have a surprise. Come this way.’
He steps back inside the shop and I follow a pace or two behind him. He introduces me to the woman behind the counter, who gives me a big smile. I’m surprised to discover she isn’t French, at all, but German, and she indicates for us to weave behind the point of sale and out through a door to the rear.
It’s a large room with several tables, where they assemble the bouquets and prepare the flowers for display. An older Frenchwoman greets us, and Ronan enters into conversation with her. She pulls a bunch of keys from her pocket and leads us out through the exit and up a metal staircase. Inserting the key and swinging open the door, she indicates for us to go inside.
‘Madame says before her family took this over the flat above the shop was rented out. Her granddaughter lives here now; she’s a student.’
I nod in the direction of Madame, giving her an acknowledging smile as we look around.
‘I told her that we believe your grandma stayed here back in the sixties.’
It’s a small flat consisting of three rooms. The kitchen-cum-sitting-room isn’t big enough to house a table, but instead there is a small breakfast bar. The bedroom is a reasonable size, although the bathroom is rather cosy. While the balcony to the front is bijou, the French doors leading out let in lots of light and it’s big enough for two small wrought-iron bistro chairs. But it’s the flower boxes and tubs that turn it into a garden.
I wonder if it was like this when Grandma was here.
‘Has it always been a florist’s shop, can you ask?’
Ronan turns to ask the question and I gaze around, taking in the rustic panelling above the small open fireplace. The walls are painted a very soft sandy yellow and are contrasted by the cornflower-blue covering on the sofa. It’s charming and has a delightfully cosy feel. There are no ghosts of the past here, despite its age.