Read Online A French Wedding by Hannah Tunnicliffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hannah Tunnicliffe
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had been chewed right down.
âDid you want ââ Juliette starts to ask.
âI get car sick,â the girl explains, quickly. âIâm not hungry.â
âNo problem,â Juliette says. She eats more of her fish and balances her plate on her knees to tear the bread in half and mop up the sweet, briny juices. She allows a long silence.
âYouâre Juliette,â the girl says, finally filling it in.
Juliette smiles and nods.
âIâm Sophie.â
âNina and Larsâs daughter.â
âYeah.â
Sophie stares down at her lap. Juliette begins preparing the dessert in her head. She has homemade apple sorbet ready in the freezer but perhaps she could douse it in Lambic, cider brandy. She is saving Maxâs favourite, kouign-amann , for Saturday, his birthday night, when they are all together to celebrate. Max hadnât wanted a party or fuss, but Juliette planned to treat him with favourite dishes all the same. âWhatever they say, Juliette, forty is not the new thirty,â Max had informed her with a grimace. Juliette didnât tell him sheâd already celebrated hers.
Despite Maxâs job, his familiarity with the press, he is quite private. He has few close friends, no family Juliette has ever met, and a tendency to seek out desolate places. He told her heâd found this cottage after a photo shoot in the village, by the marina. When the shoot was over heâd just started to wander. And kept wandering, at times along the cliffs and foreshore. Juliette imagined him with his head full of thoughts and music, dark jacket on and cigarette between his fingers, assessing the sea and beaches she knew so well. It must have taken a couple of hours travelling along the coast to reach this part of Douarnenez, to find the old, stone cottage amongst the overgrown grounds. That impressed Juliette.
The places that sold quickly and appealed to out-of-towners were in the village, not out here like this cottage. They were the small places like her parentsâ home. In town, sandwiched between others, nestled in the heart of Douarnenez. Her parents told her they paid too much for it back in the late sixties, but it was worth ten times that price now. Juliette had begun working for Max when he was just finishing the renovation, directing it himself, right down to the inset brass door handles, all-white bed linen and jute floor rugs. The kitchen, apart from the addition of commercial appliances, was relatively untouched and missing kitchenware and crockery.
âYou do it,â Max had urged her, which Juliette understood to be a compliment. Max had eaten at Delphine ; he trusted her. âChoose whatever you like and use this for the bills.â He had flicked her a silver-coloured credit card.
A flash of light reflects off something in Sophieâs lap and Sophie tips her head up quickly.
âI â¦â she mumbles. Juliette peers over. Sophieâs lap is full of empty oyster shells, some of them broken.
âDo you mind if I have â¦?â Sophie asks.
âNo. I mean, of course. I donât mind,â Juliette replies. She studies Sophieâs face. The teenagerâs cheeks are pink and her eyes are glazed. A tired and hungry face, Juliette knows it well.
âDid you want to try some oysters?â she asks carefully.
âOh. No. I donât eat them,â Sophie says, and then pauses. âIâm collecting the shells. Itâs a ⦠hobby ⦠or I donât know ⦠something, of mine.â
Juliette places her empty plate down beside her. She moves closer in order to see. Sophie turns her body ever so slightly towards Juliette, presenting the collection of shells in her lap. Juliette notices other things then. A broken eggshell, a wild birdâs, not a henâs, it is tiny and pale green and has spots the colour of coffee grinds. Two feathers. Then something shining â a bent fork.
âI
âDid you want ââ Juliette starts to ask.
âI get car sick,â the girl explains, quickly. âIâm not hungry.â
âNo problem,â Juliette says. She eats more of her fish and balances her plate on her knees to tear the bread in half and mop up the sweet, briny juices. She allows a long silence.
âYouâre Juliette,â the girl says, finally filling it in.
Juliette smiles and nods.
âIâm Sophie.â
âNina and Larsâs daughter.â
âYeah.â
Sophie stares down at her lap. Juliette begins preparing the dessert in her head. She has homemade apple sorbet ready in the freezer but perhaps she could douse it in Lambic, cider brandy. She is saving Maxâs favourite, kouign-amann , for Saturday, his birthday night, when they are all together to celebrate. Max hadnât wanted a party or fuss, but Juliette planned to treat him with favourite dishes all the same. âWhatever they say, Juliette, forty is not the new thirty,â Max had informed her with a grimace. Juliette didnât tell him sheâd already celebrated hers.
Despite Maxâs job, his familiarity with the press, he is quite private. He has few close friends, no family Juliette has ever met, and a tendency to seek out desolate places. He told her heâd found this cottage after a photo shoot in the village, by the marina. When the shoot was over heâd just started to wander. And kept wandering, at times along the cliffs and foreshore. Juliette imagined him with his head full of thoughts and music, dark jacket on and cigarette between his fingers, assessing the sea and beaches she knew so well. It must have taken a couple of hours travelling along the coast to reach this part of Douarnenez, to find the old, stone cottage amongst the overgrown grounds. That impressed Juliette.
The places that sold quickly and appealed to out-of-towners were in the village, not out here like this cottage. They were the small places like her parentsâ home. In town, sandwiched between others, nestled in the heart of Douarnenez. Her parents told her they paid too much for it back in the late sixties, but it was worth ten times that price now. Juliette had begun working for Max when he was just finishing the renovation, directing it himself, right down to the inset brass door handles, all-white bed linen and jute floor rugs. The kitchen, apart from the addition of commercial appliances, was relatively untouched and missing kitchenware and crockery.
âYou do it,â Max had urged her, which Juliette understood to be a compliment. Max had eaten at Delphine ; he trusted her. âChoose whatever you like and use this for the bills.â He had flicked her a silver-coloured credit card.
A flash of light reflects off something in Sophieâs lap and Sophie tips her head up quickly.
âI â¦â she mumbles. Juliette peers over. Sophieâs lap is full of empty oyster shells, some of them broken.
âDo you mind if I have â¦?â Sophie asks.
âNo. I mean, of course. I donât mind,â Juliette replies. She studies Sophieâs face. The teenagerâs cheeks are pink and her eyes are glazed. A tired and hungry face, Juliette knows it well.
âDid you want to try some oysters?â she asks carefully.
âOh. No. I donât eat them,â Sophie says, and then pauses. âIâm collecting the shells. Itâs a ⦠hobby ⦠or I donât know ⦠something, of mine.â
Juliette places her empty plate down beside her. She moves closer in order to see. Sophie turns her body ever so slightly towards Juliette, presenting the collection of shells in her lap. Juliette notices other things then. A broken eggshell, a wild birdâs, not a henâs, it is tiny and pale green and has spots the colour of coffee grinds. Two feathers. Then something shining â a bent fork.
âI
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