Read Online The French for Always by Fiona Valpy - Free Book Online

the business—after all, he was the one with event management experience, and he was also the majority shareholder, having had the inheritance from his father to invest. But now, instead of seeing herself as one half of an engaged couple, she was suddenly a complete entity in her own right again. It was as though she’d been holding her breath since their engagement, and suddenly found she could breathe freely once more.
    She stood gazing out at the view and drank deep the warm air, faintly perfumed with dust and the scent of lavender. A pair of pale-blue butterflies danced about her head, dizzy with the joyful abundance of summer, intoxicated by the garden she’d planted for them on this magical hilltop.
    As she watched, a white van making its way along the road in the valley below the château turned in at the gate, bumping up the drive. It couldn’t be the laundry van, which called on Tuesdays to pick up the weekend’s sheets and towels and to drop off fresh ones for the changeover. Nor was it Claude, the gardener. Perhaps it was someone from the catering company who’d left something behind. Taking her time, reluctant to break the spell of those few perfect moments, Sara came across the courtyard to find Thomas Cortini waiting for her.
    ‘Thomas! What a fantastic job you did on Saturday night. The guests loved the party; lots of them said how great the music was. You’re a natural!’
    ‘ Ah bon, I’m pleased that you’re pleased, Boss. You’ve got a great set-up here. I hadn’t realised before how much work you and Gavin have done on the old château. It’s good to see it restored to its former glory.’
    ‘Thank you. That means a lot, coming from someone who’s lived here all his life.’
    ‘Anyway, Karen tells me that Monday is a day off here. And as I was passing your door on the way back from dropping my father at the airport, I thought I’d call in and see if you’d like to come for lunch. I’ve brought a picnic.’
    ‘Oh, that’s kind of you, Thomas, but I really should be getting on with a few phone calls about arrangements for the next wedding.’ Sara’s default response was a protective one. (And then it occurred to her to wonder why he and Karen had been discussing when her day off was... Sara suspected a certain Australian matchmaker just might be at work here.).
    Thomas, not about to take ‘no’ for an answer, tapped his watch. ‘But, Sara, c’est midi . Everywhere will be closed—if they were even open in the first place on a Monday in August! And if I might remind you,’ he continued, mock officious, ‘under the regulations governing the thirty-five-hour working week here in France, employees are obliged to down tools for two hours and go and sit by the river and eat bread and pâté. It’s also compulsory to drink a glass of chilled wine, in order to support your local vigneron . Your phoning can wait until later, when people will have returned to their desks in a very good humour thanks to their long and reviving lunch break.’
    She laughed and shook her head. ‘Well, if you put it like that...’
    ‘And if you do not comply, I may have to report you to the union for being in contravention of the rules.’ Thomas clinched the deal.
    ‘What did you say your day job was again? Something about sales and marketing? You’re very good! Give me two seconds to go and grab my sunglasses.’
    In the cottage, Sara ran a comb through her fine, dark hair and swept a little colourless lip gloss over her lips. Purely to stop them getting too dry in the heat, of course, certainly not with any other possible ulterior motive.
    ‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she climbed into the van.
    ‘Not far at all,’ replied Thomas.
    True to his word, he pulled in at the gates of an old mill, which sat on the riverbank less than a kilometre from the château. ‘This is my sister-in-law’s parents’ house,’ he explained. ‘I’m keeping an eye on it while they’re away at the Bassin