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Faye walked in past him, trying not to trip over the dog. As she did so, she noticed a grey ponytail hanging down Eddie Marshal’s neck – not something normally to be found on an elderly gentleman. On closer inspection, there turned out to be a still-handsome face underneath the lines and wrinkles, and a definite sparkle visible in his pale blue eyes. She smiled back at him and held out her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr Marshal, and did you say his name was Marlon?’
The man accepted her hand and shook it, before nodding towards the dog. ‘Named after the great man himself. Miss Beech knew Brando well and has always admired him. Now, if you’d like to come into the sitting room, I’ll go tell her you’ve arrived. She hasn’t been too well for the past couple of days and she has the nurse with her at the moment, so I’m afraid you might have to wait for a few minutes.’
He led Faye, closely accompanied by the dog, along the corridor, limping slightly as he walked. The walls were lined with paintings – not old masters, as one might have expected in a medieval environment such as this, but modern, abstract and impressionist paintings that, remarkably, sat very well in this antique setting.
At the end of the corridor they turned into a gorgeous high-ceilinged room, furnished with surprisingly modern leather sofas and armchairs. The ceiling was supported by hefty carved beams, the detail of the predominantly floral design picked out in red and gold against the dark wood. The floor was a stunning chequerboard of centuries-old pink and cream terracotta, worn down by the passage of countless feet. At the end of the room was a monumental stone fireplace, supported by sculpted pillars on either side. It was breathtaking.
‘Now, what can I get you?’ Mr Marshal was still standing by the door. ‘Over the years I’ve become pretty good at making cocktails. How about a Manhattan?’
Faye glanced at the time on an antique grandfather clock in one corner of the room. She had got up at the crack of dawn for her flight and it was still only just eleven o’clock, so although it might have helped to soothe her nerves, it was definitely too early for alcohol. She shook her head regretfully. ‘Thank you very much, but as I’m driving back to the airport again this afternoon, I’d better not.’
‘Of course. Well, a coffee maybe, or a cup of tea?’
‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.’
‘Any special type of tea?’
‘Just bog-standard builders’ tea please, with a drop of milk.’
‘“Bog-standard builders’ tea …”’ She saw him smile, savouring the expression. ‘I’m sure we can find some of that. I’ll ask Claudette to bring you a cup.’
As Mr Marshal limped out of the room, leaving Faye vaguely wondering who Claudette might be, the dog trotted over to the fireplace and collapsed onto an exquisite, probably Persian, rug, clearly exhausted by the effusive greeting he had given Faye. Doing her best to control her sense of apprehension, she went over to one of the windows and peeked out onto a lovely, manicured ornamental garden filled with roses. Beyond it was what looked like a swimming pool flanked by lofty palm trees.
What a place, she thought to herself, as she turned back and wandered around the room, stopping to study a mass of photographs in frames that almost filled one wall. There was a clear theme to all of them: Anabelle Beech with John Wayne; Anabelle Beech with JFK; Anabelle Beech at various star-studded ceremonies, grasping a variety of awards, among them one that was unmistakably an Oscar. Every single photograph included Anabelle Beech, never twice wearing the same dress, and in every one, she looked stunning. Faye realized that, if she decided to take the job, she would have a lot of material in these photos right here in front of her.
The letter from the lawyer had come at an opportune moment, barely a week ago. She had arrived back home that Friday night to the house in South London she shared with three other people, feeling physically and mentally drained after the week from hell. Some of the kids had been particularly bolshie, the red tape ever more complex and time-consuming, the parent-teacher evening a nightmare and Miss Dawes, the head teacher, even more objectionable than usual.
Although initially she had loved her job, since the arrival of the ineffectual and vindictive Miss Dawes, Faye had been feeling increasingly frustrated. The break-up with Didier had been the last straw and she had already started looking round for a change of scene, preferably away from the problems of the inner city. Sometimes she would lie in bed at night and dream of teaching a small class of polite, motivated, bright young pupils in a little old stone schoolhouse in the midst of the countryside. So far, that particular dream hadn’t come true.
The solicitor’s message had been brief and intriguing. Almost without preamble, his letter had informed Faye that she had been chosen to assist a famous celebrity in writing her autobiography. The job was likely to take in the region of six months and for her efforts, if she decided to take the job, she would receive the jaw-dropping sum of one hundred thousand pounds upon successful completion of the contract.
There was no explanation as to why she, of all people, had been chosen. All right, she taught English as well as French, and she had self-published her first book, a psychological thriller, a couple of months back. This was now slowly beginning to sell, but it was hardly a bestseller. To be offered such an inordinate amount of money to work with a celebrity was mind-blowing. How on earth had they even heard of her? It was baffling. Nevertheless, she had emailed straight back, indicating her interest, and asking to know more about the job and the celebrity in question.
‘Good morning, mademoiselle. Mr Marshal told me you were hungry. Are you happy to speak French?’ Faye raised her eyes to find a friendly looking lady at the door. She was short, fairly stout, and she was probably in her late fifties or early sixties. Faye nodded her head, noting that this lady’s French accent, like the reticent man with the Labrador she had seen back on the road, was definitely local. ‘My name’s Claudette and I’m the housekeeper. I brought you some tea and a few bits and pieces in case you were hungry.’ Faye’s eyes opened wide as she saw that Claudette was carrying a tray laden with food.
‘That’s ever so kind.’ She held out her hand. ‘My name’s Faye Carter.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ After putting the tray down on a side table, Claudette shook hands with her. ‘You speak good French. Do you live over here?’
Faye shook her head. ‘No, I live in London, but I teach French and English.’ She could have added that she had also had a French boyfriend until a few months ago, but decided to leave Didier, the unfaithful womanizer, out of it. In fact, if she had been able to wipe Didier right out of her life and her memory for ever, that would have been even better, but that, she knew, would never be possible.
Suppressing a sigh, she let her eyes flit down to the table and she could hardly believe the quantity of biscuits and cake Claudette had brought in. There was a movement by her feet and the Labrador appeared as if by magic and positioned himself close by, nostrils flaring. Claudette looked down at him. ‘Don’t worry about Marlon. He won’t steal food from the table, but I’d advise you not to give him any bits or he’ll never let you alone. Always hungry, he is …’
‘Merci, Claudette.’ Mr Marshal materialized at the door so silently that even the dog jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Faye, is there anything else you require?’
‘No, goodness, no. This is amazing. Thank you so much.’
He nodded and turned to Claudette, addressing her in fluent French. ‘Then we’re fine, thank you, Claudette.’
‘Just call if you need anything else. See you later, mademoiselle.’ Claudette gave Faye a brief smile and scuttled off.
Mr Marshal walked slowly across the room until he adopted a relaxed position with his back to the fireplace, leaning against the stone pillar at the side for support. ‘So, you and Miss Beech are going to write a book?’
Faye made her way over to the table and nodded. ‘That’s right – if she wants me.’ She risked a direct question. ‘I don’t suppose you know why she picked me, do you?’
There was a momentary hesitation before Mr Marshal shook his head. ‘She knows lots of people – important people. I imagine somebody must have recommended you.’
This shot even more uncertainty into Faye’s head. Anabelle Beech might well know lots of important people, but Faye was pretty sure she, herself, didn’t. But there was no chance to enquire further as a uniformed nurse appeared at the door, a bag in her hand.
‘Monsieur Marshal, I’ve finished. Miss Beech says for her visitor to go right up.’ Her eyes strayed to the table full of food and Faye saw Mr Marshal’s face crack into a hint of a smile.
‘Do come in and help yourself to a cup of tea or coffee, while I show Faye up to Miss Beech’s room.’ He turned to Faye. ‘Now, Faye, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you up to see Miss Beech.’
Faye gave the nurse a smile as they crossed paths and she followed Mr Marshal out into the hall and over to the imposing stone stairway. On either side of the stairs were suits of shining armour, standing there like soldiers on guard.
‘Convincing, aren’t they? These are props from one of Miss Beech’s historical romances.’ Mr Marshal reached out and tapped one as they passed. Instead of a metallic clang, there was just a hollow clunk. Faye followed suit and found herself grinning.
‘Totally convincing. I was expecting you to tell me they’d been made for a medieval knight by the royal armoury.’
‘Nothing so exotic, I’m afraid. As I remember, these were made by a firm in Long Beach, California, who normally made surfboards.’
‘Long Beach, California, sounds pretty exotic to me.’ As did this whole place.
Mr Marshal climbed the steps slowly, taking them one at a time, his legs clearly giving him trouble. Once they finally reached the first floor landing, he led her down a wood-panelled corridor a short way to a bedroom door. When they got there, he paused briefly, gave a little tap on the door and, without waiting for a reply, ushered Faye inside.
‘Here’s Faye come to see you, Anabelle.’ At that moment, Faye felt a warm body slip past her legs and head over to the bed. ‘And Marlon’s come too.’
‘Well I never. Fancy Marlon leaving his favourite rug.’ The voice came from the bed.
‘He seems to have taken a real shine to Faye.’ Mr Marshal indicated a chair set beside the bed. ‘Do, please, take a seat, Faye. Claudette will be up shortly with some more tea. Anabelle, can I get you anything?’
‘No, thank you, Eddie. I’m fine.’ As he left the room, Miss Beech beckoned to Faye. ‘Come over and sit by me, Faye. Please.’
As Faye walked across the room towards the bed, she did her best to process the impressions she was receiving. The room was huge, with a high ceiling, and there was what looked like an old tapestry covering one wall. She couldn’t see very well as the louvred shutters were closed against the heat of the sun, and the light that filtered through cast geometric stripes across the floor as far as the bed. This was a quite magnificent four-poster and in the bed was a little figure, propped up against three or four crisp white pillows. The voice was low, but clear, and the accent unmistakably English.
As for Miss Beech herself, as Faye drew nearer, she saw that the beautiful, alluring young girl of the photos downstairs had now morphed into an old lady. A few hours spent on the internet earlier in the week had told her that Miss Beech was now in her early eighties, but even so, in spite of her advanced years, she was still a very good-looking woman. Her blonde hair was now silver, but had been pinned up on her head in a style recognizable from the photographs. She was even wearing diamond studs in her ears. More importantly, she was smiling. This came as a considerable relief to Faye, whose biggest worry had been that she might find herself having to deal with a spoilt, irascible diva.
‘Do sit down, my dear.’ Far from irascible, Miss Beech sounded warm and agreeable as she waved Faye into the chair beside her bed, nodding approvingly as she took a better look at her. ‘You’re such a very pretty girl, Faye. I love your hair. Is that your natural colour?’
Faye had had blonde hair as a little girl and it was still a very light brown now. She nodded. ‘Yes, this is the real me.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘I’m twenty-eight.’
Miss Beech gave a little sigh. ‘Ah, how I’d love to be twenty-eight again.’
Faye didn’t give her time to become nostalgic. Remembering how the housekeeper and the PA had referred to their employer, Faye summoned her most enthusiastic voice. ‘Miss Beech, I’m most terribly excited to meet you. I’d already seen a number of your films and since I heard you wanted to interview me, I’ve downloaded some more and watched them. I loved them all, particularly Faded Heart. Seeing you now is like being in one of the films.’
Miss Beech smiled graciously. ‘That was all a long time ago. Things change, I’ve changed.’ Faye felt the great lady still studying her closely, before the smile turned to a gentle grin. ‘And you don’t want to believe everything you see in the movies.’
‘But you still look amazing.’
Miss Beech’s expression remained the same, her eyes still fixed on her visitor. ‘You’re very sweet, Faye. Now, let me tell you what I’d like you to do for me.’
At that moment the door opened and Claudette reappeared with a tray bearing an exquisite Japanese tea set and another mountain of food. She put it down beside Faye and then went over to pour fresh water into the glass on Miss Beech’s bedside table. ‘Will there be anything else, Miss Beech?’ To Faye’s surprise, she was speaking English, and good English as well, with only a trace of a French accent.
‘No, thank you, Claudette. You get back to your cooking.’ Miss Beech glanced across at Faye. ‘You will stay for lunch with us, won’t you?’
‘That’s very kind. I’d love to.’ Faye waited until Claudette had left the room before whispering. ‘But, if that’s the case, I’d better not eat too many of these delicious-smelling biscuits.’
Miss Beech smiled. ‘Claudette’s a firm believer that a full stomach cures all known ills. Since I’ve been in bed this past week, she’s been doing her best to fatten me up.’
‘I’m sorry you aren’t well. I hope you get better soon.’ Faye dropped her eyes to the dog, now positioned at her feet. Absently, she rubbed him with her foot and heard him grunt contentedly.
‘Oh, it’s just a few aches and pains. I’ll be up and about again in no time, I’m sure. But, at my age, it’s to be expected that every now and then the body starts playing up. I certainly can’t complain. I’ve had an absolutely wonderful life. I’ve been spoiled and spoiled and spoiled. It’s the way of the world that we can’t stay young and healthy for ever.’
Miss Beech reached for the water glass and took a mouthful. ‘Do, please, go ahead and drink your tea.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If you eat a few of the biscuits, we can give Marlon another couple and Claudette will think you’ve had them.’ Faye was delighted to hear the old lady sounding quite mischievous, a naughty note in her voice and a twinkle in her eye. She discovered that she really rather liked Miss Beech. Picking up a biscuit, she did as bidden and found it was divine: homemade and still warm. Marlon wasn’t the only one in for a treat.
‘Well now, Faye, what I’d like you to do is to compile my biography for me. Just for me, you understand. I’m not planning on getting it published, at least as long as I’m still alive. What happens to it after my death isn’t going to worry me.’ Miss Beech looked across with a hint of a smile. ‘Over the years, I’ve kept a diary. Not religiously every day, but fairly frequently, especially when there were big events going on. You know, like getting married, winning an Oscar, getting divorced. That kind of thing.’ She gave Faye a grin. ‘I got married three times, won two Oscars, and went through two divorces, by the way.’
‘And you’ve still got those diaries?’
Miss Beech nodded. ‘There’s a box full of all manner of stuff, including a load of photos, in my study. I’ve also got a whole lot of notebooks and odd sheets of paper where I’ve tried to write down things as I remember them, but it’s all a hopeless jumble. That’s where you come in. What I’d like you to do is to go through it all with me and try to draw it together into a book. As I say, I don’t want to publish it. I just think it would be good to collect all my memories together. Would you feel able to do that?’
‘I’d love to try, Miss Beech, but I have to tell you, I’ve only ever written one book before, and that was a thriller, not a biography. I spend my working life doing my best to teach kids to read and write, but this would be the first time I’d be at the start of the creative process of anything like an autobiography.’
‘That’s very honest of you, my dear.’ Then she surprised Faye considerably. ‘Part of the reason I chose you is because I read The Devil Over Your Shoulder and enjoyed it. You write very well, very fluently.’
She’s read my book! Faye could hardly believe it. It was an e-book she had self-published just before the break-up with Didier and it had sold barely a hundred copies so far. This was just about the first time she had come across somebody outside of her circle of friends and family who had read it and she felt herself blushing at the praise. ‘Thank you so much. I’m honoured that you should have read it, and that you liked it. That’s quite made my day.’ And it had.
‘So, does the idea of writing a biography scare you?’
Faye had been asking herself precisely that same question for the past few days and the answer came back the same every time. ‘Yes, definitely, but it also fascinates me and attracts me. I’d love to. That’s if you’re happy to give me the chance.’
‘Excellent, Faye. I’m sure you’ll do a super job.’
Faye noticed the use of the future, rather than the conditional, tense and knew there was something she really had to say. She hesitated, searching for words. ‘Look, Miss Beech, there’s something I’ve really got to tell you. Mr Danvers the solicitor told me you were offering to pay me an absolute fortune. You could probably take your pick of any number of famous authors for that sort of money. Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?’
‘I’m sure I’ve got the right girl, Faye. Quite sure. But what about you? This will mean giving up your job in London, and I suppose that could damage your career plans.’
‘That’s not a problem. To be honest, I’ve been getting more and more disillusioned at work for a good while now. I love teaching and I love the kids – well, most of them – but the atmosphere there has been getting worse and worse since we got a new head. I’ve been actively looking round for something new for a few weeks now. I had an interview for a big teaching temp agency and they tell me there’s a shortage of language teachers. When the time comes, they say they’ll be able to find me a job in a very different environment and it could be just the change I need.’
Faye couldn’t help thinking just how much she was looking forward to getting away from Miss Dawes. The fact that a move outside of London would also put a good few miles between her and Didier was an added bonus. And, if she got this job here in Provence, that would be more like a thousand miles’ distance from him and that felt even better.
Miss Beech nodded. ‘You know what they say: a change is as good as a rest. Now, there’s one thing, though, Faye. I’m no good with all this internet stuff, so, realistically, you’ll have to come and live down here for the duration. Is that something you could do? I imagine a pretty girl like you has probably got a special someone tucked away somewhere – someone who won’t be able to live without you.’
Faye shook her head. Since the split with Didier, she had hardly been out socially, and certainly not with a man. ‘No, there’s no special someone now, Miss Beech. I’m a free agent.’ Miss Beech must have heard some regret in her voice, as did the Labrador, who pressed his nose against her bare leg in solidarity. Faye reached down and scratched his ears.
‘But there was?’
Faye took a deep breath before replying. ‘There was, but there isn’t now.’
‘Was it a bad break-up?’
Faye hesitated, desperate to avoid letting her emotions get the better of her. ‘The worst, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m so sorry, Faye, I’m sure it must have been awful. Although, to be totally honest, hearing you talking about boyfriends reminds me of my younger days.’ Faye looked up and saw a misty expression in the old lady’s eyes. ‘I do envy you the ups and downs of forming relationships, falling in and out of love. Yes, the break-ups hurt, but when you’re young and bright and beautiful, you know there’s always another man waiting just round the corner. Yes, I envy you that. So, what was his name, this one who broke your heart?’
‘Didier.’ Faye took a mouthful of tea and swallowed hard after saying his name.
‘That name doesn’t sound very English.’
‘No, he’s French, but he works in London.’ Faye did her best to keep her voice level. ‘We were together for almost five years and I thought everything was just fine, but it all went pear-shaped a few months ago.’
‘Another girl?’
Faye nodded. ‘Girls, plural, I’m afraid. It’s all been emerging over the past couple of months since I walked out on him.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Looking back on it, I feel such a fool. Everybody seemed to know what he was like except me.’
Miss Beech reached out and caught hold of Faye’s arm. ‘Love really is blind, you know, Faye. Take it from me.’
‘Personal experience?’
‘Bitter personal experience. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days.’ In spite of her tone, Faye spotted a sparkle in Miss Beech’s eyes and she felt sure that this biography was likely to be fascinating and maybe cathartic for both of them.
Miss Beech patted her arm before releasing it. When she spoke, her tone was much more positive. ‘Anyway, better to find out now than later on. That was the trouble in my day, you know, particularly for people like me in the public eye. Unless you were very, very circumspect, it was either a quick peck on the cheek at a cocktail party or it was marriage, with little in between. Being able to test drive a relationship for a few months or years like you can nowadays would have saved me a lot of heartache and a lot of time.’ She gave Faye a wink. ‘And a whole heap of money. So, do you miss him?’
Faye shook her head decisively and answered straightaway. ‘Absolutely not in the slightest.’ Conscious that that had come out a bit too forcefully, she did her best to moderate her tone a bit, but didn’t really succeed. ‘I certainly don’t miss being with him, now that I know what a two-timing rat he really was. In fact, if I saw him again now, I’d either hit him with that chair over there or run a mile. I suppose I do miss speaking French with him, but, to be honest, the only thing I really miss is that when we were living together we could afford our own little flat. Now that it’s just me, I’m back to sharing a house with other people.’ She glanced round Miss Beech’s bedroom and she couldn’t help comparing it to her current accommodation. The two were poles apart.
Miss Beech smiled at her. ‘Well, you’ll be able to speak all the French you like if you come here to help me, and I’d love it if you would. So, please, if you’re quite sure this is what you want, shall we shake on it?’ Miss Beech extended her elegant hand once more and this time Faye noticed the impeccably manicured and painted nails.
Faye nodded enthusiastically. The more she thought about it, the more she felt convinced that a few months over here were just what she needed. For the first time for ages, she felt a warm glow of happiness suffuse her body and a cheerful smile on her face. She caught Miss Beech’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘If you’re certain, then I’m honoured to accept. Mr Danvers told me he thought the contract would be roughly a six-month affair.’ That was about all the solicitor, Silas Danvers, had been able to tell her about the project when she had met him the previous week. ‘If that’s the case, we’d better get started as soon as possible.’
‘Absolutely, no time to waste. At the age of eighty-two, who knows what’s round the corner? Don’t get me wrong, Faye: I have no intention of dropping dead any time soon, but I think it’s fair to say that time is of the essence.’ Miss Beech was still an excellent actress. The smile never left her face as she speculated upon her looming demise. ‘Now, about accommodation. I was talking to Eddie about the possibility of your coming to stay and he suggested the old stable block. There’s a rather nice guest apartment above the stables and, in the hope that you’d say yes, I’m having it redecorated. It’ll be all ready by the time you come back and we’ll see that it’s all set up for you. Get Claudette or Eddie to show you round before you leave today. I think you’ll like it.’
Faye gave her a big smile. ‘That’s fantastic.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Will they be able to tell me about rent and other charges?’
Miss Beech shook her head and smiled back. ‘Don’t worry about that, Faye. I’m glad to see the place being used. It’s been empty for a couple of years now. Besides, I’ve got more than enough to see me out, and when the time comes, where I’m going – wherever that turns out to be – money’s one thing I’m not going to need. You just try your hardest to make this book as good as you possibly can. You never know, it might even get published one day.’
***
Miss Beech came down to the dining room and joined Faye for lunch. Over the meal they chatted and Faye did her best to ask Miss Beech about her early life. Although more than happy to talk about her experiences in Hollywood, she appeared a bit reluctant to speak about her family and her early years, and Faye didn’t push her at this stage. Hopefully, as the old lady took her into her confidence a bit more, she would open up. As it was, Miss Beech appeared very interested in Faye’s life and asked her all sorts of questions. Some were easier to answer than others.
‘So, did you always want to be a teacher?’
Faye had been asked this many times before. ‘Not necessarily teaching, but I always knew I wanted to do something involving language.’
‘And you teach English and French?’
