скачать книгу бесплатно
Faye was amazed. ‘Gosh, that’s incredible. So you first started working for her when she was already big in Hollywood?’
‘That’s right. I was trying to make up my mind what to do after I’d finished school, and a friend fixed me up with a summer job skimming the pool and doing the garden in one of the swanky houses in Beverly Hills. It turned out to be hers.’
‘I thought Miss Beech said you were from Canada?’
‘And proud of it, but I did my law studies at UCLA. Anyway, that was the first time I met her and we became quite friendly, in spite of her being such a massive star by then. Around the end of the summer, just as I was about to head off back to Canada to become an attorney like my father wanted, she said she needed somebody to look after her, her affairs and her social diary, and asked if I’d like to try it for a few months. You can probably imagine my excitement. Here I was, fresh out of college, and I was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood greats.’ He was smiling into his mug of coffee now, as the memories came back. ‘It sounded like a hell of a lot of responsibility for a young man, but I didn’t hesitate. I told my mom and dad I’d give it a try for a little while, and look at me now.’
Faye was genuinely touched at the devotion Eddie had shown to Miss Beech for over fifty years. She took a better look at him and saw that, underneath the grey hair and the wrinkles, there had once been a young man, excited to go out into the big wide world. Somehow, she had a very strong suspicion that a biography of Eddie could prove to be every bit as interesting as his employer’s.
Eddie was happy to chat about his early days in Hollywood, mixing with the stars, and Faye looked forward to hearing more of his stories as the days went by and to incorporating them into the book. When her watch told her it was half past five, she stood up, reluctant to interrupt his reminiscing. ‘I think I’ll take Marlon out for half an hour before dinner. Where’s the best place to go?’
It was Claudette, the local girl, who answered. ‘There are lovely walks in the fields all around us, or up on the open land: what we call the garrigue. Alternatively, seeing as you’re new to the place, why don’t you just take him down to the town? He can show you round. For all his faults, he’s an angel on a lead and he won’t drag your arm out of its socket. When you’re away from the road, you can let him off. He won’t run away.’
The lead was produced and attached to Marlon’s collar, inducing considerable excitement on his part. Faye took a pocketful of poo bags, the remote control for the gates, and then off they went. Claudette was right. Marlon didn’t pull at the lead and he definitely knew where he was going. Together they walked the few hundred yards down the deserted country road towards the sign announcing the village, or the town as Claudette had called it.
Clearly there was more to St-Jean than Faye had imagined. As they passed the sign, they came to a farm entrance on their left. As she did so, a dog barked, only once, and seconds later she and Marlon discovered they had company. Another identical black Labrador emerged from the shade of an old building and charged across to say hello. Faye glanced down apprehensively, but immediately saw that he and Marlon were old friends.
She stood and looked on as the two dogs, tails wagging furiously, became reacquainted. As she did so, she suddenly felt herself being watched. She raised her eyes and spotted a figure standing in the shadowy interior of the barn. She gave a little wave and received a hint of a wave in return, but the man didn’t venture out of the barn. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and Faye had a suspicion he might well be the same man who had given her directions on her first visit to the area. After all, she told herself, there surely couldn’t be too many identical black Labradors round here.
She returned her attention to Marlon and clicked her tongue, deciding to set off down the hill towards the village once more. As she did so, there was the same double whistle and the other dog turned and charged off back to his master.
Before they reached the Coq d’Or, Marlon led her off to the left along a narrow path and Faye was happy to unclip the lead from his collar and let him make the decisions as to where they should go. He was very well behaved and didn’t attempt to run too far ahead as they followed the path alongside a dry gulley running down towards the river in the valley below. From the collection of bone-dry branches and weeds caught in the bushes lining the gully, it was clear that this would turn into a raging torrent after heavy rainfall, but for the moment, there was no sign of water at all. Everything around them was terribly dry, the grass burnt brown by the sun.
She picked up a stick and threw it for the dog. He ran for it, picked it up, but then steadfastly refused to bring it to her. Clearly somewhere along the line, his brain hadn’t quite got the hang of the retriever part of his ancestry.
As they walked along, a succession of startled lizards ran frantically for cover and Faye found herself hoping there were no snakes about, and this reminded her of her father. She had texted him as soon as she had reached the chateau to let him know she was safe and well, and she resolved to call him later to tell him all about her first day. All around there was virtual silence, and for somebody used to the never-ending background hubbub of London, it was almost disconcerting.
After a short distance, threading their way between dry stone walls, covered with wild vines, and among ramshackle old buildings, Marlon, still carrying his stick, turned left once more and led her over a bridge composed of a single irregular slab of limestone, well over six feet long. Faye wondered how many centuries it had been lying there and how on earth the people who had laid it had been able to do so in an era surely long before motorized cranes and mechanical diggers.
On the other side of the bridge, she saw her first human being.
‘Hello, Marlon. Who’s this you’re taking for a walk, then?’ The voice came from the owner of a very large shaggy mongrel that looked like a cross between a sheep and a grizzly bear. From the wagging of tails that was going on, clearly Marlon and he were already on good terms, which was just as well because Faye had no illusions as to her chances if it came to having to step in to stop a dogfight with this monster. The dog’s owner, on the other hand, looked big and strong enough to separate a pair of fighting wolves, if he had to. He looked down at her, fortunately with a smile. ‘You’ll be the young lady who’s going to be staying at the chateau, I dare say?’
Faye nodded and took a good look at the owner of the Beast of St-Jean. They say that dogs and owners often come to look alike and this pairing certainly added weight to that hypothesis. The man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, was the size and shape of a wardrobe, with a hairstyle, if, indeed it could be called a style, not dissimilar to that of his dog. Fortunately, he was still smiling benignly at Faye and she summoned a nervous smile in return.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve just arrived. My name’s Faye. How did you know I was coming?’ She wondered for a moment whether this man mountain might in some way be related to Miss Beech, and it turned out she wasn’t far off the mark.
‘Name’s Albert. I’m the man who’s just spent a week redecorating the flat above the stables for you. My mum’s Miss Beech’s housekeeper and I do the garden and stuff.’ He extended a huge paw towards her in greeting. Gritting her teeth, Faye reached out and let him envelop her hand and shake it, mercifully remarkably delicately.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Albert. I’ve just been chatting to your mum now. I was telling her she should start selling her biscuits. They’re amazing.’
‘You’re telling me. My dad reckons that’s why I grew so much. By the way, most people call me Obelix. Can’t think why.’ He was smiling. ‘And I’m pleased to meet you, Faye. So are you going to be staying long?’
This was Faye’s first experience of a little village for a long time, but she knew the way the bush telegraph worked in a school and rightly assumed it would be roughly the same out here. If Claudette hadn’t told Obelix why Faye was here and how long she was staying, it wasn’t her place to enlighten him either. She took refuge in a little white lie.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve been teaching in London and I wanted a bit of time away from all the noise and bustle.’
‘Well, you certainly won’t have to worry about the noise out here. About the only thing to disturb you will be Marlon when he hears the postman. He barks the place down every time anybody he doesn’t know really well comes to the house. I dare say he barks at you too.’
Faye glanced down at Marlon who, after a bit of reciprocal sniffing with the Beast, had returned to take up position at her feet. His stick was now in the jaws of the Beast, and Faye didn’t blame him for surrendering it in the face of such a daunting adversary. For some reason Marlon appeared to have accepted her straightaway as a member of the household, if not a substitute pack leader, and it felt rather good. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was past six, so she knew she had better get back home in time to shower and change before dinner. ‘Tell me, is there a way back to the chateau without having to go back the way we came along the road?’
Obelix nodded and indicated a narrow footpath snaking off between two dilapidated stone walls. ‘Just follow that path up the hill until just before the lavender fields. You’ll smell them long before you see them and when you do, you’ll find there’s another path off to the left, just above the farm, that’ll take you home. Marlon knows it well enough. He’ll show you the way.’
‘Thank you … Obelix. Are you sure it’s all right to call you that?’
He grinned at her. ‘Everybody else does. My mum’s just about the only person who still calls me Albert.’
Faye smiled back at him. ‘By the way, the lavender farm – is that the farm I’ve just come past on the way down here?’
Obelix nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘And there’s another black Labrador there, just like Marlon?’
‘That’s right. They’re from the same litter. He used to be Robbie’s dog.’
‘Robbie?’
‘He used to run the farm, but now it’s his brother who’s taken over.’ Obelix’s expression became more serious. ‘After Robbie was killed in the accident.’
‘Oh, how awful. Was that a farm accident? They say farms are dangerous places, with all the heavy equipment and so on.’
‘No, it was a road accident, up by the gorge. Very sad.’
Faye nodded in agreement before deciding she really had to get back. ‘Well, Obelix, I’d better get off. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’ Faye clicked her tongue and was gratified to see Marlon jump to his feet immediately. With a wave to the giant, she set off up the hill to home.
When she reached the lavender farm, she was greeted by the sweet smell of the flowers and a repetitive series of thuds coming from a corner of a nearby field where a man was hammering in a new fence post. Faye recognized him immediately as the same man she had met before. Clearly, he had now decided to venture out of the shade of the barn.
The temperature was still high and it looked like hard work. He was sweating profusely, his T-shirt sticking to his broad shoulders, his hair plastered down on his head. Even so, he looked like a movie star: handsome and hunky at the same time. Not that that mattered to Faye; as far as she was concerned, still raw after her treatment at the hands of Didier, he could have been James Dean and she still wouldn’t have been interested. Nevertheless, she did her best to be friendly, not least as it looked as though they were now going to be neighbours.
‘Good afternoon. That looks like hot work.’
Hearing her voice, the man stopped work and set the heavy hammer down at his side. As he did so, a black shadow emerged from beneath a nearby rosemary bush as his dog recognized his brother once again. Marlon trotted across to greet the two of them with his tail held high, wagging encouragingly.
‘Hello?’ The man raised a hand to his forehead and squinted and, as he did so, Faye realized she had the setting sun right behind her. She was quick to explain.
‘Hello, I’m the clueless girl who got lost a month or two ago. I don’t know if you remember.’
Comprehension dawned on his face. ‘Oh, yes. And you’re with Marlon?’
‘Yes. I’m staying at the chateau.’
‘Right.’
Although he didn’t sound unfriendly, he was certainly no more communicative now than when she had first seen him. Nevertheless, Faye tried again. ‘New fence post?’
‘Yes.’
‘Must be hard work.’
‘Yes.’
‘And very hot work on a day like this.’
‘Yes.’
Faye’s conversational skills were being severely stretched by now and she took refuge in a glance at her watch and what was, after all, the truth. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stop and talk. I have to get back.’
‘Right.’ With a smooth movement, he reached down, clasped the handle of the sledgehammer, and swung it up in a graceful arc above his head. ‘Well, goodbye then.’
Faye called to Marlon and left the taciturn man to his labours. She carried on along the rough path up the hill to the chateau. A minute or two later, she felt a stone under her heel and stopped to remove it. Grabbing hold of a branch at the side of the track to steady herself, she slid off the sandal and flicked away the tiny piece of gravel. As she did so, Marlon pounced on her shoe and bore it proudly away.
‘Marlon, bring that back.’
He stopped and turned back towards her, but showed no sign of any intention of relinquishing his trophy. She called him again, dangled his lead, and even tried to whistle, but he was having none of it. He trotted obligingly enough back to her, even let her grab the shoe in his mouth, but then stubbornly hung on to it like a limpet. Finally, Faye had to leave it with him, rather than risk damaging either the sandal or the dog’s teeth, and she limped up the hill on one shoe, treating the dog to a few good old-fashioned English expletives as she did so.
***
At seven-thirty as instructed, Faye – freshly showered, her dusty right foot carefully washed – changed into a light summer dress and her good sandals and went over to the kitchen, tapped on the door, and let herself in. She had locked the door to her apartment behind her but somehow, protected behind the barrier of the electric gates, she didn’t think she had much to worry about, not least if Marlon lived up to his reputation as a very vocal guard dog. There was no sign of Eddie Marshal, but she found Claudette bending down, looking at something in the oven. She looked up as Faye came in.
‘Have a nice walk?’
‘Yes, thanks, although the last half was on one leg.’ She smiled as she explained what had happened. Claudette smiled back.
‘I saw him with a sandal in his mouth when I came into the kitchen and wondered if it was yours.’ She indicated the shoe, now safely lying on the worktop out of reach of the dog.
‘How did you get it off him? I thought he was going to pull my arm out of its socket.’
‘The way you can always get a Labrador to do anything – food. I offered him a piece of biscuit and he dropped it like a flash. I should have warned you of that. When he likes somebody, he always tries to take something of theirs.’ She pointed at the wicker basket by the range cooker. ‘See that tatty red rag in there? That used to be one of Miss Beech’s scarves. He’s had it for years. Anyway, it shows he likes you.’
‘I’ll have to dig out an old sock or something for him. Walking up the gravel drive with one bare foot was a bit uncomfortable.’ She glanced down at the dog who was staring at her adoringly from his bed. ‘But no more stealing shoes, all right, Marlon?’ He wagged his tail and, if she hadn’t known better, it almost looked as if he winked. Faye sighed and returned her attention to Claudette. ‘Anyway, while I was out, I met your son.’
‘It’s hard to miss our Albert. Did he tell you they all call him Obelix?’ Claudette grinned. ‘Not too sure what happened there. His father’s not a lot taller than I am.’
‘He’s certainly a big chap. I suppose he’s the star of the local rugby team.’
Claudette shook her head. ‘He used to play a lot of sport, but he gave it up a few years back. Did he tell you what his hobby is now?’
Faye shook her head. ‘Wrestling bulls, lifting weights, or tearing up phone books with his bare hands maybe?’
Claudette’s grin broadened. ‘Embroidery.’
‘Embroidery?’
‘He’s this year’s president of the village embroidery circle. They’re in the process of renewing all the kneelers in the church. You should see some of the things he’s made. He’s far better than I am. He’s got such a delicate touch and a very good eye for colour and design.’
‘Wow.’ Faye was suitably impressed. ‘I must go down to the church to take a look at his handiwork.’
‘Miss Beech is in the dining room if you want to go and join her. Go through that door there and you’ll find her. Off you go and tell her I’ll be serving dinner in about ten minutes.’
Faye made her way through to the dining room accompanied by Marlon. Miss Beech was in an armchair by the fireplace, staring into the empty grate, lost in her thoughts. Sitting in another armchair to one side of the fireplace, holding a newspaper, was Eddie Marshal. As he spotted Faye, he gave her a little wave. Faye hesitated at the doorway, loath to disturb Miss Beech who looked miles away, but Marlon had no such qualms. He trotted over to his mistress and laid his head on her knee. His arrival roused her and she looked up towards Faye, beckoning her into the room with one hand while scratching the dog’s ears with the other.
‘Faye, come in, come in. How lovely to see you again.’ The grand old lady looked genuinely pleased to see her.
‘Hello, Miss Beech. It’s good to be back.’ Faye took a better look at her. ‘And you’re looking well.’ That was an exaggeration, but Miss Beech definitely looked better than the last time, and there was some colour in her cheeks this evening. Miss Beech smiled.
‘You don’t spend a lifetime in cinema without learning a thing or two about make-up. My looks are mostly out of a bottle nowadays, I’m afraid, but it’s sweet of you to notice. Come and join us.’
Faye did as she was bidden and stood by the hearth. The dog slumped down onto his rug with a thud and a sigh, as Faye remembered to deliver Claudette’s message. ‘Claudette says dinner’ll be ready in ten minutes.’
‘Excellent. That gives us time for a drink first. We really should celebrate your first night here, so I got Eddie to dig out a bottle of champagne. Would you like that? Otherwise we’ve got most things here. He could even make you a cocktail if you like.’
Eddie looked up eagerly, nodding his head. ‘Whatever you like, Faye. You name it, I can make it. Maybe a real American Martini?’
‘Champagne sounds absolutely wonderful, thank you.’ Faye spotted the foil-covered top of the bottle peeking out of an ice bucket. ‘But only if you’re going to have some. Please don’t open it specially for me.’
Miss Beech’s smile broadened. ‘Of course we’ll join you. I wonder, Faye, if you would feel like opening it, please?’
Eddie Marshal made an attempt at getting to his feet, but Miss Beech was quick to tell him off. ‘Eddie, for goodness’ sake sit down and let Faye do the honours. I’m sure she’s had lots of experience with champagne bottles.’ She grinned at Faye. ‘At our age, we deserve a sit-down. Besides, the doctor told Eddie not to put too much weight on that hip of his.’
‘I haven’t got much experience with champagne, but I’m a dab hand at opening Prosecco bottles.’ Faye went over to the ice bucket and managed to open the bottle without too much fuss. She filled three exquisite tall crystal flutes and took two of them across to the fireplace, handing them over one by one, before returning to pick up her own. Miss Beech raised her glass towards them both.
‘Cheers. Your very good health, Faye. Thank you for coming to join us.’
‘Cheers and thank you for having me. And cheers to you, too, Mr Marshal.’
‘Call me Eddie, would you, Faye? Besides, my name’s not Marshal really.’ In response to her raised eyebrows, he elaborated. ‘I’m really Eduard Maréchal, but the Americans couldn’t cope with the pronunciation, or the spelling, so I changed it to Marshal. So please call me Eddie like everybody does.
Faye went over and clinked her glass against Miss Beech’s, then Eddie’s, and took a mouthful. She watched as Miss Beech sipped her drink pensively before looking up. ‘Here’s something you can put in the book, Faye. They say alcohol slows the activity of the brain, but every time I drink champagne my mind’s flooded with memories of so, so many good times.’ She stared down into the wine glass. ‘To be quite honest, I’ve never really liked the stuff that much. Those bubbles always seem to go up my nose, but it’s what it represents, I suppose.’
‘Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to drink enough champagne in my life to develop a special taste for it, but this is gorgeous. By the way, talking of wine, thank you so much for all the food and drink you’ve put in the flat. The fridge is absolutely packed.’ As Miss Beech made a dismissive gesture with her hand, Faye took another mouthful of champagne. It really was excellent. She pulled up an ornate wooden stool and sat down to one side of Miss Beech, directly in front of the fireplace. ‘So, go on then, what’s running through your mind at the moment? What memories has this sip of champagne awakened?’
There was a moment’s silence while Miss Beech reflected on the question and then, to Faye’s surprise, she started giggling like a schoolgirl once more. ‘To be totally honest, Faye, it reminds me of the night I tipped a bucket full of ice into my leading man’s lap in an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills.’
Faye gasped, feeling a fit of the giggles rising up inside her as well. ‘You did what?’
She watched as Miss Beech dissolved into laughter, her whole face flushed with pleasure as the memory returned. ‘It was at the end of a day’s filming of Faded Heart.’ Faye knew this to be one of Miss Beech’s best-known films. ‘All that day we’d been riding around on horses. As I recall, I was trying to show him how the stunt boss had been teaching me to jump onto a moving horse.’ She looked up. ‘We did a lot of our own stunts in those days, not like today – and as I leapt to my feet and stretched out one leg to demonstrate, my foot hit the bucket and … splash!’
Faye was laughing by now. ‘Who was the leading man?’
‘Charlton Heston.’
‘Wow, and what was his reaction? Was he angry?’
Miss Beech shook her head. ‘Not at all. He laughed his head off. Said it cooled him down. He was a good, kind man, was Chuck. Not like some others I could mention.’
‘When we get down to writing, I do so hope you’ll mention the baddies as well as the goodies. It would be good to make this a real warts and all story.’
‘Oh, I can give you warts, all right.’ Faye was then amazed to hear Miss Beech reel off three or four examples of the most appalling behaviour by some of the best-known names in Hollywood. Faye listened attentively, knowing that anecdotes like these would be box-office gold if the book ever got as far as publication. She resolved to contact Miss Beech’s lawyer just to be on the safe side, so as to know just how far she could go at naming names in a book like this. Even though it was going to have Miss Beech’s name on the cover, it presumably wouldn’t emerge until after the old lady’s death and that left just Faye. And she had no desire to find herself in the sights of a bunch of American lawyers, baying for blood.
