The French for Always by Fiona Valpy Read Free Book Online Page B

relaxed. Thankfully here in France no one expected a full British fry-up. Sara switched on the coffee machine, set the oven warming and quietly washed and dried the glasses from the night before. She set out packets of cereal and a large bowl of summer fruit salad. The children would be down early, no doubt, and need fuelling up, ready for a busy day in the pool.
    Sara perched on a stool beside the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of strong coffee topped up with steamed milk and scanning the weekend’s programme, checking and rechecking the details against the contents of a plump folder marked: O’Callaghan-Best . She’d learnt to keep a record of every email, telephone conversation, quote and invoice so that there could be no possible room for confusion or misinterpretation. Today’s schedule involved golf for some of the party, wine tasting for another group and the option of a canoe trip for the older children and those who wanted the exercise. Some would stay relaxing by the pool or reading in the shade of course. And tonight there were extras for dinner as members of the extended family on both sides, who were staying in guest houses and hotels in the local area, were invited for the rehearsal dinner. It was to be a buffet of charcuterie , cold meats and quiches with salads, which Karen and Hélène would help her prepare this afternoon. Straightforward enough.
    She slid the typed programme back into the file and stood up as the sound of children’s voices wafted down the corridor. ‘In here for breakfast,’ she beckoned them, to allow the heavier-headed of the late-night revellers to sleep it off a while longer...
----
    L ater that day , Sara lingered for a few more moments, her feet propped on the edge of a stone planter to ease her aching calf muscles, before hauling herself upright from the deckchair where she’d been grabbing a few minutes’ rest after a quick sandwich lunch in the cottage.
    Car engines could be heard pulling into the car park, then doors slamming and the chatter of golfing stories being exchanged. Sara noticed that a few of the blokes had taken out a rugby ball and were throwing it back and forth. She thought she’d better try and manoeuvre them tactfully away from the cars and into the big field where there would be less scope for dented bonnets and splintered windscreens. As she made her way across to them, the wine-tasting party pulled in and the volume of noise grew as the flock of flushed girls emerged from their minibus. Clearly a good time had been had by all.
    Sara was just reaching the post-and-rail fencing at the edge of the parking area as the bride’s brother, Robby, a fellow member of the groom’s rugby club, wound up to spin the ball across to Liam. There was a dull thud, a shocked silence for a split second and then a scream from Marie, the head bridesmaid, as Niamh staggered back against the minibus, clutching her face. The ball had hit her full on and for a moment she swayed as if losing consciousness. Keiran was across the parking area in three long strides, his arms around his stunned bride, while the bridesmaids rounded on Robby. ‘You eejit, what in the hell d’ya think you’re doing?’ He hung his head in shame, ducking their scolding.
    ‘Niamh, are you okay? Speak to me!’
    Sara waited on one side while Keiran tried to pull Niamh’s hands from her face, stooping to peer at the damage. As she took her hands from her eyes, there was another scream from Marie at the sight of a trickle of blood. Sara fished a clean tissue out of her pocket and passed it to Keiran who pressed it tenderly against the wound.
    ‘I think it’s just a scratch, not deep.’ But Sara could see that the eye socket was already a deep red where the corner of the rugby ball had caught it a glancing blow. A bride with a black eye was not going to look good in the wedding photos.
    ‘Come on, let’s get you back to the house. I’ve got a first-aid kit in the kitchen and we need to clean