The Lavender Garden by Lucinda Riley Read Free Book Online

not give yourself some time to make the right decisions?” He patted her hand, then stood up. “I must be off, but you have my card, and it goes without saying I’d be happy to help you in any way I can. This château is manna from heaven for me, especially the paintings, of course.” He smiled. “Anyway, I’m almost certainly going to stay in Gassin for a while, so if you decide you’d like me to set about the process of having the possible Matisse authenticated, just call me on the mobile number on my card.”
    “Thank you,” said Emilie, checking that she still had his card in her jeans pocket.
    “I’d also be happy to find out the names of the best rare-books and antique-furniture dealers through my contacts in Paris. At the very least, whatever you decide to do with the château, it’s probably a good idea to know the value of what you own. Presumably your parents must have had some form of insurance?”
    “I have no idea.” She shrugged, inwardly doubting it knowing her father and making a mental note to ask Gerard. “I appreciate your advice,” she said gratefully as she stood up. She gave Sebastian a weak smile as she led him through the house to the back door and out toward her car. “I’m sorry I seem . . . emotional. It’s unlike me. Perhaps,another time, we can talk about what your grandmother told you of my father during the war.”
    “I’d like that—and please don’t apologize,” he added as they climbed into the car. “You’re not only bereaved, but it seems you’ve been left with one hell of a task on your hands.”
    “I will cope. I must,” said Emilie, starting the engine and setting off down the drive.
    “And I’m sure you will. As I said, if there’s anything I can do to help, you know how to contact me.”
    “Thank you.”
    “My gîte is just to the left down there”—Sebastian indicated a turning—“so if you drop me here, I can walk the rest of the way. It’s such a beautiful afternoon.”
    “Okay.” She brought the car to a halt. “Thank you again.”
    “Take care, Emilie,” he said as he climbed out. Then, with a wave of his hand, Sebastian ambled off down the road.
    Emilie reversed the car and drove back to the château. Unsettled, she walked aimlessly from room to room, feeling the sharp emptiness of the lack of human presence.
    As night fell and the temperature dropped, Emilie sequestered herself in the kitchen by the range, eating the cassoulet Margaux had left for her. Her appetite had deserted her and Frou-Frou happily reaped the benefit.
    After supper, she bolted the back door and turned the key in the lock. Taking herself upstairs, she ran a slow stream of tepid water into the ancient, lime-scale-covered bath. She lay in it, musing morbidly how it fitted her length exactly, making it a perfect prototype for her coffin. Climbing out of the bath, she toweled herself dry, then, unusually, let the towel drop to the floor in front of the full-length mirror.
    With effort, Emilie forced herself to survey her naked body. She’d always regarded it as a piece of substandard equipment, given out at random in the genetic lottery. Stocky as a child, in her teenage years she’d become plump. Despite her mother’s pleas to eat healthily and less, somewhere around seventeen Emilie had given up the endless round of cucumber and melon diets prescribed, covered her imperfect torso in loose-fitting and comfortable clothes, and let nature take its course.
    At the same time, she had also refused to attend further parties, designed to introduce her to the crème de la crème of young men and women her age. Le Rallye was organized by a group of mothers to make sure their progeny would meet suitable friends and possible future partners of similar class. The competition to be part of an elite rallye for the most socially aware French teenagers was intense. Valérie, with her de la Martinières name, could attract anyone whom she wished to become a member of her own