The Lavender Garden by Lucinda Riley Read Free Book Online Page B

one single woman to maintain a home on such a scale?
    Obviously her mother hadn’t thought so, but then the social set Valérie mixed with were in a rare league of their own. Emilie had stepped out of that league years before and knew how ordinary people lived. Yet the thought of being able to live here, amid its peace and tranquillity, was appealing to her more and more. Having felt like an outsider to her family all her life, ironically she felt for the first time that she’d arrived home. It shocked her how much she suddenly wanted to stay here.
    Emilie sat back down at the kitchen table and continued the list of questions she would need to ask Gerard. If she could restore the château to its former glory, it would not only be for her own benefit, for surely it was a part of French history too? She would be performing aservice to the nation. With this thought comforting her, she picked up her mobile and dialed Gerard’s number.
    After a long conversation with him, Emilie looked at the notes she had made. Gerard had reiterated that there would easily be enough to restore the château. The one thing he’d made clear was the lack of actual hard cash—anything she wished to do would have to be funded by what was sold in the immediate future.
    He had seemed taken aback at her sudden change of heart. “Emilie, it’s certainly commendable that you wish to maintain your family’s heritage, but restoring a house of that size is an enormous undertaking. I would go as far as to say a full-time job for the next two years. And it will be all down to you. You’re alone.”
    Emilie had almost expected him to add “and a woman,” but thankfully he had refrained. Gerard was probably wondering how much of the work would land on his own shoulders, as it was patently obvious to him she couldn’t cope by herself. Irritated by his condescension, but aware she’d done little to alter his attitude otherwise, Emilie pulled her laptop out of its pouch and switched it on. Then, chuckling to herself for expecting an Internet signal in a house that probably hadn’t been rewired since the 1940s, she drove with Frou-Frou up to Gassin village. Climbing the steep hill, she asked Damien, the friendly proprietor of Le Pescadou Brasserie, whether she could log on to their Internet access.
    “Mademoiselle de la Martinières, of course you may,” he said, leading her into the small office at the back of the restaurant. “I apologize for not being here to greet you before, but I’ve been away in Paris. Everyone in the village was sad to hear of your maman ’s passing. Like your family, mine has been in the village for many hundreds of years. Will you sell the château now she is gone?”
    Emilie knew this was the question Damien wanted the answer to. His bar and restaurant were the high altar of village gossip.
    “I really don’t know at the moment. I have many things to look into.”
    “Of course. I hope you don’t decide to sell, but if you do, I know many a developer who would be willing to pay a fortune to turn your beautiful château into a hotel. I’ve had many inquiries here over the years.” Out the window, Damien indicated the château far below in the valley, its graying terra cotta rooftops glinting in the sunshine.
    “As I said, Damien, I still have to make up my mind.”
    “Well, mademoiselle, if there’s anything you need, please call us. We were all very fond of your father here. He was a good man. After the war, we in the village were so poor. The comte helped to push the government for proper roads to be built up to us here on the hill and encourage the tourists to visit from Saint-Tropez. My family opened this restaurant in the 1950s, and the village began to grow prosperous. Your father also promoted the planting of vineyards to grow the grapes for the wonderful wine we now make here.” Damien swept his arms across the vine-covered valley below them. “When I was a child, all we had around us was farmland, fields