of corn and grazing cows. Now our Provençal rosé is world famous.”
“It’s comforting to hear my father helped the area he loved.”
“The de la Martinièreses are part of Gassin, mademoiselle. I hope you will decide to stay here with us.”
Damien continued to fuss around her, bringing her a jug of water, bread, and a plat au fromage . Once Emilie had connected her laptop successfully, Damien left her alone. She checked her e-mails, then took out Sebastian’s card and looked up his gallery on the Internet.
Arté was on the Fulham Road in London and mainly dealt in modern paintings. Emilie was comforted to see it existed. Making up her mind, she dialed Sebastian’s number. His voice mail answered, so she left her number and a short message, asking him to contact her about their conversation yesterday.
When she’d finished, Emilie thanked Damien for the use of the Internet and lunch, then drove back to the château. She felt energized, more motivated than she had in years. If she decided to renovate the house, she would almost certainly have to give up her veterinary career in Paris and move down here to oversee the project. Perhaps this was just what she needed—and, ironically, the last thing she would have considered a few days ago. It would give new purpose to her life.
However, her excitement gave way to fear as she drew nearer to the house and saw a police car sitting outside. Hastily bringing her car to a halt, Emilie grabbed Frou-Frou and climbed out. She stepped into the hall to find Margaux talking to the gendarme.
“Mademoiselle Emilie”—Margaux’s eyes were wide with shock—“Ibelieve we’ve had a break-in. I arrived here as usual at two and the front door was wide-open. Oh, Mademoiselle, I’m so very sorry.”
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Emilie realized that in her excitement over her decision to renovate the château, she hadn’t locked the back door before she’d driven up to the village.
“Margaux, this is not your fault. I think I left the back door open. Has anything been taken?” Emilie thought of the potentially valuable painting in the morning room.
“I have looked carefully in every room and I can’t find a thing missing. But perhaps you can look too.”
“Often these kinds of crimes are opportunist,” offered the gendarme. “There are many Gypsies who see what they believe is a deserted house, break in, and are simply looking for jewelry or cash.”
“Well, they won’t have found any of that here,” Emilie replied grimly.
“Mademoiselle Emilie, do you by any chance have the front-door key in your possession?” asked Margaux. “It seems to be missing. I wondered if you had placed it somewhere safe for extra security, rather than it standing as it normally does in the lock.”
“No, I haven’t.” Emilie surveyed the oversized, empty keyhole, looking bare without its rusting mate inserted into it. She blinked, trying to remember if the key had been in the lock this morning. But it was not the kind of detail she would have noticed on her way to the kitchen through the hall.
“If the key cannot be found, it’s important that you call a locksmith who can fit a new one immediately,” said the gendarme. “You will not be able to lock the door, and it’s possible that the thieves have taken it with them and are preparing to return at a later date.”
“Yes, of course.” Emilie’s earlier vision of a secure paradise was fast evaporating as her heart beat unsteadily in her chest.
Margaux looked at her watch. “I apologize, Mademoiselle Emilie, but I must go home. Anton is alone at our house. Am I free to leave?” she asked the gendarme.
“Yes. If I need any further information, I’ll be in contact.”
“Thank you.” Margaux turned to Emilie. “Mademoiselle, I’m worried about you being here by yourself. Perhaps it would be better to move out to a hotel for the next couple of nights?”
“Don’t worry, Margaux, I’ll contact a
“It’s comforting to hear my father helped the area he loved.”
“The de la Martinièreses are part of Gassin, mademoiselle. I hope you will decide to stay here with us.”
Damien continued to fuss around her, bringing her a jug of water, bread, and a plat au fromage . Once Emilie had connected her laptop successfully, Damien left her alone. She checked her e-mails, then took out Sebastian’s card and looked up his gallery on the Internet.
Arté was on the Fulham Road in London and mainly dealt in modern paintings. Emilie was comforted to see it existed. Making up her mind, she dialed Sebastian’s number. His voice mail answered, so she left her number and a short message, asking him to contact her about their conversation yesterday.
When she’d finished, Emilie thanked Damien for the use of the Internet and lunch, then drove back to the château. She felt energized, more motivated than she had in years. If she decided to renovate the house, she would almost certainly have to give up her veterinary career in Paris and move down here to oversee the project. Perhaps this was just what she needed—and, ironically, the last thing she would have considered a few days ago. It would give new purpose to her life.
However, her excitement gave way to fear as she drew nearer to the house and saw a police car sitting outside. Hastily bringing her car to a halt, Emilie grabbed Frou-Frou and climbed out. She stepped into the hall to find Margaux talking to the gendarme.
“Mademoiselle Emilie”—Margaux’s eyes were wide with shock—“Ibelieve we’ve had a break-in. I arrived here as usual at two and the front door was wide-open. Oh, Mademoiselle, I’m so very sorry.”
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Emilie realized that in her excitement over her decision to renovate the château, she hadn’t locked the back door before she’d driven up to the village.
“Margaux, this is not your fault. I think I left the back door open. Has anything been taken?” Emilie thought of the potentially valuable painting in the morning room.
“I have looked carefully in every room and I can’t find a thing missing. But perhaps you can look too.”
“Often these kinds of crimes are opportunist,” offered the gendarme. “There are many Gypsies who see what they believe is a deserted house, break in, and are simply looking for jewelry or cash.”
“Well, they won’t have found any of that here,” Emilie replied grimly.
“Mademoiselle Emilie, do you by any chance have the front-door key in your possession?” asked Margaux. “It seems to be missing. I wondered if you had placed it somewhere safe for extra security, rather than it standing as it normally does in the lock.”
“No, I haven’t.” Emilie surveyed the oversized, empty keyhole, looking bare without its rusting mate inserted into it. She blinked, trying to remember if the key had been in the lock this morning. But it was not the kind of detail she would have noticed on her way to the kitchen through the hall.
“If the key cannot be found, it’s important that you call a locksmith who can fit a new one immediately,” said the gendarme. “You will not be able to lock the door, and it’s possible that the thieves have taken it with them and are preparing to return at a later date.”
“Yes, of course.” Emilie’s earlier vision of a secure paradise was fast evaporating as her heart beat unsteadily in her chest.
Margaux looked at her watch. “I apologize, Mademoiselle Emilie, but I must go home. Anton is alone at our house. Am I free to leave?” she asked the gendarme.
“Yes. If I need any further information, I’ll be in contact.”
“Thank you.” Margaux turned to Emilie. “Mademoiselle, I’m worried about you being here by yourself. Perhaps it would be better to move out to a hotel for the next couple of nights?”
“Don’t worry, Margaux, I’ll contact a
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