The French for Always by Fiona Valpy

the honeycomb cells of the storage crate, nonchalant.
    ‘Well, funnily enough, when I popped into the bakery this morning, Madame Fournier told me that I’d just missed Thomas Cortini, who’d apparently been doing the Sunday morning croissant run for Château Bellevue in place of Mademoiselle Sara. She couldn’t help noticing that he was wearing his smart shirt and pants, such as might be worn when DJ-ing a wedding party the night before. And apparently he’d been in an extremely good mood, whistling a Scottish tune, not unlike the one you’ve just been humming to yourself this fine morning, Snow White.’
    ‘And so she put two and two together and made five?’ retorted Sara.
    ‘No, but she did put one and one together and made two. But don’t worry; I cunningly threw her off the scent by telling her he must have spent the night with one of the wedding guests. And, given that it hasn’t escaped the notice of the good people of Coulliac that this particular function has a particularly gay air about it, that’s given Madame Fournier a great deal to think about!’
    Sara buried her face in the tea towel. ‘Oh, Karen, you didn’t?’
    ‘Of course I could scotch these rumours by going back and telling her that I’d got it wrong and that I have a categorical admission that he was with a certain girl up here instead...’
    Sara hesitated, coming out from behind the tea towel, blushing. ‘All right. I admit it.’
    ‘Gotcha! I knew it,’ Karen crowed. ‘Oh, and by the way, Madame Fournier already did too. Only a rookie gossipmonger would have believed anything otherwise, and she’s a world expert.’
    Sara gasped. ‘Oh, you ratbag! Tricking me like that.’ She flicked her tea towel at Karen’s rear. Grinning smugly, Karen carried on putting away the glasses.
    Sara was relieved to turn back to her task, polishing each wineglass with deliberate concentration. She knew she ought to be regretting last night. After all, she’d sworn off men for life (so much for willpower then) and it was probably a big mistake to get involved with someone she worked with. And she blushed to think how quickly it had happened after Gavin’s departure. But who could have resisted the starlight and the champagne, such a perfect setting... such a man. She put it down to his irresistible joie de vivre , the life force he’d brought to the two weddings he’d participated in so far... the way the sun came out whenever he walked into the room. Careful now , she admonished herself. You’re not going to fall for him; you know he’ll only leave you and break your heart . She put it down to a temporary lapse, a fling as a result of a glass of champagne too many and several months of loneliness and frustration. It had felt so good to lie in someone’s arms again, to feel wanted. Maybe even—although she hardly dared think the thought—to feel loved...
    Just then, Nicola Carter appeared in the kitchen. ‘Sara, I’m heading back to the gîte now. Just wanted to thank you all for making it such a perfect celebration for the boys. We’ve all had a wonderful time.’
    ‘Oh, can you hang on a sec? I wondered whether you’d like to take some of the flowers from the marquee back with you to brighten up your holiday house. Matthew said they don’t want them—after all, they can hardly take them back on the plane.’ Sara wrapped an armful of the roses in damp newspaper and covered it with a plastic bag.
    ‘Beautiful, I’d love them. These will certainly enhance the place—thanks.’ Nicola fished in her bag and handed Sara her business card. ‘Here’s my mobile number and email address. Keep in touch. And let me know if I can ever be of help. We might even include Château Bellevue de Coulliac in a feature in High Society one of these days...’
    After she’d gone, Karen couldn’t resist one last dig. ‘Ah, if only she knew what the owner of the château had been getting up to last night. Then she’d really have something to