The Last Summer of Being Single Page 9

  ‘Wow. You weren’t joking. Are these a trial run for Nicole’s party?’

  ‘Partly for Nicole’s party but I also need to get baking for the end of year fete at Dan’s school this afternoon. I volunteered to help out with the entertainment. And most of the desserts! I made the fresh apricot and vanilla cream last week, but the cherry is a new recipe. The cherries I picked yesterday are so sweet and juicy it seems a shame to spoil the flavour with too much almond.’

  Seb sat down in front of the two desserts which had already been cut into large segments. They smelt wonderful.

  ‘Oh you mean the kermesse? Everyone loves the end of year party.’ Seb smiled with a shake of the head as a long forgotten memory wafted into his mind. ‘I vaguely remember dressing up as a tiger in primary school. Or was it a bear? I think we had too much fun running around in costumes to think about the food.’

  ‘Then this could be your lucky day. I need a human taster to help me decide which of these two beauties would be best for a summer dessert. Think garden party on a hot evening. Think nice dresses and smart suits. No gloppy sauces allowed. The children and parents at the fete won’t mind, but Nicole’s guests might.’

  Ella kept on talking as she loaded a plate with a large slice from each tart, slid it across the table towards him and popped the tube of antihistamine cream next to it.

  ‘This is your lunch, so please help yourself while they are still warm. I know you won’t hesitate to tell me the truth.’

  Seb picked up the nearest fork and broke off a piece from the soft deep cherry tart. As he raised it towards his lips the overwhelming fragrance of sweet almonds, butter pastry and warm tart cherries had his mouth watering even before his lips closed around the food.

  His eyes closed.

  Wow. He was tasting summer.

  Crisp pastry melted in his mouth as the rich ground almond paste soothed his tongue and, just when he thought it could not get any better, his teeth squeezed into a whole pitted cherry, and the warm juices burst onto his tongue.

  It was the most amazing cherry tart he had ever eaten. No, the most amazing, delicious dessert he had ever eaten! Which was quite an achievement considering that he was on first-name terms with chefs at famous-name restaurants all over Australia.

  He had been brought up to believe his grandmother was the finest cook in the world, but she had never made anything like this.

  Seb flashed open his eyes and took another generous fork-load. Suddenly hungry for more. Just to make sure his senses weren’t deceiving him.

  As he bit into another cherry it took him back in an instant to the happy long days when he was a boy in this very kitchen.

  Cherries, almonds, apples, apricots. Sitting in the garden on hot summer days, eating sun-warmed strawberries direct from the plants. Being scolded then hugged when he was caught with fruit-stained shorts and skin.

  The flavours linked for ever in his mind and memory to this house and to this land. And the people who had made it special.

  It was the taste of home cooking and fresh fruit. These days his meals tended to be fine food in hotel restaurants or a sandwich while he was working, but that was it.

  When had he forgotten what real food tasted like?

  Food made with love in a home with a family around the table.

  It had been years since he had remembered so vividly what it had felt like to be part of a warm loving family. And it had taken a stranger to do it. A crazy Englishwoman had given him back that memory. And it meant a lot. Perhaps one day he would have a family of his own, but until then he was grateful for the memory.

  Seb turned around in the chair to thank her just as Ella bent over from the waist to offer Milou a plate of what looked like broken pastry. The old dog almost jogged over from his water bowl to gobble up the crisp trimmings as Ella rubbed his head in tune with the wagging of his tail. For a few seconds woman and dog were framed in the sunlit doorway.

  His eyes flashed up her long slim trousers to her trim waist and the sun-touched lower arms as she chatted to Milou, who had decided to try his luck by never leaving her side.

  She looked happy. At home. Serene. Normal. And so very, very beautiful.

  And the thought startled him so much that he coughed.

  Beautiful? Where had that come from?

  He instantly glanced away as the kettle came to the boil and tried to calm his breathing as he watched her stir the hot water into the ground coffee and savoured the delicious aroma.

  God, this woman was good. Even the coffee was excellent.

  His eyes moved to her left hand as she brought the coffee over to the table. The pale blue sapphires had no doubt been chosen to match the colour of her eyes by her late husband—whom she was probably still crazy about.

  A tinge of something approaching jealousy sneaked into Seb’s mind so quietly that he did not notice it until too late. Ridiculous!

  One more reason to finish his packing and get back to his solitary life.

  Ella looked up from Milou as he laughed out loud, and she sat down opposite Seb as she dried her hands.

  ‘What’s so funny? Don’t you like it?’

  He sat back in his hard wooden chair, hands behind his head, and stretched out, unaware that in doing so he had exposed a healthy section of bare midriff complete with muscular abs covered by a band of dark hair.

  ‘Oh, please, not at this time of the day.’ Ella covered her eyes with one hand in dramatic horror. ‘Put it away—it’s putting me off my lunch.’

  Seb glanced down, realised what she was referring to, and dropped his arms. For the first time in many years a flash of real embarrassment made him feel awkward and he busied himself pouring the coffee.

  ‘Is there any place or time of day when it wouldn’t be a problem?’

  Had he really just said that out loud? Because for a second it sounded as though he was flirting—and he did not flirt. Ever.

  ‘Well. Maybe there is.’ Ella smiled closed-mouthed across the table as she accepted the coffee. ‘But it usually involves swimming pools and drinks with umbrellas in them, and since we have neither…’

  ‘I’ll keep my shirt tucked. Got the message.’

  He took a small sip of coffee, then sighed in pleasure.

  ‘This is great coffee. Did you buy it around here?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Montpellier. I’m pleased that you like it. Nicole finds it way too strong. And my parents prefer tea.’

  Seb shuddered in response. ‘I never got used to tea. Do you see your parents very often? Back in London?’

  Ella took a long drink of coffee. ‘No. They gave up their home in London years ago and bought one of those huge mobile homes. They’re still working as jazz musicians and usually find gigs across Europe during the summer, then drive south for the winter. They pop in whenever they can.’ She looked over his head towards the sunlit garden and smiled. ‘But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially for Dan.’

  She glanced down at his plate, then looked up at him, her eyes dancing. ‘You chose the cherry tart. What do you think?’

  ‘Really delicious. And it would be perfect for a summer party. Nicole and her guests are going to love it.’

  Ella slowly lowered her cup to the table. ‘Good. Then you won’t mind if I ask you a question?’ She looked up into Seb’s face, suddenly serious and full of understanding. ‘Does Nicole know that you never had any intention of staying for her birthday party?’

  Seb frowned. ‘I knew that I was going to be in the area for a few days and we agreed to spend some time together for once. As it happened my business meeting was brought forward a week. I am sorry to have missed her, but there will be other times.’

  ‘You do know that Nicole is my friend as well as my employer?’ Ella replied. ‘I hate to think that you are here to hurt her. Is it because of the divorce? Because I think she has suffered enough over that one.’

  ‘No. It’s nothing to do with that. I have every intention of apo
logising the first chance I get.’

  Ella’s focus was still on her coffee cup and when she replied her voice was cracked with sceptical concern. ‘Then why are you still here, Seb? You were quite ready to leave this morning, but as soon as you saw your mum’s portrait something changed. Can you tell me why that was? What did you find in that picture today that was so important to you?’

  Seb paused before replying, her question resonating inside his head.

  He had survived the traumatic events in his life by keeping everything personal bottled up inside himself. But here, in this kitchen, it somehow made perfect sense to give Ella the explanation she needed. And perhaps by talking through the issues out loud, he might make sense of them. Just as he had planned to do with Nicole.

  This could be the only chance he would ever have to tell his story to a disconnected person and know that it would be heard sympathetically. Somehow, somewhere in the last day, he had found someone he could trust with his personal problems. And that was special.

  Ella watched Seb’s heavy dark eyebrows come together, his frown as deep as his heart.

  She might have pushed him too far.

  And in that instant she reached out and touched his hand and smiled to break the tension.

  ‘I am the nosiest person in this town. Please excuse me.’ Ella laughed. ‘You are a guest in this house and your personal reasons for staying around are none of my business.’

  In a moment she was on her feet, reaching out for the cups and plates and desperate to change the subject. ‘Would you like to try the apricots before you leave? Yvette picked them at dawn.’

  Only Seb caught her hand and kept it, calm and still. Something flicked across his face as though he was struggling to come to a decision.

  ‘Six months ago my dad—’ and at this Seb sighed a little too loudly ‘—had what the doctors described as a ministroke.’

  She gasped and sat back down again. ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry. Is he okay?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘It was very small, and he was back on his feet in a few days.’

  He looked up at her and his upper lip twitched. ‘It shook me up, I can tell you. My job demands regular health checks, but nothing specific. Nothing where I needed a detailed family history and blood work.’

  Seb’s eyes were focused now on the palm of Ella’s hand and he spread out her fingers, moving his fingertip along the life line on her palm before speaking again. ‘I asked my company doctor to test me, in case there could be any hereditary problems. He’s a friend. A good friend. So when he came to my office and closed the door behind him I knew it must be something serious.’

  Ella thought that her own heart was going to stop. ‘Oh, no. What did he say? Please?’

  Seb meshed the fingers of one hand through hers as he resisted saying the words out loud.

  ‘He said that I needed to talk to my dad. Because he had been through our blood work three times and there was no mistake. Luc Castellano cannot be my biological father.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘WHAT did you do?’ Ella whispered. ‘I mean, that must have been a terrible shock.’

  Seb nodded. ‘It was. There were two options. I had either been adopted, or my mother had a relationship with someone else before she married my dad. Either way I knew that I had to ask my dad face to face and ask him to tell me the truth.’

  ‘Of course! The wedding photographs! She was pregnant with you when she married.’ Ella paused. ‘But you didn’t expect that, did you? What did he tell you?’

  Seb sat back in the hard kitchen chair, arms stretched out on the table, but his fingers slid out from hers.

  ‘I waited until dad was out of hospital and recovering back at home for a few days. He was feeling good and planning a holiday. And trying to pass his health problems off as just some minor problem. Anything to avoid the real issue.’

  He made a rough chuckle in the back of his throat. ‘As if I didn’t know what he was up to. So I bypassed the chit-chat, showed him the lab-test results and mentioned the fact that I was old enough to hear the truth, and would rather hear it from him.’

  Seb rose and started pacing the floor. When he turned back to Ella his face was dark, controlled anger only too visible.

  ‘He told me to leave it alone. Water under the bridge. And he did not want to discuss it ever again.’ He snorted and shook his head. ‘I told him that I had no intention of leaving it alone. He told me that I was a stubborn fool and that I should get on with my life.’

  Seb was holding onto the back of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white in sharp contrast to the thunderous look on his face. ‘And then we had a fight. I blamed him for taking me away from everything I loved to a country where I didn’t even speak the language. He blamed me for driving Nicole away. And then it got worse.’

  He flexed his fingers for a few seconds, trying to restore some of the circulation. ‘I won’t bore you with what happens when two Frenchmen start an argument where neither of them have any intention of backing down, but it was lucky that a couple of his friends turned up to play golf before things got out of hand.’

  He shrugged. ‘I admit it. I was angry. He had completely refused to answer any of my questions. So I told him he was a coward. His final words of comfort and consolation were along the lines of: “You can’t bring her back,” and then he slammed the door behind me. That was the last time we spoke.’

  ‘Oh, Seb. That’s horrible. You haven’t spoken to him since?’

  He raised his head and stared at her in disbelief. ‘What would be the point of that? I know my dad. He won’t change his mind. If I want to know who my father is then I’m going to have to find out on my own.’

  ‘And that’s why you want to follow up what you found today?’ Ella raised her hands. ‘Because he is right, you know. You’ll have to decide what to do with any information you do find. There is a good chance that your father may not want to be part of your life, even if you want to be part of his.’

  Seb nodded in agreement. ‘I know it. There is a very real chance that André Morel let my mother down. But I don’t want to make that judgement without knowing the facts. Perhaps she left him to be with my dad? It might help to explain his reaction.’

  ‘Wait a moment. Did you say that his name was Morel?’ Ella asked in a voice bright with curiosity.

  Seb reached deep into his trouser back pocket and tugged out the newspaper clipping he had found that morning and passed it to Ella, who was now standing next to him as he looked out of the window into the garden where the trees were swaying wildly in the wind.

  She scanned the few words, then let her shoulders drop. ‘André Morel. Well, that cannot be a coincidence.’

  Ella’s hand slid down and her fingers clasped around Seb’s, forcing him to glance down at the sudden sensation of her fingers on his as she spoke.

  ‘I think that you had better come with me. There’s something that you need to see!’

  Ella half dragged Seb the few steps from the kitchen to the living room, then used her free hand to rummage around in a wicker basket of cards of all sorts.

  ‘Mind telling me what I’m supposed to be looking at?’ Seb asked impatiently as he tried to slip his hand away from hers, but she was not having any of it.

  ‘This,’ Ella replied, waving a party invitation in the air. ‘I’m working this evening at my favourite hotel in town. Private birthday party for…wait for it: Madame Morel and family,’ and she held the invitation behind her back. But Seb just scowled at her from his great height and lifted the card from her fingers.

  ‘Is this for real? And what do you mean when you say that you are working at the hotel?’

  ‘It is absolutely for real. And you may recall that my parents are professional musicians. Well, until I had Dan I earned my living as a performer. So tonight I am going to be playing and possibly singing for my supper and Madame Morel. And—’ she shrugged her shoulders ‘—Sandrine told me that the Morel family are originally from
Montpellier but have retired to their holiday home around here. I know that they might be a completely different family and it could lead to nothing, but isn’t it worth taking the time to ask a few questions?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Seb replied hesitantly. ‘And this is all going a little too fast for me to keep up. You are a professional musician working as a housekeeper, in the middle of nowhere. Is that right?’

  ‘My choice. And no, I had not made the connection between the name Morel and your family until you mentioned it.’

  Ella waited, watching his face, begging him to agree to follow this up. But patience was never her strong point, so she leapt in while he was still thinking about it.

  ‘Come to the party tonight as my guest. I’ll introduce you and tell the family that you are trying to trace an old friend. See what happens! There could be someone there who can put you in touch with this André Morel or may even have known your mother in person. You don’t have anything to lose except a few hours in the city.’

  Seb slid his hand from hers, and sank down onto the sofa. Ella perched next to him and brought her bare feet up onto the sofa cushions. Waiting.

  Seb slowly raised his head to look up at the portrait of his mother before turning back to Ella.

  ‘I can’t be satisfied with the fact that my parents loved me.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s just great. What an idiot, eh?’

  Ella tapped her bottom lip a few times, then slapped her hand on the coffee table. Startled, Seb jumped forward.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Seb Castellano. I have a proposition for you.’

  The surprised look on his face was replaced in an instant with a cunning smile.

  ‘Oh? But we have only just met. I thought you English were so reserved!’

  Ella smirked. ‘Yes, very funny. You should be so lucky. This is serious. So please try and pay attention. Nicole Lambert has been a very good friend to me. I know how hurt she would be if I tell her that her stepson Sebastien, who she talks about constantly, had never intended to stay for her birthday celebrations in the first place—’