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The beam of sunshine focused through the skylight on her hand and she watched tiny motes of dust float in and out of the narrow cone of intense light. Dust particles going where the breeze took them. Without direction.
Then the sound of a dog barking echoed up from the garden and the old house creaked around her. Solid and reassuring.
‘Stupid girl,’ she said out loud, wiped her eyes with a not-so-clean finger and sniffed loudly. She was not without direction or friends. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Things to do and people to see.’
‘Do you have a saying for everything, Mrs Martinez?’ a man’s voice asked, and Ella practically jumped off the trunk in shock.
Seb watched Ella stuff a letter into her trouser pocket. He had seen enough for him to know that something had upset her very badly.
‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ he added, then glanced around the attic room and blinked several times as his eyes became more accustomed to the dim light in that part of the attic. ‘Although I am surprised that you can see anything at all.’
He turned sideways and stumbled over a box of tools as he reached for the light switch but Ella was already on her feet and faster, and as their hands connected his mind and senses were filled with the image of the girl with her hair down he had seen in the garden that morning. The girl whose touch made the hairs on the back of his arm prickle to attention.
A hard fluorescent strip light crackled into life above his head creating hard shadows and dark corners. Ella instantly snatched her hand away as though she had been stung, but her pale blue eyes were still locked onto his. In this light the planes of her face were in hard contrast to her plump, soft-looking skin.
He was the first one to break eye contact and glance around the long narrow room where he had spent many happy hours exploring as a child.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Well, this is going to be rather more of a challenge than I expected. It never used to be this messy.’
Ella found her voice. ‘The roof was repaired last autumn. And then the designer needed somewhere to store all the bits and pieces he moved from downstairs. There are several families of mice living in the barn, and…’
She left the end of that sentence unsaid with a simple tilt of her head and Seb picked up on it. ‘Everything ended up in here instead. Got it.’
Ella pointed to a large wooden crate with the name of a well-known champagne house on the side. ‘That was the box where I found your mum’s photo. There are a couple of photo albums in there mixed in with the other paperwork. It’s too heavy for me to lug down those narrow stairs. I know there are more, but they’ve been pushed right to the back by the furniture.’
‘Here. Let me pull them forward.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ella choked, flapping away the dust she was stirring up, which only seemed to make it worse. ‘It’s going to make a horrible mess on your clothes.’
Seb glanced down at his outfit and frowned. A designer-suit-and-bespoke-shoes combo was not perhaps the best choice for scrambling around in dirty attics, but seeing as he had not packed any casual clothes he didn’t have a lot of options.
And he was on a mission.
A few items of damaged clothing were a small price to pay to find some clues to his personal history.
‘I’ll live,’ he replied, trying to squeeze his way between unrecognisable lumps of old chairs and bookcases to reach the stack of boxes in the dark corner of the attic.
‘Oh, no,’ Ella exclaimed, reaching into the first box she had pulled forward. ‘The frame is cracked. What a shame. I’ve often wondered why you didn’t take these photos with you. I mean, if you didn’t want them any more, you could have given them away to the rest of your family instead of leaving them here for the mice.’
Seb took the photograph from her and pressed his fingers onto the glass for a moment.
‘When we left for Australia,’ he replied in a low voice, ‘I was allowed one suitcase and whatever I could carry in my rucksack. That was it.’
He tried to keep the hard reality of his dad’s decision out of his tone but failed.
‘I was twelve and leaving the only home I had ever known.’ He looked up from the photograph and shrugged like the Frenchman that he always would be in his heart. ‘I was far more worried about leaving my dogs and my pals behind to even think about the personal stuff, but…that was a long time ago.’
He carefully lowered the broken picture onto the pile of paperwork and photos and old birthday cards and goodness knew what else inside the wooden wine box.
‘I’m actually surprised that this much has survived all of the tenants who lived here over the years. They mustn’t have been very curious. Or there was nothing worth selling.’
When Ella didn’t answer immediately he turned back to find her looking at him with a confused expression on her face.
‘Actually there was only ever one tenant. A retired couple from Marseilles who only ever used the house during August. The house had been empty for over a year when Nicole and I moved in. Didn’t you know? ‘
He stared at her hard, the words resonating inside his head before words burst out of his mouth from a place of anger and resentment. ‘That can’t be right. There was a family living here right until the day the divorce papers were signed.’
The hard words echoed around the small space, and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
Ella licked her lips, squeezed them hard together, crossed her arms and stretched up almost onto tiptoe so that she could stare Seb straight in the eye.
‘Mr Castellano,’ she said in a calm low voice, and her chin lifted another couple of inches. ‘I may only be the housekeeper here, but I do not appreciate being called a liar.’ She paused, took a breath then carried on, her shoulders lifting and falling as she spoke. ‘So. Make your mind up. Do you want me to help you? Or not? Because if you do, you’re going to have to change your tone. And fast. Have I made myself perfectly clear?’
Her lips formed a single line, her arms wrapped tighter across her chest and she just stood there, covered in dust and grubby marks, holding her ground and waiting for him to say something.
Seb responded by sitting down on the next box. Not caring about the damage to the fine fabric of his trousers or the indentations being poked into his skin.
It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to confront him face to face and ask—no, demand—that he change his tone.
His tone! His tone was just fine. It was his temper that was the problem.
She did not know what he had gone through. How could she? How could anyone understand when the only person who knew the truth was his dad? Luc Castellano was the person he should be challenging.
As for Ella Martinez? Ella Martinez was simply magnificent.
He had misjudged her. She had clearly been upset about a letter he had seen when he came into the attic, and perhaps that had made her oversensitive. The laid-back serene woman he had seen singing that morning had her own issues to deal with and he had no right to make them any worse by shifting his hot temper onto her shoulders.
Seb inhaled a deep breath, formed a thin-lipped and restrained smile and saw the tension in her jaw relax just a little.
‘Quite right. You have made yourself very clear and I can assure you that I won’t use that tone with you again.’ He gave her a closed-mouth smile. ‘I am pond scum. Please accept my sincere apology.’
Her lips twitched slightly, but he had already guessed that she was not going to let him off the hook that easily. ‘What kind of pond scum?’ ‘Green slime.’
‘Um. Okay.’ She released her arms and leant back on one of the chairs so that she was at about the same height as Seb. ‘But I’ll only accept your apology if you tell me why it was so hard for you to accept that this house had been standing empty. Because it really was. I know because I had to clean it!’
The power of her simple words combined with a steady and trusting gaze bored into his skull. She was telling the truth and he was the biggest idiot in the world. He had believed his dad. Suddenly he was tired of all the lies.
She deserved an explanation. No. More than that. She deserved the truth.
It had been years since he had felt the need to explain himself to anyone and Seb sniffed away the apprehension that came with finding himself in such an unusual position. Perhaps it was this house? The challenges just kept coming.
He had two choices. Stand up, walk out and jump into his car. Or stay and see it through.
Which was probably why he stretched out his long arms in front of him, hands palms together.
‘I will tell you what I do know. I know that a few years ago I offered my dad a very large sum of money in exchange for this house at a time when he needed the cash to pay for his divorce and early retirement. I know that he refused to sell it to me at any price. When I asked him why, he told me that he had a sitting tenant who he had no intention of throwing out onto the street.’
Hot anger flushed at the back of his neck and his breathing raced. Pulling himself back, he added, ‘So you can see that I was rather confused when Nicole was given the Mas as part of the divorce settlement a few weeks later. So, yes, I am somewhat annoyed.’
Then he twisted his mouth into a quirky grin. ‘But that is my personal problem and I have to live with it. You do not. Hence my apology, Mrs Martinez.’
‘Oh. Well, I find the direct approach works best.’ Then her face brightened. ‘Why don’t you just call him up and ask him?’
Ask him? Ask him what? Ask him why he had lied about the fact that Seb’s parents were not his real parents? Or perhaps ask him why he had married the first Frenchwoman he met in Sydney and expected Seb to make Nicole his new mother? And now this.
No, thanks. He had stopped asking and started making his own choices a long time ago.
‘Maybe another time. Right now I’m far more interested in collecting together as much of my family history as I can before I leave today.’
‘Well, in that case, you had better start with these photos of your parents’ wedding.’
Ella pressed a leather photo album into his hands. ‘Your mother looked so beautiful. She obviously loved being pregnant.’
CHAPTER SIX
TWO hours later Seb was pacing the length of his bedroom and in danger of wearing a track on the surface of the fine wool rug.
He had not left the Mas Tournesol. He couldn’t. He was far too agitated to drive anywhere except into the nearest solid brick wall or large tree.
The only good news was that he now had the answers to two of his questions.
He had not been adopted after all.
There was no doubt now that his mother had been pregnant when she married his dad. The wedding photographs Ella had found in the attic were wonderful—it was a delight to see his mother laughing and happy, surrounded by family and friends she loved. And without the huge bouquet of flowers to hide her baby bump, she was very definitely pregnant.
Ella had recognised the fact instantly when she had seen those photographs.
While he had been kept in the dark all of these years!
Okay. He could deal with that and stomping around his old bedroom was not going to help. It had always been a possibility that his mother had been in a previous relationship and it certainly did not change his deep connection to her.
Which left the missing piece of the puzzle. Who was his father?
And now he had a possible answer.
Because he had a name. André Sebastien Morel. Only this André was not a friend or some relative. André Morel had been his mother’s fiancé.
Clutched in his left hand was a crinkled and faded clipping from a Montpellier newspaper he had unearthed from the second box of Castellano family records he had hauled down from the attic.
The edges of the clipping were torn because whoever had cut the announcement had used pinking shears from a young woman’s sewing box.
The photograph in the living room had been taken at his mother’s engagement party to celebrate her engagement to André Sebastien Morel some fourteen months before she married Luc Castellano.
There was no doubt. Both the date and the year on the newspaper clipping matched those on the photograph from the living room.
His mother had been engaged to André Sebastien Morel.
It did not mean that André was his father, of course, but it was a start.
Screwing up the ragged scrap of faded newsprint, he pushed it deep into his pocket, marched over to the window and clenched his hand over the narrow ledge, his fingers and knuckles white with the effort, desperate to breathe in some cool air.
He felt totally bewildered at the fury of questions and implications that showered out of this discovery.
There were two more boxes to sort through and the weight of what he might find there was starting to bear down heavily. He would do it. He had to.
But suddenly he felt constricted, trapped in this tiny room. He needed to walk some of this tension out of his body. And fast.
Perhaps a change of scene would help him to come up with a plan?
He needed to find out everything he could about André Morel. At the very least André had known his mother at a crucial time and could help track down his father. And at worst? His mother would not be the first girl to find herself pregnant and engaged to the man she loved—only to find herself a single mother. Either way, he needed to know.
Seb snatched up his carryon bag and started stuffing it with paperwork and photographs—but it was far too small.
The knock on the door startled him and he jogged the few steps to yank it open in frustration, only to find Ella peeking in towards him, carrying a small wooden tray complete with a white lacework napkin and a steaming beaker of the most delicious smelling coffee.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but delving back into the past can be hard work. Do you need milk or sugar? I noticed you took your coffee straight at breakfast but I can always dive down and get you some. And how about a pastry? You look like you need a pastry. Oh. You’re packing.’
The look on her face of simple interest and calm concern hit him like a bucket of cool fresh water, dousing out the flames of his anger and discontent.
She was gabbling. Nervous… for him.
The gesture was so genuine and caring that it grabbed him and shook him hard out of his grave state of mind.
He gently laid one hand on her arm and she stopped gushing and gabbling and looked at him. Really looked at him. As though she could see into his mind and untangle the turmoil of questions and answers that lay within. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, the concern in her soft voice making it tremble.
The coffee was starting to slosh and the whole tray threatened to shake out of her hands so he carefully took it from her hands and lowered it onto a stack of old magazines. Almost instinctively his hands reached out to take hold of hers, but he caught them in time to push them firmly down into his trouser pockets.
‘No. I’m not okay, and, yes, I am packing. Except that I am going to need several more bags,’ he replied, his gaze on the assorted documents that were spread out all over the bedroom floor, close to Ella’s feet.
Ella was wearing blue lace-up deck shoes and a green ribbon tied around her left ankle.
A small sigh escaped from her mouth and there was something about it that touched him. He barely knew her, but she was as transparent as glass. Which was probably why he startled both of them by looking into her blue eyes and asking, ‘How about you? Are you okay?’
She breathed in through her nose and her chin tilted back a little as she rocked back on her heels.
‘Been better,’ she whispered, ‘since you ask.’
Then her lips came together and for one, horrible moment that filled him with dread Seb thought that she was going to start crying on him.
Instead, she blinked several times as though clearing her mind, smiled and gestured with her head towards the corridor.
‘It seems to me that you need a job to keep your mind busy. I need someone who is taller than I am and not frightened of heights. Yvette has gone home for the day and, to be perfectly honest, you look like you could use some fresh air. Interested?’
‘You have a job for me?’ He snorted in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I have more than enough on my mind right now.’
He flung his arm out over the jumble of papers and boxes. ‘I need to get to the city and find myself a large conference table and a fast computer. Databases. Old newspapers. Anything that can give me the background data I need. Starting with my birth certificate. How do I get hold of a copy in a hurry? I’ve never seen an original.’
Ella peered around him at the crates. ‘How do you know that you don’t have one buried in those boxes that you have not opened yet?’
His eyes narrowed and he glared at her. ‘I don’t want to be rude but I need to get back to work. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish packing. I’m sure there is someone else who can help you in the garden.’
She pursed her lips and watched him for a few seconds as he snatched up clothing and tried to cram it into the holdall. Without success.
Ella took advantage of a pause to step close enough for him to stop what he was doing and turn his head towards her.
‘I’ll trade you one hour of my time sorting through all of these boxes in exchange for one hour of your time in Nicole’s garden. You do remember Nicole, don’t you? She’s the woman whose birthday party you are going to miss, even though you promised her that you would be here.’
Ella tilted up her head and twitched her button nose as she peered at the wedding photos Seb had spread out across his bedcover. ‘Nice photos. Pity that you cannot spare a few days out of your so busy schedule to find out your family history. Or are you too busy making money to wonder who you really are?’
She glanced at her watch and folded her arms. ‘But please make up your mind because I don’t have all day.’
‘Matt! How are you doing, mate? Having a great time by the pool?’
‘Pool? I wish. I’m back in Paris,’ Matt replied with a sigh. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
Seb’s eyebrows joined as his face darkened. ‘What do you mean, you’re in Paris? Montpellier not exciting enough for you? Or is there a problem with the deal?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about. The PSN Media lawyers need me to go over some fine details on the contract and it made sense for me to fly up to their offices. I’ll be back on Sunday. Job done. Ready to sign the papers.
Okay?’
Seb paused before swallowing down regret that his friend was not only out of town but also working on the deal while he had just wasted the last hour reading through farmhouse accounts and village sporting achievements. And failing to find a copy of his birth certificate.
‘Do you need any help?’ Seb offered. ‘I don’t want to be having all of the fun!’
‘All taken care of. You enjoy yourself and I’ll see you at the hotel Sunday evening. Then back home on Monday. Can’t wait!’
A great whoosh of air jetted from Seb’s lungs as Matt disconnected.
He still had to decide whether to stay an extra day and visit the local records office to get a copy of his birth certificate, or head back home with Matt. Even with Ella’s help he had found little extra information in the photos and documents. Perhaps this was all a wild goose chase after all, brought on by lack of sleep and too much caffeine?
In the meantime he had to waste an hour doing gardening jobs for the woman he had barely spoken to since agreeing to accept her help.
She was infuriating! Especially when he could not argue with her common sense.
A deal was a deal. And he had lugged two boxes of paperwork back to the attic before calling it a day.
Seb strolled out into the warm sunshine and was greeted by birdsong and the sound of bees on the lavender and herbs in the kitchen garden.
A flash of colour appeared at the side of the house and he turned the corner just in time to see Ella trying to drag a set of very large, heavy ladders out of the barn, a basket hanging from the crook of her arm. From the huffing and puffing going on, the ladders were heavier than they looked, and Milou was playing around her legs at the same time.
‘I had better help you with that before it falls on your foot and breaks some toes.’
‘I can manage, thank you,’ she blew out. Only at that moment her basket fell onto the patio as the ladder slipped and Ella veered towards it as her weight shifted. Seb ran forward and caught her arm just as she was about to lose her balance.
‘So I can see. And when was the last time you pruned these trees?’
Ella raised her eyebrows and looked quizzically at Seb as he calmly took the ladder and opened it in one swift move.
‘Hello! I am a London girl. Brought up above a jazz club! A window box was just about my limit. Yvette did prune the apples last winter but I can’t remember her touching the cherries.’
Seb smiled and braced the ladders into a stable position against the trunk of the nearest cherry tree.
‘If these are the original trees, I seem to remember that these cherries are good.’
‘They are sweet. Dan loves them. And I’m hoping Nicole and her guests will too. At the moment my plan is to serve cherry frangipane tart as part of the dessert menu but I’m still fiddling with the recipe.’ She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘And there is no way you are going up that ladder in those shoes!’
Seb stopped and looked down at this black lace-up meeting-room leather designer wear.
‘What’s wrong with these shoes?’
‘Nothing. They are excellent for a boardroom or fancy restaurant. But those leather soles are way too slippery to be safe. I hate to say it but I wouldn’t be able to catch you if you fell. So…thank you for the help, but I’ll take it from here.’
And before Seb could stop her, Ella had dived in front of him and was already skipping up the ladder. Until she reached three steps from the top and reached out towards the nearest branch, which was still way above her head. Then she stopped, dropped her arm, closed her eyes and clutched onto the wooden frame for dear life as the ladder slipped an inch, then another, before juddering onto a firmer spot. A very Anglo Saxon expletive escaped under her breath.
‘Um,’ Seb replied as she slumped forward onto the ladder. ‘Good effort. Can you make it down?’
Her reply was a whimper and a gentle nod. ‘I just need a minute,’ she replied in a faint voice.
‘Okay. I am going to put my hands on your waist. So don’t be startled. It’s just to hold you steady on the way down. Are you ready?’
Seb stood behind Ella and gently spread his hands both sides of her waist and pressed gently.
‘I’ve got you now. One step at a time. Steady. That’s it.’
A fast-beating heart pulsed below the fragile ribcage under his fingers. Fast like the caged finch he used to have as a boy. Only this was no bird. This was a soft and warm person trembling in his hands. A thin layer of fabric separated his fingertips from her skin and as she slowly extended one leg down to the next rung he breathed in a luscious smell of flowers and baking and the sweet fruit on the ground under his shoes and above his head.
He did not do intimate. And this was the closest he had come for longer than he cared to recall.
And he would have a lot of explaining to do if someone caught them like this, because, like it or not, when Ella reached the bottom of the ladder, she turned to face him. And leant forward with both palms flat against his chest, resting her forehead on the backs of her hands, so that he was looking down onto the top of her shiny brown hair as she caught her breath.