Page 40 of A French Inheritance

When Briony and Meg got back to Owls Nest, Jeannie had finished her toast and coffee breakfast and was busy peeling potatoes ready for lunch. She glanced up as Briony walked into the kitchen. ‘You all right? Long walk?’

‘No longer than usual, but Elliot was at the lake and he wanted to talk.’

‘Ah, how is he after yesterday’s upset?’

‘Thinking murderous thoughts about his ex-wife,’ Briony said. ‘But otherwise he’s okay. I did invite him for lunch, but Lucy and the family are expecting him. Can I just grab a coffee before I start peeling vegetables?’

‘Of course. Time for toast too if you want it. I’ll join you with another coffee,’ Jeannie said.

By the time Yann arrived carrying a bottle of champagne, bunches of flowers and Easter eggs for them both, everything was prepped and both the dauphinoise potatoes and the lamb were ready to go in the oven.

Jeannie thanked him and put the bottle of champagne in the fridge to chill, taking out the one she’d placed there overnight.

‘I thought we could toast Giselle with a glass after we’ve scattered her ashes,’ Jeannie said quietly. ‘She was very fond of a glass of champagne. So shall we take this cold one out to the terrace and open it when we’ve said our final goodbyes?’

Out on the terrace, Jeannie placed the bottle in the wine cooler that Briony had put on the table with three glasses and turned to pick up the urn from the low wall at the end of the terrace.

Silently, the three of them made their way to the trees at the bottom of the garden, stopping in front of the oak with the hollowed-out branch.

Carefully, Jeannie took the lid off the urn and slowly began to shake the ashes free. Whilst Yannick stood at her side, his eyes closed as he said his personal goodbye to Giselle, Briony softly recited the first verse of ‘Remember’, the Christina Rossetti poem.

‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.’

Jeannie finished scattering the ashes and the three of them stood silently for a moment or two before Jeannie said, ‘Time to open the champagne, I think,’ and she led the way back up to the cottage.

After raising their glasses in a final toast to Giselle, they sat out on the terrace sipping their champagne and eating a few nibbles that Jeannie had placed on the table.

Briony looked at Yann. ‘I have to confess that I – we did have a small, ulterior motive for inviting you to lunch today.’

‘You did?’ Yann said. ‘I promise my intentions towards Jeannie are strictly honourable.’ His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.

Briony, a little embarrassed and realising that her mum had told him about her reaction, laughed.

‘It’s really nothing to do with me and mum is happier than I’ve seen her for years.

We have some questions about Dad and Granny Giselle’s family we hope you may be able to answer.

We want to show you some old, mainly black-and-white photos, and see if you could name any of the people in them.

I know you’re a different generation and would have been quite young, or not even born, when some of the photos were taken, but maybe your grandparents or Dad’s grandparents are in the photos and you’ll recognise them,’ Briony said.

‘Basically I’m hoping you can help solve a mystery for us.

’ She got up. ‘I’ll fetch the box with everything in. ’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Yann said, glancing at Jeannie. ‘Did Jeromé or Giselle never share any family history with you?’

‘Jeromé rarely. Giselle occasionally mentioned her mother Marie-Louise, but I’ve never seen a family album of photos. And so far nothing has turned up as Briony has been decluttering the cottage.’

Briony returned and put the box on the table and took out the diary and the photos and placed them on the table alongside it.

Yann riffled through a few photos gently before smiling and picking up a formal photo of a wedding group.

‘This is my grandparents on their wedding day. And that couple in the background are Marie-Louise and Albert – your great-grandparents,’ he said, looking at Briony.

‘It’s not a very clear photo of them, let’s see if there is a better one.

’ Discarding a few photos, he picked up the photo of the young girl with the sad eyes.

‘This is Marie-Louise as a young girl. She kept that sad look all her life. Lovely lady.’ He shuffled a few more of the photos.

‘Ah, here she is on her wedding day with Albert, her new husband.’ Yann glanced at Jeannie.

‘Did Jeromé never talk to you about them? I think they were both dead by the time you came into his life.’

Jeannie shook her head. ‘He said once he adored his grandmother but hadn’t cared much for his grandfather. Said he was a bit taciturn and didn’t have a lot of time for children.’

‘That’s how I remember him too,’ Yann said. ‘My grandparents were friends with them, largely, I suspect with hindsight, because my grand-maman tried to keep an eye on Marie-Louise. It wasn’t a particularly happy marriage, I don’t think.’

‘I’m curious to know why Marie-Louise stopped painting when she was young,’ Briony said. ‘I do wish we’d found these photos before Giselle died. She might have been able to give us some answers, even tell us why everything was hidden away. Do you think she knew about the box in the attic?’

Yann rubbed his face thoughtfully. ‘I’m pretty sure there was some sort of scandal in the village in the late nineteen-thirties.

You have to remember that village life here was a very closed one, not like down on the coast, where it was already the playground of the rich and the famous.

Did you say something about solving a mystery? ’

‘Yes. There are lots of postcards – Paris and New York mainly – with the initials EM on and in the diary journal the writer mentions EM all the way through.’

Yann reached out and picked up the diary. ‘Was this in the box as well?’

‘Yes. But it was never kept as a proper diary, it’s just comments at irregular places in the book. And a particularly sad one near the end about being pregnant,’ Briony said. ‘I’m certain that it belonged to Marie-Louise.’

Thoughtfully, Yann slowly turned a few of the pages near the beginning of the diary.

‘I would agree Marie-Louise was the owner of this journal,’ he paused.

‘And I also think the mystery EM was probably American. Judging by all the name-dropping in the journal and the parties, I think she was one of the very first celebrity figures in the twentieth century. I think she was part of the village scandal too somehow.’ He shrugged.

‘I can’t be sure – it was all so long ago and happened before either Jeromé or I were born.

So I only know stuff that was passed down through the generations, truly family legends.

But I vaguely remember mutterings about an American woman who became friendly with Marie-Louise, much to Albert’s annoyance. ’

‘Well, at least we’re fairly sure now that Marie-Louise was the owner and writer of the journal, and the baby she mentions was Giselle,’ Jeannie said. ‘We’ll have to be content with that for now, I think. I need to go and check on lunch.’

Briony started to pack the photos back into the box. Picking up the photo of Yann’s grandparents’ wedding, she held it out to him. ‘Would you like this one?’

‘Maybe a copy would be nice,’ Yann said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll organise one for you.’

‘Elsa,’ Yann said suddenly. ‘Her name was Elsa.’

‘Sorry?’ Briony said.

‘The American woman was called Elsa. Can’t remember her surname though.’