A Springtime to Remember Read online

  A Springtime to Remember

  Lucy Coleman

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  I. March 2018

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  II. April 2018

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  III. June 2018

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  IV. August 2018

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  More from Lucy Coleman

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  Author’s Note

  The Palace of Versailles is legendary and awe-inspiring. After numerous visits over the years, I hope – with all sincerity – that my descriptions throughout have done it justice.

  So too, in sharing some of its history; but this story, including the characters I have created, is the product of my imagination.

  I would like to pay tribute to those who have been involved in its long and colourful history. It’s a place I think about often, in between visits, and I have no idea why I feel such a deep connection to it. But I do.

  It was on one such visit, on 12 June 2018, that Lexie and Ronan first spoke to me.

  A few months later, during a rather stormy English winter, I found myself transported back there. It is, indeed, a place to inspire both the heart and the mind.

  Part I

  March 2018

  1

  When Fairy Tales Come True

  ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a very big dream.’

  ‘How big?’ Little Maisie stares up at me questioningly. Surrounded by a mantle of shadows in the darkened room, only the tiny shaft of light seeping in from the landing allows me to see her baby-blue eyes. She’s determined not to give in to sleep, but it’s obvious she’s fighting a losing battle.

  Maisie blinks in rapid succession and already her breathing is beginning to slow.

  ‘Hu-u-u-uge.’ The sound of my soft whisper fills the air. ‘And she promised herself she would never, ever, let anyone deter her from trying her hardest to make everything she wished for come true.’

  I glance down at my darling niece and catch a fleeting glimpse of a smile before sleep finally whisks her away. Hesitant to make a move for fear of disturbing her, I decide to sit for a while, fascinated by that perfect little heart-shaped face. It tugs on my heart strings as I realise how much I’m going to miss her this spring.

  As I’m about to ease myself up very gingerly off the bed, to my complete surprise her little voice suddenly rises up out of the darkness.

  ‘When you come back you will tell me all about your adventure, won’t you, Auntie Lexie?’

  I reach across to smooth a few strands of hair away from her warm little cheek.

  ‘Of course, I will. And it will be a story of palaces and kings and magical gardens that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Now go to sleep, beautiful girl, and keep a tight hold of Mr Panda, because he will keep you safe until I get home.’ She snuggles her rather threadbare companion even closer.

  Stooping to plant a kiss on her forehead, I notice she’s fallen back to sleep. It’s hard not to feel sad, because when I return, she’ll probably have grown another inch and I will have missed so much. Even a few months can see so many changes in a five-year-old and she’s growing up way too quickly. Maisie is an old head on young shoulders, and takes after me, rather than my sister, Shellie. Much to Shellie’s annoyance.

  I creep out to find my older sister in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar leisurely reading her Kindle.

  ‘That was quick, but Maisie was exhausted. Swimming always has that effect on her. She’s going to miss you, you know.’

  Shellie holds up her empty coffee mug and shakes it at me. I nod, sinking down onto the stool next to her as she jumps up and heads in the direction of the coffee machine.

  ‘I know she’s only a phone call away, but it won’t be the same. She’s my little buddy. You made a special one there, sis.’

  Shellie laughs. ‘Well, I might not have attained the lofty heights of ambition and fame that my baby sister and my older brother have, but this is the life I wanted, so I’m happy.’

  I studiously ignore the reference to our estranged brother, Jake. Success often comes at a price and, in his case, it went to his head. I guess family doesn’t mean much if your ego tells you that you’ve outgrown the people who love you.

  Reining in that little surge of anger his name always invokes, I watch Shellie as she moves around the kitchen. With baby number two due in seven months’ time she’s in her element. I know she’s impatient, ticking off each precious day on her calendar at the thought of giving Maisie a sibling. Shellie is a mini version of Mum, whereas Jake and I take after our late father, Paul.

  Chrissy, our mum, has always been the rock of the family because Dad was often away travelling, or home working late in his study. They were a team, though, and she was a bigger part of his success than most people realise. And because they were both happy in their respective roles, I can’t remember them ever having a cross word.

  Dad was someone who grabbed every opportunity and was determined to live his dream. Was he a little self-centred? Well, yes, I suppose he was, because as soon as he was away, it was as if we didn’t really exist for him. But on his return, Dad would thrill us with stories that captured our imaginations and fired our enthusiasm.

  Dad was lauded as one of the top wildlife photographers of his generation, and he lived for the thrill of capturing that perfect shot. With a long list of magazine articles and natural history programmes to his credit, he was always in demand. The fact that he died while doing something he loved seemed fitting in a tragic sort of way.

  I remember the day of the fateful call and the phone falling from Mum’s ear as she struggled to take in the devastating news. Dad had a massive heart attack while filming on location in Tarangire National Park, in Tanzania. If only it had happened in the UK, maybe we could have…

  ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you, Lexie?’

  Shellie appears in front of me, proffering a mug of steaming coffee and one of her delicious, homemade chocolate and beetroot brownies.

  ‘Sorry. My head is all over the place right now. So many last-minute things to do before I fly out tomorrow.’

  She eases herself up onto the stool alongside me, frowning.

  ‘No regrets? I mean, you’re always heading off somewhere or other, but this is the longest stint in one go. I know there’s a lot at stake for you personally on this one.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘A lot? You could say that. I’m sinking every penny I’ve saved into this, and it’s my one-time shot.’

  Absent-mindedly, she scoops the long blonde hair back from her face, yanking a scrunchy from around her wrist to pull it into a ponytail. I’ve always envied her hair, another gift bestowed by Mum, and my short, feathery look is about all I can do to tame my wavy mane. Taking after Dad doesn’t come without its drawbacks.

  ‘You aren’t regretting this project?’

/>   I shake my head. ‘No. I don’t want to be just a TV presenter any more.’

  She smiles. ‘Your chance, at last, to be a producer, too. You just like being in charge.’

  The smile becomes more of a smirk – she knows me so well and yet her comment puts me on the defensive.

  ‘Well, you know that I love gardening programmes. You can blame that on Grandma. All the time I spent with her in the garden as a child. And teaming up with cameraman Elliot Nielson is a dream come true. Elliot has great connections and has filmed at Versailles before. Fingers crossed, between us we can do the business.’

  In fact, Elliot is setting out to make a big name for himself and his work already commands a lot of respect within the industry. But this project is a huge risk for him too, because, while in theory we have interest in this mini-series of documentaries we’re going to be working on together, there’s no signed contract yet. The reality of the situation is that no TV network will commit until we have something to show them, which means using our own money, and putting everything on the line.

  ‘So, when exactly are you due back from Versailles?’

  ‘The fourth of June, at the latest, as I’m hosting a new slot on the Morning Sunshine show. Elliot won’t be working exclusively on our project while we’re away as he has some paid work that he’ll be doing in between filming. It was a big factor in him being able to commit to it, so I’m happy to work around him. What’s left of my nest egg will keep me going until I get home, hopefully. The bonus is that this is finally the chance I’ve been waiting for, to spend time doing some family research.’

  Shellie’s forehead lifts as she pulls one of her renowned is that wise? faces.

  ‘I guessed as much, but have you actually spelt that out to Mum?’

  ‘What, that I want to dig around and find out more about Grandma’s time in France? Well, I sort of assumed she’d take that for granted. I’m a journalist, after all, and I’ll be in Versailles with time on my hands.’

  ‘Good luck with that, then, as 1961 was a long time ago.’ She rolls her eyes, clearly thinking any spare time I have could be better utilised.

  ‘I loved Grandma Viv’s stories about her childhood – she was a natural storyteller. You missed a lot not joining us in the garden, you know.’

  Shelley bats her eyelashes at me. ‘That’s why your hands were always so filthy as a child and, besides, you were her undisputed favourite. She knew it was never my thing, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I think you missed out. But as for her French adventure, well, it was strange because she wouldn’t talk about it. I mean, what did Granddad think? They met, she was offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to head off to France on a year’s work experience and when she returned home, they were married. But she never once, as far as I can tell, mentioned her year away.

  ‘Even in the letters she sent to Granddad she was secretive, and I have no idea why I had to talk Mum into letting me borrow the memory box. It’s not like there’s anything in there to hide, as the letters were simply little updates between them. But I am curious about what isn’t there, aren’t you? I mean, a year apart is a long time and I wonder what Granddad really felt about coming second to her other grand passion in life.’

  Shellie looks at me, a hint of a frown working its way over her brow. ‘This is precisely why I worry about you sometimes. When you get an idea in your head you simply won’t give up. Grandma Viv had her own little adventure before settling down and if Granddad respected that, so should you.’

  There are times when I find it hard to believe the two of us share any genes. How can Shellie shrug it off so easily when it’s always been such a secret?

  ‘But it’s a part of our family history. Aren’t you in the least bit curious? I wish she’d been around for much longer but at least some of her feisty spirit lives on in us. And now I want to discover the woman she was before she became our grandma. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Her passion for horticulture never left her, but she turned her back on what could have been a very promising career for the love of one man. Don’t you think that’s an interesting story?’

  ‘See! You’re thinking of making a documentary out of it already! You and Jake are just like Dad. That drive is all well and good, but don’t you ever long to switch off that mind of yours? Or simply let something be, because some things aren’t meant to be aired to the world?’ Exasperation is making the pitch in Shellie’s voice rise up a level.

  ‘Don’t you want a husband and a Maisie of your own, one day? She’d love a cousin at some point in the not-too-distant future and if that ends up being from Jake, then I doubt they’ll ever meet. I’m pinning my hopes on you, Lexie.’

  The look she gives me feels like a reprimand.

  ‘I love being an auntie because it’s the best of both worlds. I get to enjoy and spoil her, then hand her back.’ I give Shellie a grin.

  ‘So, you’re not missing the gorgeous Will, then?’

  All my boyfriends seem to come and go, but that’s life. The initial buzz just fades away with time, or it always has so far, anyway.

  ‘No. It was fun, though, for a while. But seriously, Will works hard but parties even harder and I have more important things on which to expend my energy.’

  The look my sister gives me is full of disapproval.

  ‘Tick tock, Lexie. You’re thirty next year and that’s a big deal whether you want to acknowledge it, or not. I just worry that you’re sinking everything into this project and what if it’s not quite what you hope it’s going to be?’

  Just like Mum. ‘Stop worrying about me. I don’t need a man in my life right now. I’ve never found one quite like your Drew. Maybe one day I will, but, in the meantime, I’m not going to wish my life away. If the right one pops up and grabs my attention, then fine. But this project is my baby and I’m going to nurture it every step of the way like the fussiest of mothers.’

  Shellie throws her hands in the air.

  ‘You’re a lost cause. What is it with this family? Am I the only one who inherited anything at all from our mother?’

  I lean in to throw my arms around her.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate that you always have my best interests at heart. Or that you give it to me straight when you’re worried. But this is my dream and I’m fed up of people holding me back. I mean… I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing, but after the thing with Jake… Being sacked by one’s own brother was beyond humiliating. He never even asked for my side of the story, and when your own flesh and blood gets rid of you without a second thought, well, everyone around you tends to think the worst.’

  She sighs, looking into my eyes, and I know deep down she understands.

  ‘It closed a lot of doors, but you’ve made it, Lexie. People recognise your face everywhere you go and you are a daytime TV star. What more could you possibly do to prove yourself? At some point you need to relax a little.’

  ‘Standing still isn’t an option, Shellie. I want to show everyone that I have what it takes to be a producer. And besides, this won’t be all work. I’m going to immerse myself in the French way of life and you know that old saying, a change is as good as a rest. Versailles, here I come!’

  2

  The Birds Are Singing and Life Is Good

  Standing here in front of this pretty little cottage, its pale grey paintwork with the tiniest hint of blue reflecting that rustic, French vibe, I take a moment to gaze up at the façade of my home for the next few months. It’s every bit as quaint as it looked in the photos on the agency website and I couldn’t be more delighted.

  It’s one of six mews cottages clustered around a beautiful, and very old, cobbled courtyard. With two cottages on each of the three sides facing the entrance, it’s a gated community in miniature, hidden away behind a row of four-storey buildings with shops and offices at ground-floor level, and apartments above. The buildings act as a welcome sound barrier, given the proximity of the bustling Avenue De Paris, the centr
al artery of three main thoroughfares leading to the iconic Palace of Versailles.

  The entrance to this very secluded hideaway is two enormous, ornate metal gates sandwiched between a charming little café and a boulangerie. It couldn’t be more perfect, or more enchanting, and is an oasis of tranquillity just metres away from the busy chaos of the streets.

  Number Six, La Cour Céleste abuts the high wall that runs behind the rear of the properties on the main road and, whilst rather modest in size, these wonderful little cottages have the feel of robustly built and characterful stone houses in miniature. Each property has a golden emblem set above the front door, based on a celestial theme. Number six has a star; the others feature the sun, a moon, a planet, an angel and a King’s crown. The latter, no doubt, a reference to the Sun King himself, Louis XIV.

  There are no delusions of grandeur because of the simplicity of style, but at three storeys high and with the trademark grey slate, Mansard-style roof – often referred to as a French roof – the four sloping sides do make it rather whimsical. Three elaborate dormer windows with the traditional lead dressings make the scale pleasing to the eye. It’s not just a roof, it’s a statement and one repeated throughout the city of Versailles.

  The ground-floor frontage of number six comprises an integral garage, next to which is a storage facility accessed by double wooden doors. A few feet the other side of that is the entrance. A standard rectangular building face-on, inside it only extends back the depth of one room, albeit generously sized.