The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,63

will,” she said. “Take a look at the other photos. I’d like for you to remember the wonderful times you had when you visited with me. I think about them often.”

Pictures of me from every summer I visited Champvert were scattered all over her room, decorating her walls and her dressers. I didn’t even know she’d taken them. In one photo, I hung upside down from one of the willow trees, seemingly acting like a chimpanzee. In another, I licked a spoon, chocolate dripping down my chin. There was even a framed picture of me and Rémi. We were laughing with a big basket of cherries in front of us. All the pictures held one thing in common: they proved I’d been happy in Champvert. I wondered if I’d ever find that kind of happiness again. A surge of something sparked in my body. I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was hope?

As I surveyed the shots somebody had captured of days gone by, I wondered why there weren’t any pictures of my mother displayed. The relationship between my grandmother and her only daughter couldn’t have been that bad. With her health on the upswing, maybe now she’d talk about it.

Agnès and Rémi walked into the suite, wheeling in equipment. Rémi grunted and pushed by me without an apology, almost crushing my feet with a heavy machine. I jumped out of the way just in time.

“Don’t worry, I can take things from here,” said Agnès, her eyes sweeping the room. “My goodness, this château is magical. You must love living here, Sophie.”

“I’m only a visitor for now,” I said.

“Then why have you invited male guests to stay on at the château?” said Rémi with a huff.

“Guests?” questioned Grand-mère.

“My two best friends from New York,” I said, turning my back on Rémi and facing Grand-mère. “I should have asked you if it was okay—”

“Oh, don’t be a silly girl,” said Grand-mère. “It’s a lovely surprise, and I can’t wait to meet your friends.” She straightened her posture. “One day the château will be hers and she’ll be staying here for good, Rémi. She can invite whomever she pleases to stay with us,” said my grand-mère. “Isn’t that right, Sophie?”

I didn’t want to upset Grand-mère with my indecisiveness when she was getting her strength back, so I simply agreed. “Yes, yes, of course.”

As I left her chambers, I felt like I was being forced into an arranged marriage to the life my grand-mère had created for me—a life I hadn’t worked for and didn’t deserve. I wandered to the kitchen, wondering if I could learn to love it here like my grand-mère had done with Pierre.

20

let the wild rump roast begin

By nine p.m., the party was in full swing, people sipping on the château’s ancestral-method sparkling wine and eating to their hearts’ content. There must have been close to two hundred guests. If I’d thought the château was magical before, I hadn’t experienced it at Christmas. Lights twinkled, winding down the staircase and flickering everywhere, and the silver decorations on the tree sparkled. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a flute-playing faun jump out to join the festivities. I was thankful Jane had hired an outside staff to serve and man the party; after cooking up a storm, I could relax and enjoy myself. The château, along with all the Christmas lights and the roaring fire, had never looked so beautiful. As did my grand-mère, although she was a bit pale. Much to Agnès’s chagrin, she’d insisted on joining the Christmas revelry, and she’d worn an elegant silver gown. With a spark lighting her eyes, she said, “It was the only thing I had in my closet to match this dreadful wheelchair.”

“You look beautiful, Grand-mère,” I said.

“Merci,” said Grand-mère as she gave me the once-over. “And you’re quite the vision tonight. I’m glad to see your dress doesn’t have holes in it. You look lovely.”

I didn’t think she’d noticed my attire when I first visited her at the hospital. Apparently, nothing slipped by her eagle eyes, which were currently taking in every last detail of the party. I’d gone with a basic black sheath and kitten heels, which obviously Grand-mère approved of. “I threw those jeans away,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Remember, you are a lady, not a tramp. You are a Valroux de la Tour de Champvert, and appearances must always be kept up.”

Walter and Robert sauntered over and hugged me. I introduced them to Grand-mère. Her eyes widened