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PROVENCE, 1933
It was March when Marguerite awoke to the smell of baking. A shadow passed over her closed eyes, blocking the pale spring sunlight as it trickled through the half-lidded shutters.
She frowned as she opened her eyes to see Elodie staring at her with eyes that were violet blue in the early morning sun. She was dressed in a cream sundress and was wearing one of Marguerite’s gardening cardigans. Her smile lit up the room.
‘Elodie?’ breathed Marguerite.
‘Surprise!’
Marguerite got out of bed quickly, and enfolded her into a hug. ‘Ma petite! Oh, it is so wonderful to see you! But… how are you here now?’
Elodie hugged her back and she closed her eyes like she was breathing the older woman in. Marguerite caught a glimpse of the open door behind and the luggage in the hallway. ‘That’s a lot of luggage,’ she said, pulling back slightly to stare at the younger woman.
Elodie nodded, then grinned as she put her hands on her grandmother’s shoulders. ‘I’ve made a decision.’
Marguerite raised a brow. ‘Yes?’
‘I have decided that I am done with school and I am moving here – I mean, obviously, if you’ll have me, of course.’
Marguerite gasped. ‘Elodie! What happened? Are you in trouble?’
Elodie shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that, don’t worry. Well, see it was like this. It was my birthday—’
‘Yes, of course – last week? You got my gift?’
‘I did,’ said Elodie, her smile stretching wider, as she fished out the small silver necklace with two tiny charms, a spoon and a spatula. She hugged it to her chest. ‘I adore it.’
Marguerite smiled. ‘I’m glad.’
‘But, see, it’s what changed everything.’
‘Oh? How’s that?’ she asked, taking a seat on the bed, and inviting Elodie to join her. Elodie sat cross-legged on the blue-and-pink patchwork quilt at the end.
‘Well, see, it arrived on Saturday, while I was sitting in the school library with some of my school mates. It was raining, one of those weeks when it seems like it will never stop, and then suddenly the post arrived and there it was, this little ray of sunshine from you. Some of the girls crowded around to see what I’d been sent, abandoning their books and games, any excuse for some distraction. When I took the necklace out, I gasped in glee, and hugged it. Most of them were curious, though less so when they found out it wasn’t from a boy.’ She grinned.
Marguerite chuckled.
‘Anyway,’ continued Elodie, ‘one girl kept laughing at it. The idea of it being a silver spoon and a spatula. She said maybe in France you’re born with a silver spoon and a spatula, because you need to use it to cook for everyone else.’
Marguerite winced. ‘Oh.’
‘No, no, it’s fine. It was sort of amusing, or it might have been if she’d delivered it a bit better. I suppose. That girl tries to get a rise out of everyone, I hardly take notice of it anymore. No, it was my friends that upset me really.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry, were they cruel?’
‘No, nothing like that. They’re pleasant enough. It was the polite look of confusion on their faces that did something to me. Not one of them understood why you had sent me that necklace. And as I watched them trying to find the words, trying not to laugh at that girl’s joke, I realised that after all these years they still didn’t know who I was, you see? I mean, they’d heard the stories, but this place wasn’t real for them, and they just sort of assumed I’d grow up and be like them – go on to university, perhaps, find a job in an office, a husband and have children, and all under those dark grey skies. Which was not my plan at all. And I just thought, can I blame them for thinking that… when here I am doing exactly what everyone else wants for my life, apart from me? I thought… what am I doing here? Why am I still here, now? I mean, when I was ten, well, I had no choice… but now? Now I did. So, I stood up, smiled, and said, “Well, I think I’ll be off now, actually,” and I went to my room, packed my bags, said my goodbyes and walked the hell out.’
‘What?’ cried Marguerite.
Elodie bit the side of her fingernail, then grinned widely. ‘I know! I just thought, life is short, Grand-mère,’ her eyes were solemn, ‘we should spend it doing what brings us meaning, with the people we love.’
Marguerite’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded once, said, ‘You’re right,’ then kissed Elodie on both cheeks, clasping them in her hands. ‘But… what about your father?’
Elodie sighed. ‘Well, yes, he was predictably outraged…’
Grand-mère pulled a face. ‘So you did speak to him?’
‘Yes. I telephoned him. He threatened to cut me off, warned me that I was throwing away my chances at making a good match, et cetera. Honestly, I think it’s better to break away now. That’s not the life I want – that’s a life other people planned for me, starting with my mother. So I got the train to London, to Freddie, my half-brother, you know?’
