2007
The second week of February, cold and damp. Molly Sutton stood looking out the French doors of La Baraque at the frosty landscape, struggling with the feeling that she should be a lot happier than she was.
After all, her move to France had turned out even better than her wildest dreams: she loved her village, had good friends, and enjoyed a full and satisfying life. On top of that, she had recently solved a difficult case and been rewarded with quite a pile of money, and even though everyone knew the old saw about how money can’t buy happiness, did anyone really believe it? And there was nothing but good news in every direction. Usually a dreary time of year for bookings, her gîte business was booked to overflowing for the following week thanks to a marketing campaign she had sent out playing up what a romantic place La Baraque would be for Valentine’s Day. Benjamin Dufort, the handsome and complicated former chief of gendarmes, was back in town. And yet…
She stood at the window looking out, and moping.
Eventually Molly decided some company might help her out of her funk. So she bundled up, gave Bobo a pat, and hopped into her new Citroën coupe since it was too cold to use the scooter. The car had been a total splurge—and a silly one at that—since she didn’t actually care all that much about what kind of car she drove. There was something about suddenly being rich that had made her lose her head for just a bit, and the car was the least of it.
La Baraque now had three new guest rooms in a formerly dilapidated wing off the main house where she lived. A swimming pool was being put in, with work beginning next month. Her bathroom had been renovated to a level of luxury that sailed right past “lap of” and landed a little over the top. Next month, a part-time gardener was due to start work.
While all these things were delicious in many ways—and to be honest, she didn’t regret a single one of them—she nonetheless woke up every morning and, well, there she was. Same Molly, with the same ungovernable tangle of red hair, the same yearning for motherhood, the same uncertainty in the area of romance, and the same pants that were getting too tight.
She reminded herself on the ride into the village that it’s not exactly charming to complain about how coming into a sudden windfall isn’t as transformative as you thought it would be. After parking, she took a moment to look inside the big window of Chez Papa, the bistro that had become her second home in Castillac. She was friends—as everyone was—with the shaggy-headed owner, Alphonse, and knew she could count on knowing at least one person if she dropped by for a meal or a drink or a quick plate of frites.
That night, to her relief, her pal Lawrence sat on his usual stool, drinking his usual Negroni. He grinned when he saw her looking through the window.
“Trying to catch us up to no good?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye as she came inside.
Molly shrugged. “Oh, you know…I just like observing sometimes instead of jumping right in. So how are you? It’s so strange to be at Chez Papa without Nico, isn’t it?”
“I got a postcard yesterday, which pleased me inordinately. I didn’t expect to get anything but the odd text.”
Nico, the bartender, and his girlfriend Frances—Molly’s best friend from home—had taken off for a month in the Maldives.
“Frances sent me a few photos. I’m so envious. That beach! That crystal-clear blue water!”
“I know. Well, why didn’t you go with them? Something remains of your huge pile of gold, does it not?”
“Eh, who wants to be a third wheel? Plus, I have a big week coming up—I’m fully booked for Valentine’s Day. Not that I’m not grateful. This time last year, I was about to start eating cat food, my income was so low.”
“Well, my dear, no one is more pleased than I that your financial picture has become so rosy. Are you feeling the letdown yet?”
Molly jerked in Lawrence’s direction. “Letdown?”
“Of course. Something big like coming into money, or winning a longed-for prize, finally accomplishing something you’ve worked for after years of effort, those sorts of things—I would imagine close to a hundred percent of the time—people get totally depressed afterwards. Ecstasy, followed by morosity. Because of course, getting the thing is wonderful, but it doesn’t actually change you.”
“Honestly, sometimes I think you live inside my brain.”
Lawrence just smiled and sipped his drink. “I hope at least you’ve continued to spend the money frivolously?”
“I need to invite you over so you can take a gander at my bathroom.”
Lawrence laughed. “Oh, I do love a bathroom makeover. Is it very trashy?”
“Lifestyles of the Rich and Not-at-All Famous allll the way.”
They laughed.
“And, if I may be so nosy…what about Ben? Have you seen him lately?”
Molly shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s…unsettled. I was so glad to see him when he got back, and I’m pretty sure he felt the same way. But now…we’re being sort of careful around each other, you know? Friendly, interested…but a little…”
“Wary?
“Yes. If something’s going to happen, someone needs to make the first move, but we’re both waiting to see what the other one is going to do.”
“What do you want to happen?”
“If I knew that….”
