Venus Was Her Name, page 3
Nanou watched as her husband drained his cup and stood, wincing when the arthritis in his knees and neck gave him jip. After bestowing a peck on her cheek, he bade her farewell, batting off her reminders to take it easy and not to be late for lunch. As if.
Smiling, she went back to her chopping, celery next, lost in a casserole of thoughts, memories bubbling to the surface, stirring up worries over Silvestre’s health and how her beloved Ace was coping with the arrival of Lance.
She dealt with Silvestre first. The summer months were always kind on his bones but as soon as the weather changed it seeped into his marrow. This, along with years of hard toil, wear and tear made his body ache and creak. At least nowadays, thanks to Joe’s kindness Silvestre could take it easy on a bad winter’s day, rather than struggle on like before. Joe had paid them a good price for their farm, freeing them of worry and giving them a nest egg to pass down to their two children and, hopefully one day, grandchildren. Most of all he’d allowed Silvestre to retain his dignity. Rather than retire at fifty-five, his role as guardian and manager of La Babinais gave her husband a purpose, and her too.
It had all been thanks to her nephew, Christophe, because he’d brought le grand gar into their lives two decades earlier. Joe always said it was the best thing he ever did, letting Christophe, who was one of his roadies, persuade him to head to the coast after a gig in Paris. Joe might have been the leader of the band, the one who wrote the songs and sent the audience wild when he was on stage but in his heart, he was one of the guys. His northern soul always reminded him of who he was, where he had come from and amidst all the trappings of celebrity he remained proud of his working-class roots.
Which was why he was more than happy to pile into the back of a van, albeit much swankier than those from his youth and spend a week on the Atlantic coast, staying with Christophe’s family, surfing, eating fresh seafood and drinking Breton cider. Finistère had captivated him. The all-year-round surfers’ paradise, the rugged coastal landscape, the views across the bay, the Gallic culture, and the friends he’d made in such a short space of time, people who didn’t care who he was.
Joe had wanted to put down roots, not make do with soulless apartments in London and New York, a place Lance could come and stay. So, he snubbed the jet set who resided in the South of France, and instead, bought an old sheep farm set high on a hill.
Everyone in their village of Herval liked Joe. Not that Nanou knew all 783 residents by name, but she’d never heard a bad word about him. Despite being a legend in the rock world he had integrated easily and embraced their way of life, the simpler things, well away from the glare of media intrusion. It suited him, being able to wander into the bar and have a drink with the locals and every now and then, at some fête or other he would give an impromptu acoustic rendition of his greatest hits.
Maybe it was this, and the friendship he shared with her and Silvestre that had helped him overcome his darkest days because no matter how hard he tried to show the world the laid-back version of Joe Jarrett, Nanou knew another side of the man.
Prone to bouts of self-doubt, dark days on the brink of depression when he would be gripped with remorse and insomnia, tormenting himself for days on end, locked inside his mind. After so many years he still shouldered the blame for events that had been beyond his control and there was nothing anyone could say or do to help him. Instead, she and Silvestre, Gus and Ace waited until he emerged, always there to pick him up if he fell and he did, often.
Perhaps it was his deeply spiritual soul that left him vulnerable. Even though he wasn’t religious, he was accepting of others and their beliefs and often wandered down to mass with her where he would sit at the back, watching and listening, soaking it all up. And from the minute he’d seen the ancient stones at Carnac, he was hooked. Brittany had cast its spell. It was the perfect place for soul-searching, looking for answers to the questions that plagued him, like the hacks who regurgitated news headlines that never went away.
He was fascinated by the stars too. Not the ones he’d rubbed shoulders with but those he watched from his rooftop observatory when the skies above France were jet black and clear. NorthStar, the name of his band, was inspired by his home city and the dreams he and his teenage bandmates held of one day hitting the big time.
Joe could also be mysterious. In interviews he’d be happy to talk about music but gave away little about his private life, even in mellow moments during soul-searching chats around a campfire on the beach, he would be guarded, at times introverted and secretive.
Yes, there had been unofficial biographies that loved to dish the dirt, but Joe had steadfastly refused to write his own to set the record straight and instead let fans and hacks dissect his lyrics and life, spinning rumours and folklore to their hearts’ content.
Nanou, like many others, had pondered on the identity of his muse, the woman who inspired his first number one album. During a period of his life that he referred to as ‘my secret summer’, a time and place known only to him, he wrote the album of songs that would catapult him and his band into a world that they’d dreamed about.
As they travelled the length and breadth of the country in their smelly Commer van, playing at gigs and festivals where they barely covered the cost of petrol, none of them had any idea that they were on the cusp of a new life. The story went that after a gig in Leeds, they’d had a falling out, a drink-fuelled punch-up and once they’d wiped their bloody noses, Joe decided to jack it all in and they all went their separate ways. And then, at the end of summer everything changed, and the rest was well documented. NorthStar hit the big time.
The casserole pot was full and as Nanou heaved it upwards and headed towards the stove, her attention was drawn to the roar of a motorbike engine as it entered the yard. Ace was home, so wiping her hands she peered from the window and watched as he dismounted and removed his helmet. His hair, chestnut brown like Jenny’s was, escaped and blew in the wind, long curls whipping around his face that wore a scowl. Seeing him heading her way, Nanou prepared for the whirlwind that was Ace who, from the set of his jaw and purposeful stride was already feeling the turbulence caused as always, by Storm Lance.
Chapter 3
Ace
Ace watched Nanou, who was pretending not to watch him or show that she was worried, and very annoyed with his brother for causing a disturbance. She was doing what she did best. Nanou was keeping the peace so that he wouldn’t become more upset than he already was. She knew him the best just like he knew her, so he recognised the frown that creased her forehead and the way she bustled about the kitchen, faking normality, fussing over him until he was ready to speak and share his problems. Even this irritated him because it was all down to Lance.
They had a routine, for when he was upset about something. He would sit at the table, on the fourth chair along. The ones on his right and left were empty because he liked the feeling of being protected on each side.
Nanou would chatter on, suggest a treat, he would nod to accept, shake to decline, then he would think, or fume, or fidget with his silver rings, turning the skull, his favourite. Ten times clockwise, five times anti, until he could formulate everything that was going on in his head, untangling his thoughts, separating the colours and laying the wires out in a straight line.
They’d had the best silent moments in the kitchen, where just having her near gave him immense comfort as he processed his thoughts, deciphering the code of human behaviour. Working out why his teacher got annoyed when he asked if she was wearing her bathrobe for school. That’s what the flowery wrap-around dress had looked like to him, and it made the other kids laugh. The fifty lines he’d had to write out didn’t amuse him at all.
And then there were the cracks caused by the earthquakes they’d learned about in geography. What if they kept on going all the way from New Zealand to his house on the hill? It might snap the cliff in half, and they’d all fall into the sea. Stuff like that bothered him. Lots of things did, especially loud noises. They were the worst. Not the best affliction to have when your dad was a rock star.
‘Would you like something to eat, chéri? A slice of brioche? Ooh, what about a milkshake? I have strawberry, your favourite.’ Nanou stood still, hand on hip, looking hopeful.
Ace nodded and smiled to himself, two things making his lips change direction and his cheeks ball slightly. The first was that Nanou still treated him like he was ten, reaching into the cupboard that contained all the special treats she stashed just for him. The second was that the shouting seemed to have stopped, meaning that his dad and Lance had either called a truce or with any luck, he’d gone back to Paris. Everyone knew that he hated shouting, or any loud noises and Ace suspected that Lance purposely did both whenever the opportunity arose.
When he was a kid, Ace had taken to wearing earphones whenever Lance turned up because by this time, he’d worked out that his elder brother would never be the friend he’d hoped for. There was a photo on the landing, of Ace reading a book and wearing a huge set of earphones from his dad’s studio. They blocked out all the things that upset him, like Lance.
This memory stirred another, one much happier than any that involved his brother. Of concerts where he’d watched his dad perform from the wings, a huge pair of ear defenders protecting him from the noise. And in some ways his hypersensitivity had been an ironic blessing because from within his silent, peaceful world he had developed a heightened visual awareness.
Ace might not have heard the screech of the guitar at full volume, but he’d felt the beat of the drum that vibrated across the stage and upwards through his body as he watched intently from his muffled place. A heartbeat that connected him to his dad as he rocked around the world.
The wings had been a window from where he’d observed the roadies and technicians who worked as hard as the band, and in his teenage years he shyly admired the beautiful women who flocked around his dad and bandmates. Then as he got older and a bit wiser, Ace came to recognise the seedier, uglier side of rock and roll, the sex and the drugs, the jealousies and rivalries. The rock world had two faces. The dark shadow of the money men at the record label, and the internal squabbles of an entourage that vied for attention, and poor old Gus who was the middleman, always stuck between them and the band, keeping it all together.
And then the glorious faces of the fans who wanted nothing more than to see their idol on stage and spend a night in his company, basking under the lights, letting their hearts and minds be lifted by the music and lyrics they knew by heart. Ace would become lost in the sway of the crowd, a human wave of bodies reaching out their arms, fingers straining towards the stage, craving the physical touch of their idol.
Ace knew every lyric, every move his dad made as he performed. The sinews in his arms stretched between muscles, skin drenched in sweat, the notes he was making with his fingers. After hours of sitting by his dad’s side in the studio, learning, watching, listening to his gentle voice, Ace was a skilled musician too, but that wasn’t where his true talent lay.
When he was thirteen his dad had given him a Nikon camera. It was Ace’s most treasured possession, next to his Fender guitar and Triumph Motorbike, oh and his leather jacket. He’d started off photographing the band, at rehearsals or on stage but his attention soon turned to the people backstage, or the view from their hotel, or the guy who drove the tour bus and soon his passion for photography spilled onto the streets, or from an aeroplane window, the school bus, capturing the kid who graffitied rude words on the back of the seats, the setting sun, the waning moon, or the edge of the cliffs that looked onto his favourite muse, the Atlantic sea.
His dad said that Ace had a unique talent, the ability to communicate wordlessly through sight, to look beyond and capture a moment that told a story without lyrics and music. Which was why his art sold all over the world, hung in galleries and hotels and the homes of collectors. He had millions of followers on social media, a waiting list for commissions that included fashion magazines and a star-studded array of celebrities and on the insistence of his dad and Gus, his own manager, Mitzi, who was based in London. She handled everything, much to Ace’s delight because it left him free to do what he did best, looking at the world through the lens of a camera, where it was nice and safe.
Feeling bad for Nanou, let alone his dad who hadn’t looked thrilled at the surprise arrival of his pain-in-the-backside son, Ace took a breath and broke the ice as she passed him his milkshake that was topped with fresh cream and a sliced strawberry, just how he liked it.
‘Has he gone?’
Nanou looked aggrieved as she shook her head. ‘Non, chéri. L’enfant terrible is still here and I have no idea where your papa is. Do you know why they were arguing?’
Ace nodded. ‘Long story short, Lance has got wind that Gus isn’t well and in his own sensitive way has more or less suggested that Dad packs him off to some hospice or other so my useless brother can step into his shoes.’
Nanou’s hand flung to her chest and with her other she pulled out a chair and sat. ‘But Joe told me that Gus will be okay and his heart problem can be treated, that I should not be concerned. Is this true? Please tell me it is.’
Ace reached out and took Nanou’s hand, feeling bad for scaring her. ‘Yes, I promise. Dad is covering all the costs of his treatment and Gus is really positive. He’s going to need a big op, bypass surgery, Dad said.’
‘So, while Gus is worrying about all this, Lance is trying to steal his job? Incroyable.’
Ace stood and went to get a spoon from the drawer, a smile on his lips as he spoke. ‘Oh. Yes. Lance is incredible, all right. I was listening from the hall, and he gave it his best shot, but Dad isn’t having any of it. There are plenty of others who can step into Gus’s shoes while he’s having treatment, like Oliver at the agency, people who know the business way better than Lance so there’s no chance he’s getting a look-in. I think that’s what sent him crazy earlier, somebody saying no. He’s not used to that. And Dad says it like it is, so Lance wasn’t happy. I got sick of his whiny voice so went out and left them to it.’
Taking his seat, Ace picked out the strawberry and ate it before stirring the cream into his shake. It was how he always did it and the fact that Nanou had forgotten the spoon told him she was stressed about Lance and again, anger surged.
‘Well, I am glad Joe has put down his foot and if we are lucky, the terrible child will go soon. I do not want him here when your friend arrives, or Gus, who needs to rest. I want them both to have a good time, not be stuck in a war zone.’
At the mention of their guests Ace felt his heart lift, then tense slightly at the spectre of Lance whose sour face could spoil milk, never mind a celebration. ‘Have you got her room ready? I can help if you’re busy.’
Nanou gave him one of her looks that told him he was surplus to requirements. ‘It is all done. Don’t you worry. She’s in the room between you and your mama’s. Gus is in the end because we all know how loud he snores, but Lance will just have to deal with that, won’t he?’
The cheeky wink from Nanou made Ace laugh. ‘Mum’s still not said when she’ll arrive but you know what she’s like, so we can expect her when we see her.’
‘Well, she has never missed a birthday yet, so she will definitely be here. I will ring tonight and see if I can find out. I miss her a lot so I hope she stays a while and she might cheer Joe up too. He has been so quiet lately and I am a little worried. A party and some new faces are just what we need.’
Ace agreed. Even though his mum and dad had parted when he was seven, it was on good terms and they had remained friends ever since. She blew in like a whirlwind throughout the year and whenever the fancy took her, usually at Christmas and always for his birthday.
Nanou was right, because his mum’s easy-going, sometimes too relaxed way of living her life always amused his dad who took her as she was – a free spirit that would never be tamed by anyone, least of all a man. And despite them going their separate ways after a very short, crazy marriage, his mum knew his dad well and her presence seemed to soothe him. And right now, Ace could tell she was just what he needed.
Feeling the gloom that was synonymous with Lance begin to lift, Ace was about to go over the plans for the following day when his nemesis burst into the kitchen. His arrival cast a shadow over Nanou’s face, Ace’s heart and the room.
His accent grated as much as the words, and the way Lance spoke to Nanou like she was a servant was disgraceful. ‘Is there anything to eat in this place?’
Ace answered. ‘Yeah, there’s tons of stuff in the fridge, help yourself. Lunch is at one, like always.’
An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Lance tutted and headed towards the fruit bowl and selected an apple before dragging out a chair and settling himself at the table, a smirk beginning to form on his face. ‘So, I hear your girlfriend is arriving tomorrow. Can’t wait to meet her. Dad says she’s a Brit. Does that mean you’ve been through all the girls in the village, or did you scare them all off?’
Ace knew better than to rise to the bait whereas Nanou stood and stomped off, making a loud huffing noise. ‘Yes, she’s called Edie, a very intelligent woman who shares similar interests to me and we started off as friends, but that’s something you won’t understand seeing as you have none.’
Lance smirked. ‘So, where did you meet her? Dad said it was online. Please tell me it was a dating app. Jeez, that would be hilarious. I bet she thinks she’s hit the jackpot hooking up with you and couldn’t wait to get invited here. Another user; they’re all the same.’ He crunched into his apple and chewed noisily while his eyes homed in on Ace, gauging his reaction.
He was used to being taunted, and Lance’s attitude towards women came as no shock to him so he didn’t bite straight away. His brother was lazy in every aspect of his life and capitalised on the eager starlets who thought knowing him might give them a leg up. He’d never had a meaningful relationship and viewed his girlfriends as appendages, and no doubt they thought he was a total pillock but if being with Joe Jarrett’s son got them into the best clubs, so what? His Edie wasn’t like that, and no way was he standing for Lance putting her down.
