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A little further down the grid, there was a photograph of her with Dylan, and I realized it was from when we’d been shopping for my uniform. They looked stunning together, both of them looking up at the camera, though Dylan was tilting his head in a pose that said Really?
“You and Dyl. I like that one.”
Lulu smiled. “Dylan doesn’t really approve of all this. But he’s never said anything. I just know.”
I grimaced in sympathy.
“Are you on Insta?” she asked.
“I am. I have a locked account.”
She nodded. “I’ll have to find you. Right, are we agreed on what we’re getting?”
“Yes. Thank you, Lulu.”
“Thank me once it’s done!”
Surprisingly, she had not objected to my cut-off shorts, just my cut-up T-shirt. So, I’d worn the shorts with a white sleeveless shirt that I had brought from England. With my black ballet flats, she said I looked okay but needed accessorizing.
It was all about the accessories with Lulu.
Bordeaux was overwhelming, a thriving metropolis with elaborate, grand old buildings. It was architecturally beautiful, affluent, and super-busy with a heaving pedestrianized shopping district. Lulu took Dylan at his word—she was on a mission to clothe me, and it helped that we had a plan. After three hours, I had acquired three pairs of jeans, blue, white, and black; a pair of cream linen trousers; two sundresses; some basic tanks; a button-up waistcoat; three shirts; a long, cream satin skirt I loved; some strappy low-heeled sandals; a pair of cream ballet flats; and some white Adidas trainers with silver stripes. I also had an all-in-one swimsuit and two sarongs.
Accessories-wise, I had two necklaces, some skinny belts, and a straw hat.
I’m not sure which of us enjoyed the excursion more, but we were exhausted by the time we were on the pavement at Place Jean-Jaurès, laden with shopping bags, waiting for Dylan to collect us.
Lulu had been in her element. I’d discovered, much to my amazement, that Lulu not only spoke flawless French, but also Spanish, Italian, and German. We’d had to contend with a few nationalities in our quest to make me presentable. She was also good at haggling the prices down, even in the most elegant, designer boutiques. I had a new admiration for her.
Dylan pulled up in the 4×4 and climbed out to help load the bags.
“Whoa! Your work here is done, I see,” he said, smiling at Lulu. “We’ll need another suitcase to get all this back to the UK.”
“You said go mad, so we did. She’ll look fabulous, so it’s all worth it.” She gave Dylan a swift, grateful kiss.
“Um… th-thank you for all of this,” I stammered, looking from one to the other.
They smiled at me as if I’d done something worthwhile. Maybe it was because I was cooperating.
“Emily, it’s been a pleasure, and just think, we’ll need to do it again for the autumn season.”
More shopping! Yikes!
“Let’s find a bistro and have lunch, then head back,” Dylan said, looking happier than I’d ever seen him.
Well, at least spending all this money on me made him happy.
I thought back to what Luke, the bereavement counselor, had said.
Yes. Dylan cares.
***
That afternoon, back at the manoir, Jack and Patrick came to the house. Dylan had found an inflatable dinghy from the murky depths of one of the unconverted outbuildings, and there followed a rough and boisterous game of pushing one another in and out of the small boat in the pool. I swallowed a great deal of water while laughing and near drowning.
Dylan was at his most childish.
At one point, he scooped Lulu into his arms and, in spite of her protests, dire threats, and screaming, he threw her into the deep end of the pool to a rousing cheer from Jack, Patrick, and me. Lulu feigned fury, but I think she was secretly pleased with the attention. She tried to retaliate and push Dylan into the pool.
