The Bordeaux Book Club: A BRAND NEW gorgeous, escapist read from TOP TEN BESTSELLER Gillian Harvey for 2024

PROLOGUE

George was just stepping out of the café, takeaway coffee in hand, when he saw Grace appear in the window of the tabac opposite. He recognised her instantly, despite his throbbing temples, and felt his neck prickle as he remembered trying to talk to her at the gardening club meet and finding his tongue had tied itself in knots. It had shocked him, this sudden mutism; he’d always been able to talk for England, so everyone told him. But then again, he wasn’t in England in any more. And he’d felt a bit out of place amongst all those posh retirees.

The cold, silvery, winter light crept softly around the edges of the white, February clouds, and fell on Grace’s skin as she searched for an empty place in the window. Reaching up, her tongue protruding slightly at the edge of her mouth, she pressed the corners of the A4 sheet against the glass alongside the adverts for a local artisan market, a babysitting service and a poster advertising a music night, the date of which had already passed. He could just make out the word ‘club’ in bold on the paper.

Another club. He tried not to laugh. He barely knew the woman, but he’d gathered that if there was an event or club or fête or pretty much anything going on in the local community, she’d be involved somehow. He wondered what she was up to this time.

He busied himself, looking at the property adverts in the estate agent window while he waited for her to leave then, when she had, strolled nonchalantly across the street and had a quick gander.

Sure enough, it was an advert for a new organisation – with Grace at its helm. This time, it seemed, she was starting a book club for ‘Anglophones’ – the advert written in English, with French translation underneath in the hope of attracting a wider clientele.

He wasn’t sure why he took a picture of the number with his phone. Just in case, he told himself. He hadn’t read a book for years, not a fiction one at least. But maybe it was time. Another night in with the boys at the house would probably finish him off – he was getting too old for so much alcohol. And he couldn’t just sit around in his tiny flat – he’d go mad.

At least it would be something to do.

The noise of Monica’s phone made her jump – she hated the way its shrill sound pierced the silence, bouncing from the high ceilings and wooden floors which magnified the noise horribly. Bella’s limbs stiffened in her arms and Monica shushed her baby gently, annoyed that her hard-won sleep had been disturbed. Moving Bella onto her other shoulder she picked up the mobile, expertly navigating its screen one-handedly with dextrous use of her thumb.

It was from Peter. It said simply,

Saw this

She clicked on the attached photo to enlarge it and saw an ad for The Bordeaux Book Club. For English speakers. She looked instinctively at the book, spine-cracked, that she’d placed face-down on the table when Bella had cried, but found herself shaking her head, although there was nobody there to witness it.

Could she manage it? It was hard work simply changing nappies and preparing bottles – anything for herself seemed to have taken a back seat since Bella’s arrival. And she could only imagine the sort of people who’d be there – probably a bunch of retirees desperate to read war stories or drink red wine while discussing the latest John Grisham.

Still, she had promised herself she’d make more connections locally. And this was a chance to at least do something different – to keep her busy while Peter was away.

What do you think?

Peter messaged. She replied,

Maybe

Alfie placed his rucksack at his feet, then lifted his phone and took a quick snap of the advert. It could be just the thing he’d been looking for. Something that could prove uplifting, a distraction from the worst parts of life. He slipped the phone back in the pocket of his jeans and shouldered his backpack with a sigh of effort.

Camille left the shop, slipping a pack of cigarettes into her bag. ‘You have found something?’ she asked him, in French.

‘Maybe,’ he said, shrugging. ‘A book club. For English speakers.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘For…’

He nodded. ‘It just… well, it might work. You know.’

‘Perhaps I should come too?’ she suggested. ‘To improve my English.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, if you want.’

They turned and walked slowly down the road, disappearing into the melange of pedestrians making their way to work or university, or strolling more slowly, with no particular destination in mind.

A little further along the road, she slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it gratefully.

‘You will find a way,’ she told him softly.

He wanted to thank her, but the word stuck in his throat. Instead, he looked forward intently until the moment passed, then murmured a short, ‘Hope so.’

Then they turned the corner and were swallowed into the heart of Bordeaux – just a couple of students on their way to class.

Grace sounded almost breathless on the phone. ‘Four enquiries already!’ she told Leah.

As usual, Grace’s enthusiasm made Leah feel slightly drained. She resolved to rummage in Grace’s medical cabinet next time she was around to see if she was taking some high-strength vitamins, or something. Whatever it was, Leah needed a healthy dose of it herself. Despite being almost fifteen years Grace’s junior, she often found herself ready for bed by nine o’clock, whereas Grace’s restless energy often kept her up and active into the wee small hours.

‘So, you’ll come?’ Grace said.

‘Um, well, do you need me to?’ Leah asked, hesitantly. ‘I mean, it sounds as if it might be a… well, a nice size already.’ She longed to say no, rehearsing the word in her head. But somehow it wouldn’t come. What was it about Grace? Something about her manner, her confidence, made Leah feel she ought to agree with everything she said.

‘Of course you must come!’ Grace responded, missing Leah’s reluctant tone entirely. ‘Won’t be the same without you.’

Leah doubted this very much, seeing as she would probably end up sitting in the corner and watching others talk about books she might not find the time to read. But she found herself agreeing anyway.

‘How does she do it?’ she asked Nathan as he walked into the hallway a few minutes later, banging his gloved hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

‘Who? Scarlett?’ he said, glancing at the stairs as if their teenage daughter might suddenly make a rare appearance from her room.

‘No – Grace. I always tell myself I’m going to say no to things, and I end up agreeing.’ She slipped her phone into her pocket and walked through with him into the kitchen.

He laughed. ‘You have to admit, she does get people involved.’

‘Which is great, if they want to be,’ she said. ‘Only she can’t seem to take the hint.’

‘Did you actually tell her you didn’t want to do it?’ he asked, sitting in the chair opposite and beginning to worry at a knot in his shoelaces.

‘Well, not in so many words…’

He fixed his eyes on her. ‘Well then,’ he said.

‘I know. But she’s… Well – you know Grace!’ she said weakly.

‘That I do. Whether I want to or not.’ He smiled and she found herself grinning back.

‘Exactly.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it hungrily.

‘I guess I’m going. I mean, I think she probably just wants the moral support of a friend. And I do always say I ought to read more,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Well then, sounds like it’s problem solved.’

1

FEBRUARY

‘As you can see, it’s quite the spread,’ Grace said proudly, gesturing towards the coffee table on which she’d laid out an array of different biscuits, all home-made of course, stacked on an elaborate, three-tier stand.

She’d asked Leah to arrive a little earlier than the others, to be there to chat to newcomers if Grace got tied up answering the door or making tea. It seemed a little excessive to Leah, for an event that promised four or five guests at most. But she’d agreed. Because when it came to Grace, for some reason, she always did.

She’d pulled up outside Grace’s house at six. As she’d exited the car, she’d seen her friend, standing in her warmly lit living room, hand to mouth, looking uncertain, almost fragile for a moment. Then she’d turned and noticed Leah’s car, smiled and given a small wave.

‘It’s lovely, Grace,’ Leah said now, glancing at her watch and hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t be the only one to turn up. Grace seemed supremely confident – supremely Grace – that there’d be several attendees, but somehow her confidence only seemed to inflate Leah’s own worry and doubt that the evening might not be the success Grace hoped for – as if Leah had absorbed any negativity into herself and held it on behalf of her friend.

Grace’s sitting room was spotless as always – wooden furniture, painstakingly chalk-painted in pastel colours, parquet floor shining from a recent polish. Grace had an eye for furniture and a penchant for upcycling, and had even reupholstered the vintage sofa herself a few years ago. The only part of the room that wasn’t gleaming was the area by the bay window, where Grace’s bookshelves stood stuffed with texts, ramshackle and disorganised and somehow at odds with everything else in the house. But then Grace was an avid reader; she probably enjoyed rifling through and pulling out books and simply didn’t have time to rearrange them every week. Once when Leah had mentioned them, she’d given a dismissive wave towards the disorderly shelves and simply said, ‘Oh I’ll get to it. I just never seem to have the time.’

When the doorbell finally chimed, Leah’s hand jerked, sending coffee whirling in her mug, but thankfully not sufficiently to make a spill. She felt a flood of relief that it wouldn’t just be the pair of them. ‘That’ll be our first member!’ she said, in a voice that barely sounded like her own.

She wondered, sometimes, why she felt such a loyalty to Grace. While they’d known each other a few years, they weren’t particularly close. Perhaps it was because Grace had helped her and Nathan at the start – pointing them in the right direction for getting the permissions they needed for their home improvements, and introducing them to several growers via the gardening group. Leah enjoyed her company, for the most part, but they’d never quite clicked in the way she had with friends back home.

Before she could speculate further, the living room door opened and Grace appeared with a tall man at her side. He was dressed in paint-splashed jeans and enormous work boots and stood, hands-in-pockets, looking slightly awkward as she gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Make yourself comfortable, George!’ she said. ‘Have a madeleine!’

‘Are you sure it’s…’ he said, indicating his far from pristine attire. ‘I can always…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Grace smiled. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here, I can tell you!’

Leah took a sip of coffee to hide the incredulous look that no doubt appeared on her face at that moment. Because Grace’s home was very much her palace, and Leah knew better than to turn up in anything that might wreck the upholstery. But perhaps there were different rules for new recruits, she mused. Or maybe it was George’s smile… He had one of those smiles – a kind of twinkling, relaxed grin that might have made even the inflexible Grace soften a little.

George was just easing himself into one of the high-backed, vintage armchairs when the bell rang again.

‘Ooh!’ said Grace. ‘That’ll be another one!’ She disappeared, leaving the two of them in sudden silence.

Leah smiled awkwardly at George, balancing her coffee cup on her knees. ‘So,’ she began, ‘where did you…’

But before Leah could finish her sentence, Grace appeared again, a young man standing awkwardly by her side. He looked at Leah and George and the immaculate room and the three-tier cake stand and the piles and piles of books and his cheeks flushed. ‘This is Alfie,’ said Grace, giving him a gentle pat on the back – with perhaps a little too much force, as the poor boy then stumbled forwards – encouraging him to join them. She smiled reassuringly, then turned to exit the room again.

‘Hi,’ he said, blushing to his roots. He looked to be about twenty – only a few years older than Scarlett.

Leah smiled, feeling her motherly instincts rise up. ‘Take a seat, Alfie,’ she said, patting the sofa next to her.

‘Thanks,’ he said, sinking into it, his hands clasped together as if he was perhaps praying for an escape route.

Grace reappeared before they could settle into any sort of conversation, this time brandishing a tray with cups and a coffee pot, a jug of cream and a vintage sugar bowl complete with tongs. She was truly going all-out for this gathering.

‘So do you think that might be it for tonight?’ Leah asked her.

‘Oh, I think there might be a couple more. But perhaps we ought to get going just in case,’ Grace said, smiling. There was a certain stiffness in her smile – something Leah noticed from time-to-time with her friend. As if her veneer had slipped slightly and someone altogether more vulnerable and unsure had appeared for a moment. Leah wondered whether Grace was disappointed at the turnout.

Whatever it was, her friend seemed to shake it off pretty quickly, and stood, once everyone was catered for, clapping her hands together like a schoolteacher commanding attention. ‘So!’ she said. ‘Welcome one and all!’

The three of them looked at her, not quite sure how to respond.

‘So, a book club. A chance to meet up, share our favourite books, expose ourselves to new authors, discuss and really get into literature,’ she beamed. ‘I’m so glad I’ve finally got around to arranging this – and thank you all so much for being here.’

The speech had, perhaps, been planned for a far bigger audience, but Grace soldiered on, nonetheless.

‘Let’s start by introducing ourselves,’ she continued. ‘I’m⁠—’

But the doorbell interrupted them.

Grace’s face flooded with excitement at the prospect of another recruit and she turned and whisked from the room, her pleated skirt billowing behind her.

In the silence that followed, the three of them shifted uncomfortably. George reached forward and grabbed a ginger snap, biting into it and filling the room with the sound of crunching. ‘Lovely biscuits,’ he said, between chomps.

‘Yes, Grace is quite the…’ began Leah, before stopping as Grace returned with a woman, who had such glowing skin and glossy hair that she could have literally stepped out of one of the magazines Grace kept tidily in a sofa-side rack. She was dressed casually, in an enormous hoodie that perhaps belonged to her husband, with leggings protruding from beneath, but this didn’t detract from her almost breathtaking beauty.

‘This is Monica,’ Grace said, beaming. ‘Come to join our little tribe!’

‘Hi Monica,’ they said in unison like children in a school assembly.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Monica said. Her voice was quiet, barely audible in comparison with Grace’s booming tones.

‘Not at all. Not at all,’ Grace – who hated tardiness – said, still beaming. ‘We’re just glad you made it – aren’t we?’

They all nodded and shuffled and quietly agreed. Leah wondered – not for the first time – whether Grace was wasted tucked away in a corner of rural France. She seemed to have an ability to take charge of any situation, to assume leadership and have it granted. A natural teacher perhaps – and she knew Grace had spent years at the chalkface – but maybe she’d be even better placed as a councillor or an army officer or… or President of the world. She’d soon whip everyone into shape and sort out those pesky little scraps the male leaders seemed intent on having.

‘So,’ Grace went on, and Leah experienced the little frisson of anxiety that came with realising you hadn’t been paying attention. ‘I vote we all choose one book, then come back together and discuss it each month. Perhaps each of us hosts one of the evenings. It could be the ideal way to ward off this winter and transition to sunnier days!’ She ended so triumphantly that Leah wondered whether they ought to clap.

In the end, only Alfie gave in to the urge, banging his palms together twice into the silence before realising that none of the rest was going to join in.

It was 7 p.m. Outside, the February darkness was just beginning to fall and the solar lights that peppered Grace’s perfectly organised garden began to glow as if in appreciation of Grace’s efforts.

Leah was the first to speak. ‘Well, it sounds great,’ she said, smiling at her friend. ‘Really positive.’

She meant it too, she realised. While she hadn’t been overjoyed at the prospect, now she was here and there were enough of them to make a decent go of it, she started to wonder whether the group might be just what she needed to get out of her reading slump. Or, well, her slump in general. She’d thought, before moving to France, that she’d have enough time to read as much as she wanted here – something she’d had to squeeze into her commutes or the brief moments of free time she’d had before bed in the past. But there was always something else to do. Always work, or the garden, or something to sort out for Scarlett’s school. At least this would force her to prioritise something more pleasant.

‘I thought the first meeting could be at mine,’ Grace rose to her feet with a barely perceptible grimace of pain and walked over to the dresser that she’d rescued and repurposed with chalk paint last summer. Opening one of the drawers, she pulled out a stack of books. ‘And – we agreed, didn’t we, that we’d each choose a book. Mine’s Great Expectations. Now we don’t have to start with this, and I’m open to suggestions. But I just so happen to have accumulated a few copies of this one over the years. Such a favourite! I even managed to pick up a couple this week at the Anglophone book sale. So it might be easy to…’

She handed out the slightly worn copies like a teacher at the start of a lesson, smiling indulgently as each of her new recruits took one from her outstretched hand. Leah looked at the fellow members of what Grace had already named ‘The Bordeaux Book Club’ and caught the eye of Alfie, who seemed to be regarding the brick of a book Grace had gifted him with a slight grimace on his face.

Clearly no one else was going to say anything. But Leah felt suddenly that the wrong choice at this stage might mean nobody turning up to the first real meeting.

‘I wondered,’ she said, feeling nervous as if she was approaching a predator, ‘whether we might start with something lighter.’ She nodded at Alfie as if to say I’ve got your back – because, really, it was important to encourage young people to read and Dickens was quite an ambitious start for what was meant to be a casual, pleasant club experience.

Grace wheeled around. ‘Lighter?’ she said, her eyebrows raised. ‘But this is Great Expectations!’

‘But… perhaps something… modern?’ Leah’s mouth felt dry.

Grace laughed. ‘I think we can tell someone hasn’t read the book yet,’ she said. ‘There’s incredible humour in Great Expectations, and honestly, Dickens is timeless. What better than to read about the human experience?’ she said. ‘All manner of life is here.’ She smiled at the rest of them, assuming their agreement.

‘Of course,’ Leah said, sitting back. The springs of the vintage sofa creaked underneath her. ‘It was just an idea. I have actually read…’

‘No, I think it sounds great,’ said George, beaming at Grace before turning the book over in his hands and reading the back. ‘Pip,’ he said, to no one in particular, as he scanned the blurb. He looked at Leah and gave an apologetic wink at having sided with Grace and she smiled.

‘Thanks Grace,’ Monica said, as she received her own copy. She set it in her lap of and drummed at it lightly with her long, slender fingers. Leah noticed that all but one of her nails were chewed almost down to the skin.

‘It’s fine,’ Alfie said, turning the book over and over in his hands. ‘My mum loves Dickens.’

George cleared his throat. ‘And the Bordeaux?’ he enquired.

‘Sorry?’ Grace turned, her blonde hair staying fixedly in position.

‘Well,’ he said, running a nervous hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, ‘I thought… I assumed when I saw the name that this was going to be a…’

‘A…?’ Grace prompted, back in teacher mode.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘A wine club too.’

‘Whatever gave you that impression?’ her voice sounded slightly sharp, as if she was insulted by the idea that her book group in itself, wasn’t enough to have tempted the four of them into her living room.

‘The…’ George coloured slightly and shifted in his seat, still clutching his copy of the Dickens classic, ‘well, the Bordeaux bit.’

‘Oh,’ Grace seemed momentarily flummoxed. ‘I suppose that was more of a location thing. And… well, a bit of alliteration.’

‘Oh. It’s just… aren’t we in Cenac?’

Grace turned herself fully to face him. ‘Cenac, Bordeaux,’ she said firmly.

Grace was fond of describing herself as living ‘in Bordeaux’ and it wasn’t the first time this had caused confusion. The first time Leah had ‘popped round’, she’d found that instead of the five-minute drive she’d imagined, she’d had to clock up thirty minutes to get to Grace’s stone cottage, tucked away in a little commune, rather than in the heart of the city as she’d imagined.

‘Right,’ George nodded, clearly embarrassed at his faux pas.

‘A bit of wine could be fun?’ Leah ventured, in an attempt to rescue him. She felt all eyes – Alfie, Monica, George and Grace – fix on her. ‘Well, it could be nice if we all chose, um, local wine to sample when we discussed the books?’ she suggested.

‘Well, I suppose I’d already thought we’d sort out some nibbles while we talk, that kind of thing…’ Grace said after a moment’s silence.

The others – already in awe of Grace, it seemed – quickly agreed that yes, it did sound like a good idea.

‘Bordeaux in Bordeaux,’ Leah quipped, hoping to appease herself in Grace’s eyes.

Yes, Grace could be a lot, sometimes. Bordering on interfering. But her heart seemed to be in the right place. It had taken Leah a little while to realise this – and in fact, she’d spent some of their initial weeks avoiding spending too much time with the woman. ‘I don’t want to encourage her,’ she’d told Nathan at the time.

She’d sometimes heard people comment or gossip about Grace – once or twice heard her referred to as a ‘busybody’ or a ‘do-gooder’ – and she understood what they meant. A little of Grace went a long way at times. But there was good there – a desire to help, underneath it all.

‘Grace is always right’, a mutual acquaintance had once said when they’d met up at a craft sale. ‘And as long as she’s always right, she’s great company’.

‘Yes,’ said Grace at last, sinking into her chair, clutching three further copies of Great Expectations. Clearly, she’d been hoping for a larger showing. ‘Yes, Bordeaux in Bordeaux. I like it. In fact, did I tell you I went on a wine tour recently to Saint-Émilion?’ she said, turning to Leah. ‘I learned an awful lot about local grapes.’

Leah smiled, relieved that Grace had found she was still the voice of authority on all the matters relating to the group. Order was restored.

A surreptitious look at her watch revealed it was quarter past seven. Outside, thick, black darkness had absorbed everything except the dotted light of the solar lamps, and the comforting glow that surrounded the one streetlamp on Grace’s road. Cloud cover had obliterated the stars, and a light rain had begun to fall, pattering gently against the window as if not wanting to interrupt. Leah didn’t blame it. Who was brave enough to cut off Grace in full flow?

‘Of course, each grape is different,’ she was saying. ‘You have your Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, that kind of thing. But it’s the blend that really makes the wine. You’ve probably all heard of Malbec – but…’

Leah looked across the room and caught Monica’s eye. Both women glanced away quickly and Leah had to fight the urge to