{"product_id":"the-secrets-of-the-bastide-blanche-isbn-9780143131427","title":"The Secrets of the Bastide Blanche","description":"\u003cb\u003e“Beguiling . . . Longworth evokes the pleasures of France in delicious detail—great wine, delicious meals, and fine company.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen a scandalous author moves to the outskirts of Aix-en-Provence, Verlaque and Bonnet are called in to investigate whether he’s haunted by more than just his past, in this delightful new mystery from M. L. Longworth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eProvençal Mystery Series #7\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eWatch the series! Murder in Provence is now on Britbox.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e One hot summer night, Aix-en-Provence is aflutter with news that controversial author Valère Barbier, who once shared dinners with French presidents and all-night drinking bouts with rock stars, has moved into La Bastide Blanche, a grand house left empty for decades. But Valère’s ideas of a peaceful retirement are quickly dashed. Rambunctious neighborhood children, a fast-talking gossip of a housekeeper, and a rival novelist filter through the home at all hours of the day—and by night there are unseen visitors with more sinister intentions. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While Antoine Verlaque investigates Valère’s sordid history, his wife and partner, Marine Bonnet, questions why the estate was abandoned in the first place—and what they both find raises more questions than answers. Is Valère imagining the ethereal cries that fill the bastide at night? Is he losing his mind? Or have these ghosts returned from Valère’s checkered past to haunt him?\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Secrets of the Bastide Blanche\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Reading the latest installment in M.L. Longworth’s Provençal Mystery series is my favorite way to relax. Full of gourmet meals, silky wines, and sumptuous homes, these cozy mysteries transport you to the south of France for significantly less than the cost of airfare. Perfect for the gourmands or francophiles in your life.” —\u003ci\u003eSlate\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A fun and evocative mystery . . . best read beach-side with a glass of French wine in hand.” —\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Longworth’s stellar seventh Provençal mystery offers elegant prose and a juicy plot . . . rich with details of daily life in Aix-en-Provence . . . Francophiles will be enthralled.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Longworth once again transports readers to the South of France, peppering the story with sensory details that bring the setting to life. Antoine and wife Marine are as delightful as ever, and the compelling mystery keeps you wanting more.” —\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The strength of Longworth's tale is its depiction of the good life in Provence.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for M. L. Longworth’s Provençal Mystery series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e  \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The Verlaque and Bonnet mysteries . . . plunge you into a languid world of epicurean pleasures and good living.” —Eleanor Beardsley, NPR\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Beguiling . . . Longworth evokes the pleasures of France in delicious detail—great wine, delicious meals, and fine company.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Longworth’s novels . . . are mysteries for foodies, with the plot providing a table upon which the enchanting meals and accompanying wines are served.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Curse of La Fontaine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Beguiling . . . Longworth evokes the pleasures of France in delicious detail—great wine, delicious meals, and fine company.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Longworth confirms her long-standing lovebirds as Aix’s Nick and Nora; their pursuit of miscreants never interferes with their enjoyment of the good life.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eM. L. Longworth\u003c\/b\u003e has lived in Aix-en-Provence since 1997. She has written about the region for the \u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e, the \u003ci\u003eTimes\u003c\/i\u003e (London), the \u003ci\u003eIndependent\u003c\/i\u003e (London), and \u003ci\u003eBon Appétit\u003c\/i\u003e. She is the author of a bilingual collection of essays, \u003ci\u003eUne Américaine en Provence\u003c\/i\u003e. She is married and has one daughter.\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e New York City,        September 22, 2010\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e J       ustin Wong grew up in New York City, but he had never walked its      streets as quickly, nor with such intent, as he did that      afternoon. He felt like he could fly. It had only been seven years      since he graduated from the Liberal Studies department of NYU, and      here he was, working at a major publishing house-even if he was a      lowly associate editor-and about to meet one of the most famous      authors in the world. Prix Goncourt 1982. Voted into France's      LŽgion d'honneur in 1986. Short-listed for a Nobel in 1987.      Millions of sales and translated into forty-two languages. Justin      stopped to catch his breath, with his hands on his hips and      bending over slightly. Don't blow it, he told himself. You have to      get this deal tonight. Maybe then Mom and Dad will forgive you for      not studying medicine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He straightened up and looked at his reflection in a design shop's      window. Average height, slim, jet-black hair freshly cut, and new      clothes purchased specially for that evening (chinos, a pressed      white cotton shirt, and for added flair a blue-and-green-checkered      waistcoat and blue brogues that were too expensive even on sale).      Ready.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He turned at the Flatiron, and then slowed down as he got closer      to East Twentieth Street. He knew this neighborhood well; he and a      few buddies used to go to a cheap jazz club nearby. Not only his      boss but also the publisher had met with Justin to decide on the      evening's venue. They chose a restaurant famous for its food and      extensive French wine cellar. The writer was known for his love of      wines and cigars. Justin liked both, but that wasn't why he had      been chosen for this meeting. The editor in chief or publisher      could have easily gone instead. Justin had been singled out by the      great writer himself, whose lawyer had written a letter to New      York on very old-fashioned embossed letterhead. Justin walked      slowly now-he was early-with a huge smile plastered on his face as      he recalled part of the letter for the millionth time: \"My client,      Valre Barbier, would like to meet with Mr. Justin Wong, an      employee of your esteemed publishing house. M Barbier will be in      New York for three days in September. Merci beaucoup. Ma”tre      Guillaume Matton, 15 avenue Hoche, 75008, Paris.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The letter surprised Justin as much as it did the publisher, who      immediately called Justin into her office (They had never met; it      was a big company). \"Did you call Barbier's lawyer, this Ma”tre      Matton person?\" she hollered, pacing the room. \"How did he get      your name? You can't just contact world-renowned authors without      your boss's consent!\" She was red in the face, almost as red as      the Chanel jacket she wore. Justin looked at the floor, hiding his      grin. He always laughed when he was terrified. He sat down in a      leather chair, resting his sweating palms on his thighs. There had      to be an explanation. Think. What connected him to this French      writer? He had spent a year at NYU's Paris campus, but he never      even read Valre Barbier's works while he was there. He had been      too busy chasing French girls. Besides, Barbier had switched      genres by then, infuriating his critics but gaining even more      readers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Clothilde had thought it a wild joke. \"It looks so good on us!\"      she laughed over beers in the Latin Quarter. \"We French are such      snobs! And Valre Barbier has shoved it back in our Gallic faces!\"      She reached over and rubbed Justin's cheek-that part he remembered      vividly. \"You are such a cute little New Yorker!\" she said. \"So      cute I am going to take you back to my flat tonight!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Clothilde,\" he said aloud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What?\" the publisher asked. \"Who is Clothilde?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Clothilde is a French girl I met while studying in Paris,\" Justin      began to explain. It was the only connection he could think of.      \"She was writing a thesis on Barbier.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"So what?\" the published lashed out. \"A lot of people have-at      least until Barbier went off the rails.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Clothilde actually met him and did some secretarial work for him.      And she sent me a weird e-mail a few days ago. I didn't      understand-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Read it to me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin pulled out his cell phone and scrolled down until he found      the e-mail. He began reading, omitting the sexual banter at the      beginning. \" 'Justin, chŽri, you will soon need to brush up on      your knowledge of French wine. Your career may depend upon it.      Bisous!' \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The publisher stopped pacing. \"That's Barbier all right. He once      quizzed three separate publishers about wine before deciding which      one to go with.\" She looked at her young editor. \"Do you know      French wines? I don't drink.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She looked at her watch. \"It's evening now in Paris. Text or      e-mail this Clothilde person. Ask her what's going on.\" Justin ran      through his contact list, amazed that he still had Clothilde's      cell number. He sent her a text, and while they waited, he cruised      his Facebook page and saw that he and Clothilde were friends. She      could have easily seen his employment status. She rarely posted      photos or news, nor did he, but he read her latest status. She now      worked for Canal Plus, one of the big French television and film      companies. That didn't surprise him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In minutes his cell phone beeped. The publisher, who had been      looking out at the Hudson River from her eleventh-floor window,      swung around. Justin read Clothilde's text, again omitting the      sexual innuendo: \" 'I'm still in contact with Valre Barbier, cher      Justin. Ran into him the other day at work, and we had some      mojitos together. Imagine! Mojitos avec Barbier! Sounds like a      film title, n'est-ce pas? He told me he is unhappy with his      publisher-a big competitor of yours-and I gave him your name. He      wants to write another book, an autobiography! Voilˆ! I told him      you love France.' \" Justin paused and said, \"True . . . and I love      his new books,\" then looked at the publisher and shook his head,      grimacing. He silently finished reading the text: \"La vie est      belle. Ciao, darling! Trop cuuute!\" The publisher meanwhile sat      down and folded her hands on her desk. \"Well, that's that,\" she      said. \"Who's to argue with the Great Man?\" To Justin's delight,      she gave him permission to proceed. He got up and shook her hand,      thanking her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She returned his handshake and smiled. \"I was silly as an      undergraduate.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin looked at her, perplexed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I, too, did a year in Paris, but I didn't have a love affair.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin was still grinning when he got to the restaurant. He looked      at his watch-ten minutes early-opened the heavy glass door, and      walked in. His publisher had booked the quietest table possible.      Justin introduced himself to the hostess and followed her long      legs as she led him through the nearly empty restaurant, to a      table in its own snug room. The walls were painted a golden hue,      the lighting was subdued, and wine bottles in wooden niches ran,      floor to ceiling, around three sides of the room. It bothered      Justin that the room wasn't climate controlled, but perhaps these      were cheap wines or bottles that sold easily. \"There's a curtain,      if you need more privacy,\" the hostess said, pulling lightly at      the beige velvet drapes on either side of the room's entrance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Thank you,\" Justin said. \"We'll leave them open until my, um,      acquaintance arrives.\" He had almost called Valre Barbier his      friend. Too much hyperactive Clothilde influence. Trop cuuute!      \"He's elderly, kind of. Sixtysomething. With thick white hair and      a French accent.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The hostess nodded. \"Would you like to drink something while      you're waiting?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Water, please.\" Justin coughed, realizing how nervous he was.      \"Sparkling.\" May as well go all out, he thought. It's my first      expense-account dinner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Forget the sparkling water,\" an accented voice sounded from      behind the hostess. \"Bring two glasses of your house champagne.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin quickly stood up, and the hostess coolly nodded to the      Frenchman and walked away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The house champagne will be good, non?\" Valre Barbier asked in      perfect but accented English.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oui,\" Justin said, coughing again. \"Il est trs bon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We can speak English,\" Barbier said. \"I lived in New York for      five years, to escape the French press after my infamous genre      switch.\" He smiled. \"How do you know that the house champagne is      good?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I looked up the wine list before coming. It's Drappier.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Excellent!\" Valre said. \"You've done your . . . devoirs!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Homework. Yes, I hope so. Please, have a seat.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre Barbier sat down across from the editor. He was taken aback      by his youth, but, then, Clothilde had said Justin Wong was a      friend, so of course they must be roughly the same age. Almost      thirty. Valre realized that he himself had done much by that age.      \"I like people over eighty and under thirty. One of my best      friends in Aix-en-Provence is eleven years old. The ages in      between are full of la merde! How old are you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm twenty-nine,\" Justin said. \"One year away from becoming une      merde.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre slapped the table. \"ƒnorme! Quel garon!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin smiled, wondering if the author had been drinking before he      came. But it didn't matter. The hostess returned with two flutes      of champagne. Valre reached over and swiftly plucked them from      the platter. \"Merci beaucoup!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Tell me, which of my books is your favorite?\" Valre asked,      lifting his flute to Justin's and giving it a strong tap. \"SantŽ!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well,\" Justin began. \"When I found out we were going to meet, I      started reading An Honorable Man.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre leaned forward. \"And are you finished?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Halfway.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"ƒnorme, ce garon. You won't lie and say that you love all my      books?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No,\" Justin replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre took a big gulp of champagne. \"So why did you start with      that one?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It was your first, and you wrote it when you were my age.      Twenty-nine. Before you-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Before I became a shithead!\" Valre yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin smiled awkwardly; that wasn't the way he had intended to      finish the sentence. \"Let's get down to business,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"NŽgociations? DŽjˆ?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin laughed. \"No, M Barbier. Let's look at tonight's menu and      wine list.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin was careful not to argue too much about the wine. He was      there to try to sign Valre Barbier as an author, not to show off      his own knowledge. He had asked for the market list instead of the      impressively thick reserve list, not wanting to spend all of the      publishing houseÕs money. That was the way he had been raised. But      he also surmised that one should be able to find a great wine at a      reasonable price in such a good restaurant. He shared this second      line of reasoning with Barbier, who was impressed and agreed.      Valre silently thought that any other editor would have chosen      from the reserve list. They agreed on a burgundy, a few years old,      from Puligny-Montrachet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We're showing off,\" Valre said. \"Even if the price is good, eh?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know,\" Justin agreed. \"But I've never had it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre laughed. The waiter, a young man with freckles and dark-red      hair, walked in and announced the amuse-bouche, \"Peekytoe crab in      a cucumber roll,\" placing dishes in front of each diner, \"with      smoked corn chowder and a yellow-tomato sorbet with balsamic      vinegar.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Merci,\" Valre said as the waiter left. He leaned over to Justin      and asked, \"What is this peekytoe crab?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's all the rage in New York right now. It's just an Atlantic      crab whose legs curve inward.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre raised an eyebrow and said, \"You seem to know a lot about      food and wine. When I was your age, my books were selling, but I      was still counting my centimes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin smiled. \"I like to read foodie magazines. But always on a      full stomach.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre laughed, selected a spoon, and dipped it into the tomato      sorbet. \"Bon appŽtit.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Same to you,\" Justin said. \"I love the look of this sorbet. It's      like egg yolk.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I was just thinking the same thing,\" Valre said. \"It could      almost be zabaglione. Very imaginative . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin set down his spoon when he had finished and looked at      Barbier. \"I've read a lot about your life, but I have questions.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre set his own cutlery down and looked at the young man. \"Go      on.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin saw something in the writer's eyes change. Up to now he had      been a bon vivant, a man without a worry in the world. All of a      sudden he looked older and more pensive. His large brown eyes      narrowed, and a few wrinkles appeared on his forehead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin said, \"This ch‰teau you bought in Aix-en-Provence-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Bastide,\" Valre corrected. \"La Bastide Blanche.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Right. I've read a few articles about the fire and everything      that happened this summer. I became a little obsessed by it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Tell me what you know,\" Valre said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, that the bastide burned down, and, no offense, that some      people accused you-though that was never proven.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, it wasn't proven.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But you were there when it happened.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre nodded and began eating. \"I can't remember much from that      night,\" he said. \"They tell me I was yelling something about      Agathe-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Your late wife.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Right,\" Valre replied. \"There was a time when Agathe was more      famous than me. But only very briefly. Do you know anything about      her?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well,\" Justin began, \"I know she was an artist, that you guys      were married a long time, and that she died in 1988.\" He resisted      using the word \"mysteriously\" after \"died.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre smiled and picked up his wineglass. \"Do you believe in      ghosts, Justin?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Was Barbier talking about Agathe? Justin rested his chin on his      folded hands and tried to think of an honest reply that would also      get Barbier talking. He now remembered reading that Barbier      claimed the house was haunted on the night of the fire. \"Yes. Yes      I do,\" he answered. \"I believe the dead prance around old      buildings at night because they think they are still living there.      When I was in high school we had to memorize a poem. I chose      Shelley. All I can remember now is 'When night makes a weird sound      of its own stillness.'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Night's weird sounds . . . I couldn't sleep at La Bastide,\"      Valre said, sighing. \"It was their busy time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Justin asked, \"Their busy time?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's a long story,\" Valre said, draining his champagne. \"But we      have all night. If I'm going to write one last book, my potential      editor needs to hear, and believe in, my story. Are you up for      it?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oui, monsieur.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Chapter Two\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e New York City,        September 22, 2010\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Valre Begins His Story\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A       s its name implies, La Bastide Blanche had a stucco facade,      painted white but cracked and peeling by the time I bought it. The      house was perfectly symmetrical, as bastides usually are: a wooden      front door-three feet across-in the center, flanked on each side      by two tall windows. Above that were two windows in the same      configuration, and over the front door another window, bigger than      the others, with a Juliet balcony. A large B was woven into the      balcony's wrought-iron railing. The third story, not as tall as      the other two, allowed room for five bull's-eye windows, ovals set      on their side rather than vertically. The red-tiled      roof-obligatory in Provence-was a patchwork of new and old tiles,      replaced over the centuries, each one a different shade of red,      orange, and even yellow. Sometime in the future, I imagined, I      would restucco the crumbling facade and paint it yellow; the      shutters, a faded red, would be olive green.","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300029747429,"sku":"NP9780143131427","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143131427.jpg?v=1767741432","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-secrets-of-the-bastide-blanche-isbn-9780143131427","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}