Chapter 2: Once upon a time
July 2001, outside Lagnes, Provence
The light shone brightly over the fields of Provence, France, where the scent of lavender filled the air with an intoxicating perfume.
And through the lavender fields, a red haired girl ran between the bushes filled with flowers, her bright yellow dress billowing in the wind as she ran down the slope towards the small farm house in the small Ville de Lagnes, in Provence.
Her barefoot feet hit the soft earth as she ran eager to answer her father's call, who had summoned her to speak urgently to her.
She jumped over a small fence, congratulating herself over her small feat, before crossing the small backyard filled with cooking herbs pots and shooed some chickens, which flew out of her way complaining loudly of her treatment of them.
She opened the door and entered the kitchen, out of breath, looking everywhere for her father.
"Papa?"
She couldn't find him in the kitchen, so she went from room to room, until she found him in his favorite place in the house. She smiled as she entered the small study of the country home.
In it, her old father sat in a rocking chair, his salt and pepper head leaning against his chest, and he had a small wooden chest in his hands. He looked at the chest with serious eyes, his calloused hands tracing the delicate wood with reverence.
She loathed breaking his funky mood, as her old father sometimes would lock himself into his study and stay hours brooding over his old books which he brought from England when he moved to France, several decades ago.
He met a lovely French lady who became his wife, and blessed him with their only child, Margot, who was the crown and glory of his old age. And he dotted on her, but she had always been a sweet girl so despite his efforts, he couldn't spoil her rotten.
"Papa, Qu'est ce que tu veux de moi?" (Dad, what do you want from me?)
"Margot, sit down, we need to talk." Margot Louise Watson looked at the solemn face of her father, and sat on the chair he pointed with his hand.
Her father stilled his hand over the chest, and looked at his only child, and he smiled briefly as he saw how she had filled out and was almost a perfect copy of her mother, that beautiful lady who stole his heart when he firmly believed there was no heart left in him.
At sixteen, she was a bright young lady who would soon leave her father in the lavender fields and go to the city, trying to apply for one of the courses of the Université a few miles away.
But before she left, she had to learn about his past.
And her legacy.
"It's time for me to tell you a story."
She sighed enchanted, leaning forward eager to hear him.
"I love your stories, Papa. They are so full of adventure and treason and intrigue. And how the detective you created would go and save the day and get the girl in the end. And how they lived happily ever after. It's so romantic."
Mr. Watson chuckled with his daughter's romantic interpretation of his stories.
"Sweetheart, the point of the story is not that they've lived happily ever after."
She looked at him confused, " I don't understand."
Her father stood up and walked up to her, and silently passed the small wooden chest to her, "The point of the story is that they lived."