A French Affair (10 page)

He laughed. ‘They haven't even been on their first date yet,' he reminded her.

She laughed too.

‘Tell me, were you that nervous the first time we went out?' he asked.

She took a moment to remember. ‘I know I kept going to the loo a lot,' she confessed. ‘What about you?'

‘Actually, I think I was drunk. Jeremy Rockwell was pouring Scotch down me to keep me calm, and then I
threw up. So I was either hung-over, or loaded.'

‘It didn't show. You must be a better actor than I took you for. Anyway, I was ringing to find out if you're coming home for dinner. Harry's gone off to guitar class with the Fenton twins and won't be back till nine, so it's just us, unless you're not able to make it.'

Before he could answer there was a knock on the door and his assistant put her head round. ‘Next week's schedule,' she told him, leaving a copy on the arm of a sofa, then with a wave she went out again. ‘Sorry,' he said to Jessica, ‘that was Maggie. So where were we? Yes, dinner. How about coming into town?'

‘I'd rather not,' she replied.

Unable to stop the dismay he said, ‘Won't you at least think about it?'

‘I don't need to. We'll only be stared at, or sympathised with, or asked for autographs . . .'

He took a breath to push down his frustration, but it was no use, he was annoyed. ‘Jessica, we can't go on like this,' he protested. ‘It's crazy, the way you're hiding yourself away . . .'

‘I'm trying, OK? I just don't find it easy.'

‘I know, darling, but life has to go on, whether we like it or not.'

‘I tried to get a job . . .'

‘Hiding behind the scenes, instead of going on camera where you belong.'

‘No, Charlie, where you belong. I'm over it. I don't want it any more, but please don't let's argue. Just tell me if you're coming home for dinner.'

‘Are you going to be mad with me if I say no?'

‘Not mad, just disappointed. You've got this LSE thing tonight, haven't you? So what time will you be in?'

‘Around midnight. I'll try not to wake you.'

After ringing off he tossed the phone onto a sofa, poured himself another vodka and downed it in one. He wondered how much longer they could go on like this, pretending they weren't drifting apart when they both knew they were. It was his fault, and he knew it, but he didn't know what the hell to do to stop it. He found it so hard to be with her, to see her pain and feel his failure so intensely that he was barely able to function any more. He was letting her down on every front, but worst of all was how he'd been unable to keep their daughter alive. Though he knew in his rational mind that there was nothing he could have done to save Natalie, it didn't change the fact that he'd failed as a father, as surely as he was failing now as a man.

Sighing heavily, he stared down at his glass and resisted the urge to fill it to the brim. His inadequacy was with him every minute of the day now, and starting to show in ways that was making it worse. And all the time Jessica was tying herself up in knots with this damned obsession that her mother still hadn't told the truth about what had happened to Natalie. He wondered if he should find Veronica and get her to try one more time to convince Jessica that nothing sinister had happened that day. But even as he thought it, he knew already he wouldn't do it – and not only because Jessica was incapable of believing a word her mother said, but because having been through the terrible nightmare of it once, he simply couldn't bear to go through it all over again.

Two days later Jessica was at her desk in the study she and Charlie shared, sitting very quietly, not moving,
hardly even breathing. Luc had rung a few minutes ago, looking for Charlie, and though she'd only spoken to him briefly, she still couldn't disconnect from the images his call had conjured. She was seeing the
manoir
at Valennes, the vineyard and the grape-picker's cottage where Natalie had died. She could smell the earthy air, see the endless expanse of sky and the vines, neatly planted in tiers over the slopes of the valley. All of it rippled through her in a way that seemed to fuse the broken pieces of her heart, as though Natalie was still there, captured in its beauty, breathing, laughing, running – waiting for her to come.

Catching her breath on a sob she covered her face with her hands, but the images were still there. Natalie as a bridesmaid at Luc and Lilian's wedding, her shining blonde hair streaming down her back, her mischievous eyes glowing with excitement. Natalie dancing at the party afterwards with Luc's niece and nephew, Antoine and Elodie, silly show-off dancing that Charlie had joined in, embarrassing Nikki and making Natalie shriek with delight. Then there was Christmas at the
manoir,
Natalie decorating the tree, opening presents and helping Fernand in the kitchen. The long bike rides they'd taken through the winter-white terrain, Natalie always charging on ahead, so full of life, leading the way, or chasing Antoine and Elodie through the vines while Harry struggled to keep up. They played hide and seek in the
cave
, knock down ginger on Luc's studio where he sculpted, and went searching the woods for birds and bears. Then Natalie was snuggling into Charlie's lap at the cottage, happy and tired, her face smeared in dirt, dry leaves in her hair and a thumb trying to sneak its way into her mouth.

In the end Jessica just let the tears flow. The longing didn't get any easier, it only got worse, and knowing it was the same for Charlie didn't seem to help any more. She didn't know why, she only knew that she wanted her baby back so badly that she was starting to wish her own life was over just so she could be with her again.

Charlie was carrying a pile of Sunday papers out into the garden ready to read after lunch, whilst half-listening to the radio news that was on in the kitchen.

‘By the way,' he said, glancing over to where Jessica was planting the begonias she'd bought that morning while he'd had a lie-in, ‘did that guy Rufus Keane ever call again? Your mother's neighbour.'

Jessica put down her trowel and gently popped a small plant into the hole she'd scooped into the soil. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask,' she responded.

A brief look of impatience crossed his face – clearly he'd failed again, since she'd obviously been waiting for him to mention it instead of just volunteering the information herself. ‘Does that mean he has?' he asked.

As she sat back on her heels his annoyance increased, but then faded. She'd been crying again, he could see it in the redness of her eyes, but there was nothing he could say or do that would give her what she wanted, so he made no comment, only felt trapped in the same wretched sense of helplessness that always came over him when he was aware of her pain.

Before she could answer the phone started to ring inside the house, so being the nearest he went to find out who it was.

Watching him go, Jessica took off her gardening gloves, and used the back of her hand to push the hair
from her face. She wasn't surprised, only dismayed, that he'd taken more than a week to ask if Rufus Keane had called back, since it seemed to be almost second nature to him now to avoid any mention of either her mother or Natalie. However, at least he had got round to asking in the end, which she might be able to view as some kind of a breakthrough if she didn't already know better.

Since he continued talking to whoever was on the line, she returned to her planting. Instead of allowing her thoughts to linger on Natalie, she pushed them on to Nikki who was currently not speaking to her, even though it was Charlie who'd told her off for coming home so late last night. As far as Nikki was concerned Jessica had betrayed her by telling him, because only Jessica had been up at that hour, and since she wasn't a child any more they could both just get over themselves and stay out of her face, because she was going to come home any time she liked, thank you very much. In fact, she wouldn't come home at all if they didn't stop going on at her like this, at which point she'd stormed out, leaving Jessica to thank God for Harry, who seemed so happy and uncomplicated compared to the rest of his family that he was probably the only sane one amongst them right now.

Thinking of her son made her heart melt, even as it twisted with unease. He'd been invited to Devon for two and a half weeks starting almost as soon as he broke up from school, which was only eight days away, and she had yet to say he could go. He'd often been away from home before, but this would be the first time since they'd lost Natalie and she didn't know if she could take it. But he so desperately wanted to go – Kieran Grant was his best friend these days, and
Kieran's dad had a boat in Salcombe which they could all go sailing on, and Kieran's mum was really cool, because she did things like hang-gliding and potholing and all the things Harry really, really, really wanted to do. ‘Please Mum, please, please, please.'

Of course she would have to say yes, and nothing in her wanted to deny her son such an action-packed holiday, but the dread of something happening to him was so huge, she was finding it almost impossible to imagine him coming back in one piece.

‘Jessica, you've got to stop this,' Charlie had told her last night, ‘or you're going to bring the whole damned world crashing in on us.'

‘And exactly what is that supposed to mean?' she'd demanded angrily. ‘That the power of my one little mind can make things happen, or is that some kind of prelude to you abandoning us because you can't stand living with me any longer? You think
you're
the whole damned world?'

Holding onto his temper, he'd said, ‘I was referring to self-fulfilling prophecies, and I'm beginning to wonder which one you're going to pull off first, because I'm getting the distinct impression you don't want me around here any more.'

‘That's just ridiculous.'

‘Is it?'

Seeing the confusion in his eyes she'd immediately backed down and gone to put her arms around him, assuring him he had no need to feel like that, because no matter what else was going on between them she still loved him and always would.

‘Are we having lunch today?' he asked, coming back into the garden, ‘and if so are Harry and Nikki with us?'

‘No, they're both out until later,' she replied, ‘so it's just us. There's a spinach quiche in the oven. We can have it with salad and new potatoes, if you like.'

‘I'll put the potatoes on,' he said, and disappeared back inside.

Sighing, she dropped her trowel, then picking up the discarded plant trays she carried them over to the bin.

‘It's OK, I've got everything under control,' he told her as she joined him in the kitchen. ‘There's a glass of wine for you there that I was just about to bring out.'

‘Thank you,' she said, going to wash her hands. Picking up the glass, she stood watching him chopping tomatoes before slicing into an avocado. She was thinking of how much she'd always loved his hands, so large and masculine, how they could make her feel safe, or sexy or just plain happy. Today she wasn't sure how they were making her feel. ‘The answer's yes, Rufus Keane did call back,' she told him.

He carried on arranging avocado slices on a plate, then sprinkled them with lemon juice and black pepper.

‘I told him that nothing had changed since the last time he'd called, I still didn't know who else he could contact to find out where my mother might be, apart from Maurice whose number we don't have.'

Charlie glanced at her, then reached past her to the mesclun he'd emptied from a plastic bag into a bowl. ‘Are you at all interested in where she might be?' he asked.

‘Are you?' she countered.

Pouring a dressing over the leaves he said, ‘That's hardly relevant, is it, when she's your mother, and you're the one who doesn't believe her.'

Feeling her temper starting to rise, she said, ‘I think
we should drop the subject or we're going to end up falling out,' and putting down her glass she began collecting cutlery and plates to set the table outside.

‘Did he leave a number?' he asked when she came back in again.

‘Who? Rufus Keane? Actually, yes, but . . .'

‘Then I'll give him a call.'

‘What for? You don't know who her friends are any more than I do.'

‘I was thinking,' he responded, ‘that at least one of us should share his concern about where she might be.' She started to protest, but he cut across her. ‘Have you ever stopped to think what it was like for her, Jessica?' he demanded. ‘She was there, she saw it happen and was helpless to do anything about it.'

As her face darkened his voice rose.

‘She might be a lot of things, Jessica, but she's not without feeling. She cared for Natalie – she loved her . . . You can't seriously think she'd do anything to harm her . . .'

‘I'm not accusing her of murder, for Christ's sake. I'm just saying that the whole truth isn't being told.'

‘Then I can't begin to imagine what you think it might be . . .'

‘Because you won't ever listen, that's why.'

‘I'm not encouraging you in your paranoia . . .'

‘You can call it what you like, but remember, you only sleep easier at night because you didn't receive that phone call seconds before she fell. You didn't hear her . . .'

As he looked down at her his face was paling with anger, but she could see the pain in his eyes. Reminding herself that the wrenching loss was his too, and that he really didn't sleep easy at night, she
softened her tone as she said, ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you don't care.'

‘I know. And I'm sorry too.'

She tried to smile, then going to him she slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. ‘Do you think we can manage lunch without erupting into another row?'