A French Affair (37 page)

‘To step outside their world?'

When she glanced up at him he nodded.

‘So what if she'd said she'd go with him?'

‘I think he knew she wouldn't.'

Focusing her attention on the small copse they were approaching, she said, ‘I can almost see Irène Némirovsky walking this path, can't you? Going to find herself a secluded spot in which to write.'

‘And all those terrible and tragic characters would be with her,' he added, ‘with their real and imagined sins and secrets, their pettiness and futile squabbles. And of course their passions and dreams. I wonder how many of them were based on people she knew, or came across?'

‘If she'd been allowed to complete her symphony, as she called it, then there would be five parts to the book, instead of two, and we might have more of an idea. Everything changed so dramatically after the spring and summer she wrote about. No-one could have
remained the same.' As she spoke, it was as though the horror of the Gestapo had started to permeate the air, a haunting presence, a malign slip of time. They'd come to take Irène from her sanctuary, removing her from her beloved husband and children as though . . . Well, as though she were a person of no consequence, and no rights. Terrifying as it must have been, none of them could have even begun to guess just how terrifying it really was, because none of them had ever heard of Auschwitz then.

Feeling a lump in her throat, she swallowed hard and looked down at the mossy undergrowth and trodden leaves. She wondered if Luc was thinking of Irène now, or if his mind had moved on to less painful and safer ground. She didn't ask, nor did she turn round when she sensed he was no longer behind her, she merely walked on, skirting the edge of the copse, then moving into its heart, inhaling the woody scent of the trees and absorbing their stillness as the shade cooled her skin. The ghosts of Irène's characters moved silently, almost comfortingly around her, perhaps accompanied by Irène herself.

Eventually she found another lane that twisted and turned through the back streets to connect with the main square. There were more people around now, and shops were opening, so she went to sit outside the café to wait for Luc. By the time she saw him strolling her way, deep in conversation with an ancient-looking woman, she was talking to Charlie on the phone, and trying not to think of how discordant his English voice sounded when every-thing around her was so inescapably and harmoniously French.

‘If I'd realised I could get off that soon I'd have
delayed Harry's flight till Wednesday,' he was saying, ‘and we could have flown down together.'

‘Ah, but this way I get him all to myself for two days,' Jessica responded, waving to show Luc where she was, ‘though with Antoine and Elodie around I'll probably have some competition. I was wondering if you might like to go off somewhere for a few days towards the end of the month, just the two of us, unless Harry wants to come too, of course.'

‘If there's a chance of him staying at the château, I've no doubt he'll jump at it,' Charlie said wryly. ‘Where did you have in mind?'

‘Oh, I don't know. How about somewhere secluded and romantic?' Her eyes were on Luc's as he sat down. ‘Maybe we could go into Switzerland, or over to the Loire.'

As Charlie replied a motorbike roared up, so she had to ask him to repeat it, but it was still no good, because for some reason the connection seemed to have failed. She tried his number again, but went straight through to voicemail, so she left him a message saying she'd call back later this evening, and turned the phone off.

‘So you found a friend,' she said to Luc as he signalled to the waiter.

He laughed. ‘I was trying to find out what she might remember of the war, but it turned out not to be much, and she was in the south anyway, not here. Was that Charlie you were speaking to? Has he managed to get some time off?'

‘It would seem so. He's arriving two days after Harry, which gives me just over a week to relax and maybe make a start on chapter one of my book. You know, I wish, in some ways, I'd suggested doing a biography of Irène, but I'm sure, once I get into the
characters of Jeanne and Modi, and the time and places they lived in, I'll find them every bit as inspiring.'

‘I have no doubt of it,' he replied, and turning to the waiter he ordered two pastis.

They drank mostly in silence, watching the comings and goings around them, until finally they strolled over to the car to start the journey home.

It was close to seven o'clock by the time they pulled up outside the cottage. So far neither of them had mentioned spending the evening together, even though they knew that Fernand had gone to play
boules
in the village, while Claude and Daniella had taken the children to friends near Chalon. But Jessica felt the need to be alone now, to talk to Harry and Nikki, and perhaps to read for a while before going to bed.

‘Thank you for today,' she said, as she opened the car door.

‘I'm glad you came,' he responded.

‘Sleep well.'

‘You too.'

As he drove away she watched the car, its silvery colour glinting like glass amongst the vines, then she let herself into the cottage, and went straight upstairs.

As she started to undress for a shower she was thinking of how much she had enjoyed the day, being an artist's model, a guest for lunch, a tourist listening to Luc, and a romantic losing herself in the history of her surroundings. However, as stimulating and satisfying as she found her friendship with Luc, she felt certain it was their shared love for Lilian that was their greatest connection. It was there at the root of everything, making the chemistry between them seem
almost as natural as the air they breathed, or the subjects they discussed.

After taking off the rest of her clothes, she slipped into a robe and was on her way to the bathroom when she noticed that the photograph of Natalie she kept on the chest had fallen over. Going to pick it up she gazed down into her daughter's beautiful young face, and felt her smile starting to waver. Always it was there, underlying everything, the longing and loss that dug so deeply into her heart she almost didn't want to breathe for fear of bringing in more pain. Would it ever stop, she wondered. Would a time ever come when her life might feel whole again? She wasn't even sure she wanted it to, for it would mean she'd left Natalie behind, and merely to think of that caused a wave of panicked resistance inside her.

‘Mum.
Mum.
'

She turned towards the top of the stairs. She knew the voice wasn't real, that it was the ghost of her imagination, but how could it not disturb her?

She looked out of the window towards the sky. It was awash with a rose-coloured hue, clear and gentle, impenetrable and sublime.
Why did you scream?
she whispered.
Was it really that you were about to fall? Could you see what was going to happen? Was that it? Or is there more?

There was no answer, but to her relief the chilling sense she'd had before seemed to be fading. She looked around the room, as though searching for something, but there was only the bed with its gauzy drapes, the old-fashioned chests and armoire, the door to the landing – and the wall ladder that led up to the attic.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Luc called early to tell her he was going to a second-hand book fair in a neighbouring village.

‘I will understand, of course, if you have had enough of me by now,' he said, with the drollery that never failed to make her smile, ‘but Lilian informs me that it would be very remiss of me not to invite you to come along to something that is – to quote her – so you.'

Loving the idea, Jessica said, ‘As usual Lilian is right, but please feel free to dump me as soon as we get there, just as long as you promise not to leave without me.'

‘No promises and no dumping,' he responded dryly. ‘I will pick you up in fifteen minutes. Will you be ready?'

‘Do I have a choice?'

‘We could make it ten.'

Laughing, she put the phone down and, thankful she'd already showered, she threw off her towel and went to the armoire to decide what to wear. Since the heat wasn't abating at all, she rejected shorts as being too hot, and chose a floaty lime-coloured dress with
thin plaited straps, and a pair of flat silver sandals that were easy to walk in. Satisfied that her tan had done away with the need for make-up, she ruffled her wet hair with her fingers, coated her lips in a translucent gloss, then grabbing her purse and phone, ran down the stairs.

Luc was already waiting outside in the car and as she got in, almost simultaneously both their mobiles started to ring.

‘Only Nikki would call me at this hour,' she declared, looking down at her own phone, and seeing she was right.

‘And mine is from an old colleague in Paris,' he told her, reading his incoming number. ‘So do we take these calls like a caring parent and interested friend, or do we pretend we're not sad enough to be available at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning?'

Bursting into laughter, she said, ‘I'm afraid a mother's conscience never allows her to be off duty, so I should warn you, this call could go on for a while.'

‘Then just for the company I shall answer mine too,' he said decisively.

She must still have been laughing as she clicked on her mobile, because Nikki said, ‘Well, listen to you, anyone would think you're having a good time.'

‘Would they? Is it not allowed?'

‘No, it's totally cool, but at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning?'

‘We're an hour ahead here,' Jessica reminded her. Then, breezing on past it, ‘So how's the hangover?'

‘What hangover?'

‘It's Sunday morning, and I know you were going out last night . . .'

‘Yeah, well, that's just it, isn't it? Dad grounded me last night.'

‘No!' Jessica said, genuinely shocked. ‘What for?'

‘Because I swore at him.'

Jessica wanted to laugh, but managed not to. ‘I suppose you must have had a reason,' she said, ‘so what did he do?'

‘Oh nothing except tell me I looked tarty in my dress, and that my make-up made a Goth look lively, and that it was time I had an early night –
on a Saturday
– because
he'd
had enough of me coming in at all hours. So I'm sorry, Mum, I ended up using the F word, but he like so deserved it. I'm not eight, I'm eighteen, or nearly, and it's just not right to treat me like that. I mean, you never do, so he's got to wise up and realise I'm an adult too, and it like really hurts when he's being insulting, which there's no need of, is there?'

‘None at all,' Jessica assured her, still wanting to laugh. ‘So why are you only calling me now?' she asked, curious that she hadn't been brought into this sooner.

‘Because,' Nikki said, managing to sound both defiant and sheepish, ‘I did the obvious thing, didn't I, and escaped . . . Well, Mum, honestly, I had to. Freddy and I were going to this really cool club in Vauxhall – I mean we went in the end, and it was with the friends we're going to Norfolk with, so I could hardly call up and say sorry, can't come, been grounded . . . I mean, it's like just too juvenile, so I've got to tell you Mum, Dad really needs to grow up . . .'

‘If I'm reading this correctly,' Jessica interrupted, ‘you're calling to ask me to smooth the way for you to go home again.'

‘Oh, Mum, you are like so brilliant. I knew you
would. You see, I have to go back there now because Freddy and I have been invited to a barbecue in Islington, and by the time I get home and get ready . . . You know what I'm saying, and like, I just can't cope with Dad going off on one like he did last night, so you've got to tell him how to behave like a real person.'

‘First,' Jessica said, still sounding amused, ‘Dad's always been much more lenient than I have, so don't you forget it. And second, does he actually know you crept out last night? If he doesn't, you can always creep back in . . .'

‘Yeah, like I know that, but I need you to find out if the coast is clear.'

‘Darling, we love him, so don't let's gang up on him.'

‘I thought you were going to help me with this!'

‘I am, but only because I happen to know that if you wait another half an hour he'll have left for thestudio. So if he doesn't know you crept out, and he didn't mention it to me when we spoke last night . . .'

‘He didn't tell you we had a row?'

‘No, actually.'

‘Oh that is like so typical! Have a go at me, ruin my night, then just forget . . .'

‘Nikki. Think before you speak, darling, even when it's me. Now, I'll find out if he knows you disobeyed him . . .'

‘You don't have to put it like that . . .'

‘Darling, get over yourself, and wait for me to call back.'

Glad to see Luc was still engaged in his call, while feeling pleasingly unrattled by her own, Jessica dialled Charlie, spoke to him affectionately for a few minutes, then curious, but nonetheless relieved, that he didn't
mention anything about his blow-up with Nikki, she called Nikki back.

By the time she'd given the all clear, then listened to an explicit, sleep-inducing account of last night's rave in Vauxhall, Luc was holding the door open for her to get out of the car and join him at the book fair.

‘Is sorry going to do it?' she asked, as they strolled across the grassy car park to mount some steps into the village. ‘There just seems to be no escaping family crises of one size or another . . . I hope your call was less . . .' Turning to look at him, she said, ‘Let's just forget the journey here, shall we, unless of course your call was of such profound fascination that we need to share it.'

With a laugh he said, ‘If having to go to Paris on Tuesday is profoundly fascinating, then by all means let's share. If not, I think there's something of interest to you right here.'