Minutes later Michel pulled himself upright and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks for bringing him in, boys.’ He smiled at the two young lifeguards. ‘We got him just in the nick of time. Another few minutes and it would have been too late.’
He became aware of Chantal standing by the door. ‘Good to see you back, Chantal. How are mother and baby?’
Chantal smiled. ‘Doing fine in the postnatal ward.’
‘That’s good! Now, have you had any lunch?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s too late now. We need to do something about those patients waiting out there. I’d rather keep going till this evening.’
‘Me too.’ This evening. He mustn’t think about the evening yet.
* * *
As she went out of the cubicle a nurse was waiting to ask her for help. She’d brought her young patient back from an X-ray of his arm, followed by the plaster room, and she needed a doctor to outline the treatment required. Was he fit to be discharged or should he be admitted? He’d fallen from his bicycle on the promenade and was still in a lot of pain.
Chantal followed the nurse to the treatment room to check on the X-ray of the scaphoid bone, an important wrist bone, and the subsequent application of a rigid plaster. She was glad that the plaster was a temporary one comprising two halves which could be removed or adjusted as necessary. The patient’s fingers were very swollen, she noticed.
She phoned Orthopaedics and asked if they could find a bed for a young patient with a fractured scaphoid. She recommended that he be kept in overnight to be seen as soon as possible by a consultant. The plaster needed to be adjusted by an expert and further treatment was necessary.
Then it was on to the next patient in the seemingly endless queue. There was no doubt about it that balmy summer days increased the number of people waiting to be seen in Emergency.
* * *
‘The evening staff are arriving.’ Michel put his head round her cubicle curtain. ‘How long will you be?’
She smiled with relief. ‘I’m just clearing this trolley.’
‘Leave it. That’s an order. I’ll delegate it to someone who hasn’t been working all day like you. Come now, Chantal. I need to ask you something important. My office in two minutes?’
‘OK, you’re the boss.’
She wondered what the rush was as she followed him after a couple of minutes. She had a feeling it might be because she’d been avoiding him for a while, feeling desperately unsure of the plan he’d asked her to consider.
‘That was five minutes.’ He stood up from behind his desk as she went in.
‘Yes, it was.’ She sank down into the chair near his desk. ‘Where’s the fire?’
He grinned. ‘You can slow down now I’ve got you here.’
He sat down again and some of the bravado he’d exuded disappeared. All he had to do was say he needed an answer. Yes or no to his master plan? Looking across at Chantal, he realised he’d suddenly run out of steam. She looked as tired as he felt. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask her to dinner this evening after all. They’d both been working flat out all day and he expected a lucid answer to his all-important question. Yes or no, not maybe, or give me some more time.
He cleared his throat. It was now or never; take the bull by the horns.
‘I’ve been wondering if you’d had any thoughts on what we discussed at the beach café that evening?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve given it some thought and...Michel, are you OK?’ She was concerned by the agitated way he was now pacing the floor, not looking directly at her and breathing really deeply.
‘I’m fine!’ he snapped. ‘So what conclusion have you come to?
She stood up and walked over to the window where he was now leaning against the wooden shutters fixed back to reveal the evening sun.
‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought.’
‘You have? And?’
‘I made enquiries at a discreet little clinic I know of in Paris. I spoke over the phone with the director and explained our situation. He assured me they would be able to set the wheels in motion as soon as we come in for an appointment. If, after a consultation and the necessary tests, we wish to proceed, they would be pleased to help us.’
‘And would you be happy to go ahead, Chantal?’
She could see the beads of sweat on his brow as he continued speaking. She had to put him out of his misery.
‘Yes, I would,’ she said, with a confidence that belied the worries still haunting her about the whole project.
He let out a sigh of relief. ‘So that’s the first hurdle over. You’d taken so long to get back to me I’d given up hope.’
‘Michel, this isn’t something to be entered into lightly. I’ve spent many hours agonising over the problems we could face if we go ahead.’
‘Me too. That’s why I think we need a proper meeting. I’ve drawn up a list of shared parenting requirements I’d like to discuss with you. Would you care to have supper with me this evening at my house? That way we won’t be disturbed by waiters or nearby diners overhearing our unconventional conversation.’
She hesitated. ‘Are you sure you feel like making supper this evening?’
Strike while the iron is hot! ‘It won’t be anything brilliant. An omelette or something simple. We’ve both skipped lunch so a cardboard box would taste good.’
She laughed and the tense atmosphere began to evaporate.
‘Now, this is something I’ve got to see. A man who can make a meal out of a cardboard box.’
CHAPTER FIVE
T
HEY
CALLED
IN
at the small store that had been turned into a supermarket since the time when she had come here as a child. This had been in the days when her father had still been alive and they had often came over from nearby Montreuil for a day on the beach. Later, when she and her mother had moved to Paris and had been staying in the area during the long summer vacation she would come in here with other members of her family.
She had particularly enjoyed coming in with cousin Julia, clutching the spending money her mother had given her and deciding whether to blow it all on sweets, a drink or an ice cream. Situated at the end of the promenade, it had been the perfect place for children who had been lucky enough to have some money or an indulgent grown-up with them. In those days, she remembered, it had been a grocery store with a very good bakery attached.
This evening they needed provisions for their supper. Michel had told her he knew there were eggs at home but he was a bit vague about anything else. They definitely needed fresh bread.
* * *
‘I’ve never done much shopping,’ Michel told her, his expression conveying that he found the whole experience boring.
He was following her, looking a bit lost as they walked down the first aisle. ‘As I told you, Chantal, I can whisk up a decent omelette; possibly add something like cheese or ham.’
He reached forward and took packets of both as if anxious to get out of this unfamiliar place as quickly as possible.
Chantal could see that he rarely did any shopping. ‘I’ll get some salad and bread, Michel. I can see the baguettes over there.’
‘I’ll get some wine and meet you in the next aisle.’
As she got some freshly baked bread she could see Michel discussing wine over the other side of the shop. He may dislike shopping for food but he seemed to understand his wines. He called her over and she hurried across.
The man serving in the wine area was holding out a glass of wine for her to taste. ‘Your husband suggested you taste this one and this one.’
Michel hadn’t flinched or corrected the mistake as he watched her putting the glass to her lips, swirling the wine in the glass to let it breathe, as her mother had taught her when she’d been old enough to have a small glass with lunch or supper.
‘I prefer this one,’ she said, as she made her choice. She had found it difficult to decide. They were both fine wines.
Michel smiled. ‘Good choice.’ Both men nodded sagely.
As she moved on she heard Michel arranging for a case of wine to be put in his car.
He joined her shortly afterwards, now looking very pleased with himself. A more relaxed Michel was emerging from the work-weary man who could barely disguise his dislike of mundane matters like shopping.
At last they were now into the idea of eating and the trolley began to fill up with impulse buys. They were both feeling hungry so it was soon brimming over. Chantal remembered neither of them had eaten any lunch. Michel was nowhere to be seen now.
She found him at the dessert counter, where he was pointing to a large apple tart and asking the serving lady to wrap it for them. ‘I’ll take some of that cream and some
crème fraîche
to go with it.’
As they made their way out of the shop, Chantal found they were both in a more relaxed mood. The tension between them as they had entered had been almost palpable. They’d worked all day and had been starving but they’d had to face the dreaded shopping before getting home and cooking. But she’d found it fun to turn what might have been a chore into a pleasant experience.
‘We’ve got far too much food,’ she said, as they piled the goodies into the boot of Michel’s car.
He smiled. ‘As my grandmother used to say,
‘Appetite comes when you eat.’
Chantal laughed. ‘Absolutely true! But you’ll find yourself eating for days to come with this amount of fresh food, though some of it will freeze, of course.’
He opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in and fastened her seat belt. As they began driving up the hill she looked out at the sun low in the sky at the top of the hill. Below on the sea twilight was dancing on the gentle waves, a golden glow telling them that the day was over and the pleasures of the evening were before them.
Yes, they had a serious subject to discuss but they both wanted the same outcome, a baby to satisfy their craving for parenthood. Parenthood without commitment to each other. She turned sideways to look at Michel. He was looking relaxed, happy even. It could work, this unconventional plan of his. It would work if they were both one hundred per cent committed to the plan.
They were reaching the top of the hill. She could now see a magnificent house standing by itself in a prime position in terms of its view. That couldn’t be Michel’s house, could it? She held her breath as he turned off the road and swung into the gravel drive.
He turned off the engine and for a few seconds they both remained still, taking in the magnificent view of the sea below them.
‘Wow!’ she breathed. ‘What a view.’
‘The view is the reason I bought this place. I’d inherited some money from my grandparents, who brought me up after my parents died. My grandfather was a successful businessman and he had no other relatives to leave his money to. I was an only child. When I got my job at the Hôpital de la Plage I felt I needed a place I could call home, a place where I could put down roots. It was meant to take my mind off the fact that I was on my own now. My consolations were my absorbing work at the hospital and my beautiful house to come home to. Come and look inside.’
A master switch by the door flicked on the lighting system as they went into the spacious hall. There were table lamps, hidden lights in alcoves to light up the pictures on all the walls. Obviously, Michel enjoyed his art collection.
He also enjoyed his photographs. On the hall table there were two photographs of Michel and his wife. One showed them enjoying themselves on a beach, palm trees in the background, his arm around her slender waist. They were both in swimwear, white shorts for him, white bikini for her. The second was their wedding photo taken as they’d stood on the steps of the church. They were a good-looking bride and groom. She could almost feel the love between them.
She experienced a weird sensation of disturbing emotions, which she couldn’t understand. She told herself she was happy that Michel had known real love and sad that it had all ended for him. Yes, that was why she felt so upset, why she didn’t trust herself to speak as she turned away and focussed her attention on a picture of the view from the house.
She could feel the warmth of the day lingering in the closed-in atmosphere. He went to open a window as she followed him into the spacious kitchen. She glanced around her. It was an absolutely ideal kitchen. The space would be a pure joy to work in for someone who had time to cook for a family or throw large dinner parties but Michel didn’t exactly fit into that category.
The kitchen resembled something out of an expensive, glossy magazine but it didn’t look lived in. Some of the appliances had obviously never been used.
‘What’s this for?’ She put her hand on an expensive-looking piece of equipment that had been integrated along a wall of electric appliances.
He grinned boyishly. ‘I’ve no idea! I only know how to work the important stuff like the cooker. And occasionally the washing machine when I’ve forgotten to put out my stuff for the woman who comes in from the agency once a week to keep the place clean.’
He pressed a switch and quiet classical music started.
‘Rachmaninov,’ she said. ‘One of my favourite composers.’
He nodded. ‘Me too. You know, the man I bought this house from was in charge of a firm that supplied houses fully furnished to order. His client had defaulted so I bought the house because I liked the view. As long as I’ve got a cooker, a fridge, music at the flick of a switch and a bed, that’s all I’m interested in.’
‘It’s absolutely wonderful but...’
‘Go on, though I know what you’re going to say.’
‘Do you?’ She hoped not. If she was honest she would tell him that it lacked a woman’s touch. It lacked any feeling that it was a home.
‘You were going to tell me it’s like a bachelor pad, weren’t you? A place where a man can lay this head at the end of the day.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘You said that, not me.’
‘I said it because it’s true. It serves its purpose.’
He was uncorking a bottle of wine as he spoke. ‘Let’s take our drinks on the terrace. That’s my favourite place.’
‘I can see why.’ She settled herself among the cushions on the long wicker sofa as he handed her a glass then sat down at the other end. There were small tables at each end but only one looked as if it had been used. The other still had a label prominently displayed.
‘You’re quite right, Michel, it’s the view that makes this place.’
‘And the people in it.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for agreeing to have out meeting up here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It will be easier to discuss the problems we might encounter with our parenting plan if we haven’t got anyone else overhearing us. You say you’ve already contacted a clinic in Paris?’
She took a sip of wine as she warmed to her subject. ‘The director of the clinic is a former colleague of mine. He and his wife became personal friends. They used to give excellent dinner parties. He’s an obstetrician/ gynaecologist who took early retirement so that he could open his own clinic to help couples who want a baby but need some kind of conception assistance. Most of his work is with fertility problems but he’s agreed to check out our plan for donor insemination.’
‘Sounds good so far. I’ve been drawing up a list of parenting responsibilities which we must take very seriously.’
He broke off to move closer to her on the sofa, bringing the bottle with him so he could top up her glass.
At first she felt as if she should be taking notes, but somewhere along the way they were distracted by talking about their backgrounds. She started it by asking Michel how old he’d been when his parents had died.
‘I think it’s important to know things that our child will need to know,’ she explained. ‘Conventional, normal couples will already know these things.’
‘Oh, absolutely!’ He took a deep breath. ‘I suppose the rest of the world will regard us as abnormal but if we can ignore the gossip, that will be half the battle. With regard to my background, both my parents were only children.’
He paused and cleared his throat. ‘I was also an only child. I was three years old when my parents died. They’d left me with my grandparents when they’d gone off to the Alps for their annual skiing holiday. They were both swept away in an avalanche.’
‘What a dreadful thing to happen. And you were only three.’
He nodded. ‘I became aware that my parents had been away from home for longer than usual and started to ask questions about when they were coming back. It’s difficult for a three-year-old to understand what an accident is. I missed them, but gradually I stopped asking questions and simply accepted that my grandparents had taken their place.’
She could hear that his voice was full of sadness. A sudden image of him as a lonely child flashed into her mind and she felt sorry for him. And now as an adult he still had no family of his own. She was glad she was going to help him. Yes, that was why sometimes she couldn’t understand her own emotions when she was with him. It was nothing to do with the fact that he was handsome, charming and charismatic. None of that came into the equation.
She glanced across at him and saw that there was still an air of sadness which had lingered since he told her about losing his parents.
Michel stood up and escaped into the kitchen as if he didn’t want to be seen displaying his emotions.
When he returned he was carrying more nibbles. Cheese straws this time.
She saw the dampness on his cheek as he went past her and once more she felt sorry for the poor little orphan he’d been and was glad that he’d had grandparents to care for him.
‘And you?’ he enquired, when he was settled once more beside her. ‘I remember you said your mother had brought you up by herself.’
‘Yes. My father died of cancer. There was a tumour in his oesophagus that was too far advanced to be removed. He was there at my seventh birthday party. I remember wondering why he didn’t eat any of the birthday cake my mother had made. A few weeks later he died.’
He put his hand on hers. Neither of them spoke.
‘Maybe this is why we’re both so committed to becoming parents,’ he said gently. ‘We both feel we’ve missed out in some way. To have two parents must be a wonderful experience when you’re growing up.’
‘We’ll have to make sure we give our baby a lot of loving care.’ She looked at the man sitting beside her. He would make a wonderful father.
‘Come on, let’s carry on this conversation in the kitchen,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her to her feet.
She felt it was a very special moment as they stood together, looking into each other’s eyes. She held her breath as he leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. As quickly as their lips met the kiss ended. Both of them knew this wasn’t part of the contract. It was as if they were agreeing to the start of their journey together.
His arm was resting lightly on her waist as he took her into the kitchen
‘So, which of these many packages would you like me to unpack?’
They both surveyed the kitchen table. ‘I really fancy watching you whip up an omelette,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a salad and that’s the main course sorted.’
‘And all this?’
‘You’ve got an enormous fridge-freezer over there, which we’ll put to good use.’ She was already rinsing the salad ingredients, then mixed a French dressing.
‘Got any mustard?’
‘No idea. If I have, it will be in that cupboard.’
She found some and added it to her dressing.
‘I’m amazed!’ she told him as she watched him cracking eggs into a bowl. ‘You look like a real chef.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t be deceived. This is the only dish I can make. You can serve it up at any point in the day, breakfast, lunch, supper. Now all I’ve got to do is to whisk it like this then into the pan I prepared earlier and, hey, presto! Oh, I forgot the ham.’