The Paris Affair

28 Julia

28

Julia

July, 2002 – Paris

The journey back from Normandy had been peaceful. Julia had sat in the back of the car while Daniel explained more about his plans for the farm to Christoph. Now, the interconnecting door between Julia’s room and Christoph’s was ajar. Daniel was getting Christoph ready for bed, their companionable conversation continuing.

Julia liked hearing their voices. She’d deliberately left them to it, not wanting to get in the way. She opened a bottle of wine that she’d ordered to be sent to her room and poured a glass, sitting by the window. Her mind was full of the visit to the farm.

While Monique had washed the dishes and Raymond and Daniel had gone to see the orchard, Christoph had talked for a long time, his eyes closed, conjuring the recollections of his trip with Sylvie to the farm one by one. He remembered the moment they’d kissed and then she’d pulled away. Julia had breathed a sigh of relief. He made no mention of a Frenchwoman being shot and killed in the woods, which meant that it couldn’t have been Sylvie.

Julia sighed. It was hard to believe, but in two days she was due to go home. Back to the cold little flat, to feeling sick with fear about her hands. The concert in Salzburg in a week’s time loomed on the horizon.

It wasn’t the stiffness of her hands that frightened her most, it was the realization that she’d lost her love of playing. She took a sip of wine and gazed at the rooftops. She had no idea how to bring that love back.

‘Christoph says goodnight,’ Daniel said, coming to the door. ‘I think I’ve worn him out with all my talk.’

Julia smiled. ‘He’s loved it.’ She glanced to check the recipe book was out of sight. It was hidden in her bag on the table.

‘I suppose I’d better turn in too,’ Daniel said.

‘You could join me for a drink,’ Julia said, ‘if you want to.’

‘I do.’

Julia filled a glass for Daniel. He’d caught the sun from being out in the fields.

‘It was a beautiful farm,’ she said. ‘I could have stayed there for ever.’ She rubbed her hands. If only it were possible.

‘You’re thinking about the piano,’ Daniel said.

‘Actually, I’m trying not to think about it, but sometimes that makes it worse.’

‘What was that tune you were humming on the way back?’

The day had spun a melody in her head. She hadn’t realized she’d been humming it out loud.

‘I made it up. I used to write music when I was younger, but I ended up focusing on grades and performances.’

‘You wrote something with Christoph that first time you came to Bonn,’ Daniel said, taking a drink of his wine.

‘Yes, inspired by Eberhard Müller, I wrote my own ending for Mozart’s unfinished “Fantasia No. 3 in D minor”.’ It had been exhilarating to get to know the piece and then compose a new section.

‘I remember. I heard you practising it. It sounded incredible,’ Daniel said. ‘You should write it down – the tune you hummed in the car. What inspired it?’

‘The farm, I suppose. The peacefulness, how much Christoph enjoyed seeing it all again. It must’ve been an oasis of calm during the war.’

‘A last respite before he was sent to fight in the east,’ Daniel said.

Julia sat up. This was news to her. ‘I didn’t know Christoph was sent to Russia. When was that?’

‘No idea,’ Daniel said. ‘He always clammed up when the subject of Russia arose. They needed every man out there by the end of 1942.’

Nineteen forty-two. That was the year he’d met Sylvie. What had happened for Christoph to be removed from Paris and sent to Russia? ‘Didn’t you ask him?’ she said.

Daniel shook his head. ‘I told you, I wanted to know more, but he never wanted to talk about it. I only remember that snippet about the farm.’

Julia felt a shiver of foreboding. If Christoph went to Russia, it meant that he and Sylvie must have had to part. How would Christoph cope if the memories broke his heart, perhaps all over again?

‘Well, we know he survived,’ Daniel said with a wry smile, ‘or he wouldn’t be here today. And nor would I.’

‘No,’ Julia said. But what about Sylvie? What had happened to her?

Daniel swilled the wine in his glass. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night. How I should have been more direct instead of trying to send you a message in a game of Hangman. I’d like to tell you what that hangman said now, if you’ll listen.’

He glanced at Julia, his eyes impenetrable. Warmth stole into her core. ‘I’ll listen,’ she said, catching her breath.

‘Do you have any paper?’

Julia ripped off a sheet from her notebook and handed him a pen.

‘Promise you won’t laugh,’ he said.

He wrote down the blanks:

‘I won’t make you guess,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘I seem to recall it was the little girl doing all the guessing anyway.’

In capital letters, he filled in the blanks: H-A-V-E/D-I-N-N-E-R/W-I-T-H/M-E. He clicked the pen closed and glanced at her shyly.

‘That’s what you wrote?’ Julia said. ‘The first day we met?’

‘Yes, well, you disappeared in a taxi, only to reappear as Christoph’s student. The moment came and went.’ He paused. ‘I regret not being more direct.’

‘And now?’ Julia asked, her breath shallow.

The air around them tightened. His eyes dimmed as he contemplated her. ‘And now I’m going to do what I should have done back then, right before everything got complicated.’

He reached out and took Julia’s hand. His thumb stroked along her palm. The movement passed like a current through her body. She swallowed, unable to move. He leaned in towards her and his lips touched hers, the contact enflaming her mouth. She moved closer. Her elbow nudged her bag. It slid off the table. Julia caught the handle just in time, but the contents fell on to the floor: pens, her purse, chewing gum, make-up. Then she saw it: the recipe book. Her heart stopped. Glancing up at Daniel, she could tell that he’d seen it too. The colour drained from his cheeks.

He reached down and picked it up. Julia’s heart went cold. There, in his hand, was Sylvie’s recipe book. He opened the front cover and stared at her.

‘I don’t believe it. This is the book, isn’t it? Tatty brown cover, handwritten recipes. You’ve had it the whole time.’

‘Daniel, please, I can explain …’

‘Where did you get it from?’

The intimacy and warmth had evaporated. Julia felt sick.

‘I found it,’ she said. ‘On a shelf, under the stairs. I didn’t know what it was at first, but when Christoph refused to eat anything I thought I’d try some of the recipes.’

Daniel flicked through the pages. As he saw the recipes, realization dawned.

‘This is why you’ve been taking such an interest in cookery,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘Every meal is here. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted to, but Christoph was afraid you wouldn’t understand.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I thought you were evasive when I asked you if the recipes were from a specific book. I told you that Mama had mentioned a woman called Sylvie.’ He screwed his eyes closed. ‘How could you have kept this from me?’

Julia’s chest tightened. ‘When you told me about your mum and the recipe book the other night I realized you’d be upset. But it wasn’t my secret to tell. Christoph’s recollections are helped by the recipes. He wants to remember what happened with Sylvie.’

Daniel put the book down, pain in his eyes. ‘This has to stop, Julia,’ he said. ‘Mama told me to protect him from this part of his past. She made me promise not to let him track down Sylvie. I don’t want him to get hurt.’

‘That’s not your decision,’ Julia said, gently. ‘It’s Christoph’s book, his memories.’

The interconnecting door opened. Christoph stood there, his face half full of sleep. ‘What’s going on? I heard voices.’

‘Daniel’s found Sylvie’s recipe book,’ Julia said. ‘I’m just trying to explain –’

‘I can’t believe you kept this from me, Papa,’ Daniel said, in anguish. ‘You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.’

‘That book is mine,’ Christoph said. His face was pale, his breath laboured. ‘If I want to use it to regain my memories, then that’s what I’ll do.’

Daniel’s face was grave. ‘I’m sorry, Papa, I can’t let this charade continue, not when you’re going to get hurt in the long run.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Christoph stared at him.

Daniel put the book down. ‘I know what happened to her, to Sylvie.’

Julia stared at Daniel in disbelief. She’d never expected that he would hold the key to Sylvie’s fate.

‘How?’ Christoph said. He winced and clutched his stomach.

Daniel guided Christoph to a chair and knelt beside him. ‘Mama told me when she was dying,’ he said. ‘She described the recipe book and told me to protect you from the past.’

Christoph stared at Daniel. ‘But why would Hilde do that?’

‘Because she knew that finding out what had happened to Sylvie would upset you deeply.’

‘Why would it upset him?’ Julia said, holding her breath. ‘What happened to her?’

Daniel glanced at Christoph, hesitating. ‘Are you sure you can’t remember all this, Papa? There was a letter, tucked in the recipe book, addressed to you. You must have read it years ago and put it there.’

‘I don’t know,’ Christoph said, his hands twisting anxiously. ‘The memories of my time in France are coming back one by one, but this … it must’ve happened later. I don’t remember a letter. What did it say?’

He stared at Daniel, his face ashen.

‘If only you’d told me what you were doing, I could have prevented all this,’ Daniel said, distressed. ‘There’s no good way to tell you this, but perhaps it will stop all the searching.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Mama said that the letter was from a private investigator. You must have hired him after the war and asked him to track down Sylvie.’

‘And?’ Christoph said. ‘Did he find her?’

Daniel bit his lip. ‘No, but he discovered what happened to her.’

‘Tell me,’ Christoph said.

Daniel clasped his father’s hand. ‘He found out that Sylvie had died. In 1942. During the war.’

Julia couldn’t believe what he was saying. Sylvie. Dead.

Christoph blinked. ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, Papa. She didn’t make it. Mama told me the letter said that she died at the camp in Drancy.’

Christoph stifled a sob, his face grey. ‘Stop, don’t say any more.’

Julia felt a wave of despair. ‘Daniel, are you absolutely sure?’

‘I’m sorry, Julia. Mama was adamant that’s what the letter said.’ He turned to his father. ‘I had to tell you, Papa. It’s better that you know the truth.’

‘ Nein ,’ Christoph spluttered, his face screwed up with pain. ‘You’re doing this to punish me.’

‘No,’ Daniel said, aghast. ‘I’d never do that. I didn’t want to come to Paris, remember, but I came for you. I had no idea this was about Sylvie.’

Christoph gasped for breath, clutching his throat. Julia rushed towards him. He collapsed in her arms, fighting for air.

‘Ring an ambulance,’ she cried.

Daniel scrambled for the phone. Christoph’s breath grew more ragged, his grip on Julia’s hand weaker.

‘Julia, believe me, I didn’t mean for this to happen,’ Daniel said.

Julia couldn’t answer. All she could think about was Christoph. She couldn’t bear the thought that his last memory might be Daniel’s voice telling him the news of Sylvie’s death.