The Paris Affair

34 Julia

34

Julia

August, 2002 – Paris

Christoph lay in the hospital bed, his eyes cloudy and weak. Julia had returned and found Daniel sitting awkwardly at Christoph’s side, a plate of food on the table.

‘Have you spoken to the doctor?’ Julia asked him.

‘Yes, he explained what you’d already told me. We’re in a bit of a limbo until they do the tests. They’ve given him some painkillers for his stomach ache. I did try and persuade him to eat something, didn’t I, Papa? But he’s been asleep most of the time.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not hungry,’ Christoph murmured.

‘That’s okay. We just want you to get better.’ He leaned closer. ‘I really am sorry about how I told you about Sylvie. I just thought it was for the best.’

Christoph patted his hand. ‘I know.’

‘Maybe you can stop all these recipes and memories now,’ Daniel said gently.

Christoph sighed. ‘It’s not that easy. Knowing that she died makes me want to know how and why it happened.’

Daniel nodded. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, but you don’t have to decide now. There are other things we need to sort out. I need to find somewhere to stay now the booking at Le Meurice is almost up and Julia’s heading back to the UK.’

‘Actually, I’m not sure I’m going back yet,’ Julia said.

Daniel’s eyes flew to meet hers. A mixture of hope and wariness. ‘How come?’

‘I don’t want to leave Christoph,’ she said, nodding towards the bed.

‘Ah, right, of course,’ Daniel said. ‘What about your next concert though? You’ve already given up so much to be here.’

Julia gave a small smile. ‘I think I underestimated the problem with my hands,’ she said. ‘The fact that I can’t rely on them is a symptom of something more.’

Christoph touched her hand. ‘That’s what I meant when I said that music flows from the heart to the hand and on to the keyboard.’

Daniel nodded. ‘So, it’s like your heart isn’t in it any more? I wish there was something I could do.’

Julia shrugged off his sympathy, not wanting to dwell on it now. ‘You could find somewhere we can both stay, more reasonably priced than Le Meurice. And close to the hospital.’

Daniel smiled. ‘Now that I can do.’ He kissed his father’s cheek and gave him a hug.

‘See you soon, Papa.’ His eyes met Julia’s. ‘I’m glad you’re staying.’

As the door clicked shut, a twinge of guilt lodged in Julia’s chest. She’d hoped to get a moment alone with Christoph so that she could ask him about the key. But once again, it meant going behind Daniel’s back. Julia took the key out of her bag.

‘I found this in the lining of your suitcase.’ Julia took the key out of her bag and handed it to Christoph.

He stared at it, turning it over in his hand. ‘I recognize the feel of this.’ He peered at the label. ‘Apartment 14. What’s that?’

Julia opened Sylvie’s recipe book.

‘I thought the key might be linked to Sylvie, and I was right. The next recipe is for fonds d’artichauts farcis. Sylvie wrote: Ate this with C the first time we stayed in the apartment. Our haven .’ She pointed at the key. ‘It must be for the apartment she mentions.’

‘I don’t recall an apartment. The last thing I remember is slamming her door closed,’ Christoph said wearily. ‘I was so foolish. Just when she’d finally come round to wanting to know me better, I ruined it all.’

‘But this suggests she did forgive you,’ Julia said. ‘Why else would she have gone to the apartment with you? Maybe I can find out where the apartment is.’

Julia couldn’t explain why she felt hopeful. There was no address, nothing to go on. But the key – so small and compact – signified something real. ‘Let’s keep going until we’ve tried everything.’

Christoph squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, Julia. I want to find out the truth more than anything.’

Julia rang Claude from a windy street, feeding cents into the phone box. There was no one else she could think of. She explained about the key and her hope that the next recipe would help Christoph remember the apartment. He told her where to buy artichokes and shallots and said she could use his kitchen. She arrived with bags of ingredients, her fingers aching from the weight.

‘Thank you,’ Julia said, heaving everything on to the table, ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Hopefully the fonds d’artichauts will revive his memory.’

‘ Bien s?r . I’m glad to see you again. If I can help find this long-lost apartment, I’ll consider it a job well done.’ He inspected the artichokes. ‘How is Christoph doing?’

Julia shook her head. ‘Not good. He’s very weak. I’m worried about his mental state too.’

Claude took out a chopping board and a sharp knife. ‘You need to start by trimming the artichokes.’ He laid them on the table. ‘Did this illness come on suddenly?’

‘He’s been unwell for a while, it seems, but he was refusing tests. We thought he was getting better, but he found out that Sylvie died during the war. Daniel, his son, told him, and Christoph had a bad turn once he heard the news. It must have been shocking to hear.’ Julia began to chop, hacking through the ends of the fibrous stalks. ‘I wish Daniel had waited for a better time, but I suppose he felt he had to say it.’

Claude filled up the kettle and set it to boil. ‘It’s not always easy for fathers and sons.’ He handed her some slices of poitrine fumée. ‘Here, you need to wrap the artichokes in this.’

While the artichokes boiled, Julia and Claude chopped the onions, shallots, garlic, and mushrooms and put some oil in a frying pan to heat.

‘What will you do if you find the apartment?’ Claude asked.

‘I hope it’ll tell us what happened next. Why Sylvie died. At least that would be closure.’

She wasn’t sure how she’d explain it all to Daniel. She hadn’t intended to make this recipe behind his back, but what else could she do? He’d made his feelings about it clear.

Julia tipped the chopped ingredients into the oil and shook the pan. Claude smiled.

‘You’ve grown in confidence,’ he said.

Julia stirred in the puréed tomatoes and salt. ‘It began as a way of helping Christoph, but I’m starting to enjoy cooking.’

‘When you cook for someone else, the way you’re making this, it’s always an act of love.’ Claude shrugged. ‘At least, that’s how I think of it.’

‘I suppose it is.’

When the artichokes were ready, Claude put them in a box and handed it to Julia. ‘Whatever happens, whether you find the apartment or not, at least you’ll have tried.’

Julia stepped out of the patisserie and into the street.

When you cook for someone else, the way you’re making this, it’s always an act of love.

Had Julia ever played the piano that way? For someone else as an act of love? It had started like that: playing was the only certain way to make her mother smile. But as the years went by and the bar was raised higher, her love for the piano had been replaced by something else. Obsession, devotion, desperation. Julia clutched the meal she had prepared. It felt good to make something out of love again, whatever the outcome.

Daniel was in the waiting room when Julia arrived.

‘He’s just having his bedding changed, so I thought I’d wait out here.’ He glanced at the box in her hands. ‘What’s that?’

Julia held it protectively. ‘It’s just something I made for Christoph to encourage him to eat.’

Daniel stared at her. ‘Is this from the recipe book?’ She nodded. ‘Oh no, Julia, we talked about this. No more digging up the past, for Papa’s sake.’

‘But Christoph wants to continue,’ Julia said, desperate to convince him. ‘Even if Sylvie did die, he wants to remember it for himself.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m really worried about what that might do to his mental state. Papa’s fragile as it is. He needs to concentrate on getting well, not chasing ghosts from the past that will stir up the anguish for him even more.’

‘I know, Daniel. I understand your concerns, but these are his wishes.’

Daniel pressed his hand against his chest. ‘We need to protect him from any more heartache, especially now, when he’s physically weak,’ he said. ‘We don’t even know the extent of what’s wrong with him or how ill he really is. We can’t carry on with this wild-goose chase. We both know it ends badly.’

Julia understood his point of view; she really did. But why couldn’t he understand that this was Christoph’s decision? She took the key out of her pocket.

‘I found this in Christoph’s suitcase. It’s for an apartment that Christoph visited in the war. He wants me to find it.’

Daniel threw up his hands. ‘I don’t believe it. You just don’t let up.’

Julia clasped the key. ‘I know you don’t want me to do this, but I’ve promised Christoph I will carry on helping him.’

‘It was the same six years ago. The two of you have such a bond, and even now you think you know what’s best for him. All the things you had in common with Papa, how much he admired your talent. She’s like the daughter I never had , that’s what he said, and I was the son he never wanted.’

‘He never said that.’

‘He did, Julia, I heard him. My window was open. He told you I wasn’t good enough. I know what he thinks of me.’

Julia’s heart contracted as she looked at Daniel’s pained expression. She’d been sitting in the garden with Christoph. He’d known that there was something between her and Daniel. He’d wanted to warn her to be careful. ‘I’m not saying that Daniel isn’t the right one for you,’ Christoph had said, ‘but it needs to be someone who’ll support you in your career. I want the best for you, Julia, you’re like the daughter I never had.’

‘Oh, Daniel,’ Julia said now, impatiently. ‘He was talking about my career. He didn’t want me to lose sight of things. You must let this anger go. If Christoph wanted to keep you in the dark, it’s because he knew how you’d react.’ She tried to get it through to him. ‘Your father could be dying; he wants to remember his past and you need to stop thinking of yourself. Christoph doesn’t want to be protected from his memories. Can’t you see that?’

Daniel looked at Julia. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘Mama made me promise not to let him track Sylvie down. It’s not just the anger I need to let go of, it’s my sense of obligation to her too. I’m not sure I can do that.’

‘Well, I suggest you try,’ Julia said. ‘Otherwise you might come to regret not helping him with this journey.’