Thirteen
O n most Saturday mornings, Arielle took the children with her to work. She only had to work a half-day on Saturdays because in the afternoon and the whole of Sunday the weekend assistant, Coralie Ferreira, took over. But having the children at the market meant that they didn’t miss out on being with her, and it also gave Pauline a break. Since they’d moved in with her, Pauline had pretty much had to co-parent the twins, and Arielle sometimes worried that it placed too much of a burden on her sister and put a crimp in her love life. Pauline scoffed at the latter, saying that she had pressed pause on dating. And, she’d added, since Arielle and the twins had moved in, she was happier than she had been in years. Even if she was rather more tired too.
But despite that, Arielle knew her sister was pleased to sometimes have Saturday mornings to herself, pottering around the shops or simply taking her book to read in the sun in the park without interruptions. Plus the children loved coming to the stand, commenting on the flowers, competing as to who knew the most plants, and just being with their mother. And despite the inevitability of Vella’s raised eyebrows, the children’s bright-eyed presence at the stand on Saturday mornings certainly didn’t put customers off, quite the contrary. Monsieur Renan had even joked that he should put the twins on the payroll. Instead, he’d arranged something they appreciated much more: a standing order for tall glasses of grenadine or Orangina at the local café, delivered soon after the stand opened. They came with coffee for Arielle, and croissants for them all, and the second breakfast—because they only had time for a quick round of toast and jam before they left—made the early start something to look forward to.
Today, however, Louis and Alice were in a grumpy mood. They had woken up late and complained when Arielle told them to hurry up and get dressed, and then squabbled in the Metro. By the time they arrived, it was right on opening time, and Arielle—who had not slept all that well—was flustered and not in the mood to listen to any more nonsense, so she told them to go and sit quietly in the back till their second breakfast arrived. Scrambling to get everything in order before customers arrived, she could hear the twins grumbling to each other in the background but chose to take no notice. Sometimes parenting required you to turn a deaf ear or a blind eye and this was definitely one of those occasions.
The weekends were usually very busy, with large tourist contingents: everything from busloads of weekend trippers from the UK, Germany or Belgium to the individual travellers from further afield. Most of the tourists browsed but a few did buy, and more than a few liked to ask questions and take photos. There were some local customers, Parisians buying flowers for special occasions, but most of the regular weekday customers didn’t come on Saturdays, though occasionally Daniel Auban came by.
The other day, after his talk, they had gone for lunch in the museum’s café and chatted about flowers and manuscripts. He’d told her more about the beekeeper he’d mentioned in his talk, a man called Franck who had a smallholding in the Chevreuse Valley south-east of Paris, and had come to one of Daniel’s previous presentations, becoming inspired to change how he did things. ‘But I think he always had it in him,’ Daniel had said, ‘and hearing my talk and seeing the manuscripts simply unlocked it.’
The conversation had turned then to other topics. The only personal information she’d gleaned from their chats before was that he came from Lorient in Brittany, had travelled a lot in his twenties and had only embarked on a career as a botanical historian thirteen years ago when he was thirty, comparatively late for an academic. Apart from that, she knew very little about his background and nothing about his private life. But at lunch that day, she’d learned something that had surprised her: for the last five years he’d been a member of a community group, one of several around Paris, that created jardins partagés , shared gardens in empty or degraded spaces. Unlike allotment gardens, which were only found at the edge of the city, these shared gardens were within central Paris.
It had touched her, the thought of his long frame in gardening overalls, soft scholar’s hands deep in soil, trying to coax a recalcitrant seedling into standing up straight. As always, he was humble about his role in the shared garden but he clearly took pleasure and pride in it. No wonder he’d been able to talk about the joy of gardens in that warm way in his talk. She put those thoughts aside as the first of the human tide flowed into the market.
Arielle had just dealt with a lively tour group from the US when she saw Charlotte approaching, accompanied by a young woman whose looks marked her immediately as a close relative. ‘Arielle,’ Charlotte said, ‘this is my daughter, Elise, she’s over from London for a few days.’
The children, who had ducked down below the counter to play some sort of game, popped their heads up, and Elise said, ‘Hello!’
The twins looked at her uncertainly, then a shy smile broke over their faces. ‘Hello,’ they said, in unison. Louis said, ‘We are helping with the flowers,’ and Alice added, ‘Do you want to buy flowers?’
Elise laughed. ‘I think we do,’ she said, ‘don’t we, Marm?’ She spoke fluent French, with only a slight trace of an English accent.
Charlotte was smiling at the children. ‘Thank you for reminding us.’ They beamed, and she turned to Arielle. ‘We’d like a bouquet of flowers in memory of a dear friend of mine from long ago. Peonies were her favourite flower, but the people we are giving it to are her mother and her daughter. Her daughter lives in Australia but is visiting her grandmother in Paris—’
Arielle broke in. ‘Is your friend’s daughter called Emma, by any chance?’
Both Charlotte and Elise stared at her. Charlotte murmured, ‘How did you …’
‘She came by my stand a couple of days ago,’ Arielle said, ‘looking for advice about the restoration of her grandfather’s garden. He’d visited our stand when Monsieur Renan—my boss—ran it. She didn’t mention her mother’s death, but I saw the shadows in her eyes and knew there was sorrow there.’
‘Corinne, her mother, died recently, much too young,’ Charlotte said softly.
Arielle drew in a breath. This would be a very special creation indeed. ‘Memory, love, consolation, shared bonds—those must be the elements in this bouquet. Red and white peonies in the centre to express the love you all had for Corinne, surrounded by blue forget-me-nots and white roses for consolation, and memory. The bouquet would then also be in the colours of the French flag, and of Australia’s too, if I’m not mistaken. And Britain’s,’ she added, ‘as you, the givers, live in London.’
Charlotte’s eyes were bright with emotion. ‘That will be beautiful. Thank you, Arielle.’
‘How do you know what all those flowers symbolise?’ Elise asked, more matter of fact.
‘I’ve been working with them a long time,’ said Arielle. ‘And Monsieur Renan, my boss, taught me a lot too. But it’s also about listening to the flowers and feeling what they might say to people …’ She broke off, her throat tightening as she spotted two familiar figures heading her way. Familiar but not welcome. They had been hovering near Vella’s stand but were now heading purposefully towards her, just ahead of a cluster of tourists. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but I’m going to have to put these together for you later. Would that be okay? I can have them ready for you by eleven o’clock.’
‘We’ll come back then,’ said Charlotte, looking a bit surprised by the abrupt change in Arielle’s manner.
Arielle was dismayed by her unintended rudeness as the pair of lovely customers walked away, but all her anxiety returned in full force at the sight of the couple rapidly approaching.
‘Virginie, Thierry,’ she said, pasting a smile on her face as they drew near. ‘What a surprise to see you.’
‘Pauline told us you were here,’ said Virginie, an accusatory tone to her voice, ‘and your colleague over there—’ she pointed vaguely in the direction of Vella’s stand—‘told us you let the children have the run of the market.’
I bet he did , Arielle thought, grimly, but aloud she said, ‘They like it here.’
‘Um—yes—well, we thought we could spend today with the children, and you,’ Thierry said, with a tentative smile.
Arielle stared at him. How could he possibly think she’d be happy for them to spend the day together after what they’d proposed?
At the sound of their grandparents’ voices, the children had scuttled away into the back, but eagle-eyed Virginie had seen and looked ready to storm the counter in search of them. The tourists who had been heading to the stand now reached it and were soon exclaiming and asking questions. The Grandiers had to retreat, but as soon as the coast was clear, back they came—and away the children vanished, into the recesses of the storage room.
Arielle began putting together the beautiful bouquet for Charlotte and Elise, and that helped her to keep calm when Virginie opened her mouth and said, ‘Did you think any more about what we discussed the other day?’
Arielle tried to keep her voice steady. ‘I wasn’t aware that it was a discussion.’
There were spots on Virginie’s cheeks now and her eyes were hard. Visibly controlling herself, she said, ‘As a good mother, surely you know you can’t provide adequately for the children? Your wage is low so you are forced to live with your sister—’
‘I choose to live with my sister,’ said Arielle tightly, as she arranged the flowers for the bouquet, trying to focus on their beauty, and not on what Virginie was saying.
‘And you don’t have parents who could help out,’ Virginie ploughed on, ‘or any chance of promotion, so you should—’
‘We’d just like to make it easier for you, Arielle,’ Thierry interrupted.
Arielle’s stomach was churning. Why weren’t any customers approaching? Where had the crowds gone? She didn’t want to be alone with these two horrors.
Virginie snapped, ‘You cannot possibly afford to give them what they should have, what we could give them, what Ludo himself had.’
Arielle lifted her head then and stared directly into her mother-in-law’s eyes. ‘ What Ludo had ,’ she repeated, bitterly. Now the words she had never spoken before gushed out of her. ‘You mean, wanting for nothing—except for the most important thing of all?’
She saw Thierry go pale, looking so stricken that for an instant Arielle regretted her words. Then Virginie spat out, furiously, ‘How dare you! What would you know about anything, least of all about our son? Our son, who you tried to turn against us. Only you didn’t succeed, did you?’
‘Virginie …’ Thierry began, pleadingly, but his wife ignored him.
‘And look at you, Arielle,’ she hissed, ‘so guilty about not spending enough time with Louis and Alice that you drag them to your place of work, in the midst of dirt and goodness knows what nasty bugs that might be crawling around. What kind of mother does that to her own children?’
‘The kind of mother I wish I’d had,’ said a voice, so suddenly that they all started. In the heat of the confrontation, no one had noticed Daniel approaching. ‘The kind of mother those lovely children are very lucky to have,’ he went on, moving closer to Arielle and fixing the Grandiers with an expression she had never seen before on his face. It stopped Virginie in her tracks—but not for long. Giving him a hot glare, she snarled, ‘And who do you think you are, Monsieur, interfering in a private conversation?’
‘Hardly a conversation,’ he said. ‘More of a bullying session. You should know the difference, Madame.’ His tone was soft but his eyes were steely.
‘Now then,’ Thierry began to stammer, ‘there is no need for unpleasantness, no need at all, we just …’
But no one took any notice of him. Virginie looked from Daniel to Arielle, then back again. ‘Ah, I see. He is your friend ,’ she said.
Arielle deliberately ignored the implication, her head held high. ‘Daniel is my friend. But you are not. You never have been, although once upon a time I longed for it.’ Unexpectedly, she choked then.
‘You don’t understand,’ Thierry said. ‘We never wanted to—’
That made her snap, ‘Oh, I know you never wanted me in your precious family!’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Thierry began, but Arielle had had quite enough.
‘You’re worse than her, you never even say what you really think. Go. Please go, both of you.’
Virginie looked ready to spit more insults, but Thierry put a hand on her arm and drew her away, throwing an unreadable glance over his shoulder at Daniel and Arielle. In a moment, they were gone.
‘Are you all right, Arielle?’ Daniel’s tone was so gentle that she almost burst into tears. She shook her head. ‘Not really, but thank you, Daniel.’
He nodded, faintly colouring, shy again. ‘It’s okay.’
‘I’m sorry you had to witness that,’ she said.
He waved a hand. ‘Don’t be. I’m only glad I could at least help a bit.’
‘You helped a lot ,’ she said. ‘And I should explain what that was about, but right now I have to talk to the children—I don’t know what they heard, but …’
‘You must go to them,’ he said. ‘And you don’t have to explain, not unless you want to.’
She felt a catch in her throat, knowing he understood. She started to go but turned back. ‘Would it be all right if the children and I came to visit you tomorrow in your shared garden?’
His face lit up. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure.’