Twenty-one
T he previous day, after the emotions of the morning, Charlotte and Elise had spent a good day in étretat, not quite recreating what they’d done the first time they’d been there, but close. They had visited the Lupin museum, which was even better than they remembered, browsed in the shops, and took a long walk on the cliffs. Today, after taking it easy in the hotel before checking out, they went for lunch in a nearby restaurant. There, they had a traditional Norman meal, accompanied by excellent local wines. They shared mussels to start, then chicken in a cream and Calvados sauce for Elise, and rabbit in a cider and mushroom sauce for Charlotte, followed by a shared green salad and a plate of local cheeses, among them the most famous local creation of them all: Camembert. This particular one was divine, with a creamy distinctiveness that Elise said perfectly reflected the fragrance of the flowery Norman meadows where the cows had grazed. She’d turned into quite the foodie, Charlotte thought, amused and touched, watching her daughter’s bright face as she waxed lyrical about provenance and terroir and regional character.
The cheese was followed by caramelised apples cooked in butter and Calvados, and a Bénédictine liqueur finished everything off nicely. Afterwards, needing to walk, they headed out to the beach again. The wind had got up a bit and it ruffled the calm water into silver frills of waves, but it didn’t feel too cold.
They didn’t talk about Tom, or any sort of difficult subject. Instead, somewhat to Charlotte’s surprise, Elise asked about her work. None of her children had ever shown much interest in gardening, but Elise had been very impressed by Arielle’s stand the other day, and it appeared to have triggered a new interest in her mother’s own experiences. Perhaps she had only raised the subject to distract her mother from her troubles, but if so, Charlotte thought, as she happily answered her daughter’s questions and recounted funny anecdotes—including Mrs Browning’s flamingo bath—it was certainly working.
They had just turned back to go to the station when Charlotte’s phone pinged with a text. It was from Gilles Auvert, telling her that due to an issue with his planned episode he’d be slotting in her interview instead, as it was edited and ready to go. It would go live at 8 pm.
Charlotte was somewhat stunned, not having expected it to come up so soon, but Elise was very excited. ‘That’s so great, Marm! I’m going to tell Theo and Jamie and we can make an occasion of it, all of us—we can have a group call via my phone and we can listen together on your phone! We’ll get a bottle of champagne and a few snacks too …’ and without listening to her mother’s admittedly feeble protestations, she texted her brothers. They responded just as enthusiastically and Charlotte’s phone pinged with Way to go, Mum! Can’t wait to hear it! and she felt her heart swelling with love for them all, her three beautiful children who were the light of her life, and always would be, no matter what happened …
Charlotte and Elise caught the fast train back to Paris, and by 7.30, half an hour before the episode was about to start, they were sitting at Juliette’s kitchen table, facing Elise’s phone, a platter of snacks—charcuterie, olives, tomatoes and bread—by their elbows, as well as a bottle of champagne. Elise filled up their glasses and started the video call, and Charlotte saw her sons were together in one room too, each with a filled glass in hand and big smiles on their faces. Elise called for a toast to Charlotte, who couldn’t stop smiling, even if tears also pricked at her eyes. Everyone started talking at once, the young people’s cheerful banter chasing away the momentary twist of sadness their mother felt about the fact her husband wasn’t on the call. Elise hadn’t suggested it. She had too much tact for that.
At half a minute to eight, Charlotte switched her phone to the radio, and everyone fell silent as Gilles Auvert’s cultured, mellow voice welcomed his listeners, burbling on a bit about what people had said about previous episodes. Charlotte hardly heard any of it, she was feeling much too nervous. The seconds ticked by agonisingly slowly till finally Auvert said, ‘And now I’m very happy to present a special guest, an expert contemporary designer whose work combines the best of French and English ideas about gardens, rooted in the traditions of both cultures but also in the imagination of its creator. I’ve known this lady for quite a long time, from when I was a TV journalist working on garden shows, and I know how highly her work is regarded, but also how despite the accolades, there’s not a sign of a swollen ego to be seen. A big welcome then to Charlotte Marigny, Parisian by birth and Londoner by residence. It’s a real pleasure to have you on my show.’
‘It’s a real pleasure to be here, Gilles, and thank you so much for inviting me.’ Charlotte was nervous. She and Gilles had talked for quite a long time and she was a bit hazy about all they’d said. Would she come out with things that might make her children cringe?
She needn’t have worried. Auvert was a skilled interviewer and he’d guided her through a series of questions that had been designed to allow her the space to expand on particular topics—such as inspiration and ideas—and soft pedal others, such as commentary on other people’s work. He did ask a few personal questions—such as asking her to recount how she’d started, with a holiday internship at the Lost Gardens of Heligan in Cornwall, which was where she’d conceived the idea for the business, but had also met Tom, whose parents lived near there. She had even managed to keep her voice steady when she’d said that, but as she listened back to it, she felt her throat tightening, and Elise silently took her hand and squeezed it. Then the interview went on to other things, to the challenges she’d faced when she was starting out, to how she’d created her first designs—including Juliette’s garden. To herself, she sounded a little tentative, but as the children said afterwards, to others she sounded warm, engaging, smooth enough to be easy to listen to, but not so smooth that it sounded cheesy or insincere. ‘In fact, Mum,’ Theo said, ‘I’d say you made it sound like anyone could do what you’d done and yet anyone listening would want to hire you on the spot to make over their garden!’
‘Hundred per cent,’ said Jamie. ‘Hell, Mum, I’d get you over here in an instant to turn our horrible patch of cracked concrete and weeds into a Garden of Eden!’
‘I think I might need to pack a magic wand along with the rest of my tools,’ Charlotte said, and they all laughed. That sad bit of concrete at the back of the student house Jamie shared with three other guys could hardly be described as a yard, let alone a garden.
They chatted for a while longer before ending the call. Charlotte suddenly felt totally exhausted, the adrenaline having left her system. Elise saw it and got up to clear the table, but before she did, she hugged her mother tightly, saying, ‘You were totally brilliant, Marm. We’re so very proud of you.’ Charlotte hugged her back, wordlessly, heart full. It was her children who were brilliant, she thought. She and Tom had not got that wrong, at least.