Thirty-five
E mma hadn’t noticed Charlotte’s voice message at first. Her phone had been on silent all night and because she and Marc-Antoine had got up late, unwilling to leave each other’s arms, she hadn’t checked her phone at all after she’d woken up. Right after Marc-Antoine had hurriedly left for the office, the delivery man had arrived, bringing the bench and table that they had ordered the day before. The bench was a simple wooden three-seater, painted in that lovely faded blue, the small round table was in the same colour, and they’d also ordered cream-coloured outdoor cushions to go on the bench. She got the man to take everything out into the garden and place it under the wisteria, then, when he’d gone, she sat on the bench and took a selfie, sending the picture to Marc-Antoine, with a caption: I think Mattie is going to like our surprise, don’t you? She smiled as she saw his reply, Looks like she might have to fight you for it!
It was only then that she realised she’d missed a message. She’d seen the photo first but it had meant nothing to her until she’d listened to what Charlotte had said. Emma, our friend Arielle from the flower market went to a bee farm in the Chevreuse yesterday, and she sent me some photos. The photo I sent you was one of them . A pause, then, You’re not going to need the agency, Emma. We’ve found Eric. The man with the beard in the photo I sent you—I am certain it’s him . Another pause. Ask Arielle, she can tell you more. And I’ll speak to you when I can. Bisous .
Stunned, Emma had looked at the photo again. It looked like it was a photo of a photo, from an album or a scrapbook, that showed two men standing by a beehive in a rather cluttered room. One of the men was older and bearded, the other younger and clean-shaven. The younger man was smiling, gesturing at the hive, but the bearded man was staring straight into the camera. The photo was in colour so you could see his close-cropped hair was mid-brown, his beard darker but with flecks of grey in it too. But it was his eyes that drew her attention. Not because of their blue colour, which was neither unusually pale nor bright, but because of the expression in them, a look Paddy called the thousand-yard stare, the kind that looked straight at you and straight through you. Emma remembered something Charlotte had said Pascal had told her: that even though Eric had changed, filled out, shot up, the expression in his eyes was the same, as if he could see things you couldn’t .
Emma tried Charlotte’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message. There was no point now, not until she’d spoken to Arielle. But she called Marc-Antoine first. After she told him, he said, ‘Are you okay?’
‘I think so,’ Emma said uncertainly. ‘A bit shocked, obviously. This man could be my father—he has the same colouring as me and he was in love with my mother, but lots of people have that colouring, and who’s to know if they were together long enough to make me … and besides, he has a different life now so …’
‘So it’s complicated,’ he finished for her.
Now, as she looked at Arielle, a thought struck her. The photo her mother had left her. Could it be … Bringing it up on her phone, she showed it to Arielle. ‘I think that the man I’m looking for took this photo of my mother. Does it look at all like it was taken in the area that Monsieur Perrin’—the name felt strange in her mouth—‘lives?’
Arielle considered, carefully examining the image. ‘It could be,’ she said, at last. ‘There are meadows just like it, and with that castle in the distance …’
Emma had looked up the Chevreuse before coming here, wanting to have an idea of where this man, who might be her father, lived. The images had shown a green landscape, woods, castles, old villages. A setting right out of a fairy tale. Her throat tightening, she said, ‘Arielle—you said that man in the photo was a neighbour of Franck, the beekeeper. Do you happen to know what his first name is?’
Arielle shook her head. ‘Daniel probably does.’ She turned away and spoke softly on the phone. After a moment, she returned to Emma. Even though he hadn’t met Perrin in person, Arielle reported, Daniel had met his wife Marie-Madeleine and so knew his first name was Eric, and also that while his wife was a local girl, Eric was not from there originally, but had lived in the area for a long time. The couple had two children, both boys, both in their twenties. Daniel didn’t have the Perrins’ number, but he’d ask Franck right away.
Emma’s thoughts were racing, a strange mix of feelings agitating in her. If Eric Perrin, who was married with two sons, was indeed her father, then she had a family she hadn’t known even existed … But she had a family already. They were enough. And it would be hard on the Perrins too, so … what on earth should she do?
Arielle’s phone pinged with a text. It was Daniel, sending three numbers, with a short explanation: This is the Perrins’ number, the landline for the farm, and then their mobiles, the first mobile number is Eric’s . Arielle forwarded the whole thing to Emma’s phone, then looked at her and said, as if she could read Emma’s thoughts, ‘I don’t know what I would do, either.’