Thirty-six
C harlotte had woken from a heavy but unrestful sleep to a sense of disorientation. For a moment her stupefied mind struggled to make sense of where she was and what had happened. Then she remembered and groaned. Last night, she had said they’d talk in the morning. Well, it was the morning, but she didn’t feel like talking, though she knew they must. Dragging herself out of bed, she headed to the bathroom, which to her relief was empty, but she could hear someone moving about downstairs. Tom rarely got up before her but today he had. And that meant …
She couldn’t go for a run to clear her head, so it had to be the next best thing. Stepping into the shower, she turned the cold water on full bore and, gasping, stood stoically under the jet of flesh-crimping chill. It was only a few seconds, but it made her mind sharper, clearer. Towelling herself off, she got dressed in a T-shirt and loose linen pants, brushed back her hair, slipped on some shoes, and went down to the kitchen.
Tom was standing with his back to the door, staring at the coffee machine as it ground and hissed and whirred its way towards producing a brew. On the table beside him, she could see things he’d laid out, which he had obviously found in Juliette’s pantry—a packet of biscottes , the breakfast rusks that were popular in France, butter, and a pot of jam, as well as two plates and knives. He hadn’t heard her over the noise of the machine, so she stood there for a moment, watching him, her chest constricting at the familiar yet strange sight of him, and then she went in, saying brightly, ‘Seems like I’ve timed it well by the smell of that coffee.’
He started and turned around. He still looked tired but he’d washed his hair, shaved, and put on fresh clothes. ‘I hope so,’ he said, giving her a tentative smile. ‘Not sure if I’ve worked out this machine properly.’
‘It is a bit of a beast,’ said Charlotte, seating herself at the table. ‘Took me a while to work out myself.’
‘Yes, they’re all different,’ Tom said, and she could hear the nervousness in his voice under the delaying tactic of small talk. She was sure hers sounded the same to him.
The coffee machine finished its work. Tom brought the full cups to the table. He sat down opposite her and gestured vaguely towards the breakfast things. ‘This being Paris, I suppose we should really have fresh bread from the bakery, but …’
‘This will be fine,’ said Charlotte, his obvious nerves making her own recede. Enough with delaying tactics! She looked straight at him. ‘I have to ask you upfront, Tom, even if we are now talking to each other, would you be willing to talk to someone professional, as well, back home?’
He glanced at her quickly. ‘Yes,’ he said, adding, after a beat of time, ‘I know that I should have done that before it all went to pot and …’ He didn’t finish his sentence, but Charlotte didn’t press him. She knew what an effort it had cost him to admit it, he who had previously only spoken of therapists with disdain. No use harping on it.
Buttering a biscotte and spreading it with jam, she said, ‘How did your boss react to you resigning over the phone?’
He winced, and she wondered if she’d been too blunt. It had been intentional because she knew that if they were to properly repair things, they had to be honest with each other, not beat around the bush. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said, ‘his ears are probably still ringing. I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I hung up.’ He saw Charlotte’s expression, and added ruefully, ‘I know. I have to call him, apologise, and resign properly when I’m back.’
She nodded. His words showed that he understood that it wasn’t his boss’s fault, nor the company’s, that he’d been so out of joint with his work. It had been his own inability to move on. But she was also glad of something else: he hadn’t got cold feet about resigning. He had taken a step towards the future.
She wasn’t going to ask him what he planned to do next. That would come in time, when he had disentangled what he wanted from the stranglehold of what he thought he should do. And that made her say something that had come to her in the middle of the night. ‘You know, Tom, I’ve realised something since I’ve been here. I was nervous about leaving Aidan in charge at work, never having been the world’s best delegator’—Tom gave a faint smile at that—‘but he’s doing absolutely fine. I have no need to worry. I love my work, Tom, and I’m good at it, but being here has made me realise that the business won’t fall apart just because I’m not there all the time, and actually I need not to be there all the time, but it took all this to make me understand …’ She was about to say more, but the words somehow got choked in her throat.
Tom sighed. ‘Jeez, Lottie, being a so-called mature adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?’
She gave a surprised bark of laughter. ‘You’re right there!’ Then she grew serious again. ‘We might have made lots of mistakes, you and I, but one thing we did do really well—’
He broke in, finishing the sentence for her, ‘Is our kids.’
‘They’ve turned out to be beautiful adults,’ she said, ‘who are very much their own people but who love us and each other. Maybe we haven’t truly grasped often enough what an amazing and wonderful thing that is.’
He drew in a breath. ‘You know, as Elise was tearing strips off me, even in the midst of my shame, I was so proud of her, because she’s not afraid to go straight to the heart of things, even when I was still messing about in a swamp of self-pity.’
Their eyes met. ‘She is wiser than the two of us put together,’ Charlotte said. ‘It won’t be easy. There are still things we have to face. But we’ll get there, Tom. If it’s what we want.’ She drew in a breath. ‘And I do want it.’
Reaching across the table, he took her hand, his touch warm and familiar, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘So do I,’ he said. ‘We’ll get there, Lottie. We will.’
Years ago, after a blow-up, that conversation would have ended with them in bed, making love. But this was more than a simple blow-up, and things were still raw. Here in Paris, on neutral ground, they had been able to take the first real steps, but it might not be smooth sailing back home. Old expectations and resentments might be lying dormant, ready to raise their ugly heads. But they had to risk it, they had to trust. Their marriage was worth saving, and they would put in all the time it needed.
And that was more than enough, for the moment, Charlotte thought, as they cleared away the breakfast things. Tom would be getting the Eurostar back to London in a couple of hours. With her full agreement, he had decided to return straight away, to go and see Elise, Theo and Jamie, to put in his formal resignation, and to make an appointment with a psychologist. Meanwhile, Charlotte would stay in Paris for another day or two, and then head back. There were things she still needed to do before she left, she told Tom, and he didn’t argue, or ask for explanations.
A little later, after Charlotte had farewelled Tom at the station, a call came from Emma, who told her what she’d learned about Eric from Arielle. ‘I’ve decided I have to contact him,’ she said. ‘But how? I mean, should I call? Email? Write him a letter? Or just turn up on his doorstep?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Charlotte thoughtfully, ‘but I can come over a bit later if you like, and we can discuss it.’
Emma agreed at once. ‘I’m about to head off to the hospital to bring Mattie home, but why don’t you come round this afternoon, at around four o’clock? We’d all love to see you.’
‘If you’re sure it won’t be too tiring for Mattie.’
‘More likely she’ll tire us out. It’s amazing to see what a difference that pacemaker makes—she’s well on the way to turning into the Energizer Bunny, if we’re not careful!’
Charlotte was still laughing as she ended the call, a tingling fizz of what felt suspiciously like joy running in her veins, making her light-headed and light-hearted. She hadn’t felt like that for such a long time! She didn’t have her running gear or the earbuds keeping her in a bubble of her own devising, but she didn’t care about the startled looks of passersby who stared at this middle-aged woman running like a reckless kid through the bright May morning, heading for the flower market.
It took Arielle a moment to recognise the sweaty, bright-faced woman who arrived in a rush at her stand as the elegant Charlotte Marigny. ‘You look like you’re in a hurry!’ she finally said.
‘I suppose I am,’ said Charlotte, smiling and panting at the same time. ‘In a hurry to catch the future after doing the pied de grue ’—running on the spot—‘for far too long.’
Arielle gave her a sharp glance. Something had definitely happened to Charlotte, something good. She wasn’t so indiscreet as to pry, but said, ‘I hope you catch the future you want.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘So do I!’ Then her expression changed. ‘Emma came by, right?’
‘An hour or so ago. She’s gone to the hospital now to pick up her grandmother.’ She looked at Charlotte. ‘It was rather surprising to hear about Eric Perrin.’
‘He was Eric Dubois when Corinne—Emma’s mother—and I knew him.’
‘Why would he change his name?’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Pascal had only said that Eric and his mother had left the Morvan. The name change must have come later, maybe even after Corinne had left. Which would make sense, because even if she’d tried to find him at some stage, the name change would have made it impossible.
‘I hope Emma gets the answers she wants,’ said Arielle. ‘Eric Perrin sounds like a decent man, from what Daniel says, but …’
‘I’m going to be talking to Emma about it later today,’ Charlotte said, ‘but I’m really not sure what to advise her. Being contacted by a stranger out of the blue with news like that …’ She broke off.
An unexpected idea flashed into Arielle’s mind. ‘But what if it isn’t a stranger?’ she blurted out. ‘What if it’s someone he used to know who contacts him?’
Charlotte stared at her.
Arielle was about to apologise for giving gratuitous advice when Charlotte’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. It would be much easier for me to speak to him first, to prepare the ground.’
Arielle smiled with relief.
‘And now, Arielle, I wonder if you could put together one of your beautiful bouquets for me to take to Emma and her grandmother this afternoon. Something that might express wishes for recovery and good health, but also joy and new beginnings, and hope.’ She grinned. ‘It’s rather a lot to pack into one bunch of flowers!’
‘Not at all,’ said Arielle, thinking how those feelings were strangely close to her own right now. Joy, new beginnings, hope, and even sincere wishes for recovery and renewed good health for Virginie. For, with the weight of worry lifted off her chest, she now felt only compassion for the Grandiers. Maybe this crisis would finally make them open their eyes and change. Thierry was already on the way to that, and maybe Virginie would be too, with his support. For it struck her now that he had spoken with genuine love and a touching understanding of his wife, a woman who other people found unpleasant, if not odious. Love was indeed mysterious.
Charlotte was looking at her quizzically.
‘Sorry, I was far away. My suggestion would be for a mix of white and yellow flowers, with a surprise note of purple.’ She pointed in turn to flowers on her display. ‘We could have the calm simplicity of daisies and white hydrangea for a fast recovery and good health, the joyful notes of yellow tulips for hope, yellow irises for joy, and purple lilac in the middle for the heady scent of new beginnings.’
Charlotte shook her head, smiling. ‘You’ve described the perfect bouquet for this occasion, combining both beauty and meaning. And you’ve done it off the top of your head! It’s a rare gift.’
Arielle blushed as she pushed the boxes to one side and started to select the flowers for Charlotte. ‘It’s a small thing, really, something I’ve always been able to do instinctively, even as a child.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not like my friend Daniel, who knows the deep histories of plants in human culture, and I’m not like you, who can see a piece of unpromising bare land and turn it into something wonderful. I’m just someone who loves sharing the consolation and joy of flowers with other people.’
‘Oh, Arielle! Didn’t Paris teach you to forget about being modest? You have a rare gift, no question.’ She watched for a moment as Arielle deftly started arranging the flowers into a pleasing shape. ‘The other day, when we were in the Carnavalet gardens, you said you’d like to go to London one day. I have a proposal to put to you. Come to London and speak to a selection of my customers and suppliers about what you do.’
Arielle stopped what she was doing and stared at Charlotte, unable to say anything at first. Charlotte must have thought she disliked the idea, because she added quickly, ‘It would be all expenses paid, plus a fee, and you could bring your family with you, we’d time it for your school holidays, maybe early July? And don’t worry about not speaking English. I could translate for you. Or your sister could. You said she speaks English, right?’
Arielle finally managed to speak. ‘It sounds absolutely wonderful. And I’m so grateful. But do you really think that important people in London would want to hear from someone like me?’
‘You are just as important as they are,’ said Charlotte, firmly, ‘and they will lap up everything you say. In fact, I think you will be a star. And that will bring me kudos too, let me tell you.’
Arielle laughed shyly. ‘You are very kind.’
‘Not kind, realistic,’ said Charlotte briskly. ‘So?’
‘I’d love to,’ said Arielle, with a joyful catch in her voice.