Epilogue
NEW YEAR’S EVE
I t had snowed earlier in the day and the streets and rooftops were still dusted with it; the bare branches of trees were decorated with delicate white traceries that turned silver under the light of streetlamps. Charlotte and Tom walked in companionable silence through the streets that led to Mattie’s house, carrying paper bags of traiteur delights as their contribution to the party.
It had been more than a few years since Charlotte had celebrated New Year’s Eve in Paris, and she wondered why she’d left it so long. Paris was always beautiful but on this in-between night there was a kind of magic in the air, made up of all that had been and all that was yet to happen. It was a grown-up magic, airbrushing away pain from the past year and offering healing and hope for the year to come.
They had come a long way, she and Tom, since he’d turned up haggard and unshaven at her aunt’s house seven months ago. On his return to London, he’d immediately set about making a fresh start. As promised, he’d seen a psychologist, who had been of great help to him—and to Charlotte too, by extension. On the advice of his therapist, he’d explained to the kids and his parents what had happened and apologised for his behaviour. The kids had been warmly supportive, and his parents a little embarrassed but deeply relieved. And he’d sorted things out properly with his work. And then, in October, he had surprised everyone, except Charlotte, by getting a part-time position as a coordinator for community outreach programs, which he loved.
As for herself, everything was back on an even keel at work, but she had taken a step back from day-to-day operations, with Aidan promoted officially to general manager. With more free time to spend together, Charlotte and Tom had rediscovered what they had both missed and so very nearly lost—the warm intimacy of their long relationship. Only now that intimacy had been heightened because they didn’t take it for granted anymore.
Charlotte glanced at her husband, this loving, complicated man she would grow old with. And she didn’t even shy away from that last thought, either. Because growing old with the love of your life was an absolute privilege that so many people never had.
‘Penny for yours,’ said Tom, breaking into her thoughts.
‘I was thinking how lucky we are,’ she said. ‘And what you’ll be like as an old man,’ she added, with an impish smile.
He laughed. ‘Really? Oh dear. Probably grumpy and grouchy.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said firmly, ‘not while I’m around. Understood?’
He laughed again. ‘Yes, ma’am! But we’ve got a bit of time before we grow old, right?’ And then he stopped, took her hand, and said, ‘This is what I’ve been thinking: how about, when we’re back home, we head to Cornwall and renew our vows in the Lost Gardens of Heligan, where we first met?’
She stared at him, her breath catching. ‘That’s lovely—but …’
He looked anxious. ‘Is it too soon? The wrong thing? Or you just don’t want …’
‘It’s wonderful,’ she cried, finding her voice again. ‘But you can’t simply rock up there and say you want to renew your vows, you have to organise it.’
He was smiling broadly now. ‘You’re not the only one who can organise things, my love, and the kids have been a great help in—’
‘You’ve been plotting this with our children?’ Charlotte pretended to look stern, even though she felt she might burst with joy.
‘Sure we have,’ said Tom, ‘and even Mum and Dad have got in on the act, though I had to stop Mum from planning a full-on party in the village hall afterwards with a swing band and everything.’
It was Charlotte’s turn to laugh. ‘Why not? It could be a lot of fun.’
‘So it’s a yes, is it?’ he said, deadpan.
Instead of answering, she put down her bags, flung her arms around him and kissed him right there in the street under the frosty lights of that magical evening.
Arielle and Daniel strolled through the Luxembourg Garden, still laughing about the busker who had entertained them in the Metro. Dressed in a fabulous seventies-style sparkly suit such as you used to see in variety shows on French TV, he’d crooned songs into a fake microphone, with exaggerated gestures and a schmaltzy throatiness that had most people in the carriage laughing and clapping. It was almost with reluctance that Arielle and Daniel had alighted at their stop.
They’d decided to walk through the Luxembourg Garden rather than go in a straight line to Mattie’s house. And with the snow that had fallen still lying on the paths, on the branches of trees, and on the heads and shoulders of statues, the whole place assumed an air of stilled enchantment, as if holding its breath, waiting for the humans to leave so the garden’s secret life could begin.
‘What are you smiling about?’ With his beanie pulled down firmly over his ears and his big puffer jacket, Daniel looked like a skinny version of a Michelin Man, and Arielle felt an irrepressible joy fizzing in her chest. ‘Just an old story,’ she said.
Daniel stopped, and putting down the dried-flower arrangement he was carrying, pulled her to him. ‘Tell it to me,’ he said, kissing her forehead under the faux-fur hat.
‘So on New Year’s Eve,’ said Arielle solemnly, ‘when the sun has gone down, the old year and the new year meet and look each other in the eye. Then, at the first stroke of midnight, they become one, till the clock has finished striking the twelfth chime. And in those moments, till the twelfth stroke, there is a magic that touches everything, if only you have eyes to see it.’
‘I’ve never heard that one before,’ said Daniel, ‘but it’s lovely.’
‘Monsieur Renan once told it to me,’ she said. The old man had given them both a most unexpected Christmas present: a whole week’s extra paid leave for Arielle, on top of the usual short Christmas break. And a bonus payment, to cap it all off. ‘Romaine and Coralie and I will cover that extra week,’ he said, ‘and you and Daniel should take yourselves off somewhere nice and sunny!’
They had gone somewhere nice, and more or less sunny—down to Grasse, where Arielle and Pauline came from, and where their extended family still lived. With Pauline and the twins, they’d taken a gite in the middle of the countryside for a week and had spent a lovely Christmas there with all the relatives, and then Arielle and Daniel had come back to Paris two days after, leaving Pauline and the twins—who were delighted to be in the midst of cousins—to follow later.
It had been blissful, the two of them together, staying in Daniel’s apartment in the 11th, making love and making plans, including the big decision that they would move in together, sometime in the new year. Not an apartment this time, but a house, where Pauline could also live if she wanted to. They’d even started looking at possible places in the 18th, because Arielle didn’t want the children to have to move from a school and neighbourhood they liked, and Daniel was happy to live wherever she wanted.
She was looking forward to the party tonight. She hadn’t seen Charlotte for a while but had wonderful memories of her visit to London, which had turned out very well, both professionally and as a family holiday. They’d even planned another event there for April. And over the last few months, she’d got to know Emma well as the pilot program for the garden tours was launched in July, with a few small groups that Liz’s travel agent friend had put together. Arielle had taken part in all the tours, giving brief talks at the flower market with translations by Emma. Complete with Mattie’s gorgeous maps, it had been a real success. The last tour had been before Christmas—winter gardens had their own charm—and now there would be a break before it started up again in February with full marketing as Secrets of Paris Gardens .
‘I’m looking forward to celebrating with everyone,’ Arielle said. ‘I’m so glad for them all that everything has worked out.’
He kissed her. ‘You are always glad to see other people’s happiness, and that is only one of the many reasons why I love you.’
‘And I love you too, Daniel Auban,’ she said joyfully, ‘but it’s not just for other people’s happiness that I am glad, it’s for ours too.’
She could even feel happiness for the Grandiers. Things were still somewhat tentative between them, but progress had definitely been made. Virginie’s crisis hadn’t transformed her into a lovely person, but she was clearly making an effort, while Thierry had relaxed into a much nicer version of himself. And that was enough, for the moment.
‘Can you guess what my wish for the new year will be?’ Daniel asked.
‘Yes,’ said Arielle, on an indrawn breath. ‘Because I think it’s probably exactly the same as mine.’
Almost as if it had been deliberately targeted, the snow had fallen heavily on the 7th arrondissement of Paris, turning the garden at Mattie’s into a miniature winter wonderland. The grass was blanketed in a soft cold duvet of snow, which had also painted the branches of trees and bushes in thick white brushstrokes. A few splashes of other colours remained among the sparkling white: the dark green and bright red of the holly bush, the pale blue of the bench and table under the wisteria, and glimpses of the brown-and-cream speckled pavers Marc-Antoine had laid in the summer to create a winding path from the laundry door to the back of the garden. It had been wonderful, in the warmer months, to plant things and see flowers blooming—including some rather beautiful pink peonies from that surviving clump—and to make their own homegrown tomato and basil salad, or to sit on the bench watching Mattie creating new drawings. Now pretty much everything except for the holly bush was asleep under the blanket of snow; there was no sign of the plants that had flourished so satisfyingly in the summer and autumn, and it was too cold to sit on the bench. But soon the cycle would begin again, starting with the snowdrops, those lovely winter-blossoming promises of spring.
Emma was supposed to be getting nibblies together for the aperitif that would precede the New Year’s Eve festive meal, but she’d been distracted by the sight of the snowy garden. She’d spoken to Paddy a few minutes ago; he had been spending New Year’s with his sisters and was still awake, so they’d raised a glass together, across the kilometres. He’d be here in person in a couple of months. Meanwhile, her grandmother and Marc-Antoine were in the dining room, finishing the setting of the table; Eric had phoned to say he and his family were on their way; and Charlotte and Arielle had messaged to say they were almost there. She couldn’t wait to ring in the new year with them all and toast their new beginnings.
She’d seen Eric several times since that first extraordinary day in the Chevreuse, and they were slowly developing a relationship. At Christmas, he’d given her a superb wooden box he’d carved with a delicate flowery design, inlaid with enamel. ‘For your seed packets,’ he’d said.
Most important of all, Mattie had taken to him straight away, and Marc-Antoine had also got on well with him. His wife, Marie-Madeleine, had been welcoming and kind from the start, while their two boys had been wary but had gradually warmed up.
Soon the house would fill with the sound of happy, celebrating people; but right now, looking out at the garden, with the first rays of moonlight beginning to touch it with silver, Emma heard only a soft, waiting silence, and her mind filled with a vivid picture of a man and a child, happily throwing snowballs at each other on a night like this one.
‘What’s up, Emma?’ Marc-Antoine said from behind her. He put his arms around her and she leaned back into them, the warmth of his body filling her with a sensual delight that never seemed to fade. ‘Nothing’s up , exactly. I was just seeing my grandfather and my mother out there, when she was young, playing in snow like this. And that makes me feel at peace.’
He kissed the top of her head. They were silent for a moment, before he said, ‘Shall we join them?’
‘But the others will …’ she began, then stopped, and turned around to smile at him. ‘Let’s!’
They put on their coats and boots and stepped out bareheaded into the snowy garden. Emma took in a deep breath and blew out a plume of steam.
‘It’s cold,’ Marc-Antoine said, laughing at her startled expression. He lifted her left hand, where the lovely antique emerald engagement ring he’d given her glowed, and kissed it. ‘Snow does that, my little Australian.’
She stuck her tongue out at him. ‘You’re a smart arse,’ she said to him, in English, ‘and no one likes a smart arse.’
‘And here’s me thinking you liked this one just a bit,’ he said, chuckling.
‘I do,’ she agreed, bending down and picking up a handful of snow, ‘ just a bit.’ She threw the snowball at him.
‘You’ll pay for that!’ he shouted in mock outrage, picking up one in turn, which she managed to dodge, laughing, as Mattie’s voice rang out cheerfully from the doorway, ‘Time to stop playing, our guests are arriving!’
‘Coming, Mattie,’ they cried, in cheerful unison, heading back to the house.
As they were about to go inside, Emma saw a flash of red. Squirrels were supposed to hibernate all winter, but Monsieur Leroux clearly hadn’t received the memo, for there he was, scampering about in the snow in a surprised kind of way, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, or the feeling in his paws. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, making Marc-Antoine and Mattie turn, their eyes widening.
For another squirrel had appeared, and the two little creatures darted together towards the nearby holly bush with its shiny red berries, looking for all the world as though they were about to gather provisions for their own party on this enchanted night in this snowy Paris garden.