Chapter 24
24
Sometimes you could feel that a house was empty well before a knock on the door went unanswered.
Before you lifted your hand to knock, even.
Ellie knew that Julien wasn’t at home in the same way she had come to sense his presence when he was anywhere near her, before she could see or hear him. It felt like instinct. Something ethereal but at the same time very real. As if there had been something missing but you didn’t realise until, suddenly, it wasn’t missing any longer.
The hope that she could speak to Julien, instead of leaving an impersonal note asking him to keep an eye on the donkeys for the next few weeks, evaporated. Noah had said he’d come past every day or two and make sure the donkeys were okay, so she didn’t need to ask Julien to do anything when he already had more than enough stress in his life.
It would only be polite to let him know that the house had sold, however. The ‘For Sale/ à Vendre ’ sign had already been taken down that morning, so it was quite likely that Julien would never guess the property had already changed hands. It still didn’t feel right to be simply vanishing from his life leaving no more than a note, but it seemed that Ellie had no choice.
Not that it was any real surprise that he wasn’t at his home. Julien hadn’t stayed a night there since the accident in the canyon. He’d never come home for lunch the way he used to, either, so why on earth had Ellie thought he might have today? Why had she put on her pretty blue dress and brushed her hair long enough to make it shine and then left it loose?
The echo of her second, louder knock faded, and she knew there was no point standing there any longer but, for a long moment, her feet refused to obey her command to move.
This was the first time she’d been close enough to touch Julien’s house, let alone get inside it. Because he’d never invited her to share his life, had he? Instead, he’d made himself available to share hers. Temporarily.
Until tonight – the night of the last summer market.
He had let her meet his son, but that had been an emergency, when his grandmother had been injured, hadn’t it. If Ellie hadn’t told him about her father and shown him those photographs, he wouldn’t even have thought of taking her to the village with the gargouille . He and Theo wouldn’t have been held up getting back home after the visit to the wolf park and they wouldn’t have been caught in that storm.
Julien had told her that none of it had been her fault, but the truth was that the accident wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been there.
Everyone had said that she couldn’t blame herself for Jack’s death, either, but that might not have happened if she had been there. If she’d seen the moment that he stopped breathing.
As if recoiling from the thought, Ellie took a step backwards. She turned and walked back to the gate but then turned again to take one last look at Julien’s house.
It was a much bigger house than La Maisonette. Solid and square with lots of windows divided into small panes. Was there a terrace on the other side with a view to the mountains and sea? Which rooms had windows that looked out onto the olive grove and lemon orchard on her side of the fence? Theo’s bedroom – because he loved seeing the donkeys?
Julien’s bedroom…?
Oh… the longing that was already morphing into the pain of loss and shaping itself into heartbreak was unbearable.
But Ellie knew there was something she had to do before getting on with the rest of her list of last-minute tasks for the day, which included a trip to Nice. Mike had messaged her to say that the paperwork they’d requested for the car had arrived but there wasn’t enough time for it to be posted.
She retraced her steps, braided her hair with quick flicks of her fingers to get it out of the way and found her pad of art paper and her pencil case. She needed to leave something for Julien that was more than a request for a favour, but it took a while to decided how to begin, so she doodled around the edges of the paper. Small pictures of poppies and daisies. Of lemons and lavender and a small dog with a floppy ear.
Cher Julien,
She began the letter, finally, in French, because he had encouraged her to learn. And because, more than ever, Ellie considered it to be the most beautiful language in the world. It was the language of a country that had stolen her heart.
It was, most definitely, the language of love.
One day maybe she would be able to write a whole letter in French, but that wasn’t possible yet.
The house has been sold unexpectedly quickly.
I’m leaving tomorrow to go home to Scotland. I’m sorry I won’t get the chance to say goodbye.
She decided against asking him to take any responsibility for Coquelicot and Marguerite. One side of her mouth curved upwards as she remembered how their very first conversation had ended with Julien’s exasperated hand gesture after telling her that she was the owner of these two donkeys.
‘Now you can finally start taking care of them yourself ,’ he’d said. ‘ J’en ai marre .’
Ellie knew what that meant now. He had been fed up. Pissed off. Unimpressed with absent neighbours who’d made no arrangements to care for their animals. And, to add insult to injury, she’d been speaking in a language he had every reason to detest.
Besides, she had something more important that she wanted to say.
I want to thank you for helping me take Pascal to the vet and for so much else as well. For suggesting I tasted socca and for teaching me to drive on the wrong side of the road.
I’ve left a bottle of the limoncello I made in the freezer for you and there’s a key to the house in the smallest candle holder on the terrace. I hope you enjoy it.
Most of all, thank you for taking me to my first summer market. I will be thinking of you as I go to the last one this evening.
She would be thinking of Julien for the rest of her life, but she couldn’t tell him that, could she?
I wish you and Theo nothing but the best that life can bring.
It took almost as long to decide how to finish the letter as it had to start it. Ellie wanted, so much, to tell him that she loved him, but again she decided that she couldn’t. Not when there was still a faint echo of the devastating aftermath of the accident that had almost taken Theo’s life.
‘…go home, Ellie… we don’t need you…’
In the end, Ellie finished the letter in the same way as she’d started it. In French.
Gros bisous
The literal translation was ‘fat kisses’ but it meant ‘lots of love’ in this context and, as far as Ellie could confirm online, it was a casual form of farewell that people who were no more than friends could say to each other. It would be as close as she could ever get to telling Julien how she really felt about him.
She folded the letter and sealed it into an envelope. She would put the key out in the candle holder before she forgot, take the letter next door and then it would be past time to head into Nice.
Pascal knew an outing was on offer as Ellie picked up his harness.
‘We might have time for a walk on the beach,’ she told him. ‘And then we’ll come back through Vence to go to the market. One last time.’
It was exactly the same.
Except it wasn’t.
The crowds were the same. People walking arm in arm with their partners, or parents trying to see where their children had gone. Music and laughter and conversations happening in different languages. The smell of cigarettes and the more tempting aroma of hot food drifted in the air.
The stalls were the same. Lavender soap and leather belts and handbags for sale. The owner of the leatherwork stall recognised the brown bag Ellie was carrying and he nodded and smiled at her. She smiled back. This experience wasn’t new and different now. She belonged here, at least in this moment.
There was the same face painting available for the children, and sweet treats of candy floss and ice cream and marshmallows. Clothing shops had put racks of offerings outside their doors as they stayed open late to take advantage of the last market of the season. And that was another difference. It was already getting dark – so much earlier than the first time – a reminder that summer was all but over.
Ellie had been nervous but excited at the prospect of seeing the painter whose work she loved so much. She’d even practised how she could tell him she’d seen his painting in the shop in Saint-Martin-Vésubie. But, although she knew she was looking at the same side street he’d tucked his stall into, he wasn’t there, and it felt almost as disappointing as finding that she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to Julien in person.
Disappointing enough to tip the balance of this final goodbye from nostalgia to sadness. Enough to make Ellie realise that nothing was ever going to be quite the same from now on because Julien was no longer a part of her life.
And that was enough to persuade her that it was time to go home.
It all looked exactly the same when Ellie parked Margot in front of La Maisonette.
Except, of course, it wasn’t.
There were no tenacious tendrils of ivy making it hard to push open the solid iron gate and no rust to leave marks on clothes. It was easy to walk up the path between the tidy lavender hedges. The poppies had long since finished flowering but, as Ellie bent down to release Pascal from his harness, she noticed a rogue daisy growing amongst the lavender, and she smiled as she shook her head before picking the bloom. The movement was enough to unravel a braid that had already been too loose, but she didn’t do anything more than push the hair over her shoulder and tuck the stalk of the daisy behind her ear before opening her bag to find the big, old key to the house.
She had closed the shutters on the French doors before leaving the house earlier in the day, but Ellie knew this room well enough to move easily towards the kitchen. When Pascal suddenly stopped, however, to sniff the air, she felt a shiver run down her spine.
Something wasn’t right.
‘What is it, Pascal?’ she whispered. ‘Can you smell something? Someone?’
Her breath caught in her throat as she jerked her head up. And then she stood, frozen, staring at the wall above the fireplace. A wall that, like the others, she’d painstakingly chipped the crumbling plaster from. She’d never thought to hang anything to cover the stonework she loved, but a large part of this section of the wall was now covered.
With something she loved even more than the stones.
A painting.
The painting.
The one she’d been hoping to see tonight, but the artist hadn’t come to the market. The one she’d seen in the gallery in Saint-Martin-Vésubie. The one Julien had made enquiries about only to find it was far, far beyond her budget for buying an artwork.
There was only one person who knew how special this painting was to her.
And she’d made it easy for him to come here while she was out and hang it above the fireplace by leaving a key out for him.
If this was a farewell gift, it couldn’t be more perfect. A square metre of paint on canvas that sang of everything she loved so much about France. Even in this half-light of moonbeams sneaking through the slats of the shutters, Ellie could see – and feel – this painting as clearly as she could feel tears gathering behind her eyes.
But she wanted to see it even more clearly, so she went to open the tall French doors so that she could push the shutters behind them open. The way she had the very first time she’d walked into this little house. When she’d caught her first glance of the stone-flagged terrace beneath the old candle holders of this secret garden space.
She opened the doors. She pushed open the shutters.
And, once again, Ellie found herself completely frozen. In utter disbelief.
Because it wasn’t moonlight that had been sifting through tiny imperfections in those ancient shutters. It was the glow of dozens of candles. Big candles inside the metal holders that cut the light into pretty shapes. Tiny tea lights on the table and all around the edging of the terrace. Fairy lights that were strung through the tree branches above.
There was a rustic wooden board on the table, with bread and olives and a small wheel of cheese that was sagging and melty enough for Ellie to know instantly that it was her absolute favourite, époisses. There was a bottle of champagne. There were two glasses.
And… there was the man who’d brought her fantasy to life. Who’d remembered every tiny detail of that stupid, romantic dream she’d confessed to him that evening when he’d told her about the death of Theo’s mother. When she’d told him about her own devasting loss.
The evening the connection between them had begun.
And this was the evening it had to end.
Except… this didn’t feel like an ending. Not the way Julien was looking at her. The way he was coming towards her and the way he took her face in his hands, so gently, before bending his head to touch her lips with his own.
So softly.
So tenderly Ellie could feel her heart breaking into tiny pieces.
But his first words took those pieces and started to put them back together again.
‘I don’t want you to leave, Ellie.’
‘I don’t want to leave,’ she whispered. ‘But I can’t stay. This house isn’t mine any longer. I have to go home.’
‘ Non …’ Julien kissed her again. ‘You can stay as long as you want. For ever, I hope. This house is yours.’
She caught her breath but she couldn’t find any words to catch.
‘I have bought La Maisonette,’ he said. ‘Because I want you to stay. Even if you only come here for holidays, I do not want anyone else to live beside me.’
In the flickering glow of the candles, Ellie could see the muscles of Julien’s throat as he swallowed. She could see a vulnerability in his eyes that had never been there before. She could hear the unmistakeable honesty in his tone.
‘I love you, Eleanor Gilchrist,’ he said softly. ‘ Je t’aime . I told you we didn’t need you, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Je ne veux pas vivre sans toi .’
Ellie was fighting tears.
Happy, happy tears.
‘ Je t’aime, aussi ,’ she said, smiling despite the tremble she could feel in her lips. ‘How can I say that better? Je tellement t’aime ?’
‘ Je t’aime tellement .’ Julien was smiling. ‘Or perhaps je t’aime à la folie ? I’m crazy about you.’
‘Oh… yes…’ Ellie stood on tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Julien’s neck as she kissed him. ‘That’s the best. Je t’aime à la folie, aussi .’
But then she shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you bought this house,’ she said. ‘And the painting?’
‘The house idea came later. You don’t have to live here. It could be for your family when they come to visit. If… one day… if you can see yourself living next door, with me and Theo? As a family?’
Ellie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. One day – perhaps not that far away – she would confess her fantasy of marrying Julien in the beautiful church in Tourrettes-sur-Loup. He’d already made one romantic fantasy come true, however, and that was enough for one evening. More than she’d ever dreamed of…
‘The painting was because I wanted to find something to give you. Something that would let you know how much you mean to me. To say merci for how much you’ve taught me with your courage and your joy in life and… and your ability to risk your heart and love all over again.’
‘I didn’t have any joy in my life when I came here.’ Ellie nestled in Julien’s arms, her cheek against his chest, where she could feel his heart beating. ‘It was you who helped me find it again. You… and Pascal… and Marguerite and Coquelicot and… and Theo, of course, but most of all it was you, Julien. It’s me who should be saying merci .’
Julien was resting his cheek on the top of Ellie’s head, so it was easy to feel him shaking his head.
‘It was what you said that made everything make sense,’ he told her. ‘Theo is my son. I’ve loved him from before he even took his first breath, and I will love and protect him until I take my last breath. In my heart, he has been and always will be my son. Like the way you said it – without any doubt at all. Sans aucun doute . And that’s what matters.’
Ellie could only nod. Because her words were caught behind the lump in her throat.
‘I knew that Theo would fall in love with you if he spent time with you,’ Julien continued. ‘I thought I was keeping him safe, but what I was also doing was stopping him from the joy of being able to love like that. And to be loved. Like only you could love him.’
‘I do love Theo,’ Ellie murmured. Their shared glance said it all. That loving a child enough for them to mean everything wasn’t dependent on being their biological parent.
Julien’s arms tightened around her. ‘I got to the gallery,’ he said. ‘But the painting wasn’t there, and I thought I’d left it too late. And that was when I realised…’
Ellie could feel the thump that followed a missed heartbeat and she lifted her head, alarmed, but Julien was smiling again.
‘I realised what I was really leaving too late. That it wasn’t just my love for Theo that mattered so much. And that if I let you leave, I might never see you again and I’d never be able to tell you that I love you.’
‘ à la folie ?’
‘ Oui. à la folie .’
There was laughter now, in the soft glow of the flickering light of all those candles, and Ellie had never been this happy in her entire life.
And there was more.
There was champagne.
And cheese.
A whole night ahead with the man she was crazy about.
And a future together.
She did belong here.
To love and be loved because that was what mattered the most.
Sans aucun doute .