Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hugo Chadwick
‘I think we should pull out of Rue de Paris. Financially, it’s not viable.’
Hugo had his father on speaker phone in the car.
‘Listen, Hugo, if you cannot or will not ensure this venture goes ahead, I can easily have someone take your place. There are countless junior associates who would kill to have your position. Not everyone was handed their job on a silver platter.’
Hugo inhaled sharply and took the next exit off the motorway.
‘Listen, Papa, I am on my way to Compiègne now. I will visit Maman first and call you from there.’
‘Why call me from La Retrait?’
‘I don’t know, maybe you’d like to speak with your wife?’
A strained silence followed.
‘Just do your job,’ he said and hung up.
Hugo unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and let the window down, feeling the wind on his face.
He felt trapped. Everyone wanted him to be someone other than who he was.
How could it be that no matter how hard he tried, he would always end up disappointing someone?
When Stéphane had died, everything changed.
It was almost as if Hugo was compelled to make up for his loss, to take his place.
And this he did, thinking it would keep his parents happy or somehow soften their grief.
But nothing made any difference. His mother’s health declined anyway.
His father became even more withdrawn, focusing entirely on the business.
And now there was Edith. He had let her believe that he was a good guy.
When he was with her, that possibility seemed more attainable.
But in the real world, he was just another soulless man in a suit.
* * *
‘How has she been?’ he asked, as the nurse on duty at La Retrait walked him towards his mother’s room.
‘Honestly, she has been quite agitated since your last visit. She keeps talking about an old uncle of hers, something about putting things right?’
Hugo rubbed his forehead. She had begun telling him a story last time, but then became muddled. He didn’t think it was very important at the time.
‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said and smiled at the nurse.
The room was filled with a gentle evening sunlight and the window left slightly ajar, letting the curtains sway in the breeze.
‘Ah, peonies,’ his mother said, seeing him come in with a bright pink bouquet. ‘You don’t have to bring me gifts every time you visit,’ she said, rising from the armchair to greet him properly.
‘A son can bring his mother flowers,’ he said, unable to shake the feeling that no matter what he did, he was falling short. She should have had two sons spoiling her. She shouldn’t have even been in this place to begin with.
‘Listen, Hugo, I’m glad you have come. I have something important to tell you,’ she said.
He pulled out a chair for her at the small table by the window and poured them both a glass of water from a pitcher by the sink.
‘What is it, Maman?’
‘I-I must tell you, it’s important that I remember,’ she repeated, frowning slightly.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, putting his hand gently on her arm. ‘You mustn’t exert yourself?—’
‘It’s important!’ she shouted.
His mother hardly ever raised her voice, but he could see the frustration in her eyes.
The constant search for fragments of memories, the stories that make a person who they are.
She must’ve felt as though she were losing herself.
He was losing her too, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself.
He hated that this was happening to her.
‘Well, then, we’ll stay here until we figure it out, OK?’
She gave him a grateful smile.
‘You didn’t bring the hot chocolate?’
‘No, I didn’t have time to stop by the bakery,’ he lied. It would be soon enough going there tomorrow. He was dreading the look on Edith’s face already.
‘The bakery on Rue de Paris.’
‘Yes, you remember!’
‘Of course I do. That is where he had the tabac.’
‘Your uncle?’
‘Arnaud. He was my father’s uncle. That is what I wanted to tell you about. He did a bad thing – a terrible betrayal. We must put it right, don’t you see, Stéphane?’
‘Yes, Maman,’ Hugo nodded. She would have always relied on Stéphane, the same way his father did. He was always the more practical of the two sons. Once again, he would have to fill in for the son she had lost.
‘I know what your father has planned. You must stop him. We must put it right, for the Moreaus.’
‘Wait, what are you talking about?’
‘He told the Germans that she was hiding there. The woman and her child. He betrayed them and broke his heart. Please, my son, you have to put it right.’
Her words kept ringing in his ears, but none of it made any sense. Who was she talking about? And what did the Germans have to do with Madame Moreau? Suddenly, things had become a whole lot more complicated.