Chapter 11
11
Lismay
Piers and Lismay hit the outskirts of London in a taxi from Heathrow early that evening, just as the street lights were coming on. Lismay felt comforted by the familiar streets, the lamp posts, the buses and taxis and postboxes, the welcoming golden glow from inside the cafés and restaurants and the pavements full of people rushing from work to home, or perhaps the other way around.
They came to London every year for a break, to shop, to eat, to soak up the city life. And to catch up with their friends, people who they still missed even though they came to stay at the chateau. They had a lock-up-and-leave flat in Hammersmith, which they’d bought when they sold the Fulham house, for Piers to stay in when he came over for business. It had proved a good investment, and although it was tiny, Lismay loved it, for it was cosy and incredibly convenient.
As she unlocked the door and headed inside, Lismay felt herself begin to relax. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the chateau. She still adored it, every inch of stone, every blade of grass. It was the guests she found difficult. Trying to second-guess their demands and read their moods was exhausting. Everyone expected so much more these days. Piers and Lismay had always had a ‘take us as you find us’ ethos, but that didn’t work any longer. Maybe it had been charming when they were younger, but it wasn’t so alluring now they were in their mid-seventies. They had different values, different standards, different requirements to the customer of today who seemed to want their every whim indulged at the drop of a hat.
Piers had become determined not to kowtow to anyone. His recent attitude was very much ‘if you don’t like it, go somewhere else’ and he made that very plain. Too plain. And the trouble was, people were starting to do just that. Lismay was caught in the middle of trying to keep their guests happy while not upsetting her husband. But for the next few weeks, she didn’t have to worry. And she had every confidence in her god-daughter. The relief was enormous.
She flicked on the lights of the flat and smiled, for it felt comfortingly familiar. It was just a studio, with a kitchen/living area and a small bedroom, and a balcony just big enough for a bistro table and two chairs where they could sit for coffee or wine if the sun was out. But here, there was no need to panic about whether they had the right broadband speed or the latest brand of alcohol-free gin or gluten-free croissants. No more staying up until two in the morning when the last drunken guest tottered off to bed so she could put out the fire, clear away the glasses and lay the breakfast table.
In London, they could just be themselves. Worry about themselves. Indulge themselves. And although they had the operation hanging over them, Lismay felt filled with optimism that things would get better once it was done. She’d hated seeing the man she loved consumed with discomfort. Piers had always been so happy-go-lucky and upbeat, eager to make people happy. The curmudgeon of the last eighteen months had been a stranger to her. She’d never worked out how to handle his moods, his unexpected snappiness, his unwillingness to co-operate, because it had been so unlike him. She knew he hated himself too.
‘It’s not me,’ he’d told her one night, teeth gritted. ‘It’s the bloody gnawing pain. It drives me mad.’
Covering up for him had been a strain. There’d been times when she’d wanted to walk away. Times when she couldn’t find the energy to summon up a smile of greeting for a guest arriving downstairs for breakfast. She’d wanted to throw the bread basket across the dining room, followed by the endless jars of confiture she had lovingly made from the apricots and myrtilles and blackcurrants Hervé brought her from the garden. But of course she was never anything other than charming, desperately trying to atone for Piers and his short temper.
They had this one hurdle to get through and everything would be back to normal. Once he was out of pain, he would be his jolly self again.
Normal service would be resumed.
Piers flopped onto the dark blue sofa and flipped on the television with a sigh.
‘It is so good,’ he said, ‘to know I haven’t got to make anyone a bloody drink.’
Right on cue, the doorbell rang. The two of them looked at each other, then Lismay jumped up and answered the intercom.
‘It’s Dougie,’ came a disembodied voice.
‘Oh, darling! Come on up. I’ll buzz you in.’
Moments later, there he was, their dearest, oldest friend. Even Piers’s face lit up as the two men clapped each other on the back. Dougie held up a bottle of Sancerre.
‘Coals to Newcastle but I wasn’t sure if you’d have supplies in yet. I’m only popping in for ten minutes, as I’ve got my book club at eight. But I couldn’t not come and say hello.’
‘Book club? Bloody hell.’ Piers looked perturbed.
‘Got to keep the old grey cells whirring at our age. And it’s not as fusty as it sounds. We only allow light reads. Reading for pleasure. No Booker Prize winners. It’s Shōgun tonight. I’ll lend it to you for when you’re recuperating.’
Lismay had brought out glasses from the kitchen.
‘Oh Dougie, it is good to see you. And your daughter has been sent from heaven. I can’t tell you how grateful we are to her.’
Dougie’s face clouded. ‘How is she, though? Honestly? I know she tries to hide it all from me because she thinks I can’t cope, but she doesn’t fool me. It’s hard to protect her, though, when she puts on a brave face.’
Piers and Lismay looked at each other.
‘I think she’s had a knock,’ said Lismay carefully. ‘But I think she might be better off without him. I’m not sure Daniel was ever out for anyone other than himself.’
‘That’s what Jeanne always said.’
‘Well, she’s safe at the chateau,’ said Piers. ‘She’s not going to have a minute to think about anything. It’s probably just what she needs.’
‘To get as far away from him as possible.’ Dougie nodded. ‘It’s the perfect place for her to get herself back on her feet.’
‘While I get myself back on mine,’ Piers beamed.
‘ Touché. ’ Dougie raised his glass to his old mate. ‘Trust me, you won’t know yourself. You’ll be tap-dancing around that fountain on New Year’s Eve, you mark my words.’
‘Shall we go to Luigi’s for supper?’
It was half an hour later, and Dougie had slipped off for his book club. Lismay had thought she would want to go straight to bed, but the idea of being waited on by someone was irresistible. Tomorrow was a trip to the hospital for a consultation, and getting organised for the operation, and it was anyone’s guess how long it would be before Piers was mobile, so tonight was their last chance for dinner à deux .
‘Let’s,’ she said, and Piers beamed at her, looking quite his old self.
Luigi’s was still going strong, now run by Luigi’s daughter and son-in-law. It was as buzzy and unpretentious as it always had been, and the décor had hardly changed – even Lismay’s mural was still there in the conservatory. They had aubergine parmigiana mopped up with chunks of garlic bread and Lismay relished every mouthful that she hadn’t had to think about or cook herself. For a moment she thought about Connie, holding the fort four hundred miles away, but she managed not to feel guilty.
Piers got quite emotional over dinner. No doubt he felt the relief of being away from the chateau too.
‘If anything goes wrong—’ he began, as they shared a zabaglione for dessert.
‘It won’t,’ said Lismay. ‘It’s a very straightforward procedure.’
‘ If anything goes wrong,’ he repeated, ‘because it might – you never know – and if it does, I just want you to know how grateful I am for everything. You’ve been wonderful.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She smiled at him as she licked her spoon. ‘You’ve been wonderful too.’
He paused for a moment, and put his hand over hers. ‘You gave up a lot for us. And I’m aware of it every single day. The sacrifice you made.’
‘It wasn’t a sacrifice.’ Damn. He was going to make her cry. Luckily they were at an out-of-the-way table, but still. She wanted to keep it together. ‘It was my choice . I wanted to do it. I wanted to spend my life with you. Both of us together. At the chateau.’
He stared at her, as if trying to work out if she was fibbing.
‘Don’t you ever think about what might have been?’
‘No.’ If she had, she wasn’t going to let him know. What would be the point of hurting him? Of course she’d had moments of wistfulness, especially when Jeanne came over with Connie and Archie, but she had definitely made the right choice. ‘I never regretted it. Not for a moment.’
She realised he was the one who was going to cry, looking down at the remnants of the zabaglione. Perhaps he was scared about the operation? She didn’t think he had any need to be. They had the best surgeon. That’s why they were here, in London.
‘I nearly lost you,’ he said suddenly, looking up.
She took in a deep breath, remembering. ‘Nearly.’ She nodded. ‘But you didn’t.’