Chapter 32
PRESENT DAY
Mia sat in bed, the covers pooled around her waist and her laptop balanced on her legs.
Joe had gone out for an early run, and she’d stayed back to edit the photographs she’d taken over the past few days.
Sunshine streamed into the room and she’d thrown the window wide open to breathe in the fresh village air.
Her inbox pinged just as she heard a noise at the door, and she clicked to look, hoping it might be one of the seven women she’d emailed the night before. But as Joe walked through the door with her order of a latte and pastry, her jaw dropped.
It was an email from a Beatrice Du Pont, the woman from the other day.
‘What’s wrong?’ Joe asked, dropping down to sit on the bed beside her and passing her a coffee. ‘You usually act like it’s Christmas morning when you smell coffee.’
‘Ha ha, very funny,’ she said, but she did take a quick and very grateful sip as she waited for the email to load, cursing the slow internet in her mind. ‘I’ve just had an email, from the woman at the distillery.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘What does she say?’
Mia set her coffee down on the bedside table and turned her screen once the email had loaded so that Joe could read it with her.
Dear Mia,
After you left the other day, I was curious about your story and I’ve spent hours going through my grandmother’s old boxes and photographs, looking for anything that might help you in your search.
I finally found a letter from a woman named Hope, and I think it might be the connection you’ve been seeking.
I’ve attached a copy below, but please let me know if you’d like the original for safekeeping.
If your Hope had a child with my grandmother’s brother, then I suppose that makes us distant relatives. Please stay in touch, if you’d like. I regret not being more hospitable when you came to visit.
Kind regards,
Beatrice Du Pont
‘Well, that was unexpected,’ Joe said, leaning in closer so that their shoulders were touching.
Mia clicked on the attachment and saw that it was in French. It was also in cursive handwriting, which would make it doubly hard to read.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘To think that there was a connection to the family, and that I actually met them.’
‘Let me read it,’ Joe said, taking the laptop and positioning it on his lap.
Mia dropped her head to his shoulder and listened, trying to imagine Hope writing the letter all those years ago, wondering what she’d looked like as a young woman.
Dear Marie,
Your correspondence is always welcome, although every time I write to you, it’s as if another piece of my heart breaks, thinking of Gus. He was the love of my life, and I cannot imagine ever meeting another man, or wanting to.
Your offer inviting me home after all these years is so very kind, and although I’m happy to hear you’re now married and settled yourself, I won’t ever return to France.
I’ve found a new beginning for myself here, and although there will always be a cloak of sadness hanging over me, I know how much my work means to the young women in my community.
This will be my last letter, Marie, not because I don’t care for you, but because staying in touch is too hard.
I will never forget you or my darling Gus, but there is nothing I can do to change the past—all I can do is build a meaningful future.
Perhaps even a legacy that will one day be remembered by those I’ve cared for.
With all my love and best wishes,
Hope
‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered, when Joe stopped reading. ‘All these years later, and this letter was found.’
Joe closed the lid of the laptop and pulled her back into his arms, his back against the headboard as he stroked her hair. He’d been her rock throughout her search, and she knew that whenever she thought of Hope, she’d also think of Joe.
‘What will you do now?’ he asked. ‘Do you keep searching for more answers, or is that enough?’
She thought for a long moment, lost in the way his fingers were gently gliding through her hair.
‘It’s enough,’ she said. ‘I think it has to be enough. I mean, it’s more than I had this morning, and I think it tells me some of what she went through. It’s enough to cobble together a large part of her story.’ Mia sighed. ‘It feels like the piece of a puzzle I’ve been searching for.’
‘We only have one more day left together,’ Joe said, and she pushed up to sitting, studying his face and wondering how she was ever going to live without seeing it again.
He kissed the tip of her nose and made her laugh.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.
‘I want to eat my weight in croissants and flaky pastry, walk until my feet hurt, drink wine, eat cheese…’
Joe laughed. ‘We can do all of those things,’ he said, holding her in his arms as she burrowed closer into him.
‘You’re sure you can stay away from the bar for another night?’
His hand ran down the length of her spine. ‘I haven’t taken a holiday in two years—they can do without me for one more night.’
Mia sighed, her hand tracing his bicep, wishing she could stay in this little cocoon with Joe forever. But then her stomach growled and made them both laugh.
‘Eat the pastry, Mia,’ he said, reaching for one of the bags. ‘But this time no eating in the sheets.’
She grinned and took the bag, immediately reaching in and then taking a big bite as he groaned.
‘Oh, pour l’amour du ciel!’ he muttered.
Mia had no idea what he’d said, but in French, everything sounded good.
Mia wished that Joe hadn’t come to the train station to see her off. If there was one thing she wasn’t good at, it was goodbyes.
‘I half expected my mother to come and stop you from leaving the country,’ he said, opening his arms for her to step into.
She laughed, but part of her almost wished that his mother had tried to stop her. She’d never felt so welcomed by another family before, and she was already missing them, and she hadn’t even left yet.
‘Thank you,’ she said, looking into his eyes and hoping that she never forgot what it was like to be in his arms. She needed these memories to last her a long time, and she intended to hold on to them whenever she was feeling flat.
‘What are you thanking me for?’
‘For reminding me what it’s like to live again,’ she said.
‘Ah, Mia, you’re giving me too much credit.’
But his arms tightened around her then and she didn’t miss the sheen in his eyes that told her this parting was as hard for him as it was for her.
‘I came to France hoping to find out something about Hope—anything, really, that told me who she was. But I never expected to meet you.’
Joe’s smile was so easy, and she knew she’d never, ever forget what it felt like to be on the receiving end of it.
‘I’m going to miss you, Mia,’ he said, ducking his head and grazing a kiss across her eyebrows. ‘So damn much.’
She wanted to tell him how much she’d miss him, but the words were stuck in her throat, so she cupped his face instead and kissed him, drinking in their final moments and wishing it never had to end.
‘I’ll miss you, too,’ she whispered.
When she pulled away, tears swam in her eyes and Joe pulled her straight back against him, wrapping her tightly in one last, long hug.
There was so much she could have said to him, but instead, when it was finally time, she placed her palm to his cheek, silently wishing that this wasn’t a final goodbye and hoping that he knew how much he’d come to mean to her.
‘Goodbye, Mia from London,’ he said, holding his hand up in a wave as she backed away.
‘Goodbye, Joe,’ she whispered, and she turned before she changed her mind and ran straight back into his arms.