Chapter Sixteen
I was straightening a cabinet for Cook later that day when Madame called down that I had a guest. As I came up, there was a small woman in a navy blue skirt and striped blouse chatting with Madame in the foyer. It was Apolline.
“Bonjour, Vanessa.” She greeted me with la bise and passed me an envelope. “I brought you something.”
Tipping my head toward the drawing room, I asked if she wanted to sit.
“I can probably find you some coffee,” Madame offered.
“Oh, no, merci. I’ve been out running errands all day, and now I’m eager to get home.”
Madame stepped away, leaving us there in the foyer. The envelope was as large as a full sheet of paper, looped closed with a piece of string.
“Those are pictures from our trip,” Apolline said. “I took some to Benoit as well.”
I nodded and turned the package in my hands. I needed to open it, but something made me hesitate. Here was Cabourg, finding me in Paris again. “You’re still at the paper?”
“I am. Though it’s quite different these days. You’re not the only one who has moved on.”
“Do you see Benoit there often?”
“I do.” She nodded at the envelope, still unopened in my hands, and perhaps read my mind. “You don’t have to open it now; I have to run anyway. Just thought you’d like to have it.”
She turned to go then, and I walked her down to the door. “It’s nice to see you. So much has changed that Cabourg feels like a dream.”
“Oh, yes. Back to the real life. Have you found work then?”
“Maybe. I sent a pitch to La Fronde this morning. My housemate has written for them before and promised to put in a word on my behalf with her editor. I have other ideas that I didn’t get to at L’Entreprise that I might try to place elsewhere.
And I’ve even been thinking about traveling more, maybe writing about that. ”
“That’s good to hear, Vanessa. You seem to be doing well.”
“Well enough, at least now. I did spend a few days crying in bed. Now I think it will be okay.”
Apolline patted my arm. I opened the front door and walked out with her. The sun was high and warm. Madame’s purple mums were holding court on the stoop.
“Well, dear, if I hear of any opportunities, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” We were on the sidewalk now. “Does he ever mention me? Benoit?”
She smiled knowingly. “Not usually. But when I gave him the pictures, we did talk about you for a moment.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, that he was sorry about you leaving. He also mentioned that you two are no longer speaking. He seemed to regret that too.”
None of this was revelatory. But what did I want him to say to Apolline? They worked together. Still nothing I’d done had effectively put him out of my mind, and I wanted to know if he was suffering too. Or if I’d ruined it.
Even after everything Nadine and I had done to help me forget, Benoit Levin was all I could think about.
I was as sad and bereft without him as I was the day he left Cabourg so suddenly.
The ache was familiar now. I had not awoken one single morning and not wondered about him.
I had not gone an hour without coming across something I wanted to tell him.
Nothing had worked. In that moment, there on our stoop, I wanted Apolline to tell me what to do.
She didn’t, of course. She just patted me on the arm again and then stepped into her waiting carriage.
I held off opening that envelope until I was upstairs in my room.
But as soon as I closed my door, I unwound the string and unfolded the flap.
Inside were three photographs. One of Benoit and me walking side by side, coming out of the water.
Waves lapped at our knees. Again, I didn’t regret that bathing suit one bit.
I looked fabulous. And he was looking at me, smiling conspiratorially.
My eyes were downcast, but I was obviously smiling.
There was a shadow of delight on my brow.
The next picture was of us sitting on opposite sides of a bench.
I didn’t even know she’d taken this one.
We had been arguing about something, which was why he was sitting so far away from me.
The image captured so much. My face was turned upward and away, completely unaware that he was staring at me, smiling with the same abject affection and regard.
It was emanating from him. Oddly, I remembered having the argument, but not what it was about.
The tenderness in the way he was looking at me surprised me.
But here it was, printed on Apolline’s chemically reactive paper.
I had been a fool not to acknowledge his feelings for me, or to keep it at a distance—whatever I’d been doing.
He really meant what he’d said about wanting to be with me here in Paris.
This wasn’t a fling for him. But when he tried to tell me that, I brushed off his feelings.
When he had been vulnerable, I had closed him off.
I had pieced together a picture of our last few interactions.
It was clear that we had miscommunicated.
I didn’t handle emotional moments well, it seemed.
Whatever he knew about what was happening at the paper, it had been bothering him.
He’d tried to talk to me about it. Then he’d asked me for something I wasn’t ready to consider, that I hadn’t even fathomed. And I messed it up.
I had been so disappointed by the lack of emotion in his letter.
Why he hadn’t come for me? Why he wasn’t standing outside my window or tying bouquets of flowers to my bicycle or writing heartfelt letters to me?
But I’d been stupid about that too. He hadn’t come begging me to reconsider because I hadn’t given him any reason at all to believe he’d succeed with me.
And it had all gone to hell over a job. I let it happen.
I even made it happen. I was the one who walked out of there and refused to listen.
I didn’t regret my choice to leave, but I had been wrong about not hearing him out.
I was wrong for shutting down. Because I was undeniably in love with him.
Love! And love was not something I could think myself out of or persist against.
The third picture was another I hadn’t noticed Apolline take.
In fact, the background wasn’t familiar to me at all.
She must have taken it when I wasn’t around.
It was of Benoit, dressed up and smiling in what was a fine portrait.
He was staring right at the camera, so when I looked at the picture, he was looking right back at me.
I can’t exaggerate the agony I felt seeing his face.
Not only was I in love with him, but I’d been so cruel to him, that there was a chance he wouldn’t love me anymore.
He may have ruined me, but then I ruined everything.
I lay on my bed and curled into a ball, staring at that picture of him until it was time for dinner.
That night was Catherine’s last in the house.
She was going home to America, and so, except for Charlotte, who was still in Vernon, we were all dining together one last time.
Catherine and Diane had been spending most of their time at the hotel where their family was staying.
It seemed so strange to be losing one of them because they were always a pair.
Diane was staying on, and she was no longer engaged, even though she was never really engaged.
A long story, as it always was with Diane.
“Are you excited to be going home?” Nadine asked her when we were all seated around the dining room table. Even Claire and Cook were there—they were always welcome to join us for dinner, but they usually ate beforehand so they could clean up and finish their work.
“I am. It’s been so long. And I never intended to stay away.” Catherine had dark eyes and long, light brown hair. She was slightly taller, slightly thinner, and ever so slightly prettier than her sister, a burden that Diane bore in good spirit.
“So will you marry your step-brother?”
“I don’t know about that.” Catherine blushed. “But I’ll resume my life there. And then maybe we can get married one day. Maybe.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“No. No.” She shook her head firmly. “We don’t want to say anything until we’re sure. Can you imagine? Telling our parents that we’re in love and then not getting married. I couldn’t do that. So, Diane, don’t mention it, please.”
“I’m not going to mention it.” Diane scoffed.
Her dark brown hair was swept up in a mass of curls and she was wearing a new red dress.
Their father had taken them shopping. “I’ve been keeping it a secret for this long.
And you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic, remember? ”
Catherine, who was also in a new dress, smiled at her sister condescendingly and then turned to me. “How’s it going since you left your job?”
“And why did you leave your job again?” Diane asked. She’d been absent for most of my professional and personal mess. “I thought you loved that place.”
I sighed. Work wise, I was fine. I was actually a little relieved not to be there suffering through that terrible takeover. It was over now. I didn’t have to worry, and I had a better grasp of my opportunities. It was almost silly how little any of that mattered to me anymore.
“I did love it. But I’ve recently been the victim of a shocking revelation: I am in love with the man who would have been my boss, if I’d stayed.”
Everyone at the table looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Even Madame and Cook were giving our conversation their full attention now.
“You’re in love with him?” Nadine purred. She’d been unsatisfied with the results of her efforts to make me forget Benoit. Her eyes were wide, as if she’d not considered things were this serious.
“I know exactly how you feel,” Diane said. “Did you tell him?”