Chapter 13
13
PRESENT DAY
‘He kissed you that night?’ Maggie still held the photograph in her hands. ‘Finally!’
‘Right?’ said Allegra, winking at Maggie.
They both laughed.
‘I just hope it was worth the wait.’
‘It was the most romantic kiss of my whole life, under that tree—’ she pointed at the old oak in the photo ‘—after everyone had gone home. We’d stayed to help clear up, loading up all the pots and plates onto the trailer. I remember because driving back to the house in the dark on a tractor is not an experience you forget easily. I was quite terrified.’
‘Forget the tractor ride, I want to know about the kiss.’
Allegra smiled at the memory. ‘Well, I don’t think I was the first girl he’d kissed, put it that way. But yes, it was very special.’
‘Did Luc and my grandmother make it up?’
Allegra sipped the last of her tea before putting the cup on the table. ‘Yes, they did eventually. The trip back to Paris on the train was a little strained, I seem to remember. She still wasn’t really speaking to him; awkward when you’re sharing a cabin on a long train journey.’
‘So, what happened when you got back to Paris?’
Allegra thought for a moment. ‘Do you know about the riots that took place that year?’
‘Not really,’ said Maggie, a little embarrassed.
‘Long before the student uprising there were lots of demonstrations in Paris over the war in Algeria. In fact, Algerians were under curfew in Paris, not allowed on the streets after dark. Just after we got back to Paris from Provence there was a huge protest in the city against the curfew and the war. It started as a peaceful protest but people got killed, not that we really knew how bad it was at the time. But the city felt different. Unsettled, you know? We’d been so carefree before, literally thinking about nothing but ourselves and the lives we were living. One night, about a week after that protest, Luc disappeared again. We all assumed that, like before, he’d been rounded up with the other protesting students and would be home in the morning. But he didn’t come home the next day, or the next. Your grandmother was absolutely devastated. I remember sitting with her in the bookshop endlessly trying to distract her. We went for long walks in all our favourite parks but ultimately, there was nothing we could do but hope for his return. And, of course, she couldn’t tell her parents about it because they didn’t know about Luc in the first place and with his political views… she was convinced it wasn’t safe to tell them.’
Maggie pulled her cardigan around her shoulders. The air was still warm, but the breeze had picked up. ‘Please tell me he came back.’
‘He did, eventually. But before he did, your grandmother and her parents went back to England.’
‘Why did they have to leave?’
‘They got a knock on the door from someone at the university telling them they had to go, immediately. It was all to do with being seen as sympathising with the wrong side as far as those in power were concerned. Her parents were, quite understandably, anti-war along with several other academics at the university. Elizabeth wrote to me and said she’d told them about Luc but by then it was too late. They were on a boat back home the next day.’
‘I can’t believe I’ve never heard anything about this,’ said Maggie, shaking her head slowly. ‘Did you see each other again after she left Paris?’
Allegra looked at Maggie, her eyes pooling with tears. ‘No, but we kept in touch by letter for years.’
They both sat in silence for a moment. The clocktower struck loudly, eleven times.
Maggie realised they’d been talking for hours and yet it felt like five minutes. She was tired but wanted to know more. ‘Can I ask what happened after that? With you and Etienne. Only if you want to tell me, of course.’
Allegra nodded. ‘Yes, but I think we need another glass for that.’
‘I’ll go and get us one,’ said Maggie, picking up the empty mugs. ‘What would you like? And please don’t say a martini. I don’t know how to make one and if I have another, God knows what else I might tell you.’
Allegra laughed gently. ‘How about a glass of red wine? There should be an open bottle on the side by the oven; I opened it last night.’
‘Back in a moment,’ said Maggie, heading for the stairs. She went back into the galley kitchen and started opening cupboards in her search for some wine glasses. She found endless spices and oils, jars of chutney and jams, packets of rice and pasta but no glassware. Heading into the small sitting room, she saw a shelf at one end lined with wine glasses of various size. As she went to reach for some, a framed drawing on the wall just to the left of the shelf caught her eye. It looked very similar to something she’d seen before, a line drawing of a woman’s figure, but she couldn’t quite place it. It appeared to show a woman standing, taking a robe off over her head. With no more than a handful of lines, the artist had captured the movement of the human body so precisely. Maggie stared at it, thinking how familiar it seemed. She peered closely in the corners, looking for a signature or some initials so she could work out who the artist might be but there wasn’t anything as far as she could tell.
When Maggie returned upstairs she found Allegra sitting just as she had left her, her eyes closed. Maggie coughed gently.
Allegra opened them immediately and smiled.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you jump.’ She handed Allegra her glass of wine and sat back down on the sofa next to her. ‘Are you warm enough? Can I get you a blanket or something?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. I was lost in thought, really. It’s funny how talking about these things brings back all the emotions as if it were yesterday. I haven’t thought about Luc for such a long time. I think about your grandmother a lot, obviously. We were such good friends. We were together such a short time but back then it felt like forever. She changed everything for me. If she hadn’t crossed that road that day and nearly got run over, I wouldn’t have met her. I’d have been stuck with a bunch of people I’d been trying to escape from. And, of course, I wouldn’t have met Etienne.’
‘And we wouldn’t be here.’
They clinked their glasses.
‘Can I ask who that drawing is by, the one downstairs by the shelf where I got the wine glasses? I recognise it,’ said Maggie, hoping she didn’t sound too pretentious – or stupid.
‘Rodin,’ said Allegra, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Maggie practically choked on her wine. ‘Are you serious? As well as the Picasso?’
Allegra laughed gently. ‘I already told you, that one’s a print.’
‘From Etienne?’
‘No, from Picasso.’
‘Stop it,’ said Maggie. She too was laughing now. ‘How? When?’
‘I’ll get to that bit. But first, I need to tell you what happened next.’