Chapter 16
Sixteen
‘Hello,’ Alex said in English, and Audrey’s resolve almost left her.
Since she’d left her message, she’d half-expected he’d call, half-hoped he wouldn’t.
But now, there was a strange bitter lump in her throat which felt as though it would prevent her from speaking.
She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go ahead with this.
‘It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to talk anymore,’ Alex said, as if reading her thoughts.
‘It’s not okay,’ she said, the words forced out past the lump. ‘I have to … but I can’t do this over the phone.’
‘Neither can I,’ he said. ‘Are you free tonight? We could meet for a drink, dinner …’
‘No, not tonight,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m—I’m busy,’ she went on, fighting to keep her voice calm. ‘Actually, I’m working on something with Romy, to do with Elisabeth Fontaine.’ She castigated herself as the words left her mouth. Why was she telling him this, as if excusing herself?
‘I thought she was working on that with the woman she met the other day, who brought her the letter—a broc from down south … Isabelle, was it?’
‘You know about that?’ Audrey replied, unable to hide her surprise, but she didn’t give him a chance to answer. ‘Anyway, Isabelle is working on it with us too, of course. It was she who found the letter.’
‘Yes. Romy said so. It’s good you’ve all been able to connect on this.’
‘It is,’ Audrey said. She felt a sense of unreality. It wasn’t at all the sort of conversation she’d thought she would be having with this man. But it had one good effect, which was that she felt much more composed now, more her normal self, in control again. ‘Tonight’s out, but maybe tomorrow?’
‘Sure,’ he said at once. ‘Lunch, maybe?’
‘No.’ Her mind was clear now, the lump in her throat melting. ‘I don’t want to—I mean, I think it’s best if we don’t—’
He made a brief sound that could have been the beginning of a soft chuckle, or a sigh. ‘Okay, so what do you suggest?’
‘The Tuileries Gardens.’ She’d agonised over where they might meet.
It must be a place that had no connection to their relationship, but it needed to have a meaning for her, on her own terms. It also had to be somewhere they wouldn’t need to look at each other, where they wouldn’t be trapped in one spot.
The Tuileries fitted the bill perfectly.
She’d gone there that first time in Paris, but before she met him, when she was still exploring the city on her own and marvelling at everything.
Needing a sit-down after pounding the pavements of the iconic fashion locations nearby—the Place Vend?me, the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, the Rue de Rivoli—she’d stumbled across the Tuileries.
It was while sitting on a bench in the elegant peace of the garden, resting her aching feet, that she’d thought of the idea for her first successful article, one she didn’t write until several months later when she was back in Australia.
She had never been to the garden with Alex, but had returned to it years later, when her career was taking off, and sat on the same bench where she’d had that first idea, thinking about time passing …
‘The Tuileries,’ he echoed. ‘It’s quite a big garden, so where do—’
‘Outside the entrance to the Jeu de Paume,’ she said, referring to the nineteenth-century pillared building that had once served as an indoor court for the old tennis-like French game of le jeu de paume, but which was now an arts centre and museum. ‘Okay,’ he said, his voice neutral. ‘What time?’
‘Ten am.’ It had to be morning, because otherwise her whole day would be spent fretting about it. And not too early, because that would sound too eager. But also far enough away from lunchtime so he wouldn’t have a chance to suggest grabbing a meal.
‘Okay,’ he said again. There was the briefest of pauses, then he said, very gently, ‘Thank you.’
The lump was suddenly back in her throat, and her eyes prickled. ‘It’s—I’ll see you there,’ she managed to say.
She ended the call and stood for a moment fighting down the lump and brushing away the tears that had annoyingly gathered in her eyes.
She didn’t feel sad. She didn’t feel angry.
Or even afraid. In fact, she didn’t feel anything that she could really name.
But the lump and the tears told their own story, her body responding in a way she had to acknowledge.
Taking a deep breath, she dashed off a brief message to Kristy.
I spoke to him on the phone and I’m meeting him tomorrow morning.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.
I have no idea at all. She sent it, not expecting a reply, but only moments later, a message buzzed through.
You’ve got this, girl! You really do. I’m proud of you. Much love xxx PS I want a full report!
That made Audrey smile. No worries! And thank you. So much love xxx
She felt better now, ready to change gears and go back into full mystery-hunt mode with Romy and Isabelle.
Alex, the meeting, the lump in her throat, all that was to be put aside, and Elisabeth Fontaine was to come back centrestage.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and went back into the apartment, hoping that the other women wouldn’t see that she’d been crying.
To her relief, they were absorbed in what they were reading on the screen, so she slipped into the bathroom and splashed water onto her face.
She redid her mascara and pinched her cheeks to put some colour in them, then looked at herself in the mirror.
Yes, she looked normal again. ‘So, les filles, have you cracked the case yet?’ she asked brightly, as she emerged from the bathroom.
‘No,’ said Isabelle, ‘but we’re enjoying the reading. Alice could really tell a story, couldn’t she?’
‘She certainly could,’ Audrey agreed.
‘We’ve been skimming, picking out passages,’ Romy said. ‘There’s a nice bit about Alice and her friend Mariette sneaking into the silk room at the fabric shop. She says it was many designers’ favourite fabric, but especially Elisabeth Fontaine’s.’
‘That’s right,’ Audrey said. ‘Fontaine rarely gave interviews, but she did give a famous one about silk. I’ll show it to you sometime.’
‘Did Mariette and Alice stay friends?’ Isabelle asked.
‘Unfortunately they lost touch after Alice got married and moved to Scotland with her husband, my great-grandfather Charlie,’ Audrey said. ‘But they did write to each other for a while.’
‘I guess that happens a lot,’ Romy said, ‘but it’s a shame.’
Audrey thought of how many friends she had lost touch with after they got married and had kids.
Not Kristy though. Kristy was rock-solid.
‘But at least we know about Mariette through the notebook. And now’—she looked at her watch—‘I suggest we adjourn for dinner, and then we can decide if we want to keep going tonight or start again tomorrow.’
Over a convivial dinner at a nearby restaurant, the talk soon veered away from Elisabeth Fontaine and the letter to more personal topics, and as the conversation flowed like the excellent wine, the three women began to share glimpses into their lives, getting to know each other a little better.
At first, Isabelle told vivid stories of the unusual world of brocante and the people in it, while Romy wryly described some of the more amusing aspects of breaking away from the rarefied bubble of her life in Brussels to being thrown into the hectic tumble of her new world, and Audrey herself recounted anecdotes from work.
They laughed a lot and a warm camaraderie grew between them, a sense of trust which made Audrey feel grounded in a way she hadn’t for many months now.
As the evening wore on and they began to exchange more intimate stories, it became clear to Audrey that Isabelle had endured a childhood where the narcissistic indifference of her parents could have crushed her spirit.
And yet it hadn’t. According to Isabelle, that was mostly due to her beloved and sorely missed brother, but Audrey thought it was also due to a defiant gutsiness, an inner resilience that had enabled Isabelle to overcome that blighted childhood as well as the many other challenges that came after.
Meanwhile, Romy had lost her mother in her early twenties and had lived in the shadow of her domineering father before finding the strength to brave his anger and rigid family expectations to find her own place in the world.
My own childhood was happy and pretty much uncomplicated, other than the usual minor issues, Audrey thought, as she listened to the other two women.
Would I have had the same strength and resolve as Romy and Isabelle, if I’d had a similarly difficult home life when I was young?
As it was, the first major emotional challenge I’d encountered was the breakup with Alex.
Perhaps that was why it had been such a shock, why it had bewildered me so much, made me run as far away as I could, and why I’m still haunted by it.
Back at the hotel, as she got ready for bed, she determined that she wasn’t going to fluff the meeting with Alex tomorrow. She was going to put a line under the memories once and for all, not with bitterness or recriminations or even, God forbid, nostalgia—but with a clear-eyed resolve.