Chapter 28 #2
I’ve had a blast selecting various styles for Megan to try on, then sitting back and relaxing as she emerges from the changing room ready for my opinion, which unsurprisingly she mostly doesn’t agree with. The truth is I think she looks great in all of them.
Except for that hideous ruffled pink one at the last place.
She looked like a spruced-up flamingo.
I did not say that out loud, instead opting for, ‘I don’t think that’s your colour.’
‘I look like a bag of candy floss,’ she said flatly.
I laughed so loud, the shop assistant looked very put out.
But I have instinctive faith in this intimidating model/ballerina who is now dressing her, and I’m right to.
The first dress she appears in is a beautiful blue, fitted number with a Bardot neckline, but although she agrees it’s lovely, she doesn’t think it’s the right one.
She should trust her gut, because when she steps out in the second one, the first one is forgotten and we both know it.
This dress looks as though it were made for her.
It has a halter-neck design with its plunging neckline falling down to a thick waistband where the black bodice stops and the yellow A-line faille skirt begins.
It’s dramatic and breathtaking and classy, the kind of dress someone as sophisticated and brilliant as Megan should wear.
I choke back tears.
‘It’s expensive,’ she says apologetically, already knowing from my expression that we’ve both decided on it without either of us saying it out loud.
‘That’s okay,’ I manage to croak, smiling sincerely at her. ‘I owe you a dress.’
***
I’m in desperate need of refreshment but a little too drained to fancy finding a café after the shopping, so I compromise on waiting until I’ve got back to the chateau to sit down at a table outside and order a glass of sparkling water with lemon.
Megan has taken her dress upstairs and is hoping to phone Marisa to show her the purchase so I don’t expect her to join me any time soon.
Best money I’ve spent in a long time, that dress.
The giddy happiness it has brought her is exhilarating.
As people bustle around the chateau in anticipation for tonight’s big event, I take a quiet moment by myself to think.
As usual, my thoughts drift to the plot of my new book.
Even when I don’t want it to be the case, a coping mechanism of mine is plotting.
It’s infuriating for others when I become distracted by the characters in my head, I know Henry grew tired of it.
He’d need me to focus on something important about the house or about Megan’s schooling and he’d realise that I wasn’t noting down a list of tasks during our conversation, I was noting down phrases that characters would have suddenly said in my brain and I didn’t want to forget.
When I’m upset or scared about something, I make the decision to focus on a storyline and I easily lose myself in it, physically relaxing as real life takes a backseat and difficult decisions are pushed to an extended deadline.
Now, I do my best to take this tranquil moment to think on the shift in my relationship with Megan on this trip and of Henry’s memory and all the trouble he went to getting me here, but instead I start seeing a scene in a vineyard.
Two people who shouldn’t be there, meeting and losing the battle to stay away.
I don’t notice Francoise until she’s right next to me and start at her presence.
‘Oh! Hello,’ I say, sitting up and reaching for my drink.
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ she says apologetically.
‘You didn’t. I was . . . lost in my thoughts.’
I take a sip of my drink and place the glass back down.
‘I was asking you whether you’d like anything else?’ she says, gesturing to it.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘And also, to tell you that today, we will be closing this area early in preparation for the event tonight.’
‘Of course.’ I smile graciously. ‘I will finish my drink and be out of your way.’
‘Nico tells me both you and Megan are coming tonight.’
‘It was Henry’s wish,’ I explain, resting my hands in my lap. ‘But I’m sure, even if it hadn’t been, we would be in attendance. We’re looking forward to it.’
‘Yes, Nico has worked hard.’
I swallow, politely noting, ‘I assume you will be there tonight.’
‘Yes, I will be working a little, but hopefully it will all go smoothly.’
‘And Mathieu?’ I add breezily, glancing up at her. ‘Will he be joining us?’
Her jaw tightens. ‘No.’ A beat of silence and then, ‘We’re separated. We have not been together for a year now.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ I say, meaning it but it still comes out flat.
‘Sorry but not surprised,’ she notes on my behalf. ‘Maybe surprised it took so long.’
She’s right, but you don’t say that sort of thing. ‘Every marriage is different.’
‘I did try. For a long time, I tried. But . . .’ She trails off and shrugs.
‘I’m sorry, Francoise, really,’ I say with more feeling this time.
She acknowledges it with a grateful smile. ‘Nico doesn’t believe it is finished. We’ve told him, but he thinks we can find our way back.’
‘Have you separated before?’
She nods. ‘A few years ago. But we were running the chateau, and this place—’ she gestures at our surroundings hopelessly ‘—it wouldn’t let me go. He couldn’t leave either. It wasn’t a marriage, not for a long time.’
I give a small snort as I pick up my glass. ‘I’ve been there. A marriage that feels more like two old friends who find each other both irritating and irreplaceable.’
She pulls out the chair at the next table along and perches on it. ‘You and Henry?’
‘Well, I’m certainly not talking about my second marriage. That was a yo-yo between thrilling passion and foolish animosity. We were never friends. It was fun, though. I never knew how the day was going to play out and which crockery I was going to break.’
She laughs. ‘It sounds dramatic.’
‘It was. The complete opposite to Henry. I think that’s why I went with it. Trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t a hopeless case, I suppose. That true love could prevail.’
She watches me carefully. ‘It’s a nice thought. There is still hope for me.’
‘There is always hope, of course.’ I take another sip of my drink before looking at her. ‘But not for you and Mathieu.’
She shakes her head. ‘I need Nico to know that. It’s not fair.’
‘He is attached to you both. His mother was neglectful and had unsteady relationships, it makes sense that he’d be desperate for you and Mathieu to stay together. You’re the constant in his life.’
Francoise looks pained. ‘I hate that I am hurting him.’
‘You cannot force happiness for someone else. Believe me, I tried. Henry tried. A lot of people have tried. Nico is an adult, Francoise,’ I remind her with raised eyebrows. ‘He will understand that though you are not together, you are both still there for him.’
She brings her eyes up to meet mine. ‘I think if he knew the truth, he would understand.’
I tense. ‘What does Mathieu think?’
‘He thinks it’s time.’
Finishing my drink, I place the glass back on the table. I can feel her studying my every move, waiting expectantly for a blessing that was never mine to give.
‘And what do you think?’ she asks eventually, impatiently.
I rise to my feet and turn to smile down at her.
‘I think that you and Mathieu should do whatever you think best.’ She looks disappointed so I add, ‘But if it helps your decision, you might want to know that I’ve spent fifteen years lying because that’s what Henry wanted.
He had his reasons. When he died, I realised how angry I was at him. ’
‘You think we shouldn’t leave it until it’s too late,’ Francoise concludes, standing up, too, her hands clasped in front of her, her chin raised.
‘I think pride can distort everything,’ I clarify, feeling a headache coming on, ‘and I think the people who choose to love you should have the chance to do so no matter what mistakes you make, so long as you strive to do better. Otherwise, it’s not love, is it.
’ I rub my forehead. ‘I’m going to go get ready for the party. ’
‘Thank you, Dawn,’ she says.
I pause a moment. ‘Whatever decision you do make, please wait until we’ve left. I think Nico and Megan are growing close, and he might feel the need to tell her. If ever she should know, it shouldn’t come from him. It should come from me and I’d rather we’d fulfilled Henry’s wishes first.’
‘I understand,’ she says, before adding softly, ‘Nico never forgot Megan. When you stopped coming here, I wondered if he’d ever properly smile again.’
Turning away to wander back inside, I stroll through the restaurant and into reception, smiling calmly at the staff bustling past, preparing for the ball.
My head is starting to throb and I become more urgent to get back to my room, sweat forming on my brow as I use the banister to drag me up the stairs.
I pass Megan’s room and can hear the muffled sound of her voice, excitable and energetic, on the phone to her friend.
In the safety of Room Seventeen, I stumble towards the bathroom, searching for the migraine painkillers in my washbag, taking some and then collapsing on the bed, curling up as small as possible to try to fall asleep.