Chapter 28
Nicola put down a steaming mug of coffee in front of Monsieur Rémi and he looked at it quizzically. ‘It is enormous,’ he told her.
She’d forgotten that most French people expect a coffee in a small espresso cup rather than in the mugs the English favoured. But he smiled. ‘I will be able to swim in this.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine if you can’t drink it all,’ she said. ‘Just what you want.’
She’d surprised herself earlier when she’d offered Monsieur Rémi a place to stay.
His daughter was coming in a day or so to pick him up for Christmas and he’d then stay at her house while his own was being restored.
But she had four children and a difficult job so he didn’t want to ask her to make the journey earlier.
Lucien had offered to call his son, but he’d shaken his head.
He didn’t want to bother either of his children.
‘They are your children! They’d want to know,’ Lucien had pressed.
‘They will know. Just not yet,’ the old man had told him.
They’d left after Monsieur Rémi had accepted Nicola’s offer of a room for the night – she’d been astonished when he’d said yes.
Monsieur Rémi had been checked over for smoke inhalation, but luckily he’d lit the fire, then been out in the garden trying to clear some of the snow from his path and steps when it had started to burn out of control.
Lucien was also OK, something the doctor on call had said was a ‘miracle’.
He’d looked at Lucien sternly as if he were a small boy who’d done something very naughty and to Nicola’s surprise, Lucien had dropped his head in shame at the doctor’s words.
‘He’s been my doctor since I was a boy,’ Lucien had told her later. ‘I always feel about ten years old when he treats me.’
‘He’s right to be annoyed though,’ she’d said. ‘It was a pretty stupid thing to do.’
‘Oui, I know. For a picture. I was caught in the moment.’ He’d sighed. ‘I think it was to do with Annabelle. I feel so helpless. Here I could help. But I didn’t think of the danger, of the consequences for Matthieu if something happened to me.’
She’d nodded. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re all right. But no more risk-taking, OK?’
It felt strange to have someone in the house with her, and Monsieur Rémi at that. Nicola wondered whether she’d be able to maintain conversation with him or whether she’d have a day or so of awkward silences ahead. They fell into one now, both sipping at their coffee.
Luckily, there was a third member of the household – Gabi – who trotted into the room at that moment and froze, looking at the unexpected guest with suspicion.
Monsieur Rémi looked over and his face seemed to light up. ‘Ah, the little cat!’ he said, getting up. ‘Come here, precious.’
Nicola was surprised when Gabi stayed still long enough for the old man to reach her and pick her up into his arms. She looked astonishingly small against the old man’s rather rotund form, but let herself be stroked and began to purr loudly.
‘Wow, she likes you!’
‘Yes, cats are drawn to me, I think,’ he said, not lifting his gaze from the tiny kitten in his arms. ‘It is strange, because I used to hate them. But since my wife died… well, as you know she loved cats. And for some reason they have started to seem as if they come from her.’ He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat.
‘I suppose I sound like a silly old man, saying these things.’
‘Not at all. I can understand why you’d feel that way.’
Monsieur Rémi opened his mouth as if to say something more, but instead suddenly placed Gabi down on a chair and walked to the window. ‘You have an angel.’ He picked up the porcelain ornament with its golden halo. ‘I haven’t seen one for many years.’
‘Yes, I bought her at the Christmas market in Limoges. The guy selling her told me she was lucky, but I haven’t seen any evidence yet!’
‘Ah, but you will.’ He looked carefully at the little figurine.
‘You know, my wife and I, we had one of these many years ago. She was convinced it was the angel who helped her conceive our children.’ He reddened a little.
‘Because it was difficult, it didn’t happen at first. And then we bought the angel and… well, you know, we had the children.’
Nicola didn’t want to dispute this assertion, although she suspected biology had had more of a hand in creating his family than an ornament. ‘That’s lovely. Do you still have the angel now?’
‘No. We gave it away to a friend who was sick,’ he said.
‘A few years later when my wife got sick, though, I wished we had kept it. Oh, I realise it is silly. If the doctors couldn’t save her, I am sure having an angel on our mantlepiece wouldn’t have made any difference, really. Still, it would have been a comfort.’
He was still holding the angel, turning it over in his gnarled hands.
‘You know, you can have it, if you want.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘The angel?’
‘Yes. Why don’t you keep it? It hasn’t been particularly lucky for me. And you obviously really like it.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I am old. I have had my luck. I had my wife, I have the children. We had a beautiful life. I was already as lucky as it is possible to be. And there is no way to replace the photo; it is the only thing that I would give anything for.’
Nicola was too kind to point out that his house had just burned down, so he might be in need of a touch more luck in the coming months.
‘And you know, luck is strange,’ he said.
‘Sometimes you only see it afterwards. When you look back and you realise all the richness you have had in your life. It is easy day-to-day to be distracted by the little problems. Perhaps we have a high energy bill, or perhaps someone is rude to us in the supermarket. But when you look back on your life as a whole and see all the wonderful things’ – he placed the angel back softly into its place looking out over the garden – ‘then you realise you have been so very lucky. The real gift is if you can see it at the time, if you can appreciate everything you have while you still have it.’
It was the most she’d ever heard him say.
Nicola looked at the old man who’d seemed so gruff and unfriendly to her at first, and saw for a moment the younger man inside him.
The one who’d been deeply in love, who’d yearned for children.
Who was now telling her something that seemed to pierce right to the centre of her.
Because she was lucky. Her parents and sister had just come out of a car accident almost completely unscathed.
She had a beautiful house in the French countryside, years of excitement and newness ahead.
Her husband, well, she still felt something – sadness?
Suspicion? – when she thought of his actions over the past few days.
But he would be with her soon and hopefully everything would fall into place.
And here, she was starting to make friends, starting to feel more connected. She had Gabi, too.
Nothing was perfect. The heating bill, when it came, was going to be astronomical. Her neighbour had just been rendered temporarily homeless by a house fire. She was going to be alone on Christmas Day. But she had Lucien and his family on the twenty-fourth, and she would be OK.
Monsieur Rémi was right. She’d been wanting the perfect life, but what she had was pretty damn lucky, even with its frustrations and flaws.
‘Are you OK, madame?’
‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Just thinking. And call me Nicola.’
‘Nicola,’ he said softly. ‘And I am Antoine.’
‘Antoine?’
‘Oui.’
It was ridiculous to even think it, but her mind went directly to the cards she’d found in the attic. To Antoine and Marion. But she could hardly mention them now. There were thousands – if not millions – of Antoines in France, no doubt. Besides, why would the cards be in his neighbour’s attic?
An hour later, one of the pompiers came over with some clothes for Antoine to borrow – they had items they saved for just such occasions. Antoine teared up at the sight of them and stood, giving the young man a hug.
‘You see?’ he told Nicola after the pompier had left. ‘I am in no need of any more luck.’
Later, when she’d shown him his room and run him a bath, he reappeared at the bottom of the stairs in a pair of slightly creased pyjamas, a dressing gown and a pair of what looked like brand-new slippers.
She thought about the slippers she’d bought him at the market.
No doubt they were somewhere in his house, probably charred or steeped in smoke.
Tomorrow was the twenty-third and the final Christmas market was being held in Eymoutiers.
She’d try to buy him some more to take with him when his daughter picked him up.
‘Thank you for letting me use your phone,’ he said.
‘I have spoken to Laurence, my daughter. And I have told her about the fire. About your generosity. She wanted to come and get me immediately, but I have convinced her to wait until when she was planning to come. I reassured her that I am being well looked after.’ He looked suddenly unsure.
‘I hope that was OK? I am not intruding?’
‘Of course not. You can stay as long as you need.’ She meant it, too, although part of her was relieved that his daughter was coming.
It would be odd to spend the festive period with Antoine – she’d planned to keep things simple, put her feet up, stick on the TV and simply survive on snacks.
If he were staying, she’d have to raise her game.
And in all honesty, the only perk of her family not descending on her was that she didn’t have to worry about that side of things.
He nodded. Turned back towards the stairs, then seemed to pause. ‘You said that you were spending Christmas with Lucien and Annabelle?’ he said.
‘Yes. Just a few hours on the twenty-fourth.’
He nodded. ‘Their situation is very sad.’
‘Lucien said. It sounds awful.’ She made a face. ‘I did wonder whether I should go or not, but Lucien said it would be helpful. With Matthieu, too. They aren’t seeing their family this year.’
Antoine nodded. ‘I am sure you will be very welcome. Pass on my regards to them, will you? Annabelle was friends with my daughter for many years. She used to come to our house when she was a child. It is sad to think of someone so young being so sick. My wife, well, she was taken too soon. It would always have been too soon. But Annabelle? She is a child.’
Nicola nodded, feeling unexpected tears well for a woman she’d yet to meet.
‘I’ll tell her,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
He paused, a foot still on the stairs. ‘Perhaps you could give her the angel,’ he said. ‘If you feel you can. Ah, it is very crazy of me to say, no doubt. But if anyone needs good luck, then it is that family.’
Nicola smiled sadly. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’
She wasn’t lying as such, she reassured herself. She was making the old man happy. Because it would be embarrassing to hand a good luck charm to a family in Lucien’s situation, as if she were trying to solve a real-life problem with magic. And it was a lovely thought on Antoine’s part.
When he had disappeared upstairs, she picked up the angel again, looking at its golden halo, the shiny porcelain of its gown. Then, sighing, she made her way to the kitchen to feed Gabi.
‘It’s almost Christmas Eve,’ she said to the kitten, who looked decidedly unimpressed. ‘Hey, maybe Father Christmas will come.’
It was proof, if it were needed, that she really did need to get out more.
The kitten seemed to agree, turning her back on Nicola and eating greedily from her bowl.
Nicola switched off the downstairs lights, seeing the reds and whites and greens of the decorations outside dance in the shadowed room before making her way upstairs to bed.