Chapter 29 #2
Before she could ponder any more, there was a knock on the door. She peeped out of the window and saw a shiny white car in the drive, so immaculately polished that it made her poor Clio look like a wreck.
She made her way downstairs where Antoine had already opened the door and was in the arms of a small blonde woman. They parted as Nicola approached and the woman smiled, held out a hand. ‘I’m Laurence.’
‘Nicola.’
Laurence looked to be in her late thirties. She was dressed in a smart woollen coat, her blonde hair loose but perfectly coiffed. Antoine had told her proudly that she was a lawyer in Paris. She lived just outside the city in Versailles, with her family.
‘Do you want something to drink? Some coffee?’
‘Ah, no. We have four hours to drive and then… the children will be waiting,’ Laurence said, glancing at her watch. ‘But another time, perhaps? And thank you so much for your kindness.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Your place is looking lovely. Very different from what I remember.’
‘Oh. You know my house? I suppose because you grew up next door?’
‘Oui, but also it was my grandmother’s.’ Laurence nodded, smiling wistfully. ‘I used to spend most of my summer here, when my parents were working. It was wonderful to have her so close. Then when she died, she left it to my cousin, and he barely came. Just for holidays.’
Nicola glanced at Antoine in surprise. ‘You never mentioned it.’
He shrugged. ‘I try not to talk about it,’ he said. ‘It is still painful. Besides, it would be strange for you perhaps to know I have such a connection. You would feel less at home if you felt I had a claim to the house.’
She nodded; it made sense.
‘It must have been nice though, in previous years,’ she said, ‘to have your mother living so close.’
‘Oh, no,’ he told her. ‘She was Marion’s mother.’
Nicola felt something move inside her chest. ‘Your wife was Marion?’
‘Yes, although I called her Mari… Are you well? You look very pale.’
In all honesty, she felt pale. Somewhere in her mind, pieces of a puzzle were coming together and she finally saw the picture she’d been trying to create all along. Antoine and Marion. Monsieur Rémi and his wife Mari.
She didn’t speak as she went to the drawer and pulled out the cards, the photo. ‘Are these yours?’
Seeing them, the old man’s hands rushed to his face. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘Where did you find these?’ He opened first one card, then the other. And held the photo close to his face, studying the young couple pictured. ‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘My Marion.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. I didn’t know, and…’
‘Do not apologise.’ He turned to her, his eyes shining. ‘You have saved me. You have saved my heart.’ He held the cards to him, his eyes glistening.
‘And the cards – you spent that Christmas apart?’
‘Yes, I was training in Paris for the year. Lots of work, lots of tests. And an expensive journey to come to see her. We decided it was for the best.’
‘Must have been tough.’
He laughed, shook his head. ‘In the end, no. Because of course I couldn’t stay away. I wrote the card and posted it, then my heart would not let me… No work was worth being away from her. I got on the train and I arrived before my card did!’
‘That’s really romantic,’ she said.
Antoine shrugged. ‘When you love someone, you should not let anything get in between you. Especially at Christmas.’
‘Oh God,’ Nicola said suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘I think I might have been wearing Marion’s coat!’
Laurence looked at her, confused.
Nicola walked to the coat pegs, pulled the green coat from where it hung, hidden by her more practical winter puffer jacket. ‘I found this in the attic. Was this hers?’
Antoine smiled, reached forward and gently touched the material. ‘Yes, it was,’ he said. ‘When she was very young. Before her, it was her mother’s. Mari wore it when we first met. But fashions changed. I didn’t realise she had kept it.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise… It must have been odd when you saw me wearing it!’
‘Non,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘At first I thought perhaps I had seen a ghost. But when I realised you must have found Mari’s coat in some of her parents’ belongings, I was pleased. It is nice to think of the coat being worn again.’
‘Well,’ she said, holding it towards him. ‘You have to take it.’
He gently pushed her hand away. ‘No, it suits you. Marion would like that, I think.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. It is a beautiful coat – made to be worn.’
There was a rather awkward silence, then Nicola wrestled with herself.
Yes. She was going to do it. ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, disappearing into the kitchen.
She returned, nervously holding a piece of stiff watercolour paper.
‘I hope you don’t mind. But I did this for you,’ she said, turning it.
‘I thought… I just wanted to do something to help.’
Antoine’s mouth dropped open.
Laurence, looking at the painting, smiled. ‘It’s my mother!’ she said.
‘It is so… This is like the photo that I lost! But how?’
Nicola shrugged. ‘Part of it was saved, the other part I painted from memory. I just… The picture stayed in my mind. She was so beautiful, you’d been so sad.’
Antoine took the paper from her, holding it against him, saying nothing. He gave a small nod, water gathering in his eyes, and she knew then that she’d done the right thing in giving it to him.
‘You’re welcome,’ she told him quietly.
Minutes later, she stood in the driveway, watching the pair of them make their way to her car, Laurence’s arm wrapped protectively around her father’s back.
Once he was settled in the front seat, she made her way to the opposite side, raising her hand once more in thanks before sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door.
Then they were gone and Nicola was once again alone.
She’d got used to being alone. Her house had felt empty at first; she’d felt the size of it loom around her and been ultra-aware that she was the only inhabitant. But then she’d started to adjust, to get used to her own company. The house had started to feel like a home.
But twenty-four hours with another human living with her had set her back. Watching the car draw away made her feel her situation more keenly.
As she turned back towards the house, she noticed that the little flap on the postbox by the front gate was slightly ajar.
She rarely got post, other than what seemed like an endless stream of bills and official letters, or adverts for the local restaurants or supermarkets.
Still, she drew the key from her pocket and opened it just in case.
Her heart flipped when she saw the handwriting on the envelope. And when she reached in and felt the weight of the missive in her hand, she knew exactly what was inside.