And you, what do you feel, dear Sylvestre, knowing we are approaching the truth? Joy? Anxiety? Was it out of fear that you sent your daughter to get the name we’ve been waiting on for months? When I think she will probably deliver the identity of Waldo on Saturday night, I get chills!
Please contact me as soon as you know. As you can imagine, I won’t be able to sleep waiting for your call. I am not alone—Maggy made me promise to call her at the hotel, where she will be having dinner with Agathe, listening for my call. I am certain that for the first time, she regrets not having a cell phone.
I know that this letter is useless since we spoke yesterday, but I needed to put on paper the happiness I feel reaching the end of the road. I feel like those hikers who set out on a pilgrimage and who know that at the next bend, they will glimpse the end of the journey. I feel equal parts joy and sadness at the idea that a page will turn and our quest will stop.
Still waiting to see whether you were right about Maggy’s love life, I have been avoiding any reference to England, to Belgium, but also to Lozère, to gray eyes, to men in general. Soon I will have to specialize in stamp collecting or astrology so I can make small talk. Although stamps might be associated with letters not received and the study of stars could awaken the memory of the skies full of stars we contemplated this summer in Belle Poelle …
Hopping up and down awaiting your imminent revelations,
Your accomplice,
Anne-Lise
from Maggy to Anne-Lise
POINTE DES RENARDS, SEPTEMBER 22, 2016
Dear Lisou,
I’m sorry again for the answering machine message that worried you so much. You know it’s difficult for me to have a conversation with a machine. Why was I so aggressive? I have no idea. Perhaps my fifth decade drawing to an end is toying with my mood in addition to my hormones …
I apologized to William as well and everything is back in order (I hope so anyway). I think I’ve forgotten how to be around men. From now on, I’d rather avoid them, because the friendlier they are, the more suspicious I am and the more hostile I get. That’s why I needed some time to recover a certain equilibrium after our trip to Lozère.
I know what you think about this and I appreciate that you are keeping it to yourself. No, Richard is not responsible for all this. The image of the ideal man to which I had attached myself after his death doesn’t exist anymore. I accepted this a long time ago. Our relationship in that moment had been chipped away by the years and, with time’s help, I’ve become aware of his faults. We even had arguments sometimes, which distanced us from each other. You see, the lesson is learned and internalized … even if it’s not effective.
So let’s let Richard rest in peace and accept the reality: I am just an old woman who has lost the ability to fake the happiness that interactions with men are supposed to cause. I know William understands and will accept my apologies.
Considering this slight mishap, you will be relieved to know I’m not coming for Christmas. You have no need for a killjoy who might just spoil the party with her mood swings! However, I am still delighted at the idea of going with you to Brussels and I will be available on the dates you sent me. I cannot wait to discover the city that so thrilled you and I promise to behave myself and not bite any Belgian during my stay.
On Saturday Agathe and I are planning a real night out (the term “night out” means that I will ditch my hole-riddled sweater and my rabbit-head slippers that, even in a suburban restaurant, might draw a little too much attention to my lack of social skills). We will share a delicious meal accompanied by a good bottle of wine, and we will raise our glasses of Chouchen each time the phone rings. As you can tell, we will be awaiting the so eagerly anticipated news with great joy (Chouchen is the best tranquilizer).
Hugs,
Talk to you Saturday,
Maggy
from Anne-Lise to David
RUE DES MORILLONS, SEPTEMBER 23, 2016
Dear David,
I am happy to hear you accepted William’s visit request. I just left another message on his cell phone … Since he didn’t answer my last three calls, I didn’t expect much from the fourth. His silence doesn’t worry me. I know his life is in perpetual motion and I imagine that quiet and distance are often necessary to his survival.
On the other hand, I am worried about your fate. Where will you live in a few months, David? Do you dare to confront the memories lurking in that house in Lot?
Maybe it would be better to distance yourself for good from Marseille, which doesn’t seem to have had a good influence on your life choices. How will you get by? Is there a retirement pension for thieves? Welfare for criminals?
Please excuse my nosiness once more, but I can’t bear the thought that you’ll end up on the street when you finally get out of there. Even if we’ve never met, you are now part of my circle of friends and I would be happy to help if you have any problems when you get out.
And on the subject of meeting, is it possible that you might be able to get authorization to leave for New Year’s Eve? We would be delighted to have you join us in Lozère for the celebrations, because we’re thinking of organizing a reunion that would bring the grand adventure of this manuscript to an end in a fabulous way. We’ve almost reached our goal. Soon I’ll be able to tell you how the story ends.
I get chills thinking about it.
Who will we discover? Did we dream too big about the end of our journey? Will we be disappointed coming to the end of this saga only to find some nondescript individual who might have forgotten all about this text, or worse, who would not care about it today? Yes, I am afraid. I pray for the conclusion to be worthy of the novel we have come to love because, in the end, only the conclusion grants a work its grandeur and longevity.
In any event, I will keep you up to date on what happens next. You are a link in this chain, David, a chapter of this book …
In friendship,
Anne-Lise
P.S. In Paris, we do not smell the fragrance of autumn and I cannot, this year, experience Lozère swathed in the colors of fire, nor hear the bugs cracking underfoot … In any event, I am excited to see it in winter. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, lost in the middle of those forests that you love.
from Sylvestre to Anne-Lise
LES CHAYETS, SEPTEMBER 23, 2016
I broke the unspoken agreement with my mailman and used my phone to talk to one of our friends. I have an excuse, though: William moves from one city to another at lightning speed, and I had to reach him without delay. I’m sending you an excerpt of a letter that he has written to me since then, an excerpt that will prove to you that I had good intentions:
I’ve just left Scotland to go back to the United States, but if everything goes well you will meet Laura during the year-end vacation!
Thank you for your help and for the long conversation we had a few days ago on the phone. I decided during the summer to try to speak to my daughter again, and you are the one who convinced me to jump on a plane without hesitating any longer. After understanding that nothing would bring my mother back to this world, I finally admitted that the future was too uncertain and that I shouldn’t push important things to tomorrow.
So I left right away for Scotland and arrived for dinner at my in-laws’. I didn’t give my mother-in-law the chance to kick me out; I immediately walked into the dining room to speak directly to Laura, who was looking at me as if she’d just seen a ghost. I spoke for fifteen minutes without anyone interrupting me and I told her everything. My remorse, my fears, my love for her, my sadness confronting my mother’s state, and my hope of finding a place in her life again. I even spoke of your book, Sylvestre, and would you believe me if I told you how she reacted? She gave a slight smile, lowered her head as her mother often did, and asked me: “Will you lend it to me?”
I cried.
And you got off easy because if you’d been there, I would have hugged you, despite my British prudishness and your classically Frenc
h crabbiness …
I cannot re-transcribe everything for you. But from that long discussion between father and daughter arose the possibility that Laura might live with him after her A levels and continue her studies in London. William begged me to send my manuscript to his daughter, so I just did. He is counting on this text to convince her to spend Christmas vacation with all of us. I don’t know if I’ll have the power.
I can’t get over that I helped our friend to begin something he’s been putting off for so many years. I am happy about it, Anne-Lise, and I hope that the discovery of Waldo will not destroy this new happiness I’ve felt for the past few months.
Of course, you’ll be the first person I call tomorrow night. And I think soon we’ll be able to plan a meeting with the three of us. If we have to go to Canada for it, my daughter will take care of housing and I will pay for your plane ticket.
Everything seems possible in this moment. So, for all of this, I thank you, Anne-Lise.
Talk to you tomorrow on the phone.
Sylvestre
P.S. As passionate about literature as you are, having read so much about human passion, how can you not see how hard our two lovebirds are trying to avoid each other?
And if you want proof, ask yourself about this trip that Maggy is taking at Christmas, whose dates perfectly line up to justify her absence in Lozère! I am willing to bet that she has no reservation in the Anglo-Norman islands! She is just afraid to confront the person who disturbed her solitude. As for William, for the first time since his wife’s death, he puts a stop to his perpetual running around and finally finds the strength to stabilize and reconnect with his daughter … What do you think of that turnaround?
It’s easy to tease them from our position as observers, but would we be any more daring if we were in their place?
from Anne-Lise to Maggy
RUE DES MORILLONS, SEPTEMBER 25, 2016
Hi Maggy!
How are you? Have you heard from William? I haven’t. I learned about his most recent travels through Sylvestre. It sounds like he wanted a man’s advice before going to Scotland to resume contact with his daughter. Yes, his daughter … That’s the past he wants to reconnect with in order to move forward in his life.
I’m telling you this even though it’s not really my place because you are my best friend. As such, I will also tell you that I can no longer bear watching you lie to yourself so obviously. Open your eyes, Maggy, and face the fact that you might be in love. That would explain your mood swings much more than your hormones, and your obvious avoidance of that man gives you away even more than the attention normally given to him by women.
Richard won’t turn over in his grave if you confess your feelings, and if you had died in his place, he wouldn’t have waited thirteen years to live his life. That’s how men are and I agree with you: they are inconsistent beings that should never be trusted.
Yes, I’m angry too. I’m sorry that I didn’t call you last night, but I was counting on Sylvestre’s promise and he let me down. How could he have forgotten me while I spent a good part of the night with my cell phone glued to my ear (with the volume at the lowest setting so as not to wake Julian)? At two A.M., I left a message on his voicemail, then a second, then a third. Nothing. At five A.M. I started sending him text messages. Still no response.
I didn’t start to insult him until ten A.M. (please note my patience and my restraint) and since then, I’ve been joyfully compiling a list of all the afflictions I would make him suffer if he were in front of me … It’s not very productive, I know, but it makes me feel better!
The only person who can give me information about the interview yesterday is that famous Canadian Elvire, who found the manuscript in her stepfather’s things, but unfortunately, I don’t have her contact information. I even almost called a Coralie Fahmer whose number I found, before I saw on her Facebook page that she has several grandchildren!
I think I have a right to know the end of this saga that I started, don’t I? At worst, Elvire’s information will have led us to a roadblock or led us back to a deceased person (I hope not; that would be an enormous disappointment for us all). In any case, dead or alive, Waldo should have been revealed to us last night, and nothing justifies Sylvestre keeping their identity a secret …
You will understand my frustration when I tell you that at two A.M. I constructed a catastrophic scenario in my head. I imagined a car accident that put Sylvestre in the hospital, a partial amnesia explaining his silence … I couldn’t get back to sleep and started cleaning my entire house so I could temporarily escape the plans constructed by my nonstop imagination.
Fortunately, a mountain of work awaits me tomorrow at the office and will allow me to avoid a second day of mistreating my husband and children.
More very soon,
Kisses,
Lisou
P.S. Don’t get mad at me for being honest about your feelings for William; we’re past the age of lying. If you choose to remain in denial, I won’t bother you anymore with these thoughts, but if you hesitate, think of those gray eyes that marvelously adorned your Breton living room, that perfectly matched the sea you can see from your window. I know you are still open to arguments concerning your interior decoration, and when all is said and done, do men deserve to be considered any other way?
from William to Maggy
GREAT PETER STREET, SEPTEMBER 25, 2016
Dear Maggy,
I have finally decided to answer you. If I offend you once again with my words, please erase them immediately or chalk it up to that clumsiness that comes over me when I try to speak to you. More ample excuses would seem insincere and that’s the only reason why I’ll stop here.
You told me your story as if our two pasts were now on equal footing. That is not the case. Your behavior might be beyond reproach, you might have committed no fault which led to the death of your partner and your child, but I cannot free myself with you. My role in the sadness that destroyed my family makes it nearly impossible to forgive myself.
For a few days now, I’ve been speaking with my daughter regularly and I am glad she is indulging me after we had remained separated for so many long years. To win her over, I was open with her in a way I wasn’t able to be with you, and no doubt the lecture you gave me at the beginning of the month was helpful. But don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of the happiness I owe in part to you to harass you once more with my feelings. They are real, but will transform over time into a sincere and loyal friendship.
So you will have nothing to fear if you agree to celebrate the New Year with us, and I am inviting you again to the celebration of Saint-Sylvestre (there will be so many of us that you will be able to avoid me rather easily). Your absence would be harmful to the success of such a celebration and I would consider myself responsible for your decision not to attend. You would intensify my guilt even more and I know that is not what you want. And note how the date is perfect to celebrate our friend!
I’ve given you my best arguments, Maggy, and I’m impatiently waiting for your response. I would be happy to open my door to you with as much simplicity and kindness as you did for me in Brittany, and this time with no ulterior motive or maneuver to win your attention.
See you very soon I hope,
Warm regards,
William
P.S. I have no words to express what I felt learning about the suffering you’ve faced. Don’t take my silence on the subject to mean that I don’t care …
from William to Anne-Lise
[email protected]
MONTREAL, SEPTEMBER 28, 2016
Dear Anne-Lise,
Since I was already in the United States, I went to Montreal as soon as I received your call. I didn’t tell you that Sylvestre had given me the contact information for his daughter Coralie because you would have said it was reckless to take this trip. But your distress on the phone and the lack of any professional obligation for the next few days brought me here in search of an explanation
for Sylvestre’s “disappearance.”
On Tuesday I was able to meet Coralie, who told me what she knew. When she went to see Elvire Lheureux (that is the full name of the Canadian woman who gave the book to David), she read the letter that accompanied the package, which was dated January 7, 1987, and signed with just a first name. In her letter, the sender addressed Elvire’s stepfather, to whom she says she is “returning the novel.” She asks him to forgive her for keeping it for four years and adds that she took advantage of that time to write the ending. Coralie immediately called her father, who cried with joy at the other end of the line when he learned that the end had been reached.
But when she read him the name on the back of the envelope, Sylvestre hung up without a word. Since then, she’s had no word from him and of course his phone is going straight to voicemail. No need to tell you that she’s very worried.
Back at the hotel, I consulted the Internet and after two hours of research, I flushed out this Claire Laurent-Mallard. She’s a French author of detective novels, better known in France under the pseudonym Laurent MacDrall.
This morning, proud of my discoveries, I accompanied Coralie to Elvire’s. She told us about her stepfather … and that’s when it clicked: remember, in Lozère, Sylvestre told us that he had lost his manuscript while he was visiting his friend Achille, who was the editor in chief of a literary magazine. I asked Elvire: her stepfather was named Achille Gauthier! So, the original person it had been addressed to had gotten Sylvestre’s manuscript not long after its disappearance in 1983. Why did he send it to this woman without saying a word to Sylvestre?
Only one person can answer this: the woman who goes by Laurent MacDrall. And it’s easier for you to contact her.
The Lost Manuscript Page 13
