by Susan Lewis
Sighing heavily, he stared down at his glass and resisted the urge to fill it to the brim. His inadequacy was with him every minute of the day now, and starting to show in ways that was making it worse. And all the time Jessica was tying herself up in knots with this damned obsession that her mother still hadn’t told the truth about what had happened to Natalie. He wondered if he should find Veronica and get her to try one more time to convince Jessica that nothing sinister had happened that day. But even as he thought it, he knew already he wouldn’t do it – and not only because Jessica was incapable of believing a word her mother said, but because having been through the terrible nightmare of it once, he simply couldn’t bear to go through it all over again.
Two days later Jessica was at her desk in the study she and Charlie shared, sitting very quietly, not moving, hardly even breathing. Luc had rung a few minutes ago, looking for Charlie, and though she’d only spoken to him briefly, she still couldn’t disconnect from the images his call had conjured. She was seeing the manoir at Valennes, the vineyard and the grape-picker’s cottage where Natalie had died. She could smell the earthy air, see the endless expanse of sky and the vines, neatly planted in tiers over the slopes of the valley. All of it rippled through her in a way that seemed to fuse the broken pieces of her heart, as though Natalie was still there, captured in its beauty, breathing, laughing, running – waiting for her to come.
Catching her breath on a sob she covered her face with her hands, but the images were still there. Natalie as a bridesmaid at Luc and Lilian’s wedding, her shining blonde hair streaming down her back, her mischievous eyes glowing with excitement. Natalie dancing at the party afterwards with Luc’s niece and nephew, Antoine and Elodie, silly show-off dancing that Charlie had joined in, embarrassing Nikki and making Natalie shriek with delight. Then there was Christmas at the manoir, Natalie decorating the tree, opening presents and helping Fernand in the kitchen. The long bike rides they’d taken through the winter-white terrain, Natalie always charging on ahead, so full of life, leading the way, or chasing Antoine and Elodie through the vines while Harry struggled to keep up. They played hide and seek in the cave, knock down ginger on Luc’s studio where he sculpted, and went searching the woods for birds and bears. Then Natalie was snuggling into Charlie’s lap at the cottage, happy and tired, her face smeared in dirt, dry leaves in her hair and a thumb trying to sneak its way into her mouth.
In the end Jessica just let the tears flow. The longing didn’t get any easier, it only got worse, and knowing it was the same for Charlie didn’t seem to help any more. She didn’t know why, she only knew that she wanted her baby back so badly that she was starting to wish her own life was over just so she could be with her again.
Charlie was carrying a pile of Sunday papers out into the garden ready to read after lunch, whilst half-listening to the radio news that was on in the kitchen.
‘By the way,’ he said, glancing over to where Jessica was planting the begonias she’d bought that morning while he’d had a lie-in, ‘did that guy Rufus Keane ever call again? Your mother’s neighbour.’
Jessica put down her trowel and gently popped a small plant into the hole she’d scooped into the soil. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask,’ she responded.
A brief look of impatience crossed his face – clearly he’d failed again, since she’d obviously been waiting for him to mention it instead of just volunteering the information herself. ‘Does that mean he has?’ he asked.
As she sat back on her heels his annoyance increased, but then faded. She’d been crying again, he could see it in the redness of her eyes, but there was nothing he could say or do that would give her what she wanted, so he made no comment, only felt trapped in the same wretched sense of helplessness that always came over him when he was aware of her pain.
Before she could answer the phone started to ring inside the house, so being the nearest he went to find out who it was.
Watching him go, Jessica took off her gardening gloves, and used the back of her hand to push the hair from her face. She wasn’t surprised, only dismayed, that he’d taken more than a week to ask if Rufus Keane had called back, since it seemed to be almost second nature to him now to avoid any mention of either her mother or Natalie. However, at least he had got round to asking in the end, which she might be able to view as some kind of a breakthrough if she didn’t already know better.
Since he continued talking to whoever was on the line, she returned to her planting. Instead of allowing her thoughts to linger on Natalie, she pushed them on to Nikki who was currently not speaking to her, even though it was Charlie who’d told her off for coming home so late last night. As far as Nikki was concerned Jessica had betrayed her by telling him, because only Jessica had been up at that hour, and since she wasn’t a child any more they could both just get over themselves and stay out of her face, because she was going to come home any time she liked, thank you very much. In fact, she wouldn’t come home at all if they didn’t stop going on at her like this, at which point she’d stormed out, leaving Jessica to thank God for Harry, who seemed so happy and uncomplicated compared to the rest of his family that he was probably the only sane one amongst them right now.
Thinking of her son made her heart melt, even as it twisted with unease. He’d been invited to Devon for two and a half weeks starting almost as soon as he broke up from school, which was only eight days away, and she had yet to say he could go. He’d often been away from home before, but this would be the first time since they’d lost Natalie and she didn’t know if she could take it. But he so desperately wanted to go – Kieran Grant was his best friend these days, and Kieran’s dad had a boat in Salcombe which they could all go sailing on, and Kieran’s mum was really cool, because she did things like hang-gliding and potholing and all the things Harry really, really, really wanted to do. ‘Please Mum, please, please, please.’
Of course she would have to say yes, and nothing in her wanted to deny her son such an action-packed holiday, but the dread of something happening to him was so huge, she was finding it almost impossible to imagine him coming back in one piece.
‘Jessica, you’ve got to stop this,’ Charlie had told her last night, ‘or you’re going to bring the whole damned world crashing in on us.’
‘And exactly what is that supposed to mean?’ she’d demanded angrily. ‘That the power of my one little mind can make things happen, or is that some kind of prelude to you abandoning us because you can’t stand living with me any longer? You think you’re the whole damned world?’
Holding onto his temper, he’d said, ‘I was referring to self-fulfilling prophecies, and I’m beginning to wonder which one you’re going to pull off first, because I’m getting the distinct impression you don’t want me around here any more.’
‘That’s just ridiculous.’
‘Is it?’
Seeing the confusion in his eyes she’d immediately backed down and gone to put her arms around him, assuring him he had no need to feel like that, because no matter what else was going on between them she still loved him and always would.
‘Are we having lunch today?’ he asked, coming back into the garden, ‘and if so are Harry and Nikki with us?’
‘No, they’re both out until later,’ she replied, ‘so it’s just us. There’s a spinach quiche in the oven. We can have it with salad and new potatoes, if you like.’
‘I’ll put the potatoes on,’ he said, and disappeared back inside.
Sighing, she dropped her trowel, then picking up the discarded plant trays she carried them over to the bin.
‘It’s OK, I’ve got everything under control,’ he told her as she joined him in the kitchen. ‘There’s a glass of wine for you there that I was just about to bring out.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, going to wash her hands. Picking up the glass, she stood watching him chopping tomatoes before slicing into an avocado. She was thinking of how much she’d always loved his hands, so large and masculine, how they cou
ld make her feel safe, or sexy or just plain happy. Today she wasn’t sure how they were making her feel. ‘The answer’s yes, Rufus Keane did call back,’ she told him.
He carried on arranging avocado slices on a plate, then sprinkled them with lemon juice and black pepper.
‘I told him that nothing had changed since the last time he’d called, I still didn’t know who else he could contact to find out where my mother might be, apart from Maurice whose number we don’t have.’
Charlie glanced at her, then reached past her to the mesclun he’d emptied from a plastic bag into a bowl. ‘Are you at all interested in where she might be?’ he asked.
‘Are you?’ she countered.
Pouring a dressing over the leaves he said, ‘That’s hardly relevant, is it, when she’s your mother, and you’re the one who doesn’t believe her.’
Feeling her temper starting to rise, she said, ‘I think we should drop the subject or we’re going to end up falling out,’ and putting down her glass she began collecting cutlery and plates to set the table outside.
‘Did he leave a number?’ he asked when she came back in again.
‘Who? Rufus Keane? Actually, yes, but . . .’
‘Then I’ll give him a call.’
‘What for? You don’t know who her friends are any more than I do.’
‘I was thinking,’ he responded, ‘that at least one of us should share his concern about where she might be.’ She started to protest, but he cut across her. ‘Have you ever stopped to think what it was like for her, Jessica?’ he demanded. ‘She was there, she saw it happen and was helpless to do anything about it.’
As her face darkened his voice rose.
‘She might be a lot of things, Jessica, but she’s not without feeling. She cared for Natalie – she loved her . . . You can’t seriously think she’d do anything to harm her . . .’
‘I’m not accusing her of murder, for Christ’s sake. I’m just saying that the whole truth isn’t being told.’
‘Then I can’t begin to imagine what you think it might be . . .’
‘Because you won’t ever listen, that’s why.’
‘I’m not encouraging you in your paranoia . . .’
‘You can call it what you like, but remember, you only sleep easier at night because you didn’t receive that phone call seconds before she fell. You didn’t hear her . . .’
As he looked down at her his face was paling with anger, but she could see the pain in his eyes. Reminding herself that the wrenching loss was his too, and that he really didn’t sleep easy at night, she softened her tone as she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest you don’t care.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry too.’
She tried to smile, then going to him she slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. ‘Do you think we can manage lunch without erupting into another row?’
‘I’m definitely up for trying.’
Tilting her head back to look at him, she said, ‘Sometimes I feel as though I’m losing you, or at least a sense of who we once were, and it scares me so much.’
Pulling her in close again he said, ‘I’ve told you before, we will get through this, it’s just important not to keep trying to push one another away.’
‘You’re right,’ she whispered, feeling certain he was the only one doing that, but not wanting to criticise or upset him again she kept her thoughts to herself.
For the next hour or so, as they sat in the sun, enjoying the food, and drinking a little too much wine, she could sense the easy familiarity between them finally reasserting its hold. Ordinarily on a Sunday, should they find themselves alone like this, they’d go upstairs for a siesta after lunch, but it didn’t seem likely they would today, since neither of them was willing to risk it not working, and bringing back the tension between them. Instead, she told him how she was glad the publisher, Karina Rutherford, had postponed their lunch, since it would give her more time to work on the proposal she was planning to put to her. She’d like to do a book, but not the one Karina was suggesting. Instead she’d like to write a part-fact, part-fictionalised biography of Modigliani and his muse, Jeanne Hébuterne. It wasn’t a new idea, as she’d been toying with it for years, but until now she’d never had enough time to pursue it.
His response was encouraging enough, though she guessed it wasn’t so much the idea that interested him as the hope that any new project might provide the distraction she needed. Since Jeanne Hébuterne’s passion for the artist who’d immortalised her had always been a source of great fascination for her, Jessica was ready to believe that she could stay focused for long enough to lose herself entirely in the work she’d have to do.
‘By the way,’ he said, coming back into the garden with two coffees and a handful of chocolates, ‘have you looked at my schedule this week? We’re transmitting from Manchester on Wednesday and Thursday.’
‘Yes, I noticed that. What’s the event?’
‘An all-party conference on climate change. I don’t suppose you feel like coming?’
She shook her head. ‘I have to be here for Harry.’
‘I’m sure he’d be only too happy to stay with the Grants, if we asked them.’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘They’re having him for over two weeks when school finishes,’ she reminded him, ‘so I don’t think we can ask them to take him now. Besides, I’m going to miss him enough when he goes away, so please don’t ask me to part with him even sooner than I have to.’
‘Well, at least that sounds as though you’re allowing him to go to Devon,’ he commented mildly.
‘Of course I am. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t.’
‘So why not tell him, instead of putting him through all this angst?’
She frowned. ‘What angst? He hasn’t said anything to me.’
‘But he has to me, and I’ve already told him he can go.’
Her eyes widened with surprise.
‘By holding back your decision you were making him suffer unnecessarily,’ he informed her, and picked up one of the tabloids.
Though she was about to deliver a cutting retort she stopped herself as she realised he was right, she had been withholding her decision unnecessarily, thanks to an inability to commit to anything that would take her children from her side. ‘I should have realised you had when he stopped plaguing the life out of me,’ she said, attempting a sardonic tone.
His eyes flicked in her direction, then returned to the paper.
‘So, what time are you due at the studios?’ she asked, a while later. ‘I thought we might go for a walk in Holland Park.’
‘I’m happy sitting here,’ he responded, keeping his eyes on the page. ‘Why don’t you read the papers? You haven’t picked one up today.’
A playful light came into her eyes. ‘Is it safe?’ she asked.
He frowned and looked at her. ‘What do you mean, safe?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I’d hate to find out you were playing away through one of the Sundays.’
At that his expression turned thunderous, and putting down the paper he got to his feet. ‘That has to be one of the stupidest things I’ve heard you say yet,’ he snarled.
Her face turned crimson. ‘Of course it was. I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘I just didn’t think. Charlie, come back, please . . .’
But he was already inside the house, and a few minutes later she heard the front door slam shut behind him.
Guessing he’d go straight to the studios, she decided to give him a while to calm down before calling to apologise again. It really had been the stupidest thing to say, and she couldn’t even think now what had made her come out with it, especially when she didn’t suspect him of being unfaithful at all – she never had. They’d always been far too close for that, and considering the problems he was having lately she could only cringe now at having shown such an atrocious lack of sensitivity. Still, she barely knew what was driving her these days, so it wasn’t likely she could understand what ha
d got into her then, she only knew that she mustn’t let him go on air with this still simmering between them – nor was she going to allow Harry to go on not knowing that he had both parents’ permission for his holiday. As soon as he came in she’d make a big deal about having to hurry up and buy everything he needed to take with him, which, she realised with sinking dismay, was going to mean another journey out to the shops alone – unless she ordered everything via the Internet, as she’d started to do for the groceries again.
Deciding to do a spot of surfing ready for when he came in, she carried the dishes into the kitchen, loaded them up, and was just climbing the stairs to the study when the phone started to ring. Surprised Charlie was calling her so soon, she ran the rest of the way and grabbed the cordless on his desk before he had time to ring off.
‘Jessica! Hi, it’s me.’
‘Lilian!’ Jessica replied delightedly. ‘What a lovely surprise. You’ve got the most wonderful knack of calling at just the right time.’
‘More bad moments?’ Lilian said darkly.
‘Not the kind you’re thinking. Anyway, where are you? Did you manage to get down to Burgundy for the weekend?’
‘That’s where I am,’ Lilian confirmed. ‘And Luc’s in Paris, would you believe, but he’ll be back tomorrow. Talk about ships in the night, but I’ve managed to wangle the week off, so we’ll at least get to spend Monday and Tuesday together – and then, my darling, I’m going to be there, with you. If you’re free.’
Jessica’s heart leapt with joy. ‘Oh my God, that’s fantastic news,’ she cried. ‘I haven’t seen you for so long. Are you sure Luc doesn’t mind?’
‘He’s fine with it,’ Lilian assured her, ‘but I’m afraid it’ll only be for one night. I want to be back here on Thursday, because his father’s test results are due on Friday.’
