There was a pause before he said, ‘Of course, anything you say.’
‘I’d like to go tomorrow morning.’
‘Bien sur, chérie. We will go.’
‘Thank you, Xavier.’
For the first time since his return, Julia fell asleep that night with her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.
As always, when they were at home together with no commitments, Julia was up first the following morning. Xavier rarely rose before ten thirty, which she used to full advantage as practice time.
At eleven o’clock, Xavier finally staggered into the kitchen. Julia was making coffee.
‘Bonjour, my Julia.’ Xavier wrapped his arms round her. ‘Mmnn, that coffee, it smells so good.’
Julia handed him a cup. ‘Why don’t you go and take a shower? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.’
Xavier furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Where to, remind me?’
‘To the place where Gabriel died, where I planted the trees, remember?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I will not be long.’
Julia buried her irritation as Xavier left the room. She understood his reluctance to return. It would be as hard for him as it had been for her. But … she needed to see him grieve.
Twenty minutes later, Xavier reappeared in the kitchen, fully dressed.
‘Alors! Let us go.’
Julia drove, as she usually had, with Xavier sitting passively beside her.
‘I will go to Paris tomorrow to complete the round of interviews, and then it will all be at an end,’ he offered.
Julia said nothing. She would not let herself react.
‘And Olav said yesterday that the publisher will call to try and tempt me into writing a book. It seems I have never been so busy.’
Again Julia did not respond.
She parked the car in the bay on the side of the road and they silently picked their way down the hill until they arrived at the two cypress saplings, standing side by side. Julia had brought some water with her, and poured it over the saplings.
Half her thoughts were with Gabriel, the other half with Xavier, as she watched him standing uncomfortably next to her. Eventually, he reached for her hand.
‘What you have done is something beautiful. It is a place of peace, out of tragedy. Should we, do you think, tear the other one from the ground, as I assume it represents me?’
‘Maybe. I –’
Xavier’s mobile rang. Julia watched as he took it from his trouser pocket and studied the number.
‘Pardon, chérie, it is the publisher from London. I must speak to him.’
Julia watched as Xavier walked off to take the call.
She looked at the two cypress saplings, then tore the taller one from the ground and threw it as far as she could. Away from the place that marked the death of her beloved son. And her love for Xavier.
The summer wore on. Julia was well aware of the irony that she finally had the time she’d always wanted to spend with Xavier, but now only longed for the moments when he left the house.
They fell into a routine: Julia practised in the morning before Xavier woke, then he took over in the afternoon whilst Julia went to the beach to escape the house and tried to relax. Try as she might, she often found her thoughts drifting involuntarily back to Kit, wondering where he was, what he was doing – wishing fervently she could pour out her troubled heart to him and listen to his calm, wise words of advice.
One evening in late August, Julia arrived home to find Xavier in the kitchen, making a list.
‘I think we should have a party, chérie. What do you think?’
Julia raised her eyebrows. ‘What kind of party?’
‘A celebration that I am back from the dead, to let everyone know how happy we are. I am writing a list of all the people I want to invite.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ Julia found the whole notion crass and inappropriate, but she was too worn down for an argument. ‘When are you thinking of having it?’
‘As soon as possible. Many people will be leaving the Riviera soon; I was thinking next Saturday would be perfect.’
‘As you wish,’ Julia answered. She took a glass, filled it with water and went to her study to answer her emails.
Saturday night was soon upon them and Agnes had helped prepare everything in the short space of time. Xavier behaved like an excited little boy in the run-up to his birthday, and tried on three different shirts for Julia’s approval.
As Julia dressed and applied her mascara, she felt no such anticipation. Xavier had invited over a hundred people, some of whom she hardly knew. She had confided her misgivings about the party to Alicia.
‘But Xavier’s making an effort, Julia,’ Alicia had countered. ‘There’s been so much pain for both of you, why is it wrong for him to celebrate? Granted, there isn’t a completely happy ending, but a better one than you had this time last year.’ Then there had been a pause on the line, before Alicia added: ‘Sorry, darling, but when are you going to forgive Xavier for the fact he lived, when Gabriel died?’
That was two days ago and, even though Julia had found the words difficult to hear, she knew Alicia was right. And she promised herself that tonight, even though she knew her heart was closed to Xavier forever, she would make an effort to celebrate with him.
She took one last look at herself and went downstairs for a glass of champagne with him before their guests arrived.
‘Chérie, you look very beautiful tonight.’
Julia let him embrace her.
He took two glasses of champagne from a waiter, standing sentry in the hall with his tray, awaiting the guests.
‘To us,’ Xavier clinked her glass, ‘and to new beginnings.’
As he kissed her, the first guests rang the doorbell and Xavier went to greet them. Soon the house and garden were full of people, most congregating near a jazz trio playing in the corner of the terrace.
Julia did her utmost to play the happy wife of the newly returned husband. Xavier made an emotional speech at midnight, praising his wonderful wife and the love they shared. He said how devastated they were to have lost their beloved son, but assured everyone there would be plenty more children in the future.
By one o’clock, the party was in full swing and the champagne still flowing. Julia spied Madelaine, who had held the fateful barbecue, tottering over to her, clearly the worse for wear.
‘Honey!’ Madelaine held out her arms and pulled Julia to her ample bosom. ‘It’s so wonderful to see the two of you reunited,’ she slurred in her Texan accent. ‘It was a day I thought I’d never see.’
‘I certainly didn’t,’ Julia smiled wryly.
‘And we felt so guilty, I mean, it was our party they’d been to before the … accident.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ said Julia uncomfortably. ‘As you said, it was an accident.’
Madelaine drew back from her and stared at her with glazed eyes. ‘Honey, I so admire you. You are so forgiving!’
‘Forgiving that it was an accident?’ Julia said, a little bewildered.
‘Why, yes! We all told Xavier he should stay the night, but of course he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Why?’ Julia managed.
‘Because, honey, we all knew he wasn’t fit to drive. Not that any of us were,’ she added, swaying unsteadily.
The information slowly began to compute in Julia’s brain.
‘Are you saying Xavier was drunk?’
‘Surely you knew? He told us when he came over for lunch a few weeks ago, he’d explained that to you. And that you understood and forgave him.’
The look on Julia’s face must have registered with Madelaine and she clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Jeeze, I hope I didn’t say anything out of church. I mean, we all like a drink now and then, don’t we? Look at everyone tonight.’ She swept her hand around the noisy, drunken crowd. ‘I bet most of them haven’t got a chauffeur home! Anyway, it could happen to any of us. And I’d be the last one to cast stones. You
are reunited with the guy you love,’ she said fondly. ‘Come and see us real soon, honey, y’hear?’
The party carried on as Julia packed what she could into the one small holdall she had arrived with. Xavier was on the piano, entertaining the remaining guests with his brilliance.
He wouldn’t even notice she had gone until later.
She left her holdall by the bedroom door, then tiptoed across the landing and into the room she had not yet had the courage to enter. The smell of him hit her instantly, bringing tears to her eyes. Ignoring the many reminders of her little son’s life, Julia walked over to his cot.
Lying there on the pillow was Pomme, Gabriel’s beloved teddy bear. She picked Pomme up and hugged him to her. Then she went to the small wardrobe and took out one of Gabriel’s Tshirts.
As she walked towards the door, she blew a kiss to the memory of what this room had been. Then she stowed her two treasures in her holdall, walked down the stairs and left the house.
57
I lean over the arm of my comfortable seat and look out of the window at the world below. Even though I’ve flown constantly, I still marvel at the miracle of it, and find it helps me put my thoughts in perspective.
It is almost dark and, from the flight path on my screen, I can see we are passing over Delhi. It is a mass of twinkling lights, indicating the countless lives packed into the space beneath me. Each with their own story to tell, their own tapestry at some stage of being woven. The strength of each of the individual specks of life humble and amaze me.
The last lights of Delhi disappear as the aircraft moves on over the vast empty tracts of the Himalayas, and the world becomes black beneath me.
Just now, I think sadly, I am the plane, free to cross the world and land anywhere I choose. I only wish someone could set my flight path for me. Just a few weeks ago, I was so sure that, finally, my life was following the right route, but now it has been blown violently off course yet again. Currently, I feel the wreckage is all that remains.
At least I know I have the strength to cope this time. There will be no self-pity for what might have been. I have said a final goodbye to the physical memories of my son, knowing I will carry Gabriel and the pain of losing him in my heart for as long as I live.
And as for Xavier … the pedestal I had always put him on has come crashing down. In retrospect, I know it was fatally cracked when he returned and told me his story. The denouement a few days ago only confirmed what I already knew: Xavier is a weak, selfish man, who cares for no one more than himself, not even his precious child.
He disgusts me.
I feel no regret for turning my back on our life and walking away from him. I understand it was impossible for me to stay.
And now, once more, I am returning to the past to try and discover my future.
After dinner, I close my eyes and sleep, as the aircraft carries me safely East.
When Julia emerged from Arrivals, she saw her name being held up by a smartly dressed representative. She pushed her trolley through the crowds towards him.
‘Welcome to Bangkok, Miss Forrester. I take you to car now, please.’ The representative took her trolley and she followed him out into the breathtakingly hot, humid air of the city.
Moments later, Julia was ensconced in a comfortable limousine. Her liveried driver attempted to make conversation in his stilted English, but Julia wasn’t interested and gazed out of the window as the car sped along the modern highway. She was intrigued by the mixture of tower blocks, interspersed with the glinting gold roof of a Thai temple and battered wooden shacks bedecked with washing strung on lines. She thought it strange that, although she had travelled far and wide and had performed in both China and Japan, Bangkok had never been on her list.
The car came smoothly to a halt by the leafy entrance to the Oriental Hotel. As Julia was handed out of the car by a porter, she breathed in the distinctive smell of the city – the sweet aroma of exotic flowers, underlaid with a hint of rotting vegetables – and the scent was somehow familiar to her.
When she entered the lobby, a beautiful Thai girl handed her a jasmine garland. ‘Welcome to the Oriental Hotel, Miss Forrester. I will take you to your room.’
‘Thank you,’ Julia said, admiring the elegant lobby with its stunning array of orchids spilling out of a vast pot, and the huge Chinese-style lanterns hanging from the high ceiling.
Up in her room, she opened the door on to the balcony and looked in wonder at the majestic river below, stretching as far as the eye could see on either side of the hotel. It was peppered with boats of all shapes and sizes, and the cacophony of sound was continuous.
Julia ordered some coffee from room service and sequestered herself on the balcony, relishing the atmosphere. She had always loved warmth, could stand the most humid conditions, and the temperature here felt just right.
She leant over to her left and saw that the Oriental was a small, but perfectly formed oasis of calm alongside its more grandiose hotel neighbours. The oldest part of the building, the part her grandfather would have known, was now called the Authors’ Lounge, according to the directory she was flicking through. It stood on the river front, a hundred yards away from her, beyond the beautifully kept tropical gardens and the swimming pool. Its pretty, colonial façade was dwarfed by the tall buildings around it, but Julia could imagine these as wooden shacks on stilts in the river – just as Harry would have seen it.
When she had finished her coffee, Julia found herself yawning. She delved into her handbag for the address Elsie had given her and stared at it. She needed to sleep first, have a clear head before tackling the last leg of her journey into the past.
She slept for much longer than she meant to, and woke, fuzzy-headed, at a quarter to five. She sat on her balcony with a glass of cold white wine, watching Bangkok turn from day to night. Below her, twinkling white lights festooned the trees on the terrace overlooking the river. The terrace was already full of guests having dinner, and Julia realised she too needed to eat. She took the elevator down to the lobby, smiling in surprise that the lift attendant already knew her name, and went over to the concierge desk.
‘Yes, madam, may I help you?’ another exquisite Thai girl smiled at her.
‘Yes.’ Julia handed over her piece of paper. ‘I was wondering whether you could provide me with a car to take me to this address.’
‘Of course. It is not far away. Would you like car now?’ the girl asked.
‘No, tomorrow morning, please. At eleven.’
‘I will arrange it for you, madam. Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Julia, and walked across the lobby, pausing to listen to the string quartet playing Schubert in the corner.
She was ushered to a candlelit table right on the river front at the far end of the terrace, and ordered another glass of wine and a green curry. She glanced around at the elegantly clad guests, listened to the soft chugging of boats on the river and felt a sudden sense of calm.
Even if she didn’t succeed in finding her grandmother, or discovered she was dead, as Elsie suspected, Julia felt very glad she had come. This was a special place; if nothing else it was the perfect setting in which to take stock and think rationally about her future. She felt cocooned by the gentle staff and the tranquil atmosphere of the spot where her own story had begun.
*
Surprisingly, Julia slept through the night, for once having no need of the pills she always carried with her to ward off jet-lag. She took a breakfast of mango, papaya and rose-apple, washed down with strong coffee. At five to eleven, she was being escorted out of the lobby to her car.
Her driver turned round and smiled at her. ‘This is private address, yes?’ He indicated the piece of paper.
‘I think so.’
‘Okay, madam, we go.’
She sat in the back of the car, wishing she could have contacted Lidia by telephone to give the old lady some warning that her granddaughter was about to appear on
her doorstep. But, with no surname to go by, that had not been possible. Elsie had only ever addressed the photographs to ‘Lidia’.
‘You sure it’s a good idea?’ Elsie had asked, when Julia called her from Paris and said she was travelling to Thailand to search for her real grandmother. ‘Stirring up more of the past, when you should be looking to the future?’
Elsie might be right, Julia thought, but perhaps she had to go back to her roots before she could move forward.
The car wound its way through the streets of Bangkok and Julia noticed the driver raise a surprised eyebrow when she opened her window to breathe in the air and the atmosphere. The overcrowded pavements with residents spilling out of their houses, the alleyways filled with food stalls busily serving customers, and the streets themselves packed with cars, ancient buses and motorised tuk-tuks were a cacophony of activity. A jumbled meeting of East and West, yet so real, so vibrant and alive.
‘We nearly there, madam. House is on river, yes?’ asked the driver.
‘I have no idea, I’m afraid. I’ve never been here before.’
‘Do not worry, madam. We find it, okay?’
Julia nodded. ‘Okay.’
A couple of minutes later, he turned off the busy street into a pretty, residential road. They reached the end of the cul-de-sac and the driver pointed to a gate.
‘This is right soi and that is house you want,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Julia made to open the door, but the driver was already there, tipping his gold-braided white cap as she climbed out.
‘You want me wait?’ he smiled.
‘Yes, please. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
‘No worry, madam, you be as long as you need. I be here,’ he smiled.
‘Thank you.’
Julia took a deep breath and made her way up the path. The house was very pretty, built in Thai style, with wooden-clad outer walls, a veranda that ran all the way round the ground floor, and topped with an inverted V-shaped roof which curled up at the edges.
She walked up the steps to the veranda. Finding no bell, she knocked on the front door, waited several minutes, then knocked again, and then again. Just as she was about to turn away in disappointment, the door opened.
Hothouse Flower Page 47
