The Missing Wife

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  He brought her to the dining room, where the other guests had already assembled.

  Céline had done place settings with names in front of them, and Imogen found herself between Oliver and Cheyenne, with René directly opposite her. She noted with interest that Céline had placed herself between her ex-husband and Max Gasquet. She also noticed that Céline hadn’t invited Art, and that she was allowing René to monopolise her conversation.

  The meal was as good as any that Bernard had ever served, with starters of onion squash, red tuna and goat’s cheese, followed by delicately cooked filet mignon, seafood risotto and spiced chicken. Céline’s mother, Florence, had made lemon tarts and strawberries dipped in dark chocolate for dessert, and by the time they got to coffee, Imogen was grateful that she’d worn a floaty summer dress in yellow and purple that allowed its wearer to overindulge at the table.

  ‘That was the best meal of my life and I can’t eat another thing,’ she told Oliver.

  ‘Indeed it was,’ agreed Oliver. ‘A toast to the chef!’

  They all raised their glasses, while Bernard and Florence beamed with delight.

  ‘It’s just as well I’m not living here,’ Cheyenne murmured. ‘I’d find it very hard to stick to my diet.’

  ‘What diet?’ Imogen gave her a sceptical glance. ‘You look fantastic, Chey.’

  ‘Because of my current diet,’ retorted Cheyenne. ‘I could still do with losing a few pounds. But then I’m always trying to lose a few pounds, with very limited success.’

  Imogen grinned. ‘Remember the beetroot diet? And the green-foods-only one? You were bonkers back then.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Cheyenne nodded. ‘And the water-and-lemon one too. I try to be a bit more sensible these days, but I’ll never find one that’ll make me look like Céline. Or Lucie – what a fab body she has for her age.’

  ‘They both seem to eat like horses, so it’s probably down to genes,’ said Imogen.

  ‘I hate that it might be true that French women don’t get fat,’ Cheyenne said. ‘Although if it is, staying here might be a good idea.’

  ‘I doubt I’ll stay for ever.’ Imogen smiled. ‘But maybe long enough to develop really good eating habits again. Although if I come here too often, I can’t see it having the desired results!’

  ‘Your papa excelled himself tonight,’ murmured René to Céline while Imogen and Cheyenne were chatting. ‘I swear to God he gets better every year.’

  ‘Maturing with age,’ Céline said. ‘Like a good wine.’

  ‘Or a bad husband,’ said René.

  She glanced at him. His expression was serious.

  ‘You admit you were a bad husband?’ She raised a delicately shaped eyebrow.

  ‘I was a shit husband,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know why, because I was a good boyfriend.’

  ‘That happens,’ said Céline. ‘Imogen thought Vince would be good for her, but he wasn’t.’

  ‘You’re not comparing me to that salaud, I hope.’

  ‘Of course not. With you, René Bastarache, there was always something to love. With him – there was nothing about him I could like. Nothing at all.’

  ‘And is there still something in me you could love?’ he asked.

  ‘We got divorced for a reason,’ Céline told him. ‘That reason hasn’t changed.’

  ‘I hope I’m a better man than when I married you,’ said René. ‘I’d like to think I’ve learned a lot since then. I don’t know if I’d ever be good enough for you, Céline Biendon. Nevertheless, we could …’ He shrugged. ‘We could try a little moment or two again.’

  ‘If you’re trying to get back into my bed, you’ve another think coming,’ she said.

  ‘Not back into your bed,’ said René. ‘Back into your heart.’

  ‘Honeyed words, René.’

  ‘But true ones.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I used to think you should be grateful for me. Grateful that I chose you. That I offered my advice. When the truth is that I’m the one who should have been grateful to you. I’m a fool, and I’m more like Imogen’s husband than I thought.’

  ‘You’re nothing like him,’ said Céline.

  ‘Nevertheless, he made me see … well, I have things still to learn. I’m not expecting you to jump at the chance. I’d like it if you’d think about it, though.’

  His hand met hers beneath the table. He squeezed it.

  ‘No promises,’ she said.

  ‘No pressure,’ said René.

  Becky and Nellie were talking about their return to Australia, telling Giles Delissandes that they’d be sorry to leave France but quite glad to get back to Sydney.

  ‘You should visit,’ Becky said to him. ‘You’d like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I would.’

  ‘Definitely.’ Nellie nodded. ‘Think of the open spaces, and lots of surfing …’

  ‘Like Hendaye,’ he said.

  ‘The same. But different.’ Nellie grinned at him and flicked her blond hair over her shoulder.

  ‘My God,’ said Giles. ‘You’re flirting with me.’

  ‘You’ve only noticed that now! I must be losing my touch.’

  ‘What’s it like with twins?’ asked Giles. ‘Does one of you get annoyed if the other … you know … has somebody?’

  ‘We share.’ Becky spoke with a straight face.

  ‘You … Wow.’

  The two girls burst out laughing. And although Giles laughed too, he couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed at the fact that they were joking.

  Lucie had got up from the table and was talking to Florence.

  ‘Do you ever stop worrying about your children?’ she mused as she looked at Oliver, Charles and Giles laughing and joking and not giving her the slightest thing to worry about at all.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Florence. ‘I’m worrying about Céline now, seeing her head so close to René’s, knowing that he’s doing his best to seduce her. Again.’

  ‘How long were they married?’ asked Lucie.

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘Maybe they gave up on it too soon.’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe she saw sense in time. As for poor Imogen! Five years, and half of it planning to get away from him.’ Florence shook her head. ‘I feel so sorry for her.’

  ‘She’s got a strong core,’ Lucie said, as Imogen laughed at something Oliver had said. ‘She always did. I remember her as a little one, toughing it out with my sons, going head to head with them all the time. She put ants in Oliver’s bed once to teach him a lesson. She’s brave, that one. A survivor.’

  ‘Strange, then, that she let him manipulate her so much.’

  ‘I suppose we all have times when our defences are down,’ said Lucie. ‘That’s when we make mistakes. Realising it is the key thing. Not making them again is the result of learning. Genie is a quick learner.’

  ‘She seems very close to your eldest,’ remarked Florence.

  ‘Which is a little disconcerting, I have to admit,’ admitted Lucie. ‘And yet …’ She looked again; this time Imogen was shaking her head at Oliver. ‘They go well together, don’t they?’

  ‘I rather think they do,’ said Florence as Imogen said something that made Oliver put his arm around her and give her an enormous hug.

  ‘Stop it!’ Imogen said, although she was laughing. ‘You’re giving your maman ideas.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  ‘It would do her head in,’ Imogen said. ‘The idea of you and me.’

  ‘It doesn’t do my head in,’ said Oliver.

  ‘You’re being terribly nice to me and you’ve done wonders for my self-confidence,’ said Imogen. ‘But we’re just friends.’

  ‘Zut.’ Oliver’s tone was light-hearted. ‘And there was me thinking we could be so much more.’

  He was smiling as he took his arm from her shoulders. But his smile faded when Imogen got up from the table and went to talk to Max Gasquet, who was sitting back in his chair and a
llowing the conversation to flow around him.

  They walked along the moonlit beach afterwards, in groups of two and three, revelling in the warm night air. It was Charles who suggested a race.

  ‘Me and Oliver against Genie,’ he said. ‘Like the old days.’

  ‘I can’t possibly run,’ protested Imogen. ‘Not after all that food.’

  ‘We’re all equally handicapped,’ Charles pointed out. ‘Everyone ate far more than was good for them.’

  ‘Come on, Genie.’ Oliver smiled at her. ‘For old times’ sake.’

  ‘You used to tell me about those races,’ Cheyenne said to her. ‘You always insisted you’d win one day.’

  ‘Now’s your chance,’ said Charles.

  ‘But you don’t stand a chance,’ Oliver teased.

  ‘Is that a challenge?’ She took off her wedge sandals. ‘I could never turn down one of your challenges, Oliver Delissandes. Though I’m not sure about running in this dress. It’ll get in the way.’

  ‘When you were small, you used to tuck your dress into your knickers,’ Lucie told her.

  ‘I’m certainly not doing that now!’ Imogen looked horrified. ‘Where do we start, and how far?’

  ‘At this rock here,’ suggested Charles. ‘As far as the beach hut?’

  ‘That’s miles!’ wailed Imogen as she took up her position. ‘I’ll collapse before I ever get there.’

  ‘You and me both,’ muttered Oliver.

  ‘Ready. Steady. Go!’ cried Lucie.

  They started to run to the cheers of the others. It came back to Imogen then. The sand beneath her feet. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore. The feeling of exhilaration as she abandoned herself to the sheer joy of moving as fast as she could. Her mind and her body as one. And because she’d spent so much of the last few years on the treadmill with Shona pushing her hard, she was a stronger runner than she’d been before. Fitter too. Fitter than Oliver and Charles. Fitter and faster. So that for the first time ever, she crossed the finish line ahead of them.

  She stood panting as they caught up with her, and then shrieked as Oliver picked her up and swung her into the air.

  ‘I never thought you’d beat me,’ he said as he planted a kiss full on her lips. ‘Well done, Genie.’

  ‘Better late than never.’

  It was another of her mother’s favourite clichés. And as she kissed Oliver in return, Imogen suddenly realised that it could apply to more than just the race.

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