by Fiona Valpy
A Proposal
Peace reigned over the château once again.
Sara finished her lunch of leftovers from the Sunday evening supper and sauntered out into the garden. It was a stunning autumn afternoon, the sky the pure, delicate blue of a robin’s egg and not a cloud anywhere in sight. The edge had been taken off the summer’s heat now, and the September sunlight had a ripe softness to it, turning the stone walls of the château the same mellow colour as the sweet white wine that Thomas’s family would soon be pressing from the grapes at Château de la Chapelle.
He’d gone back there this morning, having said goodbye to Bill and Christa, and waved their sprawling family off down the drive.
‘Papa says he wants to see me,’ he’d grumbled. ‘I wanted to have lunch with you, just the two of us in peace and quiet. But he’s insisted I go home to join him and Robert. Must be to discuss the plans for the harvest, I suppose. Although I don’t know why we have to do it today, when there’s still at least a fortnight to go before we begin.’ He’d sighed.
‘Never mind,’ she’d replied. ‘I’ll make us something delicious for supper tonight. Just the two of us and a bottle of wine on the terrace...’ She’d broken off, overcome by the urge to kiss his lips, which were spreading wide in that familiar slow, sleepy smile as his eyes met hers.
She picked up a wicker basket that sat on the step at the kitchen door and wandered into the walled garden to collect the windfall pears that were carpeting the ground beneath the old tree. Wasps wove drunkenly through the branches, sating themselves on the sweet, ripe fruit which hung heavy above her head. A faint smell of fermentation rose up from the pears at her feet, some of which were already softening and rotting where they’d fallen. She chose the least bruised of the fruit and soon had gathered a generous basketful.
The afternoon’s heady warmth was soporific and so she sat down on the makeshift bench that they’d built alongside the pear tree, comprising a length of an old beam balanced on two large cornerstones, propped against the wall that enclosed the garden. The basket of pears at her feet, she leant her head back against the lichen-spotted wall, tilting her face to the sun’s mellow warmth and closing her eyes drowsily, just for a few moments...
She must have dropped off because the next thing she knew, Thomas was waking her with a gentle kiss.
‘Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. You look so peaceful. I hardly wanted to wake you, but I have news and I need to tell you straight away!’ His eyes shone, his expression alive with suppressed excitement. He sat down beside her on the bench and took her hand in his.
‘We had a family conference over lunch, and I have a proposition to put to you,’ he began. ‘But where to begin...? Okay, first I have to explain something about French law to you. You see, under the Code Napoléon, inheritance laws here mean that each child in a family automatically inherits an equal share of any estate. This means that when my father dies, Robert and I will each have half of Château de la Chapelle. But it also creates a problem, as our children and our children’s children will also each be entitled to an equal share, so the farm would be subdivided into smaller and smaller parts and end up not being economically viable. And that’s leaving aside the fact that everyone might not be in agreement about how it should be run, who should live where, and so on. Papa has seen this coming for some time. So the reason he called Robert and me there for lunch today was to propose a solution. He has been quietly saving up enough capital over the years to be able to give one of us the farm and the other an equivalent amount of money to go and set up somewhere else. He now believes the time is right, in the lives of both his sons, to hand over to us. He wanted us to decide between ourselves who would have the farm and who would move on, but of course the answer is obvious. Robert is devoted to the vineyard and I don’t have that same level of attachment.’
Sara squeezed his hand, trying to feel pleased about his newly found freedom and to push away the awful thought that now he would have the means to leave. ‘Oh, Thomas, that’s wonderful. Your dream has come true!’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘And now that it has, I find that in fact my dream has changed a little. You see, I’ve fallen under the spell of a beautiful enchantress and she’s opened my eyes to the richness of the world right here in my own backyard. The web that she spins, here in her hilltop castle, draws in people from near and far. I’ve had the best summer of my life with you, Sara, meeting so many people from different places and different backgrounds, seeing such different ways they have of celebrating their love. You’ve even taught me a thing or two about the history of my own corner of the world that I didn’t know before. And, most of all, you’ve woven your web around my heart and now I don’t want to leave.’ He paused to kiss her.
‘So my proposition—which is purely a business one, you understand—is this: I would like to invest in Château Bellevue and become your business partner.’
He held up a hand to stop her as she started to protest. ‘My father, who is my best and most shrewd advisor on such matters, is as impressed as anyone with the work you’ve done here, and he thoroughly approves of your plans for the future. He would love it if I could be involved. I don’t have the money to buy out the whole of Gavin’s share—and anyway, Papa said that you probably wouldn’t want to get yourself back into that situation after what’s happened. So I’m proposing to buy thirty percent of the business. That way we can take out a bank loan for the rest of the money you need to pay out Gavin, and you will become the majority shareholder.’
Sara began to protest again, alarm bells going off in her head at the thought that, if Thomas owned a share of the business, she might just be getting herself back into the same position she’d been in before. Panic rose in her at the idea that she’d lose control of what she’d worked so hard to create; that she’d risk losing the sense of self-confidence she’d clawed back following Gavin’s departure; that if Thomas were to get involved on a formal basis in the business then it might warp and distort their relationship.
She pulled herself up short. She wasn’t going to lose her voice again now that she’d found it at last. She swallowed down the reflex rejection—her default protective response—that was forming itself in her throat, and then calmly and clearly told him her fears.
Thomas heard her out, listening carefully, watching her face as she spoke. ‘I know, I know, and I understand you Sara. But nothing will change between us. We’ll get it all drawn up legally so that you can rest assured you will always have control over your own destiny. Papa told me he can see that’s important to you. He told me I should set you free, economically speaking, because then we will both know that if you choose to stay here in France it’s because this is where you really want to be. As the majority shareholder, you will still be the Boss. And we’ve already proven this summer that we can work well together on that basis. Don’t worry; I think my male ego can take it.’ His slow, easy smile proved his point.
‘But your dreams of travelling the world... I don’t want to be the one who stops you.’
He nodded. ‘I know. I still want to go to so many places. I thought maybe, if we worked very hard in the summer, we could go away together sometimes in the winter months. I think I will enjoy my adventures abroad even more if you are part of them. Would you travel with me, if you knew you always had your home here to come back to?’
Sara nodded slowly, then sat stunned, thankful to feel the solid reassurance of the stone wall at her back or, she thought, she might have collapsed with the sense of confusion and relief that was making her head spin. As she considered Thomas’s proposition from every angle, her heart beat faster and a sense of joy began to percolate through her veins, matching the joy that was written before her on the face of the man she loved.
‘But Robert...?’
‘He’s delighted too. He’ll take over the farm. Of course, I’ll go and lend a hand whenever he needs me, but Gina can take on the whole of the marketing side. And Robert’s thinking of offering Antoine a
position in the wine-cellar: it will help him to gain some work experience, which he needs to do as part of his university course. There might even be a permanent job for him there when he’s finished. And Christine is thrilled as they’re going to move into the main house with the children, so the boys won’t have to share a bedroom anymore. Papa will move into their house...’ he tailed off, and a pregnant pause hung in the air between them.
‘And you will move in here with me?’ Sara’s heart skipped a beat with nervous hope.
‘If you’ll have me. You are the boss, after all.’
Her kiss told him all he needed to know.
They sat a while longer, making plans, discussing ideas, thinking of new ways to promote the business, the golden afternoon stretching itself out into a future filled with promise.
At last, when the shadows began to reach their dark fingers across the rough, weed-filled grass towards where they sat, they got to their feet.
‘Here, let me take that.’ Thomas picked up the basket of pears and they strolled back towards the château. Still deep in conversation, immersed in their plans for the future, he absent-mindedly picked up one of the golden fruits and took a bite.
‘We can make the walled garden into a really beautiful vegetable patch,’ Sara was saying. ‘I’d like to get Eliane back to advise me on what to plant...’ And then, ‘Thomas? Thomas!’ she screamed.
For he had fallen silent, his eyes widening in a reflexive mask of fear. He opened his mouth to choke out the chunk of pear he’d bitten off and on it crawled a wasp, woozy with sweet juice and having just discharged its sting deep into the soft tissues of Thomas’s throat.
The effect happened so fast that Sara scarcely had time to think. He dropped the basket, pears spilling across the grass at their feet, and sank to his knees, his hands clutching at his throat as if to try and pull out the poison. Within moments, his neck and jawline were swelling alarmingly and his eyes dilated with panic.
‘Thomas! Speak to me! What can I do? Can you talk?’
He gasped something she couldn’t make out, his tongue swollen into the roof of his mouth now.
‘Help!’ Sara screamed. ‘Someone help me!’
Antoine and Héloise appeared at a run. ‘Oh, thank God!’ cried Sara. ‘Call an ambulance, quick!’
‘You phone the paramedics,’ Antoine shouted to Héloise. ‘Je vais chercher son auto-injecteur dans la voiture.’
It must have only been a minute or two before Antoine reappeared with a small plastic box, but by now Thomas was lying on the ground, gasping for the breaths that were becoming more and more forced. Sara cradled his head in her lap, desperately trying to make her voice sound calm as she reassured him that help was on the way. Antoine handed the box to her and she opened it to find two EpiPens, each containing the life-saving dose of adrenaline that those with severe allergies carry with them wherever they go. A miracle! Sara realised Antoine must have seen them in Thomas’s van at some point, thank heavens.
‘I don’t know what to do!’ she was struggling to hold back the panic now. ‘Thomas, listen to me. Where do we inject this?’
He gesticulated towards his leg, his eyes transformed to slits in the puffy skin of his face.
Without time to give it a second thought, she ripped the injector from its packet, pulled off the safety cap and pressed the tip firmly into his thigh, the plunger driving down to release its dose into his bloodstream. She held her breath, willing the terrifying rasp of his breathing to ease a little.
‘They’re on their way,’ shouted Héloise, reappearing at a run.
Thomas’s eyes locked onto Sara’s, widening with fear as his features lost definition within his ballooning face.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she told him. ‘The ambulance is on its way. Hold on, just a few minutes more.’
But his breaths had now become short gasps, his chest heaving as his body desperately tried to take in air.
‘Quick, Antoine! The other syringe!’ Sara had no idea whether it was safe to administer more adrenaline, but she knew she only had a split second to make the decision. She plunged the second dose into his thigh.
‘Don’t you dare leave me, Thomas Cortini,’ she whispered, bending her lips to his ear.
He heard her. His eyes widened again for a moment and she felt a surge of relief as his expression softened suddenly into one of such complete love and acceptance that it made her want to cry. She stroked his hair and bent to kiss him, just as they heard the faint wail of a siren and Héloise shouted, ‘They’re here, I can see the lights!’
But then Thomas’s eyes rolled back in his head and, with a final rasping gasp, his breathing stopped.
* * *
The little hospital in Sainte Foy La Grande was a warren of vinyl-floored corridors and Sara’s shoes squeaked faintly as she followed the nurse, stopping before a closed door. ‘It’s okay, you can go in,’ the nurse said.
She pushed the door open cautiously, not sure whether he’d be awake. Thomas lay still between the crisp white sheets, a tangle of wires hitched up from his body to the steadily beeping monitor beside him, his face obscured by a plastic mask which hissed quietly as it fed his lungs with life-giving oxygen. She tiptoed to his bedside, relieved to see the trace on the monitor zigzagging its way across the screen in a steady pulse.
In those awful moments after his breathing had stopped, the paramedics had managed to get a breathing tube down his throat to re-open the airway. ‘How much adrenaline has he had?’ they’d demanded as they worked quickly and deftly, listening for his heartbeat. She’d showed them the two empty EpiPens. ‘Bon,’ they’d nodded. ‘His heart hasn’t stopped. You did the right thing.’ They’d administered more injections and then, with a miraculous gasp, his chest had risen as he took a breath, making Sara’s own heart convulse as she gave an involuntary sob of relief. ‘His blood pressure’s still dangerously low. We need to get him to hospital straight away.’ The medics had eased Thomas’s prone body onto a stretcher and quickly lifted it into the ambulance.
Very gently, one of the men had put a restraining hand on Sara’s arm as she made to climb in after it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said. ‘I may need to work on him en route. There won’t be room for you.’ He’d turned to Antoine. ‘Can you bring her to Sainte Foy? We’ll be able to update you when you get there. And you’d better call his family as well.’
‘Of course.’ Sara dialled Patrick Cortini, but when he answered the phone and she opened her mouth to explain, she found she could get no words out and tears began to pour uncontrollably down her face. Antoine, who was standing beside her, gently took the phone from her shaking hand and spoke to Thomas’s father, his voice calmly relaying the urgency of the situation. He hung up the call and then, putting an arm round Sara’s shoulders, he led her to the car that Héloise had arrived in. ‘Come. We’ll take you.’
She had no memory of the drive to Sainte Foy along twisting country roads. All she could remember was how she’d strained to catch a glimpse of the flashing lights of the ambulance on the road ahead, but seen nothing; that and the way her heart had seemed too big for her chest as it pounded with her love for Thomas and her terror that she might lose him.
They’d been shown to the waiting room on arrival at the hospital, the stretcher with Thomas’s still-unconscious body having been whisked straight into an emergency room where the door was firmly shut. ‘We’ll let you know as soon as we have news,’ the nurse had said, giving nothing away, although the expression in her eyes was grave behind her professionally sympathetic smile. Patrick and Robert arrived a few minutes later and Patrick embraced Sara in his strong arms, smoothing her hair as she wept on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she’d whispered.
‘You, above all others, have nothing to be sorry for,’ he told her. And those were all the words that were possible as they sat side by side on the hard, grey plastic chairs, holding hands tightly, waiting to hear whether Thomas would live.
After what seemed li
ke an eternity, during which Sara willed Thomas back to life with each breath she took, a nurse finally appeared in the doorway. She smiled broadly and nodded. ‘He’s come round. He’s going to be all right.’
The waiting room erupted with cries of thanksgiving and relief, as all five of the anxious watchers hugged each other and wept with joy.
‘You can come and see him. But one at a time.’ The nurse held up a finger to stop the stampede.
Sara stood back to let Patrick go first, but he shook his head. ‘My boy has just had a near-death experience. Let him see the face he really wants to see the most. I think he deserves a truly beautiful welcome back to the land of the living!’
She stood at Thomas’s bedside. His face was almost unrecognisable, swollen and blotchy, the lower half covered by the plastic oxygen mask. His hand rested at his side, the brown, work-toughened fingers looking helpless and vulnerable against the cold white sheet. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch them. His eyes opened, slits in the puffiness of the surrounding skin. The green pulse on the heart monitor seemed to pick up its pace a little, the beep giving away his body’s response to her touch. She bent to kiss his forehead tenderly, her tears of joy anointing his hair, and the two of them stayed that way for a few moments, the silence broken only by the quiet background hiss from the oxygen cylinder and the steadily reassuring electronic murmur of the monitor.
Drawing back a little, she stroked his poor face with gentle compassion. He reached up a hand and pulled the oxygen mask away from his mouth.
She put out a hand to restrain him. ‘Don’t you need that?’
‘Not now that you’re here.’ His swollen tongue still made his speech a little indistinct. ‘Sorry I gave you such a scare. And I really don’t think I’m looking at my best right now.’
