A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  ‘That’s right. After Dad died, Mum asked me to sort through his affairs, and I found some letters.’ He sipped his water. Luc and Natasha waited for him to go on, but this wasn’t something he found easy to talk about. If he was honest, he was ashamed. ‘They were addressed to Dad and he’d kept them hidden. They were written thirty years ago, by a woman who wanted him to know she was having his baby. A girl.’

  ‘Wow,’ whispered Natasha.

  ‘Your father was a dark horse.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ he said. ‘These letters had no address, no name, and they were simply signed M. The only clue where they were from was the envelopes, which were postmarked from here.’

  ‘Willowbrook?’ Natasha asked.

  Alex waved his hand. ‘Not quite. The nearest town.’

  ‘Still, it’s a happy coincidence that your search has brought you here, near us,’ said Luc. He leaned back in his chair. ‘So you’re hoping to find the woman who sent the letters?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or the child. My half-sister.’

  ‘How will you do that? Without a name it won’t be easy.’

  ‘It’s not. I’ve started looking online. Now I’m going to investigate all the local birth records and see what I can find. Then, if I can get a lead, I’m hoping someone might remember something. That’s why I wanted to stay somewhere local … My half-sister would be about thirty years old with an absent father. Do you know anyone who fits that description?’

  Luc and Natasha exchanged a look. ‘Well, Liberty’s mum was single, but her dad was around and died when she was small,’ said Natasha. ‘She’s the friend you’ll be lodging with. And she’s nothing like you – she’s got striking red hair. Her dad’s genes, she always says.’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t think it could be her. My father was dark-haired, like me.’

  Natasha lifted a hand to her chin. ‘Hmm. I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.’

  ‘Have you thought about hiring a private detective?’ asked Luc.

  ‘It’s a possibility.’ Alex felt uncomfortable hiding the real reason he’d come in person. He would tell Luc – later. He just wasn’t ready yet. ‘But it’s a delicate issue. I thought it would be better if I handled it myself.’

  Natasha’s blonde hair glinted as she got up. ‘Do you two mind if I turn in for the night? I’m really tired.’ She touched her bump. ‘This one’s so big I feel ready to pop.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ said Alex.

  ‘We’ll clear up here, chérie,’ said Luc, and gave his wife a lingering kiss.

  She closed the door quietly behind her and the two men began to collect up the dishes. Alex reached for the cast-iron casserole dish and winced as he picked it up. The flash of pain in his shoulder was biting.

  Luc glanced up. ‘Still suffering from the accident?’ he asked, reverting to French now they were alone.

  Alex stiffened, irritated with himself that he’d inadvertently drawn attention to it. ‘Now and then.’

  They carried everything through to the kitchen. ‘I saw a clip on the internet. It looked like a bad crash,’ said Luc.

  Alex put the dish down. ‘I was lucky to walk away. Or so they told me.’

  ‘It definitely seemed that way. What were your injuries?’

  ‘Shoulder and wrist.’ He peered at his wrist. That was the damn problem, although it was his shoulder that was still painful.

  Luc filled the dishwasher. ‘So soon after last year’s crash, too. You must have been gutted.’

  Alex had spent a long year in rehabilitation, then crashed during his second race back. Gutted didn’t even begin to describe how he’d felt as he’d hit the tarmac.

  He thought of his last meeting with the boss just over a week ago. His manager, Eric, had shuffled papers on his desk. ‘I’ve got the reports here from both doctors.’

  Alex had insisted on getting a second opinion. ‘What do they say?’

  Eric had met his gaze and Alex’s heart had sunk. ‘They’ve done all they can.’

  The doctor and personal trainer had been pessimistic from the start, but Alex had been determined to prove them wrong. It hadn’t happened, despite all the hours of physio and physical training he’d done.

  His goals, his dreams, his life were collapsing around him. His throat felt tight. He didn’t speak. What was there to say anyway?

  ‘But you’re young, you’re well thought of. You won’t be short of other opportunities, I’m sure.’

  Alex stared. Did his boss really think he was interested in that stuff? He’d seen the tacky commercials and sponsorship deals other racers had gone on to do in their retirement and he couldn’t think of a more soul-destroying way to spend his days. He needed to race. Nothing else came close to the buzz of being on the track.

  ‘I’ll let everyone know, the team, the press—’

  ‘No!’ Alex had cut in. ‘Not yet!’

  Eric had raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Please. I’m not ready.’

  His manager had considered this. ‘What shall I tell them, then? They’re not stupid. When you disappear they’ll put two and two together.’

  Alex searched around for a credible reason. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while – relating to my father’s affairs. It will mean going to England.’

  A short silence had followed. ‘Fine. I’ll tell the guys you’re taking a break.’ Eric threw him a warning look. ‘But there’s only so long I can stall, you know.’

  ‘Give me a month. Until Christmas. Then we’ll go public.’

  Now, ten days later, he still didn’t feel any readier to talk about it. Not even to Luc. It was still too raw. It cut too deep. He could imagine his friend’s pity, the messages of sympathy from his colleagues – and rivals. He wondered if he’d ever feel ready to stomach all that.

  ‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ asked Luc, as he shut the dishwasher.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘Cheese? Wine?’ offered Luc.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Just a coffee, then I’ll be off. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘No problem. I’m having decaff. Do you want that, too, or do you still sleep through anything?’

  ‘Decaff, thanks.’ Sleep didn’t come easily any more. In fact, he dreaded the long nights.

  Luc slid a cup under the coffee machine and pressed a couple of buttons. ‘Remember that camping trip when you slept through the storm and –’

  ‘– the tree fell down,’ Alex finished in unison with him. He smiled. ‘How could I forget, the number of times you reminded me?’

  Luc handed him a coffee, poured one for himself, and they carried them into the lounge, where the fire was still smouldering from earlier.

  ‘This is a great place you have here,’ said Alex, looking around at the low timber-beamed ceiling and diamond-pane windows. The cottage was almost a caricature of how he’d pictured an English cottage to be. Slate roof and cream walls, a flower-filled garden, white picket fence. ‘You and Natasha seem very happy.’

  ‘We are. Extremely so. I’m a lucky man. And being a father – well, I recommend it.’ Luc took a sip of coffee. ‘So is there a woman in your life?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not since …?’

  ‘No,’ he said definitively.

  The corner of Luc’s mouth lifted. ‘It’s still a touchy subject, then?’

  ‘No. I’m just … No. That’s all.’

  Luc nodded.

  A sudden whimper made them turn to the baby monitor. Little Lottie murmured something unintelligible, then fell silent again.

  ‘I take back what I said earlier,’ said Luc. ‘You have changed.’

  Alex raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You’re quieter than you used to be. Not that you were a chatterbox before, but still.’

  Alex tilted his head in acknowledgement. ‘Life changes us, doesn’t it?’

  He wasn’t used to opening up. His career had made him close
down, raise barriers. The sport was seen as sexy and glamorous, so of course men and women flocked to him in the hope of muscling in on his life. He hated that side of his job. In fact, he hated the fame and the money as much as his father had adored them. For him it was all about the bike and the track. He just wanted to race.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Luc.

  Alex nodded, but couldn’t meet his friend’s eye. He stared hard at the glowing embers in the hearth and absentmindedly rubbed his wrist.

  ‘It’s been a difficult year for you,’ Luc said quietly, ‘losing your father, then the crash. How’s your mum coping?’

  ‘Surprisingly well.’ Alex brightened at the thought. ‘She’s really changed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  He gave a dry laugh. ‘It’s like the chains have come off. Without Dad, she’s happy, she’s socialising more, and she’s met someone.’ He pictured his mother’s expression as she’d introduced Alex and his brothers to Bernard. He was a softly spoken guy with a gentle manner. Nothing like their late father. And as she’d introduced him, there’d been a light in his mother’s eyes, a radiance, which Alex had never seen before. ‘In fact, she sold her flat in Paris and they’ve bought a house together. Back in Provence.’

  Luc raised a brow. ‘You’re all right with that?’

  ‘Of course. My father never made her happy.’ On the contrary, he’d caused her so much pain Alex wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive him. ‘And Bernard treats her with the respect she deserves. He’s devoted. It’s nice to see.’ He finished his coffee and glanced at his watch. ‘Right. I’d better be off. It’s late.’

  Luc got up with him. ‘It’s great that you’ll be staying so close, in the village. You’ll be well looked after at Liberty’s. She’s a good friend. She often helps us out when we need a babysitter. Lottie adores her.’

  ‘Right.’ Liberty McKenzie had emailed and sent photos of her cottage, but he had no clue what she looked like beyond the red hair that Natasha had mentioned. He rolled his shoulder. The ache was setting in. ‘As long as she understands I just need a room and won’t be around much.’

  If he was honest, he’d been in two minds about the lodging arrangement, but Luc had twisted his arm, saying Liberty could do with the income and the nearest quality hotel was thirty minutes away. He wasn’t used to sharing his personal space with anyone else. When he was travelling with work he even avoided hotels and preferred to rent apartments so he could be guaranteed privacy.

  ‘I’m sure that you two will get on well,’ said Luc, and held open the front door for him. ‘Oh, one more thing.’

  ‘Mm?’ He was tired now. The long day was catching up with him and he just wanted to put his head down, get some sleep.

  ‘The friend she used to share the house with was badly hurt in a road accident.’

  ‘Recently?’

  ‘About six months ago. She’s been in a coma ever since. It’s very sad.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Just thought I should warn you. They were very close.’

  A gust of cold air slapped him in the face as he stepped outside. Moonlight glinted off his motorbike, and he looked up. The night sky was a sheet of smooth tarmac studded with broken glass.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, Alex. We’ll meet up in a few days, yes?’

  ‘À bientôt.’

  Charlie tugged on his lead, eager to turn off the main road and onto the long path that snaked through the woods to Liberty’s cottage. There were very few cars about at this time in the evening, but even so the wildlife kept itself well hidden. Liberty occasionally glimpsed the odd badger or fox, sometimes heard an owl call, but tonight it was silent and still. Just her and Charlie. She didn’t mind. Night or day, she loved walking in the woods around her home, loved the damp, peaty smell, the quiet rustlings and the freshness of cold air washing over her face. Which was why she’d refused to stay in all evening and forgo her usual walk.

  She reached the turning and the ground became springy beneath her feet as she left the tarmacked pavement behind, and darkness enfolded her with a hushed sigh. The beam of her wide torch cut through the darkness, bobbing as she hurried back to Damselfly Cottage. Her phone remained stubbornly silent in her pocket. The lodger was late, over an hour late, but he hadn’t bothered to call or leave a message. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and wasn’t coming. Perhaps he’d had problems on his journey from France, although she suspected Natasha would have let her know if that was the case because he’d been due to have dinner with her and Luc early in the evening, and it was almost eleven now. Her boots crunched over fallen beech nuts and crisp leaves.

  Then, out of the darkness, came the violent roar of an engine. Charlie whirled round and barked. The explosion of noise crashed down on them from behind, like a giant wave, and she instinctively stepped back. She shielded her eyes against a blinding light and gripped Charlie’s lead as a motorbike thundered past. Birds screeched and wings flapped, startled out of the treetops. She didn’t blame them – she would have flown away herself if she could. The noise had been so loud it had shaken the ground and vibrated through her. It had felt like an attack, a violation. And it was heading for her home.

  Angrily, she picked up her pace as she rounded the corner and the cottage came into view. She was just in time to see him dim the lights of the motorbike parked in front of her door. Charlie barked even more furiously.

  ‘Hey,’ she murmured, and gave the dog a reassuring pat. ‘It’s okay. This is our new housemate. He’s not a monster – although, by the looks of it, he drives one.’

  As she approached, the guy dismounted. He wore form-fitting leathers and in the porch light his eyes gleamed, like black treacle. A helmet dangled from his hand.

  Liberty passed the bike. It was enormous. Almost as wide as a car. Why did he need such a huge noisy thing?

  ‘This is Dragonfly Cottage?’ he asked. His voice was rich and deep, and he had a strong French accent.

  ‘Damselfly Cottage,’ she corrected. ‘Yes, it is.’

  He peered at the cottage in the darkness, but she couldn’t imagine he could see very much: the lights were on inside, but the curtains were drawn. ‘It wasn’t easy to find.’

  ‘Yes, well you’re here now. You must be Alex,’ she said. Her words sounded clipped. ‘I’m Liberty.’ She couldn’t bring herself to sound friendlier. Her heart was still racing from the scare he’d given her.

  They shook hands, and she waited for a greeting or an apology for his lateness but neither came. Instead, he frowned at Charlie, who was sniffing him curiously. ‘You didn’t say you have a dog.’

  Her fingers tightened around the lead. ‘Didn’t I? I thought I did. Is it a problem?’

  ‘Yes. I’m allergic.’

  He pronounced it allairjeek.

  ‘Oh.’ Had she really not mentioned it? She made a mental note to spell it out loud and clear for any future lodgers. Charlie was non-negotiable. If they didn’t like dogs, her cottage wasn’t for them.

  ‘I hope he won’t be allowed in my room.’

  She bristled. ‘No, of course not. He’s not allowed upstairs, but maybe keep your door shut, just in case.’

  He was dressed from head to toe in fitted black leathers that made his shoulders look broad and his legs long and slim. She had to admit he was handsome, and she tried to ignore the feeling of self-consciousness that sparked in her. Something in his eyes made her wary. Impatience? Irritation? She couldn’t pin it down.

  Well, since he wasn’t bothering with the niceties, she might as well tell him what was on her mind, too. She made a show of consulting her watch. ‘You know you’re nearly two hours late? You said in your email that you’d be here at nine.’

  ‘Oh? Does it matter?’

  His casual indifference pressed all her buttons. ‘Yes, actually. It matters because I waited in all evening just for you. I put off walking my dog because I thought you might arrive any time.’ The poor animal had been practically crossing h
is legs.

  He cast Charlie a withering glance. ‘Clearly you went out anyway.’

  ‘Because we couldn’t wait any longer! You could have messaged to say you were running late. It would have been polite.’

  Usually she loved her evening walk with Charlie. It was calming and cleared her head before bed. Tonight she was far from calm. Instead, she was fuming and flustered, her usual routine totally disrupted, thanks to him.

  He opened the panniers on the back of the bike as if she hadn’t spoken and lifted out a couple of small bags. She glared at him. He had typically French dark hair and olive skin, like Luc, but none of Luc’s warmth or charm. Fine, she thought. If that was how it was going to be. Rather than opening the front door to let him in, she got on with what she always did after a walk, and picked up the hosepipe. ‘Charlie, come here,’ she coaxed. The Labrador trotted over to the side of the house. ‘Good boy.’

  Beneath the dim outdoor light, she gently washed his paws, making sure she’d removed any dirt and burrs or sharp twigs and pine needles that might dig in and hurt him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The Frenchman appeared beside her, scowling and clearly impatient to get inside.

  Good. See how he liked to be kept waiting.

  ‘Cleaning his paws,’ she spelled out.

  ‘Now? In the night?’

  She straightened up. At times like this she was glad to be tall. She was only a fraction shorter than him so their eyes were almost level as she said pointedly, ‘Yes. Just like you would wash yours if you’d walked barefoot through the woods.’

  That seemed to leave him floundering because he didn’t reply, but looked incredulously from her to the dog and back again. She turned the tap off and marched past him to the front door. Inside, she crouched and patted Charlie’s paws dry with an old towel. Alex put down his bags and helmet, and she could feel him watching her disapprovingly. Charlie didn’t pick up on his hostility, however, and seemed to have overcome his reservations about the stranger. As soon as she’d finished, he rushed over, tail wagging, excited to have a visitor in his home. The Frenchman stepped back, clearly horrified.