When they had finished drinking coffee, Alain looked at his watch. ‘I guess it’s time we made a move,’ he said to Claire. ‘I have to be at the hospital for eleven-thirty.’ Claire got to her feet and Aimée jumped up too.
‘Why don’t I drive you to the hospital?’ Alain’s father said.
‘It’s okay, Dad. I don’t want to put you out--’
‘You won’t be putting me out, Son, I’d like to take you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. What do you say?’
Alain looked at Claire. ‘Honey?’ Smiling, she lifted one shoulder and nodded.
‘Okay. Thanks, Dad.’ Alain knelt down in front of Aimée. ‘You be a good girl for Mummy and Grandma, won’t you?’
Aimée threw her arms around her father’s neck and held on tight. ‘I will.’
He kissed his step-mother on the cheek and turned to Claire. ‘See you later, honey,’ he said, kissing her.
From the front window Claire, Marie and Aimée watched Alain and his father drive off. It hadn’t occurred to Claire that she wouldn’t be going with her husband for his first consultation with the psychiatrist at the Louis Bertrand Hospital. She felt anxious for him. Silly really, she chided, Alain is a grown man. Besides, not having seen his father for more than a year, it will be a chance for the two men to get to know each other again and if necessary to build some bridges.
When the car was out of sight, Claire followed Marie and Aimée to the kitchen, where Aimée helped her new grandma make a cake for their tea.
It had been a long day. Aimée was exhausted from the attention her new grandma had lavished on her and was asleep before they had left Petite Montagne. ‘How did it go at the hospital?’ Claire asked, as they cruised along the freeway.
‘Okay, I think. The head of the psychiatric wing is a Swiss-French professor by the name of Doctor Lucien Puel. He didn’t say much. But he asked a lot of questions.’
‘Such as?’
‘What I did in the war. He’d know I was in the Air Force because the RCAF is paying for my treatment. I didn’t tell him I was with the SOE or the French Resistance. I said I was a pilot and was shot down over France and the Gestapo caught me at Gisoir and I was put in prison. He asked me about the prison and how long I was there. I told him I’d escaped with some other guys and that they had got away but I was shot in the leg. He asked me about the doctor who patched me up after I’d been shot - asked me if I remember his name. I told him I never knew his name, and he didn’t know mine - that a no-name policy was safer for everyone. What you didn’t know, the Gestapo couldn’t get out of you.
‘He said the cause of my anxiety and the feeling of panic, getting angry, the bad dreams, and losing my concentration are to do with what I saw in the war, especially in the prison.’
We already know that, Claire thought, but didn’t want to upset Alain by saying so. ‘Can the professor help you?’ she asked.
‘He said he could. Through hypnosis, massage and what he called occupational therapy. He said I needed to relax. And, in a safe environment guided by someone I trust, I need to talk about my past.’
Claire looked out of the window at the traffic. When Alain wasn’t in a dark mood, when he wasn’t having an anxiety attack or full of self-doubt, he pushed himself too hard. The professor was right. Alain never allowed himself to relax, so telling him he must relax was good. But hypnosis? Claire didn’t like the sound of that. She also wondered what occupational therapy really meant. She decided not to ask Alain any more questions. He was bound to tell her more when he began his treatment.
When they arrived home, Alain carried Aimée into the apartment and through to her bedroom. Between them, they undressed her and put her to bed. When they were sure their daughter was settled for the night they put out the light and crept out of the room.
Claire made coffee while Alain poured two measures of Canadian Club. Then they relaxed on the settee in front of the fire with the wireless on low in the background.
‘Marie is a nice woman. We got on really well. She loved Aimée, of course,’ Claire said, laughing. ‘How was it with your father?’
‘Okay, Alain said. ‘He seems to have mellowed, become more tolerant in his old age.’ He took a sip of brandy. ‘I don’t remember much about him when I was growing up. He was well respected, a great engineer, but he wasn’t one of nature’s born fathers. He was rarely home, and when he was he was working. Weeknights he’d disappear into his study with a pile of technical drawings, come out for dinner, and go back as soon as he’d eaten. Even at weekends he brought work home with him. He wasn’t like any of my school friends’ dads. They were air force too, but they made time to take their kids to the park and play baseball with them. My old man was always too busy. I envied the other kids in the neighbourhood.
‘After Mom died, he worked even longer hours. He was real strict when my mother was alive, and he got worse when she’d gone. He changed when he met Marie. I think he had to. She wouldn’t have put up with him the way he was.’
‘That’s a good thing,’ Claire said. ‘Was she a good step-mum?’
‘Yes, she was, but I didn’t give her a chance,’ Alain said. ‘I missed my mom and with Marie not having any kids yet, she didn’t know how to handle me. I’m sorry to say I played on that. I didn’t make her life easy.’
CHAPTER SIX
Alain left the apartment before seven o’clock, as he did every morning, to drive the short distance to St. Hubert’s Airbase where he worked with Canadian and American military intelligence. Like his job with British military intelligence, attached to RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire, his work was keeping the country secure.
‘The biggest problem the world is facing according to the Americans,’ Alain said, ‘is communism. China has declared it’s now a communist state: The People’s Republic of China is official, and the Soviet Union has successfully tested its first atomic bomb, which they’ve called, Joe 1.’
‘Joe? That sounds ominous.’
‘It’s more than that. Since they call the US military guys GI Joes, it’s damn inflammatory. So, because Russia is the main threat to the west, we’re working on an air defence system with St. Hubert’s engineers. Add Korea into the mix,’ Alain said. ‘The war divided the country and now trouble is brewing between the north and the south.’ He shook his head. ‘The team are working to find ways to calm the situation down before it gets out of hand, so…’
‘So, you’ll be working all hours for the foreseeable future?’ Claire said. Alain put his arms around her and kissed her. ‘Promise me you won’t get so engrossed in what you’re doing that you miss your appointments with Professor Puel at the hospital.’
Alain saluted. ‘No, Ma’am!’ Claire pushed him away playfully.
Alain’s step-mother was a regular visitor. Aimée had a week left of her summer holiday and, being a book-worm, had read the school books she’d brought with her from England. So Claire and Aimée treated the pre-school week as a holiday. Marie picked them up in her car each day and took them out. They went to the zoo, skating rink and ten-pin bowling.
The RCAF had organised a teacher to home-school Aimée. Claire had never heard of such a thing but agreed with Aimée’s form teacher in Oxford that it would be better for Aimée to do her lessons at home, rather than travel for goodness knows how many miles to a school where she wouldn’t know anyone and might feel out of place, especially if the school was more advanced than the one Aimée attended in Oxford. It wouldn’t be, of that Claire was sure. But, because it was only for three months, Claire agreed to have a home tutor.
She looked in on Aimée who, after a restless evening, had finally fallen asleep. Aimée wasn’t looking forward to the beginning of the school term with a new teacher and had decided before she met her that she wouldn’t like her. Miss Brewster, Claire had been told by the education officer at the base, was the best they had. Unlike her daughter, Claire would reserve judgement until she had met her.
Closing Aimée’s bedroom door, Cla
ire returned to the sitting room, took a pen and paper from the bureau and wrote a letter to her sister Bess.
The tall, very slender Miss Brewster - glasses hanging around her neck on a gold chain - was the epitome of a schoolma’am. She arrived promptly at nine o’clock and Claire showed her into the sitting room. ‘I thought you could work on the dining table in here,’ Claire said, feeling as nervous as if it was her first day at a new school, not her eight-year-old daughter’s first day with a new teacher.
Miss Brewster nodded. ‘There’s ample room,’ she said, moving across to the table and putting her leather case on the nearest chair. She looked around the room.
‘Is there something else?’ Claire asked, nervously.
‘My pupil!’ Miss Brewster replied.
Aimée had enjoyed spending Saturday with Mitch’s father and step-mother but had eaten too many pancakes with maple syrup, resulting in her being sick. She was better, but a little quieter than usual on Sunday. Today, however, she was playing-up a sore stomach to avoid meeting her teacher. ‘Of course!’ Claire laughed. Miss Brewster kept a straight face. She obviously didn’t see the funny side of Claire forgetting her pupil. ‘I’ll go and fetch her. When she’s reading she gets lost in the story, and--’ Claire felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment and cut short the excuse for her daughter not being there. ‘I’ll get her.’
‘Aimée?’ Claire called, mounting the stairs. ‘Come on, darling, your teacher is here.’ Aimée was sitting on the windowsill gazing out. She wasn’t reading. ‘What’s the matter?’ Aimée shrugged. She swung one leg off the sill, bending the other leg at the knee until she was in a half standing half sitting position. ‘Come on, darling, Miss Brewster is very nice.’
‘Why can’t you teach me?’ Aimée said, in a sulk.
‘Because I am not a teacher.’ Aimée sighed, loudly, and jumped down.
‘I know it’s difficult for you. It is for me too, and Daddy, but we’ve got to make the best of it.’ Aimée picked up her exercise books and sauntered over to the door. Claire pushed a stray curl out of her daughter’s eyes. ‘Ready?’ Aimée nodded and followed her mother downstairs.
Aimée, being purposely uncooperative, stood in the doorway of the sitting room leaning on the door frame. ‘Aimée this is Miss Brewster. She is going to help you with your school works so you don’t get behind while you’re in Canada.’
Aimée looked at Miss Brewster who was taking books from a square leather bag. She didn’t speak. Claire scowled at her daughter and nodded in the direction of her teacher.
‘Good morning, Miss Brewster.’
‘Good morning, Aimée.’ Miss Brewster pretended not to have noticed Aimée’s petulance and plunged straight in with, ‘Would you help me find a book for you to read? I think it would be best if you told me where you’re up to with your reading, don’t you? The letter I had from your headmistress in England said you were bright for your age. Is that true?’ Aimée lifted and dropped her shoulders as if she didn’t know. Miss Brewster carried on, ‘I don’t want to give you anything that’s too difficult. Perhaps this book to start,’ she said, taking a book from her case that had ‘For six to seven-year-olds’ written on the front.
‘I’m almost nine,’ Aimée said, indignantly. She went to Miss Brewster and began looking through the pile of books.
‘Oh!’ The teacher feigned shock. ‘Well clearly that one won’t do, will it?’
‘I haven’t read this one,’ Aimée said, picking up a copy of Anne Of Green Gables by L M Montgomery.
‘Good choice, Aimée,’ Miss Brewster said. Claire saw a glint of pleasure in Aimée’s eyes and she exhaled with relief.
‘Simone?’ Mitch sighed. ‘Simone?’
Claire woke from a shallow sleep and opened her eyes. Mitch sat up and said again the name that she had heard him say in his sleep several times since they’d been in Canada. At first Claire thought the woman in his dreams might be a nurse at the hospital. If so, her husband had got to know her intimately in a very short time, judging by the way he said her name.
Claire had told Mitch he talked in his sleep. She’d also asked him about Simone. He had looked shocked and said he didn’t know anyone by that name. If he did know someone called Simone, and Claire was sure he did, he must have been lying. She closed her eyes. There was nothing she could say or do if he refused to talk about her.
‘Simone!’ he called again, suddenly, making Claire jump. ‘Forgive me. I’m sorry.’
Claire laid her hand on her husband’s arm to comfort him. He snatched it away. ‘Mitch… Alain?’ she whispered, lovingly, ‘go back to sleep.’
His head jerked. His eyes opened and darted around the room, settling on the door. ‘No, no, no! Come back.’ He looked down at Claire with surprise, as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’ he asked, his eyes flashing with anger, his voice accusing. Then his features softened and he broke down and wept. ‘Simone,’ he said again, ‘I am sorry.’
‘Alain?’ Claire said. ‘Mitch?’ She pushed herself up into a sitting position, put her arms around her husband and held him until his tears subsided.
With a violent shudder he caught his breath, his shoulders slumped, and he collapsed into Claire’s arms. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he cried.
‘You had a bad dream but it’s over now.’ Claire was mindful that, although his eyes had been open, he was actually asleep. She knew that jolting someone out of a nightmare could be dangerous, especially when they were as troubled as her husband, and made sure she woke him slowly and gently.
Mitch lifted his head and gazed at the door again, before looking back at Claire. His body was relaxed and the frightened, staring look in his eyes had gone. He eased himself out of Claire’s arms and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ he said, making his way out onto the landing.
When he didn’t return, Claire got up. Slipping her arms down the sleeves of her dressing gown and pushing her feet into her slippers, she went to look for him. He was in the sitting room listening to the commentary of an ice-hockey game on the wireless. She sat on the settee next to him, tucked her feet under her and put her head on his shoulder. Mitch shifted his weight to give Claire more room and put his arms around her. Together, without speaking, they listened to the game.
Claire woke the following morning with a stiff neck. She stretched out her arm expecting Mitch to be next to her. He wasn’t there. ‘You’re already dressed,’ she said, as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee. She took a sip and made a grateful sound. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven-thirty. We’ve got to be at Dad’s place for nine.’
‘Half past seven? You should have woken me.’
‘I’ll get Aimée up, while you drink your coffee.’
Claire put the cup down on the table in front of the settee. ‘I’ll drink it when I’m dressed, if there’s time,’ she said, pushing herself up.
At the sitting room door, Claire glanced back at her husband. He looked strikingly handsome in his military uniform. He hadn’t worn the uniform for a while, but today he had important meetings to attend. It was also the first in-depth session with the esteemed Swiss psychiatrist who had promised to cure Mitch of shell shock, the debilitating illness that threatened to ruin his working life and his marriage.
Ruin his marriage? Wasn’t Simone - the woman her husband dreamed about, who he talked to in his sleep - already doing that? Last night wasn’t the first time he had said her name while asleep. But it was the first time he had cried and begged her to forgive him. Forgive him for what? Did they have a relationship, which Mitch had ended? Claire prayed he had ended it. Fear of losing the only man she had ever loved tore at her heart.
Mitch was a good-looking man. Claire had taken for granted how attractive he was. If she could see it, other women would see it. And now his hair had started to turn silver at the temples he looked distinguished as well as handsome. Claire wanted to know w
ho Simone was. She wanted to ask Mitch about her, but his appointment with Professor Puel at the Louis Bertrand hospital was in two hours. Now was not the time.
Claire was worried that Aimée was becoming withdrawn because she wasn’t interacting with other children. She talked to the Education Officer about it. Perhaps Aimée could attend the base school during the week and see Miss Brewster on Saturdays and the occasional evening. The education officer was happy with the arrangement and found Aimée a place to start regular school at the end of October.
Claire had originally wanted Aimée to have a home tutor because she feared that being English, she wouldn’t be accepted by the other children. Her fears were unfounded. It was because she was English that the girls of Aimée’s age and younger wanted to be her friend. Aimée, soon back to full confidence, revelled in her popularity.
One of Aimée’s school friends, Betty, lived in the same apartment block. Betty’s father, also a captain in the RCAF, was working overseas, so with Alain working at the RCAF Airbase at St. Hubert’s, Claire got to know Betty’s mother Naomi.
Naomi drove Betty and Aimée to school each morning and afterwards, she and Claire would go to the shops, a café or to the cinema. In the afternoons, when the two friends collected their children from school they would have tea at Naomi’s apartment one day, at Claire’s the next, and on the third day they would go out for a treat. And on Saturday afternoons when Aimée had finished her studies with Miss Brewster they went to the park.
Claire could see why the Canadians called autumn the Fall. Being such a large country, Canada had big spacious parks, acres of dense woodland, and great maple trees that had been shedding leaves since mid-September. The grass in the small park near the apartment where they lived, green when they arrived, was now inches deep in blazing orange, rust-red and yellow leaves in every shape and size. Only the spruces remained green. Holding hands, Aimée and Betty ran ahead of Claire and Naomi, laughing and shouting and kicking up leaves.
Chasing Ghosts Page 4
