by Lucy Coleman
‘She’s been lucky, Lexie. Mia had no idea how ill she was and if she hadn’t collapsed in the presence of a friend who had popped in to see her on a whim, it could have been a very different outcome.’
‘Well, just focus on being there for her and staying positive. Once she’s home she’ll pick up a lot quicker. Everything is fine here, really.’
‘Thanks, Lexie. Not just for seeing this through, but for being you and not making me feel awkward about dropping everything. Ronan, Cameron and Solange, they’re all stepping in to help out and it’s because they admire your determination. Without that, there’s a real chance we’d end up losing every penny we’ve invested. I can’t even begin to consider the impact of that on top of everything else. When you care about others, people care about you. I couldn’t ask for a better partner and I will make this up to you. I promise.’
‘Well, we’ve made a great start and I’m sure we’ll end up captivating our audience, especially those who will never get a chance to visit in person. Try to get as much rest as you can, Elliot, because Mia is going to be relying on your strength to see her through this. Everyone has asked me to pass on their best wishes for a speedy recovery for lovely Mia. Take care, my friend.’
‘I don’t know what I’m more excited about – meeting George, or the thought of seeing the little place where my grandma stayed, today,’ I remark, as I stare out of the car window.
We pass large swathes of daffodils and tulips, and already there’s a tiny hint of green on the skeletal trees as the buds begin to swell. Everything is beginning to come alive and it really helps to lift my spirits.
Ronan kindly offered to drive today, and he even waited around patiently while I took the call from Elliot. It means we’re running late, so we’re heading straight to George’s first.
‘Is it very far?’ I ask, as we head out of the city.
‘Not really. About half an hour’s drive. He had a second-floor apartment a walking distance away from the palace, but bought a single-storey cottage in Buc, a commune in the Département de l’Yveline, after his accident.
‘You might have read about the Aqueduc de Buc? The huge structure was built to supply water, drained from the ponds of Saclay, to the fountains and basins at Versailles. It’s disused now, of course.
‘Originally, the gardens and park around Versailles were almost twice as big as they are today. The grounds extended this far out, which is incredible to believe, isn’t it? George has family close by and there’s a stream that runs along the bottom of his garden. He enjoys a little fishing to while away the time.’
‘You seem to know quite a bit about him, considering he’s not that chatty,’ I reflect.
‘He was well respected in his time at Versailles. I learnt a lot about him from other people while doing my research. It was clear that he didn’t suffer fools gladly. But he was passionate about his work. George isn’t afraid to voice his opinions, even when it goes against the flow, and people remember that. Unfortunately, there were some pretty heated arguments over the years, and he doesn’t forgive easily. A few of them seemed to have been with my grandfather, hence his caution around me now.’
‘Do I have to be careful what I say?’ Now I’m beginning to wonder what sort of reception I’m going to get.
‘The fact he’s allowing us to visit him is a real surprise. For me that’s great, I will be honest, as I’d virtually given up on him. But his interest shows he might be coming round. Slowly. Maybe this is step one towards accepting that you can’t change what happened in the past. All I want is to get the facts straight for the record. So, let’s see what happens.’
I’m happy that Ronan is pleased about this visit. If it helps him to begin building bridges with George again, then that’s a real bonus. It gives me a warm feeling hearing the positivity in his voice and knowing that I’m instrumental in that.
As the scenery whizzes past the window and with the air con blasting out, it’s a wonderful relief from the afternoon sun filtering in through the windows. Eventually we turn off the main road and, after a mile or so, Ronan indicates before turning into a concrete area in front of double gates.
‘I usually park around the corner, but George gave instructions to pull onto the drive, so you’re an honoured guest. Talk of the devil.’ As we get out of the car the front door opens wide.
The house stands alone on a larger than average sized plot. Bounded either side by tall hedges that have been immaculately trimmed, the garden to the front is a delight. Wonderful little pathways meander between waist-high, raised flower beds brimming with spring colour. There’s no gravel here, but solid concrete paths to give a firm footing.
Ronan strides forward and I trail a pace or two behind him, unable to stop myself from gazing admiringly at the beautiful displays.
‘I might not be able to get up the ladder to trim the hedges,’ George’s voice booms out, ‘but there’s nothing stopping me putting on a good show. When the bulbs start dying back, I’ll be busy with the bedding plants.’
‘It’s breathtaking. Hi, George, I’m Alexandra Winters, but everyone calls me Lexie.’
I hold out my hand and take a giant step forward as he slows, leaning heavily on his stick.
‘Pleased to meet you, Lexie.’
‘This is quite something,’ I add, gazing around and smiling, noticing too that he has totally ignored Ronan.
‘Well, there’s little else for me to do and it keeps me going. I won’t last long once I get to the stage where I can’t come out and potter. But I figure I have a few years left in me yet. Come and have a look at the gardens round the back.’
He turns and I fall in behind him, looking over my shoulder briefly to glance at Ronan. He gives me a thumbs up. I can’t help but notice that still George hasn’t really acknowledged him, at all.
‘I pay someone to keep the grass and the hedges in order, but the planters allow me to keep my hand in,’ George continues, sounding really rather friendly.
It’s a very formal layout and I instantly think of the grounds in front of the Orangery. Albeit, this mirrors it in a more simplistic way.
Running down the centre of the garden is a wide, gently sloping path. On the left-hand side a long row of large metal planters stand, rather proudly, each one housing a specimen shrub. All are beautifully clipped, although not in the more formal topiary shapes, but the natural shape dictated by the plant itself.
To the right-hand side the smooth, slightly downhill sloping lawn is weed-free. But one long line of fruit trees mirrors the planters on the opposite side of the garden. The hedging bordering the property continues on down to the bottom, affording a lot of protection to George’s display of miniature trees. Stopping for a moment, I can hear the sounds of the water, loud enough to know it’s not merely a small, meandering stream.
‘Oh, my. I keep thinking about the Orangery. This is truly delightful, and the sound of flowing water is a perfect backdrop,’ I remark, taking in the wonderful ambience.
George looks pleased. ‘It’s all about scale and symmetry. And simplicity. Some of the most restful areas of the gardens at Versailles are those where the hornbeam hedging encloses a quiet area. A simple stone bench, some flowing water and the sound of birdsong is all anyone requires to switch off from their troubles. Or sit and plot the downfall of a courtier.’
Gazing up at him, I’m amused by his comment. He begins to laugh.
‘It’s funny you should say that, George. Whenever I get to wander around the garden between takes, I’m always drawn to those hidden areas. Discovering something new every time is such a delight. It’s so easy to sit for a while and imagine the trysts and plotting.’
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me intently.
‘A kindred soul. Have you toured the palace yet?’
I shake my head, sadly. ‘I’m hoping to, very soon. The preparation has been time-consuming and my partner, Elliot, has had to fly back to the UK on a family emergency. Ronan has
very kindly stepped in for him and I’m so very grateful as this project means a lot to me.’
Hearing his name uttered, Ronan draws closer. I realise he was giving us a little space, but if there’s a bridge to be mended here, then Ronan deserves a little help.
George glances at Ronan and finally gives a little nod of acknowledgement.
‘Let’s head down to the water. My housekeeper will bring us some tea, shortly. Did you two know each other before this visit?’ All of a sudden, his tone isn’t quite as friendly as it has been so far and I’m a little taken aback by his question.
‘No. A contact of Elliot’s provided a list of interpreters and Ronan was one of them.’
Falling in alongside George, we continue walking at his gentle pace. It’s easy to see that his discomfort grows the further he walks, as even with the help of his stick his lopsided gait must really pull on his back. He’s a proud man, that’s obvious, and I try my best not to show the pity I feel for him.
‘Seems we all have a connection to Versailles.’ George turns his head to look directly at me and I can see he’s a little suspicious, which puzzles me.
‘We do. It was a long time ago, though, and there’s no way of knowing whose paths might have crossed at the time. I have a photo of my grandma to show you, actually.’
George indicates for us to take a seat as we draw near to a large circular wooden table looking out over the river. Clumps of tall trees, shimmering in the light breeze, fracture the rays of beautiful spring sunshine, covering the grassy area with glints of flickering light. It’s heavenly. The only sound is the bubbling water as it swooshes by and the birds, noisily foraging in the trees overhead.
‘This is a beautiful spot, George. Gosh, that’s quite a flow, but what a joy hearing the water cascading over the rocks. I see you enjoy a little fishing.’ I nod in the direction of the smart-looking jetty to our right. There’s a reclining chair with a folding canopy over the top, a large plastic box and a rack housing two fishing rods.
‘Yes. There’s plenty of river carp and bream here. Usually the river can be fished all year round, but the winter storms and constant downpours made it flood. It washed away my old jetty but this new one is a sturdier construction and should see me through a few good years.’
Ronan and I take a seat, both making a concerted effort not to watch George as he eases himself into the only chair with a foot rest. It takes him a minute or so to make himself comfortable.
‘Ah, here she is,’ he says, and I turn to see a young woman walking towards us carrying a tray.
Ronan leaps up to go and help her as the tray is rather loaded. They exchange a little light-hearted banter and there’s some laughter. I notice George gives her a beaming smile before she heads back up to the house.
As I pour the tea and pass around the plates, George motions to her retreating back.
‘My wife’s eldest brother’s granddaughter,’ he informs us. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her. She works a morning shift at the local vet’s and is here every afternoon. Her and her boyfriend are saving up to buy a house.’
Ronan had said George’s wife died years ago and it would be rather sad if he didn’t have anyone close by to help out when needed. I notice Ronan is very quiet and there’s little eye contact between the two men as I pass around a platter of tiny French pastries and cakes.
As soon as our rather subdued little afternoon tea session is finished, I decide to pull out the photograph, sliding it across the table towards George. He picks it up, holding it in his hands for a few moments and stares down at it.
‘Her name was Viv. Vivian Hanley at that time, as she didn’t marry my granddad until after she went home to the UK. As far as I can tell she arrived at Versailles in the May, or possibly the June, of 1961. She was married in August 1962, shortly after her return.’
He continues to stare down at the photograph in silence.
‘It was linked to her coursework at a horticultural college in the UK. I think maybe to do with a study of the trees here? I’m afraid I don’t really know any more than that. Do you… do you recognise her at all?’
George slides the photo back across the table.
‘Sorry, I don’t recall having met her. It was a long time ago and my memory isn’t what it was, I’m afraid.’
He’s emphatic and tight-lipped now, but I don’t believe him. I glance briefly at Ronan, who is trying to observe subtly in order not to deter George, I suspect. But now George, too, is looking directly at Ronan and this is all beginning to feel very uncomfortable indeed.
‘Oh. That’s a real pity. I would dearly love to know a little more about her time here and the people she worked alongside.’
I pause and George says nothing. It’s as if he’s switched off and we are no longer here.
‘Well, thank you for inviting me here, George, and thanks to Ronan for introducing us. I know this period in my grandma’s life meant a lot to her and, while she did keep some notebooks, I’ve only recently begun the task of going through them. It seems a shame that this period of her life should be lost to my family. It was quite a thing to do to uproot herself for a whole year, as family was everything to her. She gave up her career shortly after she married and that must have been a tough choice to make, but her husband and her daughter always came first.’
George’s face gives nothing away, but I can see by his eyes that he’s growing agitated. I can feel Ronan looking at me and he furrows his brow, indicating we’ve overstayed our welcome. And he’s right: George is communicating that loud and clear without needing to put it into words. He’s grown aloof and distinctly chilly towards us.
Ronan and I stand, and I walk around the table to offer George my hand.
‘Please, don’t get up, we can see ourselves out. But I must thank you for the most delightful afternoon tea in such a beautiful setting, George. I feel privileged to have been able to experience it.’
He reaches out to shake my hand and I edge forward to save him overstretching. Rather unexpectedly, he places his other hand over the top of mine. Holding it for a few, lingering moments he adds, ‘The pleasure was all mine, Lexie.’
A lump rises in my throat as we walk back to Ronan’s car. I hadn’t realised how much I was hoping that George would look up and say he’d crossed paths with my grandma, even briefly. To speak to someone who knew her while she was here would have meant so much to me. He obviously isn’t easy around Ronan, I already knew that, but I honestly don’t think he was telling the truth. But why would he lie about it?
13
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
We are both feeling so dispirited on the return trip that I ask Ronan to drop me off at home and suggest that maybe we could check out the address where Grandma stayed another time. He does look a tad disappointed and I wonder if he’d hoped we would do some more research this evening.
‘Do you want me to pop inside and fetch the notebook you’re working on? I need to crash and get an early night, but I don’t want to stop you if you wanted to plough on.’
Ronan gives me an understanding look and nods his head enthusiastically. ‘That would be great, if you don’t mind. I promise to take great care of it.’
‘I trust you.’ I laugh, slipping out of the seat and slamming the door behind me.
When I return, he’s managed to slip into a parking bay, but he says he has to head straight off as he has work planned for the remainder of the weekend. A quiet Sunday will allow me to clean the cottage, do the laundry and do some prep for next week; but I am a little disappointed.
‘Well, see you on Monday, then.’
‘Yep. Bright and early. Let’s get another interview in the can. Give Elliot my best when you talk to him next and text me if there’s any good news.’
‘Will do. And thanks, Ronan. For everything. I know that wasn’t very comfortable for you this afternoon.’
He screws up his face, his forehead puckering as he shakes his head sadly. ‘I’m not su
re I did you any favours there, Lexie. George has a selective memory; I’ve grown to discover. I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to go on record, or voice what I’ve been told were some very strong opinions at the time. He was a part of it and that sort of thing you don’t forget. Whether he ever met your grandma, well, he studied that photo for an awfully long time. I can’t help wondering if his recall would have been different if I hadn’t been there.’
I wasn’t going to say anything to Ronan, but he’s snatched the thought right out of my head.
I’m lazing on the sofa, nearing the end of the first book in Ronan’s series, when Shellie calls to ask me to ring Mum. She’s clearly exasperated and worried that something is wrong but seems unable to get her to talk.
Of course, if my sister is worried then I’m worried too, although I half wonder if raging hormones are making Shellie a little paranoid. When I spoke to Mum on Friday morning, she seemed fine to me, just a little subdued. Everyone is entitled to have their off days; I’m having one myself today.
‘Hi, Mum. Just checking in. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘No. I’m just channel-hopping. There’s never anything good to watch these days. I loathe these reality programmes and quiz shows. I might end up popping in a DVD. How are things there?’
‘Good, all things considered. Everyone is pulling together. Mia has pleurisy and a blood clot, it turns out, but thankfully they caught it in time. Elliot sounds exhausted and it’s a difficult time, naturally, but fingers crossed the treatment will see her improve a little every day. They said if there are no complications it could take up to six weeks for her to recover from the effects of the clot alone.’
‘Oh, my!’ Mum takes a sharp breath in. ‘Well, she’s in the best place and there’s not a lot to do other than support her while she gets stronger and her body heals. But I know he’ll be anxious, as you both have so much on the line. How are you managing?’
