A French Affair (35 page)

‘No, no, of course not,' she interrupted. ‘I mean, thank you. I just . . . Well . . .' Now she was holding the report in her hand, she was feeling more nervous than ever about reading it. ‘Have you . . .? Is there . . .?' She couldn't bring herself to form the words, or even to open the envelope.

‘It's all right,' he told her. ‘You don't have anything to be afraid of.'

Even though relief rushed into her heart, her eyes were still so anxious as they came to his that his smile filled with affection. ‘It's fine. I promise,' he reassured her.

She swallowed, then nodded and looked down at the envelope again.

‘I'll leave you to read it . . .'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘Please stay. I mean, if you don't mind.'

Stepping back, he perched on the edge of the table and watched her slide the report from the envelope. ‘The information you're looking for is on page three,' he said.

She turned to it shakily, then searched for the words that would tell her what she needed to know.

As she read, even though she understood most of it, she was finding it hard to connect it to Natalie. Maybe this was because she didn't want to, or because the words so coldly charted the medical condition of a body, with nothing at all about its personality or vibrancy or beauty, that they almost seemed meaningless.

What it all amounted to in the end, however, was that Natalie had died of a massive blow to the head,
which had shattered her skull and broken her neck, and all the other wounds on her body were sustained in the fall. There was no evidence of any old injuries, apart from the usual bruises and grazes on the limbs of a child that age. Most importantly of all, though, there
had
been an internal examination, and the results showed she had died
virgo intacta
with nothing abnormal about the vaginal region at all.

When she had finished reading she continued to stare down at the words. She still couldn't seem to connect them to Natalie, or even to make herself feel the way she probably ought – but something deep within her was responding, because tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks, and her chest was becoming too tight to let in air. ‘I'm sorry,' she choked. ‘I didn't expect . . .'

Pulling her to him, he wrapped her in his arms, and she didn't resist. There was so much relief flooding into her heart, and so much fear relaxing its grip, that she might have found it hard to stand alone.

He held her for a long time, letting her tears soak into his shirt, while her body shuddered against him, until finally she lifted her head and looked up into his eyes. ‘You knew what I was thinking,' she said, her voice husky with emotion. ‘You understood what I was afraid of?'

He nodded.

‘Was I alone in thinking that way?'

‘I believe so, but when there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to what's happened, it's natural to make your own – and more often than not it can take you to places that are very much worse than reality. So you had to find out for yourself.'

‘Yes,' she said, and her eyes moved off to the
distance as she wished Charlie had understood that, or perhaps that she'd been more able to explain it. She turned around then and looked at the stairs, trying to get a sense of what she was feeling. ‘Do you think it was just the fact that she was about to fall that frightened her?' she said, unsure of where her instincts were now. ‘Is that what I heard in her voice?'

‘It seems probable,' he replied.

Her gaze moved up to the top of the stairs. ‘So everyone else was right?'

When he didn't answer she turned to look at him.

‘I want them to be,' she said. ‘I just couldn't help feeling . . .' A lingering sob shook her breath. ‘Maybe I was too afraid to accept it was as simple as everyone was telling me. I needed to make it more, to blame someone, so I allowed all the years of bitterness and frustration I've felt towards my mother to cloud my judgement . . . That's what everyone's been saying, and now . . . Now, I think I'm much closer to believing they were right.'

‘So do you still want to speak to the paramedic?'

She thought about it, and started to shake her head, but then she decided she probably did. ‘I know it must have been him who carried her to the sofa,' she said, ‘but I need to hear him say it, and then I can thank him, because it could only have been kindness that would have made him move her. Officially he wouldn't have been allowed to.'

Luc's eyes were tender as he looked down at her, and she found herself smiling as she looked back.

‘I must go now,' he said. ‘I have a rendezvous at the labs. Will you be OK?'

She nodded and swallowed. ‘Thank you,' she whispered.

His fingers moved under her chin, tilting her face upwards. ‘Let yourself relax for a while now,' he said softly.

‘Yes, I will,' she responded.

For several minutes after he'd gone she remained standing where she was, still feeling his fingers on her neck, and seeing the expression in his eyes as he looked at her. Then turning to pick up the report again, she read the vital words once more and this time, when she cried, her tears didn't feel so fraught with the agony she'd known since that terrible day.

It was almost midday before Charlie rang back, by which time she was experiencing so many new feelings that she could almost sense the pain unravelling inside her. Of course, there still remained a profound and immutable sadness at her core, which she knew would never leave her – but now her fears were being cleansed away by relief, it was almost as though she could feel herself breathing more freely.

‘I've seen the report from the
Médecin Légiste
,' she told him, almost immediately.

There was a momentary pause, before he said, ‘And?' The stiffness in his voice might have irked her, were she not so concerned now about his inability to deal with his grief.

‘And everything happened the way they said. There were no other injuries, nothing to say she might have . . .'

‘You're telling me something I already know,' he cut in. ‘I just wish you hadn't found it so hard to believe me.'

‘It wasn't that I didn't believe you, I was just afraid you weren't telling me everything, and if you weren't,
the only thing I could imagine you hiding was that she'd been abused in some way.'

‘Well now you know she wasn't.'

She blinked at the harshness of his tone. ‘Why are you still so angry?'

With a sigh that was both lengthy and tired he said, ‘I'm sorry. I guess I'm just finding it hard to come to terms with how you were thinking . . . I mean, I knew it, on one level . . . Anyway, the important thing is, do you feel able to move on now?'

‘More or less. I still think there's a chance someone else might have been here, obviously not in the way . . .'

‘For heaven's sake, Jessica, what is it going to take?'

‘I just need to talk to the paramedic,' she said, ‘which should be done long before you or Harry arrive, so you don't even have to think about it. Please understand, it's something I have to do, then I will be able to let go completely, I'm sure of it.'

Sighing again, he replied, ‘OK, have it your way, but whatever else you do, I think you should apologise to your mother for what you said.'

‘She told you about that?'

‘Maurice did. She was in a terrible state after you called, apparently. She couldn't believe you'd think her capable of something like that, and frankly nor can I.'

‘I didn't mean it, at least not in the way I said it. I just thought that she might have invited someone to stay and things got out of her control . . .'

‘Do you seriously think I'd have been defending her all this time if I'd had even the slightest indication there was anything like that?' he demanded. ‘I saw the reports, every one of them, police, paramedics, autopsy . . . I told you what the results were, and there
was never any mention of anyone else being there. It was all in your head . . .'

‘OK, let's drop the subject now, because I don't want us to fall out over this again. In fact, besides owing my mother an apology, I owe you one too, so I'm sorry, darling, for everything I've put you through.'

There was a gentle gruffness in his voice as he said, ‘Apology accepted. And I'm sorry too, for not being more understanding.'

Smiling, she carried the phone to the door and hugged it closer to her as she gazed out at the view. ‘So is it too soon to ask if you might be feeling a bit better about coming here now?'

With a note of irony, he said, ‘Considering the way I'm being ganged up on . . . First you, then Harry, now Lilian . . .'

‘Lilian's already called?' She laughed. ‘You see how wanted you are.'

‘Mm,' he responded sceptically, but she could tell Lilian's call had helped. ‘She told me Luc's making a sculpture of you for my birthday.'

‘Well, there goes the surprise,' she replied humorously. ‘Maybe he can make one of you too and we can put them on the gateposts of our country mansion, when we get one.'

With a laugh, he said, ‘Anything to please you, but I'm afraid I'm wanted in the studio now, so I'll have to go. Nikki's here though, and she wants a word.'

‘OK, ring me later, when you come off air.'

‘I will. And think about calling your mother.'

Knowing the conversation with Nikki was likely to be a long one, Jessica went to take a Macon-Valennes from the cooler to accompany her lunch, and was just
deciding what she might eat to go with it, when Nikki came on the line.

‘Hi Mum. Can't stay long, but sorry I didn't get back to you earlier this morning. Is everything all right with you? From the things Dad was saying, you sound pretty chilled. Everything is like totally cool here, but I've got a spot on my boob that is like so humungous you wouldn't believe it. On my boob! Can you believe it? Did you ever get them there? Anyway, Dad and Freddy are playing cricket this weekend, did Dad tell you? It's like this celeb thing, for charity, and I'm kind of on the committee. Don't ask me what that means, because no-one's told me yet, but I guess I'll find out. Oh yes, in answer to your question, I speak to Harry nearly every day, boring little twerp that he is, but you've got to love him. Actually, I really miss him, but I am so in love, Mum. It's like better than anything. I miss you, though. The house isn't the same without you, and Mrs Lentil is so crap when it comes to laundry. And I so hate not having you to go shopping with. You always know the best places to go. Anyway, they're counting down to the headlines now, so I have to go. Love you Mum. Love you, love you, love you.'

‘Love you too,' Jessica responded, but the line might already have gone dead.

Well, she thought wryly to herself, as she took her books and wine out to the table, at least her family seemed to be coping without her, in spite of Mrs Lendle's shortcomings with the laundry – not to mention her own with the credit card. However, Charlie was right, she should call her mother to apologise, and she would, just as soon as she was one hundred per cent certain that it was the paramedic who had carried Natalie to the sofa.

‘So what do you think Charlie and Harry would like to do when they get here?' Luc was asking later that afternoon, as he gave a critical eye to the sculpture he'd clearly done more work on since the day before.

‘Oh, I don't know,' she answered, with a dreamy sort of sigh. ‘I've hardly given it any thought yet, but it's still over a week away, so plenty of time. For now, I'm just relieved Charlie's agreeing to come.' She fell to wondering if he'd got round to booking a flight yet, and how things might be between them when they saw one another again. Then, finding herself drawn into the music that was filling up the room, she let go of her thoughts so that her spirits could cascade and flow with the exquisite sound of a solo piano. ‘Is this Ravel's
Jeux d'eau
?' she asked, glancing at him. ‘Yes, I believe it is.'

For a moment he seemed not to have heard, but then, with his attention still fixed on his work, he said, ‘It's Yves, Claude's brother, playing.' He moved around the sculpture, narrowing his eyes as he looked her way. ‘Turn your face to the light a little more,' he said. ‘Yes, that's it. Did you have wine with your lunch?'

Curious, she said, ‘Yes. Why do you ask?'

‘Your eyelids are drooping. I think you are about to fall asleep.'

She gave a splutter of laughter. ‘Actually, I was trying to look appealing in a seductive sort of way.'

With a droll lift of one eyebrow he said, ‘You're better at it when you don't try.'

Her eyes moved quickly to his, but he was focusing on the neck of the sculpture now, giving it tension and grace, drawing its length with the tender strokes of his fingers, and pressing down gently to create the flare of
her shoulders. As she watched him she became aware of the strange thrill of being touched, and yet not, and felt her chin rise up a little, almost as though allowing him more access to the tendons and muscles beneath her skin.

Realising he was becoming lost in his work again she drifted back into the music, loving the way it seemed to carry her along in its soothing and rushing waves, while the sun shone down through the skylights in white misty bands to pool all around her. Her shorts had ridden high over her thighs, and her neck and shoulders were bare, giving her the sensation of bathing in light. Her eyes closed as she savoured the feeling, until eventually she began looking around at the exhibition posters of Luc's dramatic abstracts. There was a powerful elegance to their shapes, she thought, a kind of beauty that was both bold and bashful, not unlike the man himself. She knew she wasn't alone in considering his work exceptional, because much of it was in galleries or museums now, or in some cases a few rich people's gardens. She wanted to ask him how difficult it was to let his pieces go after spending so long creating them, but now wasn't the time to interrupt, so she let her eyes wander on around the room, while her heart continued to float in the lightness she'd been feeling since reading the report that morning.