Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels (10 page)

‘Evie, I need you,’ he called to his wife.  He was struggling here; he needed backup and Evie had far more experience in this sort of thing than he did.

Over on the terrace, Evie had been masterminding an exercise in damage limitation, checking all was well with the twins and reassuring Grace that her daughters had been good babysitters after all – or at least Ana had.  She was relieved to discover that her youngest had quite obviously devoted her entire morning to the twins, playing patiently with them, whilst her sister cavorted about with that boy.  Ana was as unaffected by Pascal’s presence as Immy was affected; the need to make oneself attractive to the opposite sex hadn’t yet made it into her radar, much to Evie’s relief.  Just imagine when the time came and they were both vying for male attention.  Sparks would fly when there was an element of competition between the girls, but for the moment the way was laid clear for Imogen.

Evie strolled across to the pool.

‘Oh, so who’s this then?’ she beamed, noting that Pascal up close was even better than Pascal from a distance.  James couldn’t believe it.  This boy was having the same mesmerising effect on his wife. 

‘For goodness sake, Evie, you’re old enough to be his mother,’ he whispered quickly under his breath, hoping Pascal’s English wouldn’t be good enough to work out what he was saying, but not really caring if it was.

She cast him a look as if to say, ‘Yeah, and what of it?’  There was no harm in admiring a perfect specimen of male vitality, was there?  And she did love an opportunity to make her husband squirm with jealousy.  But then her overriding maternal instinct kicked in and she snapped out of her trance.

‘Immy, inside now.  I want to talk to you.’  Immy pulled herself sulkily from the poolside and picked up her towel, stretching like a basking cat as she wrapped it around her waist.  Covering up, finally, James thought.  A bit late now, though.

‘It was great to meet you, Pascal,’ Immy drawled.  ‘Come round any time you like, yeah?’

‘Immy, you can’t just invite the boy like that,’ Evie glared.

‘Why not, I already have, haven’t I?’ she replied.

‘A bientôt, ma puce,’ Pascal replied to Imogen, kissing her on both cheeks before running to the back of the lawn and hopping deftly over the hedge and back to his father, James hoped, if that story was true.  He couldn’t bear to think that this was just some random boy from the village who had dropped in, chancing his luck with the latest round of tenants.  But gardener’s son or not, it didn’t make it right that he was here.

‘So, how did all this happen?’ Evie asked her now sulky daughter, who had plonked herself down at the kitchen table.

‘He just turned up.  There was this face over the hedge, we got chatting, you know how it is.  He said his dad was working on the baler, he had been too, apparently.  Got a bit warm, took himself off for a walk.  And I suppose he thought he’d go and see who was staying here this week.  Apparently he gets to use the pool when there are no tenants.’

‘It’s just not right, Immy, not with no adults here.  He could have been anyone, someone dangerous, how could you be so silly just to let him in like that?’

‘Come on, Mum, you can see he’s not dangerous.  God, he only came in for a swim.  It’s not like we had sex or anything.’  She rolled her eyes and gave her mother such a worldly-wise look, making Evie wonder if her daughter might have already dipped a toe into the waters of adult life.  How could Immy say something like that? 

‘I think you should go and apologise to Grace and Tom, Imogen.  You have to realise it’s not only your safety, you had two five-year-olds in your charge, too.  I thought I could trust you, but it seems I was wrong again.  Thank goodness we didn’t leave you at home for this fortnight, I dread to think what sort of antics you’d have got up to.  You need to start earning our trust, Imogen.  It’s just not on, you behaving like this.’

Imogen hauled herself up and headed off to see Grace.  But she had a parting shot for Evie.

‘Oh, I forgot.  Pascal asked if I could go into town with him tonight.  That’s OK, isn’t it?’

Evie felt herself fit to explode.  She reached for the open bottle of red wine on the table and poured herself a glass.  There was no way Imogen was going into a strange town with a strange boy whom they knew nothing about.  But she thought she’d leave her husband to explain that one to their darling daughter. 

Grace loved this time of the night.  Or rather, morning.  Everyone tucked up in their beds, the children still with hours of slumber ahead of them, the tranquillity and calm of the hour enveloping her, the whole house effectively to herself.  She would often wake up at night at home, and she supposed it was a throwback to the days of having to get up to feed babies.  Those days were long since passed, thankfully, and although she had hated being woken from a deep sleep by a hungry cry, once awake she’d loved those hours when she would sit quietly in their room, listening to their breathing as they settled back to sleep.  Very often she would wander the house afterwards, making a cup of tea, looking out of the darkened windows at the starry sky.  At that time of the night, she could almost believe in magic, in the mystery of ghosts and spirits wandering free.  She half expected her eye to be caught by a shadowy movement in the bushes, as the fairies skipped through the undergrowth, weaving their spells on humankind.  It was the time when her imagination was at its strongest.  She supposed that was why the human brain allowed something to seem so troubling, so important, at three in the morning, but pale to insignificance by daybreak.

She sat at the refectory table in the huge kitchen, cradling a cooling peppermint tea, with only the light of the moon to cast shadows around the room. It was a different sort of darkness here, she thought, blacker than black, although the moon seemed so very bright.  They lived in the countryside in England, and so were never troubled by street lighting, but here in this deeply wooded part of southern France the quiet and the darkness seemed somehow denser, more engulfing.  How odd, she thought to herself, surely darkness was darkness, wherever you were, wasn’t it?  The fact that they were six hundred miles or so further south shouldn’t make any difference to that. 

The resident owl hooted outside.  They had seen him the night before, as they sat on the patio as twilight fell, the shadows lengthening but with no let-up in the warmth of the evening.  He had risen from the tree tops in the wooded area, swooped right over their heads and disappeared into a small hole in the stonework of the chateau.  It was the only glimpse they’d had of him, but Grace had heard him every night they had been here, calling to the small nocturnal mammals of the woods to come out and play, and then maybe jump willingly into his beak as a tasty snack.

There was a loud bang from the opposite half of the chateau, Henri’s half.  What a shame, she thought, that the financial burdens of the twenty-first century meant that families like Henri’s were required to let out a part of their beautiful home to foreigners to make ends meet.  But then if they didn’t, families like her own wouldn’t have the luxury of staying in them.  It was three in the morning, why would anyone be opening or closing their shutters at this hour of the night?  And if they were, wouldn’t they do it a little more quietly?  Henri and Bernadette didn’t keep late hours; normally their lights were out well before their paying guests turned in for the night.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Grace peered out of the window.  In the courtyard, lit by the moonlight, someone was unloading boxes from the back of a tattered 2CV van.  The front door was open and Grace could see Henri, and hear him too, gabbling away in his breakneck French, as he accepted whatever was being delivered to him, no concession in the volume of his voice to allow for the late hour.  It seemed a very odd time of day to be taking delivery of some sort of consignment.

Grace did a double-take as the driver of the van turned back to grab the next box.  He looked just like James.   But no, it couldn’t be, surely James was tucked up upstairs in that huge four-poster bed with his wife?  What reason would he have to be driving a delivery van through the French night to the very chateau he was staying at?  Grace shook her head; her eyes must be playing tricks on her.  The simple explanation was that it was James’ doppelganger, there was no way it could actually be him.  James was dark and swarthy and could quite easily be mistaken for a Frenchman, she supposed.  She rubbed her eyes and sat back down to finish her tea.  She was just seeing things, that was all.

Although it was serene and peaceful at this time of the night, it was a melancholy hour.  Convincing herself finally that all was as it should be, Grace turned away from the window and her mind began to wander.

‘Grace, love, we’re out of sausages out here.  Can you grab some from the fridge for me?  And get me another beer while you’re at it?  Thanks darling.’ 

Tom was doing the usual male thing that always happened at barbecues, pretending he was the one in charge of cooking the food
–
and yes, to be fair, the actual cooking process was down to him
–
but that was all.  It was everything else that was left to his long-suffering wife, who was doing all the running around.  Grace had spent the morning preparing salads, couscous, and all manner of tasty side dishes which were already in place, under acres of cling-film, on the table in the garden.  She knew they would be overlooked the minute that Tom’s burnt offerings were added to the spread, to hoots of admiration and back-slaps of triumph from the other male party-goers.  More cave-dwellers who reverted to their primitive form when faced with a fire to cook over.  It was a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a barbecue fork must be lauded as he who provides for all, even if the extent of his labours amounted to prodding a few sausages and burgers until they were practically cremated.  As a woman at a barbecue, you just had to admit that it was your fate to be utterly ignored, she realised as she handed him his beer.  She had bought him a brilliant apron for Father’s Day last year, especially for him to wear when he was barbecuing, with a picture of a hapless man holding a speared sausage and the slogan, ‘Prick With Fork’.  He had taken it in good spirits and wore it every time they fired up the barbie.

‘Burgers look great, darling, you
are
doing well.  What a great chef you are!’  Tom knew she was humouring him, and he pinched her bottom as she turned to head back into the kitchen.  Women didn’t get it, did they, this whole barbecuing mentality?  Without wishing to be sexist
–
which he generally wasn’t
–
it was a job for the boys, pure and simple.  Women couldn’t be expected to understand this primeval need men had to burn food.

‘Oww,’ she squealed, throwing a smile over her shoulder. ‘I’ll get you back later, don’t you worry.’

Ever since the twins were born, their April birthday had been gloriously sunny and warm, and so this year Tom and Grace had decided to live dangerously and have a barbecue party for them on the closest Sunday.  Most of their friends’ parents were Tom and Grace’s friends anyway, so it made sense just to invite everyone and have a big spring bash.  True to form
–
and much to their relief, as there was no ‘Plan B’ for wet weather
–
the day dawned to brilliant sunshine and temperatures were expected to reach a heady twenty degrees, which was nothing short of a miracle for that time of the year.  More than you could hope for with any English barbecue, even in the height of summer, Tom thought, looking up at the clear blue sky and feeling very blessed. 

‘Please can I have a drink, Mummy?’

Birthday girl, Lily, came bounding into the kitchen, hair plastered to her head.  They had hired a bouncy castle for the children (and any willing adults), and it was proving a huge hit.  Grace poured Lily some juice and looked at her daughter; she had started the day all prim and pretty in a party dress, but had soon discarded it in favour of shorts and tee shirt.  She was now looking decidedly grubby and sweaty, but very happy. 

‘I love my party, Mummy, thank you.’ She gulped down her juice and then threw her arms around her mother’s hips.  ‘And I love you, too.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, sweetheart,’ Grace replied.  It was moments like this, when your children came out with something totally unprompted but utterly gorgeous, that made motherhood priceless.  She felt incredibly lucky, and sometimes she thought back to how different her life had been before her children had come along.  And not different in a good way; she’d had a contented and comfortable life with Mark, until priorities had changed for both of them, but what had made her happy in those days was of a far more material nature, and not as real as the happiness she felt now.  It didn’t matter that these days she had very little disposable income for shoes, clothes and the like, and that she and Tom rarely ate in restaurants or had a night out together.  Everything she wanted from life was here in this little house and garden of theirs right now, either hugging her, jumping on the bouncy castle or turning the burgers.

‘Go and have a hug with Frannie, will you darling,’ Grace asked Lily.  ‘Tell her I’ll bring her a plate of food in a minute.’ 

Lily’s elderly Godmother and her husband had arrived early, and Gerald had bustled around helping Tom set up the barbecue, until he could resist the lure of the bouncy castle no longer.  He was still there now, his cheeks flushed and happy as the children involved him in their games, thoroughly enjoying his presence.  Every so often he would plead exhaustion and take a breather on the side, but after a couple of minutes he was back to it and looked as though he hadn’t had so much fun in years.  Grace marvelled at his energy, although she knew he must need a lot of that
–
and stamina too
–
to keep up with Frannie. 

Gerald was brilliant with small children.  His son, George, had married a couple of years ago but there were no grandchildren on the way as yet.  Gerald would make the most wonderful grandfather, given the chance.  And Frannie, of course, the perfect step-grannie.  Grace hoped George and his wife didn’t leave it too long before starting a family; Frannie and Gerald weren’t getting any younger.

Frannie had taken herself off to a shady spot near the end of the garden, where she could watch Gerald on the trampoline with the children.  As the elder of the two, she had pleaded to be excused due to her bad knees, not that Grace thought anyone really needed an excuse not to go on a bouncy castle in their eighties.  Grace wasn’t even sure she’d manage it for long at thirty-nine, but she knew that, given sturdier joints, her elderly friend would have been up there with the rest of them, bouncing away.  The spirit was definitely willing, even if the flesh was weak.

Lily came back into the kitchen, a frown of worry crumpling her little face.  ‘Mummy, Auntie Frannie won’t talk.  I asked her what she’d like to eat and she wouldn’t tell me.’

‘Maybe she’s having a little snooze,’ Grace replied, trying to hide the worry in her own voice.  ‘I’ll come down.’ 

‘Evie, would you mind getting Lily some lunch for me, I just need to check on Frannie,’ Grace said as she passed by her friend.  They exchanged a look as Evie led the little girl away by the hand.  Evie couldn’t help but pick up on her friend’s worried expression.

‘Come with me, Lily, love, let’s go and see what Daddy’s cooked for you,’ said Evie.

Frannie was still in the deckchair, her legs outstretched in front of her, hands folded in her lap.  Her face was titled up to the sunshine, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.  She looked utterly at peace, and Grace knew instantly that the old lady had left them.

‘Oh, Frannie, no.’  Grace knelt in front of her friend, gently taking hold of her hand and kissing it, tears streaming down her face.  ‘No, my lovely friend, please don’t leave us.  Not now.’  She knew this was no emergency, it would be too late for the doctor, Frannie was gone.  How on earth was she going to break this news to that lovely man over there who worshipped the ground she walked on?  He was utterly devoted to the woman he had waited all his life to meet.  Grace wished time would stop, or she could roll back a few minutes, and put this whole situation to rights.  Maybe if she’d arrived sooner, she would have seen some sign or other, known that all was not as it should be, and would have been able to save Frannie.  But in her heart she knew that was unlikely.  The old lady had slipped peacefully away, sitting contentedly in the sunshine, surrounded by people who loved her.  What a lovely way to go, Grace would think later, although at the moment raw grief wouldn’t allow her to entertain such thoughts. 

People were starting to gather around Grace, realising something was wrong.  She looked across at Gerald and it seemed as though time had gone into slow motion.  She saw the rosy glow slip from his face as he took stock, followed by the horror of disbelief, then utter devastation.  It was as though his lovely, lined face crumpled in on itself.  Time sped up again and he jumped down from the bouncy castle and ran across to them.

‘Frannie my love, no, don’t leave me, not now,’ he wailed, repeating Grace’s words almost exactly, and then there was a strange noise, a roar of such deep-rooted grief that it seemed to make the ground shake.  ‘She’s gone, isn’t she?  My beautiful girl, she’s gone.’  He lay his head in Frannie’s lap and sobbed.  Grace put her arm around him and led him to a nearby chair, beckoning to Tom for support. 

‘She looked so beautiful, sitting there,’ Grace sobbed later, once all the party-goers had left.  Alex had very kindly taken the twins back to her house
–
Grace didn’t want them to have Frannie’s death as the overlying memory of their fifth birthday party, although that was going to be difficult, as they both loved Frannie so much.  Alex would do a great job of making the rest of the day a happy one for them, she knew that.  Children were very resilient, and very easily distracted.

‘Will she have to get flushed down the toilet, like Billy?’ Jack had asked earnestly as Grace strapped him into Alex’s car.  The only experience of death they had met with so far in their little lives was the demise of one of their guppies, who had been found floating at the top of the tank one morning.  Grace had helped them say a little prayer as they flushed him away, reassuring them that everything would be alright for Billy, and that fish liked watery graves, because their souls could swim straight up to heaven and be happy. 

‘Goodbye, Billy, I will think of you every time I do a wee,’ Jack said after the prayer, forcing Grace to stifle a giggle during a moment which required her to be solemn and respectful of the twins’ feelings.

‘And a poo,’ Lily added, and then Grace had been unable to contain her mirth any longer.  She had hugged her children to her, as the three of them laughed and cried together, wishing all of life’s tougher events could be dealt with so easily.  She suspected she would have a lot of tricky questions about Frannie to answer later, when Jack and Lily returned, but that was fine.  They needed to make sense of it in their little heads, and death was such a hard concept for a five-year-old.  God only knew it was a hard enough concept for an adult, when it came to losing someone you loved so much.

Evie had stayed with Grace, whilst Tom took Gerald home.  He’d wanted to go, needed to be back home surrounded by her things, he said.  Grace had called George; he was on his way and would stay with his father tonight, and for as long as he was needed. 

‘Poor Gerald, he’s going to be lost without her. 
I’m
going to be lost without her,’ Grace cried into her friend’s shoulder.  ‘Oh, Frannie, I’m going to miss you so much.’ 

‘At least she died happy, of natural causes, and old age,’ Evie said, trying to make her friend feel better.  Grace knew that was true, it had been a good ending for Frannie, as good as anyone could wish for really, but that didn’t make the pain of loss any easier.  Poor Gerald was going to need all the help he could get over the next few months, and she would make sure she was as good a friend to him as Frannie had been to her.  It was the least she could do.

Tom and Grace sat propped up in their bed, the curtains thrown open to yet another day of relentless early-morning sunshine.  Remarkably the twins, who had a room adjoining theirs, hadn’t woken up yet.  They wore themselves out each day trying to keep up with Imogen and Anastasia in the pool, and had slept like little logs since arriving at the chateau, much to their parents’ delight.  This was the first time that lie-ins had become a reality, rather than a dim and distant memory, since the birth of their babies.

‘Well, that’s a weird thing, isn’t it?  Couldn’t have been James, surely,’ Tom said, when Grace told him what she thought she had seen in the night.  He wasn’t sure if he should mention the stranger that James had been talking to at the bar.  He didn’t want to arouse her suspicions any further, and after all, both events might have a perfectly rational explanation.

‘Well, that’s what I thought.  I mean, what would he be doing in the middle of the night, delivering stuff to Henri?  Must have just been someone who looked a bit like him.’  She paused.  ‘Do you think I should ask him if it was him?’

‘Oh, you silly thing, of course you shouldn’t.  What you should be doing is coming over here, to my side of this enormous great bed, and snuggling up.  Hang on a sec, I’ll just shut the twins’ door.’  He came back to bed, pulling off his boxers as he went, and slipped back under the duvet, beside Grace.  She giggled as he pulled her closer.

‘Mmmm, do that again, Grace laughed, as Tom stroked her back, from the base of her spine, right to her hairline.  ‘Mmmm, that’s so nice…’

‘Mummy, is it morning yet?’  The door opened and a little blond head appeared.  ‘Only Jack just parped in his sleep and woke me up.’

‘To be continued,’ Tom whispered into his wife’s ear with a good-humoured sigh, shuffling away from Grace a little and pulling back the duvet to allow his daughter to hop in between them.  ‘Chapter two tonight.’  She smiled at the twinkle in his eye.  ‘Or more like Chapter One, that wasn’t even a prologue just now.’