His voice came out of the darkness. ‘Where is he?’
‘In Provence,’ I said. ‘Near Avignon, apparently.’
‘When are you going?’
I sat up. ‘How d’you know I am?’
‘We both know you are,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing will keep you away.’
I touched his shoulder. ‘Come with me? Please?’
‘Why would I want to see you with your lover?’ Charlie’s voice was muffled as he dug his face into the pillow. ‘You must be mad.’
It was a long night and I stayed awake for most of it. I was angry with Charlie for not understanding that I had to go to France. And how could he call Amyas my lover? I hadn’t seen him for seven years and in that time I’d been entirely true to Charlie. But Amyas wanted me and I had to go.
I got up at dawn, even before the children were awake, and went down on to the beach. It was ages since I’d swum across the bay and in that misty half-light I took off my nightdress and started out. It was a foolish thing to do, really, but with every stroke I felt stronger and calmer. Amyas and I had been together here, and made love in the surf afterwards. The memory was very strong, and I smiled as I swam through the flat green water.
When I walked out of the sea, Charlie was waiting for me, holding out a towel. I wrapped it round me and we sat on the rocks at the bottom of the steps. I was cold now and Charlie put his arm around me.
‘I’m jealous,’ he said, simply. ‘I always will be. No matter what you say, I know you still think of him, still imagine that it’s him, not me, beside you.’
So I lied. ‘You’re wrong,’ I said. ‘I told you three years ago that I’d got over him and that I love you. Nothing has changed.’
‘But you still intend going to him?’
I nodded. ‘But, come with me, Charlie. You matter to me far more than he does.’
‘And if I said I didn’t want you to go, you’d stay at home?’
I held my breath. ‘Yes,’ I nodded. The thing was, I knew him. Charlie would never forbid me from doing anything.
He groaned. ‘I’m not going to stop you, Seffy. You know that. So go. But come home, to me.’
I went to France and put up at the Hôtel d’Europe in Avignon. After I’d settled in I phoned Percy and told him where I was.
‘Oh, Seffy.’ His voice at the end of the phone sounded more relieved than welcoming. ‘I’m so glad. He’s waiting, but I won’t tell him. I’ll let it be a surprise. I’ll come for you at midday tomorrow.’
I changed my outfit twice the following morning; I, who normally didn’t care about clothes, was determined to look my best. The weather was so much hotter than at home and I finally settled on a pale green cotton blouse and a stone-coloured skirt. The green picked up the colour in my eyes and brought out the copper in my hair, and I stared at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I’d altered over the years.
I waited anxiously in the lobby, too twitchy to read the newspaper, and when Percy came in, I jumped up. It was strange of me to be so nervous and so eager, but I couldn’t help it and gabbled stupidly about my journey and the hot weather, anything really, as he led me to the door. When we got outside I had a surprise. The car parked at the front of the hotel was one I recognised.
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘I’ve been in this car before.’ It was the cream and black German Wanderer, in which Amyas had driven Charlie, Marisol and me to the coast, in Spain.
‘Have you?’ asked Percy, surprised. ‘Amyas is very fond of it. He says he bought it in Spain.’
‘He stole it in Spain, more like,’ I laughed. ‘I remember shouting at him for having such a flashy car, when we were trying to escape.’
Percy grinned. ‘That’s Amyas,’ he said, but the grin turned into a frown and then to a face full of sadness.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, as we manoeuvred through the broad streets of Avignon.
‘Oh, since the end of the war. Amyas and I have been in contact for years, in Spain, and all through the war. Both my parents were killed in the Blitz, so there was nothing left at home for me. Not even the home. Then, out of the blue, he invited me to come and stay and I’ve never left.’
‘His illness,’ I ventured. ‘What is it?’
‘Let him tell you.’
He would say no more and I was left wondering.
I could see the villa ahead of us, white and low, with archways opening on to terraces. We pulled up in front of stone steps and Percy jumped out. Walking around to my side, he opened the door for me. ‘Come on in,’ he said and led the way up the steps.
Now my nerves were really tingling and I could barely put one leaden foot in front of the other as I walked into the cool expanse of Amyas’s house. After the brilliant light outside the interior seemed dark, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Gradually, I could make out that the room I was in was beautiful. Furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas, and with objets d’art scattered around – porcelain and silver vases, small bronze figurines. The walls were covered in paintings of different styles and different eras but all . . . wonderful. My eyes went straight away to one painting, which, when I moved closer, I recognised immediately. It was a picture of a young woman, sitting on a bed, looking as though she was waiting for someone. That painting, by Charlotte Salomon, had hung in Sarah Goldstein’s flat in Berlin.
‘Recognise it?’
I closed my eyes and waited until my heart calmed before I turned around. He was there, beautiful as ever, with his amused dark eyes smiling at me. Now, his hair was completely grey, but other than that . . . No, not other than that. My eyes trailed down past his white suit. Amyas, my Amyas, was in a wheelchair.
I didn’t rush towards him, but walked, until I was standing in front of him. Then I knelt down. ‘Hello, Amyas,’ I said.
‘Hello, darling Persephone.’
No more words would come and I wrapped my arms around him, while he bent his head and kissed me. Nothing had changed, his kiss was the same, strong and probing, and in that moment he still had the power to transport me. I had surrendered again, to that bringer of magic.
After a while we both drew back and stared at each other. ‘Percy thought he’d surprise me, but I knew you’d come.’
‘I knew I would too.’ Then I laughed and he laughed as well and kissed me again.
‘D’you like my house?’ he said.
I looked around. ‘I’ve only seen this room, but it’s lovely. You have so many beautiful pieces.’ I paused. ‘I won’t ask how you acquired them.’
‘Best not, darling girl.’ he laughed.
I looked at the Salomon painting. ‘That was in Sarah Goldstein’s apartment, in Berlin.’
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I think her girl should have it.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t remember her name.’
‘Kitty.’
‘Yes, Kitty. You must take it to her.’
Percy came in then. ‘Lunch is ready. Shall we eat?’ He grabbed hold of the handles of Amyas’s chair and pushed him through the long windows on to the terrace. For a second I watched them, my heart breaking at the sight of that exciting, vital man confined in such a cruel way, but then, biting my lip, I followed them through the windows. We ate on a shady terrace at the back of the house with its broad expanse of red-tiled floor and white-plastered arches. The view through the arches was breathtaking. All the countryside lay in front of us, fields and vineyards and distant villages of red-tiled houses. There was a lake, surrounded by trees, and on the horizon the blue Luberon hills rose into an azure sky.
‘Oh!’ I said, entranced.
‘Like it?’ Amyas grinned.
‘Yes,’ I breathed, stunned by its beauty.
A woman brought a platter of charcuterie and a bowl of salad to the table. She was about my age, small, dark-haired and rather pretty. I noticed that as she passed Amyas, on her way back to wherever the kitchen was, she put an affectionate hand on his shoulder. He saw me looking and gave a grin.
‘It’s no
t entirely gone,’ he said.
‘What hasn’t?’ Now he was going to tell me why he was in a wheelchair.
‘The ability to . . .’
‘What?’
‘To recall a memory, perhaps.’
I looked at Percy, who was opening a bottle of wine and deliberately not looking at us, and then to Amyas. This couldn’t go on. I had to know.
‘What is it, Amyas?’ I asked. ‘Why are you in that chair?’
‘Because, my darling Persephone, I can’t walk. My back is broken.’
In a way, I was relieved. Terrible though his words were, he hadn’t announced a death sentence. He didn’t have some devastating illness, in which he had to count the days. I’d seen men coming home from the war paralysed, in wheelchairs, but beginning to make a new life for themselves. But then I remembered Percy begging me to come here, with tears in his eyes. There had to be more.
I reached out and took Amyas’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, looking into his eyes.
He gazed back at me, searching my face, and I saw the heartbreak that was washing over him. We had to talk, but later, when we were alone.
‘This looks delicious,’ I said brightly, putting a few slices of garlic sausage and a spoonful of cold, sautéed peppers on to my plate.
‘It will be,’ Percy said, pouring wine into my glass. ‘Claudine is a good cook. Just wait and see what she’s made for supper.’
As we ate, I talked about the children. I had photographs of them, and went to my bag to get them. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Here’s Marisol, on the beach.’
Amyas looked at the picture for a long time. ‘Do you remember that night?’ he murmured.
‘How could I ever forget it? But, as you see, she’s brilliant.’
‘How old is she?’ asked Percy, unaware of the nuance, taking the black and white snap and studying it.
‘She’s nine,’ said Amyas.
‘And the image of Amyas,’ Percy laughed. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing of you in her face, Seffy.’
Amyas and I smiled at each other. ‘No, there’s nothing of me in her,’ I agreed.
‘And who’s this young man?’ He was holding a photograph of Max.
‘He’s my sister’s son. My sister died and I adopted him.’
‘Was his father killed in the war?’
I took a gulp of wine. ‘I don’t know. He was a Nazi officer. And not a nice man.’ I sighed. ‘I worry that he’ll come and claim Max.’
‘He won’t.’
I stared at Amyas. ‘How d’you know?’
‘Because he’s dead. I shot him, in . . .’ he tapped a finger on the table, thinking. ‘It was in about 1944, I think. He’d worked out who I was, what I was. So I killed him, in his house in Berlin.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ It was as though a huge weight had rolled away. ‘Charlie will be so relieved.’
Amyas gave a short, rather sour laugh. ‘I didn’t do it for him,’ he said. ‘The man with the ready-made family.’
‘But he will be glad,’ I said sharply, scowling at him. ‘And he’s a wonderful father.’
After we’d enjoyed the fruit and cheese and the little cups of strong black coffee that Claudine brought in, Percy took Amyas away and I sat on the terrace and looked at the view. I had a lot to think about and so many questions to ask. How had he got his injury and why was Percy so concerned? What more had I to learn?
It was late afternoon and the sun was quite low in the sky when they returned, and Amyas and I were alone at last. I studied his face and saw that beyond his still handsome features some other emotion looked out at me. It was as if . . . and here, my mind went back to that day in Cornwall, when he’d first left me; it was as if he’d already moved on.
‘How did you get your injury?’ I asked. ‘Tell me honestly, it’s too important for some throwaway remark.’
‘Oh, here we go,’ he grinned. ‘The investigative journalist is still lurking in that brain, despite the new-found concentration on popular novels.’
I blushed, wondering how he knew I wrote novels, and then sighed. Of course he knew. ‘Never mind that. Tell me,’ I demanded.
Amyas looked away from me, out to the landscape, golden now with the hot, late sun gleaming on the fields and picking up glittering reflections from the little lake. ‘I was shot,’ he said slowly, ‘by a firing squad.’
‘But why aren’t you dead?’ I was astonished.
‘The officer sent to perform the coup de grâce thought it wasn’t necessary. I suppose I must have looked dead. Then, after the soldiers went, my friends rescued me and brought me to a doctor in the village.’ He sighed. ‘I was not paralysed before the doctor’s attentions, but I was after. He wasn’t good, and perhaps was drunk. We all drank too much then.’
‘But he saved your life.’
Amyas shrugged, slowly, as though this movement was a new ability or perhaps painful. ‘Is it a life? I think I should have died.’
‘It is a life,’ I insisted. ‘You have money, people who care for you, and this lovely house. There are so many things that you can enjoy.’
He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want to live like this.’
Claudine came on to the terrace with a bottle of wine and some glasses. Amyas turned his head and watched her. ‘Look at her,’ he said angrily. ‘She should be in my bed, like she was when we were fighting. Now she can only make me food and wash me. No, Persephone. This is not a life.’
I began to get an inkling of why Percy had come for me. I was here to cheer Amyas up, to make him see that this was a life worth living.
‘You have a daughter,’ I said. ‘A wonderful, beautiful daughter. I would love to bring her here to see you. Of course, she doesn’t know about you, but, when she’s older, I’ll tell her.’
‘No,’ Amyas shook his head. ‘I think it might destroy her. You and Charlie are her parents. Leave it at that.’
He took my hand. ‘Are you happy, Persephone? You and Charlie and the two children? Do you ever think of the old days?’
‘I am happy,’ I said. ‘Charlie is a good man and I do love him.’ I had a sudden thought. ‘He lost his arm, did you know that?’
Amyas nodded. ‘I knew. He and I worked for different branches of the same organisation and I was told he threw himself on top of an injured comrade when they were ambushed. Very noble of him.’
He said that last very coldly and I was suddenly furious. ‘Stop it, Amyas.’ I said. ‘Charlie is decent, always has been. He’s made me very happy and secure. Why are you so jealous?’
‘Why? You ask me why?’ He threw back the rug that covered his legs and I saw that he was wearing shorts and that his thighs were withered, the muscles gone and the skin mottled and blue. ‘You know why.’
‘No,’ I groaned. ‘That’s not why. You were jealous years ago. And so is he. You’re as bad as each other.’
Amyas looked down at his lap, then back at me and said, ‘Not any more.’
‘Don’t go.’ I tightened my hand around his arm and tried to pull him back from the doorway through which he was staring. ‘Please,’ I begged. I didn’t mind the tears that were running down my face. ‘Stay. Stay with me.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘This is something I have to do. So let me go.’ He gently pushed me away.
I got up then and left him on the terrace while I walked into the house and out through the front door. I wanted to leave, to go home to Cornwall, to my family. I couldn’t bear to be with this shell of a man who had not only lost the ability to walk but who had lost the most vital thing about him. His charm had withered along with his legs.
Percy came to find me where I was sitting on the stone wall which surrounded the house. The sun was sinking into the mountains and I could hear the cicadas in the oleander trees beginning to chirp their evening chorus.
‘Has he upset you?’ Percy asked.
I nodded.
‘He does that. Often. But not for much longer. Come on in. He wants to say goodbye t
o you.’
How strange, how sad, I thought, as I trailed reluctantly back into the house, that it should end like this. Hating each other.
He was where I’d left him, a glass of white wine in his hand, but, when he looked up at me and grinned, he looked different. The old Amyas was back, in charge of life.
‘Darling Persephone,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something for you. There.’
On the table was a notebook and I reached for it. ‘Don’t look at it yet,’ he said. ‘It’s for when you leave.’
‘What is it?’
‘My poetry, of course. Remember I said that I wanted to be a poet. Well, these poems are for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said and felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. ‘Are you feeling better?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve decided to take charge again.’
‘Good,’ I smiled. ‘Like the old Amyas.’
‘Like him.’ He stared out at the landscape, which was slowly dissolving in the blue mist. ‘Persephone, my darling, which do you think was the best time for us? The first, at your house on the beach – or in the wood in Spain? The hotels?’
‘The best time? God, Amyas,’ I murmured, ‘every time I’m with you is the best time.’
‘Even now?’
‘Even now.’
‘Then I’m happy.’
We sat holding hands as the night descended. We didn’t speak any more and when the glass dropped from his grasp and the empty bottle of pills slid off his lap, I still didn’t move.
Epilogue
Amyas was buried in the graveyard of our little church above the sea. He had arranged it all, entirely confident that I would comply with his desires. He’d even written to the vicar and got permission.
I didn’t go to visit him often and Charlie never, but now and then, when a restless mood came upon me, I would set off and walk along the headland until I came to the church. And, passing by the old stone building, I would wander through the cemetery, pausing for a while by Xanthe’s grave, before walking on to the plain headstone that stood close to the wall. From here you could gaze out to sea, watching the boat with the red sail tack across the bay and, if you turned sharply, you could see my house.
What Tomorrow Brings Page 46