In my fanciful moments I wondered if Amyas sat on the wall and waited to see me walking on the beach or swimming across the bay. Did he see his daughter? Admire her spirit, which was so like his, and be proud of her beauty?
I brought the painting back to Kitty, explaining that the man who had saved her had also saved the picture and wanted her to have it.
‘I must thank him,’ she said. She was home on leave from her work with the Displaced Persons Commission, looking so grown up that Jacob and I barely recognised her.
‘You can’t,’ I said. ‘He’s dead.’
Was there a catch in my voice? I think there must have been, because she took me in her arms and hugged me. ‘Don’t be sad, Seffy. You’ve got us.’
Jacob put his head on one side and smiled at me. He was holding a dachshund puppy, Willi Two, who was a handful. Old Willi had died in the winter and although Jacob had said he was finished with dogs, I’d ignored him and bought the puppy for his birthday.
‘I’ll be in Cornwall next week,’ he said. ‘Max said he wants to learn German. Ach, he’s a clever one that boy.’
‘Goodness, he’s already got me teaching him French and he badgered Charlie to teach him his times tables,’ I said. ‘Well, we’ll look forward to seeing you. Alice too.’ I smiled when his cheeks went pink.
I went then to see my lawyer. It was the son, happily returned from the war, unscathed and eager to relieve his father from work.
‘The new property, Mrs Bradford, in France. It is, as you know, a bequest, but there are entails. Colonel Beaumont has a lifetime right to live there, but he can’t refuse you a visit.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘and Colonel Beaumont is a dear friend and I can foresee no problems.’
‘On the colonel’s death the property will revert entirely to your daughter, Marisol Bradford.’ He gave me an enquiring look.
I trusted him. ‘Marisol was Mr Troy’s daughter.’
‘All right,’ he nodded, content and not inclined to pry.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to pursue Max’s claims to his father’s estate? Major von Klausen was a wealthy man and there is still money; in Switzerland and estates in Argentina, to where his wife and daughters have emigrated.’
‘No,’ I said it firmly. ‘There is no need. Absolutely no need.’
With that, I left the lawyer’s office and went to pick up Charlie from the newspaper.
‘All done?’ he asked, and I nodded.
‘All right. Now, let’s go and eat. I’ve heard of this great little restaurant. It’s French, Provençal, but not one of those fancy places. It serves the real, rough, country food.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ I said, and smiled.
So we sat down and started with stewed red peppers and charcuterie, which immediately took me back to Amyas’s house in Provence. In my bag I had the first copy of his book of poems, which I’d had printed, and I kept touching it and letting my fingers stroke the title and the author’s name. When we get back home, I told myself, I’ll go up to his grave and show him. Maybe I’ll read one of the poems out loud.
It was a bright summer afternoon when I walked along the headland to the cemetery. I stroked my hand over the headstone, tears coming to my eyes as I re-read the inscription. It never failed to move me. AMYAS TROY, WHO LOVED THE DAUGHTER OF ZEUS.
Then I read his poem:
All of You
Some of you,
Or part of you,
Or most of you, is not enough.
I want all of you,
Your body and your soul
Your heart and your five senses,
Your love, your hope, your trust
And your desire too.
I want all of you.
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Epub ISBN: 9781448165346
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First published by Arrow Books, 2014
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Copyright © Mary Fitzgerald 2014
Mary Fitzgerald has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Poem ‘All of Me’ Copyright © by Jon Rosenberg
First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books, 2014
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ISBN 9780099585367
What Tomorrow Brings Page 47