Hothouse Flower

by Lucinda Riley

  Xavier held out his arms to her.

  Slowly, following his instructions, Julia rose and walked towards him.

  ‘Oh, ma chérie, my Julia,’ he murmured, as he took her in his arms. ‘You cannot know how long I have dreamt of this moment.’

  The touch of him and his familiar smell confirmed he was no hallucination.

  It was all too much. Julia burst into tears.

  ‘I don’t understand, I just – don’t – understand!’

  As she slumped against him, Xavier half-carried her to the sofa and sat her down, his arms locked about her.

  ‘I know, I know, ma petite, it was always going to be a terrible shock for you to see me again. I tried to think how it would be best for you,’ he said, stroking her hair, ‘but there was no good way.’

  ‘But how?’ she cried. ‘How can you be here? You are dead, dead! You died a year ago … and if you didn’t die, then where the hell have you been?!’

  ‘I will tell you everything, in good time,’ he soothed. ‘For now, we should celebrate that we are reunited.’

  ‘No!’ Julia pulled away from him abruptly. ‘I need you to tell me now! Xavier, tell me now,’ she implored.

  ‘D’accord, you are right. I must tell you. But first, perhaps we both need a glass of wine to help calm our nerves.’

  As Xavier left the sitting room to pour the drinks, Julia sat completely still, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  ‘Drink this, chérie. It will help,’ he said, handing her a glass.

  Julia didn’t think it possible that anything, and certainly not a glass of wine, could ‘help’. But she sipped it as he told her to, if only to have something to concentrate on. ‘Please,’ she implored again, ‘you have to explain to me, Xavier. Until you do, I feel I might go mad. Please.’

  Xavier took the glass from Julia’s hand and put it on the coffee table. Then he put his own, long-fingered hands over Julia’s, his eyes never leaving hers.

  ‘Ma chérie … I have wanted, yet dreaded this moment for so long. I did not know what to do for the best; should I stay away from you forever? Prevent the shock of this instant, and protect you? And, yes,’ he nodded, ‘in some ways, it would be easier for me too to stay away. To hide, not face up to the terrible thing I have done to you. But then … no! I knew I must not run away, I must be brave and face my responsibility as a husband, and as a father.’

  A sudden, urgent thought came to Julia’s head. ‘Oh my God!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Tell me, Xavier, tell me, tell me – if you are alive – is Gabriel –?’

  Xavier shook his head. ‘No, mon amour, he is gone, he is gone. I … saw him with my own eyes.’

  Julia withdrew her hand from his. She took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of her strength. ‘Just tell me.’

  Xavier gulped down the rest of his wine then tried to reach again for Julia’s hands. She pulled them away. ‘No! Don’t touch me!’ She could hear hysteria edging into her voice. ‘Please! Just tell me!’

  ‘D’accord, chérie, I will begin. That day, that terrible day, we left the party at seven o’clock. Gabriel asked me if he could sit in the front of my new car and I agreed. We drove off towards home, with the roof of the car down, Gabriel so excited about being in the front of Papa’s sports car. He was screaming and laughing, urging me to “Go faster, Papa! Faster!” And because –’ Xavier choked – ‘I simply wanted to please him, I did as he asked. I took the bend too fast, and swerved to avoid a car coming the other way. I lost control and the car left the road and tumbled down the hillside.’

  Xavier broke down. ‘Forgive me, Julia, forgive me …’ He swallowed, then continued. ‘The car finally came to a halt when a tree blocked its way. I was in shock, and my face was bleeding,’ he touched the scar on his cheek, ‘but I was still conscious. I looked immediately to see if Gabriel was all right, but the seat next to me was empty. I realised he must have been thrown out when the car fell down the hill. I managed to climb out of the car, and ran back up the hillside to find Gabriel.’

  Xavier put his head in his hands. ‘Oh Julia, Julia …’

  She watched him numbly as he composed himself, but said nothing. What could she say?

  ‘I found him,’ he whispered, ‘further up the hillside. At first I thought he was just unconscious. You see, there was not a mark on him. But then – Oh! God help me!’ he cried. ‘I lifted him up and his head lolled on his neck like a – broken doll. I knew then he was seriously injured, that the fall had caused terrible damage.’

  ‘You’re saying his neck was broken?’ Julia had to know, she had to know exactly how her baby had died.

  ‘Yes. Then I realised his eyes were open … wide open, but they were not blinking, Julia, they were not blinking. I checked his pulse and found nothing, shook him, tried to rouse him, but I knew then he was not seeing me any more, that he was – no!’ He choked, then shook his head. ‘I cannot say the word.’

  ‘You are saying you knew then that Gabriel was dead?’ Julia uttered the words for him.

  ‘Oui, chérie, he was … dead. I sat with him for I do not know how long, holding him in my arms, willing him back to life, but there was no response. And then,’ Xavier shuddered at the memory, ‘I hear a loud bang and saw the car below us had burst into flames. Everything was so dry in the forest, it took only a few seconds for the fire to travel towards me. And – how can I tell you this, how can I?’ Xavier sobbed, great heaving sounds of anguish. ‘I ran. I ran and ran. Through the forest and away from the fire. And –’ he let out another strangled cry – ‘I did not take our little boy with me! I did not … take … our boy … with me!’

  Xavier could go on no longer. He put his head in his hands and sobbed.

  Julia sat next to him, staring into the distance, willing herself to stay where she was. ‘Please, Xavier, keep talking. I need to know everything.’ She could hardly believe the eerie sense of calm which had descended on her.

  A few minutes later, Xavier continued. ‘Every day, I ask myself why, why, in that moment, I did not pick up our ange in my arms, and carry him away with me? I cannot explain … I cannot explain.’ He shook his head manically. ‘I left him there, alone! Perhaps, it was the shock, the terrible grief … a madness, that overtook me in that moment. Perhaps it was simply a selfish instinct for survival. But I did it, Julia, I left him there, I left him there.’

  He was weeping again, but Julia was still unmoved. ‘So, where did you run to?’

  Xavier wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand. He shook his head. ‘Julia, I cannot tell you where I went, but when I had stopped running, when I knew that I was safe from the flames, I simply lay down where I was in the forest and fell asleep, or perhaps I was unconscious. When I awoke, night had fallen. I closed my eyes and again went back to sleep. The next time I opened them, it was morning. And then – the realization – I must come home to you, explain what had happened. But every time I thought of this, of getting to my feet and coming back to you, I found I could not. In the end I did start walking, and I realised I was close to St Tropez, so I went on until I reached the town.’ He paused and took a deep breath before saying: ‘Julia, I beg you to understand that, at that moment, I was half-mad with grief. Outside a tabac, there was a newspaper. You know what the headlines were that day.’

  ‘No. I didn’t read them.’

  ‘Well, of course, it was you on the front page. They did not have a picture of me yet, but no one would have recognised me that morning.’ Xavier grimaced. ‘When I saw myself – with blood caked down my cheek and my clothes ripped – I looked like a vagrant, not the husband of the famous Julia Forrester.’

  Xavier stood up abruptly and began to pace around the room.

  ‘I cleaned myself a little in the public facility, then bought some water and a newspaper. And read about the accident, about Gabriel and about myself. And I realised that, as far as you and the rest of the world were concerned, I was dead. And in that moment,’ Xavier stopped p
acing and turned to face Julia, ‘I knew I could not return to you and tell you the truth of what I had done; I knew you could never forgive me. I had killed our petit ange, and left him there in the forest to burn.’ Xavier stood, drained of tears now, staring past Julia. ‘So, I ran away.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I took a boat, a pleasure cruise, that was sailing along the coast. It took me to Nice, where I boarded a ferry to Corsica. I checked into a small pension in the hills and stayed there until the cash I had with me ran out. After that, I spent some weeks fruit-picking, but always moving on so no one would recognise me.’ Xavier shrugged. ‘Perhaps no one would have done, but I did not want to take that chance. I did not want to be found. I think … I must believe that I was having a breakdown. I could not think rationally; my mind had closed to what had happened. I only existed. Can you understand that, Julia?’

  His eyes beseeched her for a response, but she could not give him one.

  He sighed. ‘And then, I suppose, I slowly began to heal. And I started to think again, think not only of what I had done to Gabriel, but also of what I had done to you. I had allowed you to believe that not only your beloved son was dead, but your husband too,’ Xavier ran his hands frantically through his hair, ‘and what a terrible thing it was to do to you. It took many months before I found the strength and courage to return to you. But eventually I did. And here I am.’

  There was silence between them for a long time.

  Finally, she said: ‘How did you know I was here?’

  Xavier looked at her, an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Where else would you be? If you had been away at a recital, I would have waited for you here. Anyway, you were here, ma chérie.’

  ‘I haven’t been,’ Julia replied impassively. ‘I’ve been in England. And certainly not playing the piano.’ She stood up briskly, needing to be away from his shocking presence. And to grapple with the horrific truth of their son’s death. And Xavier’s part in it.

  She walked out through the hall and the kitchen, and on to the terrace.

  As she stood, gazing up at the ink-black sky crowded with stars, she wound her arms round herself in a futile protective gesture. And remembered with derision how she had believed life had taught her as much as she would ever need to know about pain.

  She had been wrong.

  ‘Forgive me, forgive me …’ Julia asked the heavens, as she acknowledged that, of the two of them, she wished it was Gabriel who had been spared.

  He killed our child.

  NO! Julia shook her head. She could not, must not, think that. It was an accident, a moment of irresponsibility, a tragic choice any parent might make during the many years of caring … Besides, it was impossible to know whether Gabriel would have survived, even if he had been strapped in his child seat in the back of the car.

  He left him there in the forest to burn.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Julia whispered.

  How could she ever forgive that?

  What if Gabriel had been alive still?

  The thought was too horrific to contemplate. She had to believe he hadn’t been, or she would truly go mad thinking of him suffering alone. She had to trust Xavier and believe he was speaking the truth.

  And what of his actions afterwards? What of his disappearance for twelve months, leaving her to believe he too was dead?

  If Xavier had come home and admitted his dreadful mistake, could she have forgiven him? She could not answer.

  Julia stopped pacing and dropped down into a chair.

  Were the extreme circumstances a valid excuse?

  And what of Kit, now Xavier was back?

  She put a hand to her forehead. It was too much, all too much …

  She jumped as she felt a hand placed on her shoulder.

  ‘Julia,’ he crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his, ‘I am so very, very sorry for what I have had to tell you tonight. I understand how painful it is for you to hear what actually happened. I can never forgive myself. But, please, can you understand, the only reason I have come back is to make amends? Because I know what I did was wrong, and because,’ he bent to kiss her hands, ‘I love you, chérie, I love you so much. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me for what I have done?’

  Julia looked down at him, at the desperation in his eyes. She stood up. ‘I can’t talk any more tonight. I’m so tired. I need to sleep. Take the spare room for now, please.’

  She walked past him silently, into the house.

  For the next two days, Julia stayed in her room, ignoring Xavier’s pleas to talk. She had to process the enormity of what she had learnt, and she needed time alone to lick her wounds. She slept for hours at a time during the day, then woke in the cruellest, deepest hours of darkness to face the nightmare.

  On the third morning, Julia allowed Xavier into the room. He was holding a tray of fresh croissants, jam and coffee.

  ‘I have brought you some breakfast, chérie. I am so worried you do not eat.’ He put the tray on the bed and gazed down at her exhausted face. ‘My Julia, I cannot bear I put you through this terrible pain.’

  Julia watched him pour some coffee, and sat up when he handed it to her.

  She sipped it silently, trying to rouse herself.

  ‘I’m meant to be going back to England,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Non!’ Xavier looked horrified. ‘Surely, you will not go now? Julia, you are in no state to travel, and we must at least talk?’

  A sudden yearning for the peace, calm and tranquillity she had known with Kit at Wharton Park brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘Xavier, I –’ she sighed, unable to voice the tumult of her emotions.

  ‘Julia,’ he implored, ‘please, I make only one request of you: I beg you, stay here with me, at least for a few days. Let me love you, help you come to terms with the terrible shock I have given you. If, at the end of that time, you still wish to leave, I will not stop you. But surely we owe it to our ange, as his mama and papa, at least to try?’

  It was the one thing Xavier could have said to stop her boarding a plane immediately.

  ‘I have mourned him alone for months,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Then give me the chance to mourn him with you. I need to mourn too. Don’t leave me, please, chérie. I could not … I could not go on.’

  Julia looked at him, and saw the desperation in his eyes.

  ‘All right. I will do as you ask and stay here. For now.’

  Xavier threw his arms round her, spilling coffee all over the bed linen.

  ‘Merci, mon amour. I promise you will not regret it. So, my Julia, what would you like to do today?’

  ‘ “Do”?’ she asked, baffled by the very idea.

  ‘Yes, I think it would be good for you to get out of the house, go somewhere away from the … memories. We could go …’ Xavier shrugged, ‘and take a walk along our favourite beach, and perhaps have lunch together?’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Julia, please, mon amour.’ Xavier studied his hands, speaking quietly. ‘I understand how much pain I have caused you with what I had to tell, but is there not the smallest part of you that is glad to have your husband back? Did you – mourn me too?’

  ‘Of course I did! I was beyond –’ Julia swallowed, ‘beyond comfort for months. You have no idea of the hell I went through! And when I finally did start to accept, and think there may be a future for me, then you walk in and … oh, Xavier,’ she put her head in her hands, ‘I don’t know … I just don’t know how I feel.’

  Despite her determination, her tears could not be abated. Xavier took her in his arms and held her, stroking her hair.

  ‘I know, mon amour, I know. But I swear to you, I will make amends, take care of you, comfort you through this, do anything to help you. You are not alone any more. I am here. Surely we need each other?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ The ‘but’ was so complex, Julia could not even begin to express it.

  ‘I really think it is a good idea to leave the
house for a while. If you are not comfortable, I will bring you home immediately. D’accord?’

  She sighed, too numb to care where she was, just wishing someone could tell her how to stop the awful dragging feeling that had lodged in her stomach since Xavier told her what had happened to her child. She felt she was mourning him all over again.

  ‘D’accord.’

  ‘Bonne. But first,’ Xavier sighed deeply, ‘I must go to the gendarmerie and show them that I have risen from the dead.’

  ‘Your death certificate is on the desk in the study. Perhaps you should take it with you,’ Julia said drily.

  He looked down at her as he stood up. ‘You know that I may face charges.’

  The thought had not crossed Julia’s mind. ‘For what?’

  ‘For dangerous driving or possibly even manslaughter. But I must do this. I will go now. Get it over with. I am frightened,’ he admitted.

  Julia saw the look in his eyes, a look she knew well: it meant he wanted her to go with him. She ignored it and climbed out of bed.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

  Julia was at the piano, hoping it might offer the solace she craved, when Xavier arrived home. He stepped into the sitting room, a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Voilà! It is done! When Monsieur the Inspector saw a man in front of him holding his own death certificate –’ Xavier chuckled. ‘Chérie, I wish you could have seen his face!’

  ‘I’m sure he was shocked.’ Julia felt discomfited by Xavier’s high spirits.

  ‘He doubts there will be charges, as there were no witnesses to the accident. He accepted my explanation without question. Apparently, I am not the first driver to have left the road in that spot. He said there could be a secondary charge of faking my own death, but only if money from our insurance policies has been issued. Has it?’ He looked at her with concern.

  For once, Julia was glad of her reluctance to complete the paperwork associated with her husband’s ‘death’. ‘No,’ she answered quietly.

  Xavier looked relieved. ‘So! C’est parfait! You cannot be charged either.’