Hothouse Flower

by Lucinda Riley

  Julia looked up at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Do not worry,’ he kissed the top of her head fondly, ‘it is a minor detail, but proves we weren’t working in partnership to extract money.’

  Julia covered her face with her hands and shook her head. ‘Please, Xavier! We are talking about the death of my – our – child, not an elaborate financial fraud!’

  ‘Pardon, chérie, for being insensitive. It is only this stupid French bureaucracy. Now,’ he pulled her hands from her face, ‘let me please take you out to lunch? Perhaps it is right to look at the positive as well as the negative, oui? And the positive is –’ he tipped Julia’s chin up to kiss her on the lips – ‘that I am a free man, back from the dead, and reunited with my beautiful wife.’

  54

  The pretty, coastal village of Gigaro nestled on the opposite side of the peninsula from St Tropez. Standing in a designated nature reserve and set back from the major road linking the Riviera resorts, it managed to retain its age-old charm. Its picturesque, open-fronted restaurants dotted along the unspoilt beach were a well-kept local secret.

  Xavier walked into La Salamandre with Julia trailing disconsolately behind him. She watched as Chantal, the owner, stared at him as if she was dreaming.

  Xavier nodded encouragingly. ‘Oui, Chantal, c’est moi!’

  Chantal put her hand to her mouth. ‘But … Mon Dieu! I cannot believe what I am seeing! How?’

  Xavier put his arms round her. ‘It is a long story, which one day I will tell you. But for now, could we have our usual table and a pichet of rosé please?’

  When Chantal left to fetch the wine, Julia looked across the table at Xavier.

  ‘What are you going to say when people ask you where you’ve been?’ she asked, her voice drained of emotion.

  ‘I must simply tell them the truth,’ Xavier shrugged. ‘That I was so mad with grief, I disappeared.’

  Julia gazed at him. There was a nasty little thought that had been nagging all morning. She had to say something to him. ‘You do realise this is manna from heaven for the media, don’t you?’

  ‘You are right, my Julia. Voilà!’ Xavier slammed his hands down on the table. ‘I will call a press conference, invite the vultures to come and peck at us for one time only. Yes, that is the answer! We will contact Olav and he can arrange it.’

  Xavier reminded Julia of a train at full speed; she understood his joy and relief at returning from exile, but could not keep up with him. Press conferences – and the champagne that arrived courtesy of Chantal – were completely beyond her. She could only focus on her child’s poor, burning body, alone in the forest, with the fire raging around it. Xavier seemed positively lit up at the thought of all the press attention. She’d forgotten what a peacock he could be.

  ‘Please, Xavier, I can’t face the media yet,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Yes, of course, you are right. My apologies, chérie. To use an English phrase, perhaps I am running before I can walk. But how can I help a small feeling of happiness when I am here looking into my wife’s beautiful eyes? Santé.’ He clinked his glass against hers.

  ‘I can’t … feel happy. How can I, when I have only just learnt the truth about Gabriel’s death?’

  Xavier reached for her hand, and she gave it to him reluctantly. ‘Julia, please believe me, it was a terrible accident. And I will never forgive myself. But I have punished myself, and you, enough. What more can I do? Tell me, my Julia, and I will do it, I promise.’

  ‘Nothing,’ she agreed with a sigh, ‘you can do nothing.’

  Julia was awoken the following morning by hammering on the front door. She walked sleepily into the hall to find Xavier had already opened the door – to a sea of faces, cameras and dictaphones.

  As flashbulbs went off in Julia’s startled face, she darted into the sanctuary of the sitting room, begging Xavier to close the door. She sank on to the sofa, shaking and breathless. Eventually, she heard the door close, and Xavier came to find her.

  ‘Have you got rid of them?’ she asked him desperately.

  ‘Chérie, I am sorry this has happened so soon, but it cannot be helped, you know that. You are famous and I am your husband. They will not leave until they have their story. So, the sooner we get it over with, the better. I have told them we will come outside in half an hour to give an interview. That will satisfy them.’

  ‘Surely it’s you they want to speak to?’ Julia groaned. ‘Do I have to?’

  Xavier put an arm round her. ‘You know it is you they really want. You are the one who makes a good photo for the front page. It is the price you pay for being rich and famous, n’est-ce pas? Now, I must go and shower.’ He looked at her, sitting in the ancient, washed-out T-shirt she liked to sleep in. ‘Perhaps you should too.’

  Julia did as she was asked and let the photographers snap her with Xavier’s arms round her, planting a loving kiss on her lips. When asked how she felt about her husband’s miraculous return, she said she was very happy to have him back.

  What else could she have said?

  Soon after they had closed the door on the press, her mobile rang.

  ‘Julia, it’s Alicia. Am I to believe what I just heard on the radio? The newsreader said Julia Forrester’s husband has been found safe and well.’

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ Julia sighed. ‘I should have called you, but I was still getting over the shock myself. And I wasn’t expecting the story to get out quite so fast.’

  ‘Well, if it’s true, it’s one hell of a story. You can hardly be surprised,’ added Alicia. ‘I presume that, now he’s back, you’re staying in France?’

  ‘I …’ Julia paused, ‘don’t know.’

  ‘Right.’ It was Alicia’s turn to pause before adding, ‘Have you spoken to Kit?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like to tell you what to do, but whatever your plans are, it might be a good idea to speak to him. Let him know before he hears elsewhere.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ Julia could not even go there just now.

  ‘Dad called, by the way. He’d heard too and sends his love and congratulations. So, Julia, are you happy Xavier’s back?’

  Julia spied Xavier coming across the kitchen towards her, so she said, ‘Sorry, Alicia, why don’t we speak later? I’m inundated here just now.’

  ‘Of course. Send Xavier my regards. I’ll call you later. Take care, Julia. Bye.’

  Julia felt a pair of arms round her shoulders.

  ‘How are you, my Julia?’

  ‘Shell-shocked,’ she admitted.

  ‘They love a happy ending … je t’aime …’ Xavier kissed her neck and his hands began to travel over her body.

  Julia pulled away from him. ‘No! For God’s sake, Xavier! Don’t you understand? This isn’t a happy ending!’

  ‘No. Je comprend. I’m sorry. I just want to show my love for you, but I must wait until you are ready to accept it.’

  Julia found she had broken out into a cold sweat. She needed to be alone, away from him. She walked towards the door as Xavier said: ‘We have been invited to lunch at Roland and Madelaine’s, to celebrate my return. Will you like to go?’

  It was Roland and Madelaine who had invited Xavier and Gabriel to the barbecue that fateful day.

  ‘No. I’m tired, Xavier.’

  There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, but then he nodded. ‘Of course. But I think I should go. I will leave in half an hour. I will see you later, mon amour.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Julia walked on to the terrace and slumped into a chair. It was a scorching day, the only demarcation between sea and sky a glimmering line of white heat.

  Alicia was right. She must call Kit. It was only fair to tell him herself.

  She looked at her mobile and scrolled down robotically to find Kit’s number.

  What on earth was she going to say?

  She shook her head. What did it matter?

  Her husband had returned and whateve
r heartbreak she felt was immaterial. She was no longer free to be with Kit. How strange, Julia pondered, as she found Kit’s number, it was her husband who was back from the dead. Yet it was she who felt she had died inside.

  When she heard Xavier leave the house, she took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

  Kit looked at his mobile on the desk as it rang. He could see it was Julia. He let it ring.

  He couldn’t face talking to her.

  He knew what she had to say. He had heard it all on his car radio.

  Kit stared out of the window across the park. He had always accepted that Julia was with him purely because she believed her husband was dead. There was no competition, Xavier was back. He was Julia’s husband … she was his wife …

  ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned, shaking his head in despair. He should have known it was all too perfect …

  For the first time in years, he had allowed himself to give his heart to a woman. With that leap of faith – raising his head over the parapet, whilst Julia was brave enough to put aside her own fears and join him – he had learnt for the first time what it was, truly, to love.

  ‘Where will I ever find that again?’ Kit sighed.

  He knew he wouldn’t. And he also knew there was not a single shred of hope that this relationship could be rekindled. Julia was almost certainly ecstatic, as he would have once been if Milla had come back from the dead.

  His mobile rang once more. It was Julia again.

  He stared out across the park and decided he would prefer not to hear her say the words.

  He understood.

  ‘Be happy, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘I will always love you.’

  Then Kit Crawford put his head in his hands and wept like a baby.

  55

  Somehow, Julia struggled through the next few days. As she so often had in the past, she once again took comfort in the piano. It provided not only welcome hours away from reality, but also protection from Xavier’s constant attention. She knew he was doing his utmost to show her how much he loved her, and was desperate for reciprocation, but that was something that at present she just could not give.

  She was, quite simply, numb. Yes, she was eating, sleeping, talking – going through all the motions of being alive – but inside she was a void. A dark, blank space where her heart had once beaten and allowed her to feel. Kit had helped that happen, but now all that he had given her was gone.

  One evening, having spent all afternoon at the piano, Julia poured herself a glass of rosé and went to sit on the terrace. Immediately, her mobile rang. She saw it was Alicia’s number.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  All she could hear in response was sobbing.

  ‘Alicia, what’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh … Julia! I –’ Alicia’s words were drowned by further sobbing.

  ‘Can you try and tell me?’ Julia was shocked by her sister’s uncharacteristic distress.

  ‘No, no! It’s so awful! Can I come and see you in France? I need to get away. Max says he’ll take a few days off and look after the children. Can I stay with you for a while? I know this is a difficult time for you, but … I need you.’

  ‘Of course you can. Is this something to do with Max?’

  ‘It’s not Max! I only wish it was. It’s me!’

  ‘Are you ill?’ Julia asked.

  ‘No! I’m not ILL! I’m perfectly healthy. But – oh dear, please, Julia – I can get a flight tomorrow and be with you by mid-afternoon. Could you pick me up from Toulon?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ That suited Julia anyway, offering an escape from Xavier’s intensity. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Nothing, just give me a haven so I can get my head sorted out. I don’t want to fall apart in front of the children.’

  ‘Call me as soon as you’ve booked your flight. And I’ll be there to pick you up. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be sorted out.’

  ‘No, unfortunately it can’t,’ Alicia stated. ‘It’s destroyed me and can never be mended. Anyway, Julia, thank you so much. I’ll call you later.’

  Julia was shocked and distressed to hear her so distraught. She was relieved to feel distress for Alicia: it meant she might one day feel something for her husband again – be it love or hate. Still, she did wonder what on earth could have happened to drive Alicia – so much the devoted mother – on to a plane, leaving her four children behind.

  Xavier arrived home a couple of hours later, saying he had met some friends in St Tropez and they had gone on for some further celebratory drinks. He was slurring his words and Julia looked at him with distaste. His weakness for alcohol, and the fact he never knew when to stop, had been one of the thorns in their marriage. Julia had accused him on numerous occasions of drinking too much and Xavier would become aggressive and deny it.

  Tonight, as Agnes brought their supper out on to the terrace, and Xavier topped up his glass again, Julia decided to say nothing. She lacked the energy for a fight.

  ‘My sister’s arriving tomorrow to stay for a few days,’ Julia said, picking at the fresh red mullet, slow-cooked in cranberries.

  Xavier raised his eyebrows. ‘The perfect Alicia is gracing us with her presence?’

  ‘Don’t speak about my sister like that. Something’s happened to her. She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but she sounded very upset.’

  ‘Perhaps she missed one of her husband’s favourite shirts from the ironing pile,’ Xavier snorted.

  Julia did not rise to his drink-fuelled bait, but changed the subject: ‘So, was today your last interview?’ she asked, referring to the latest with Le Figaro.

  ‘It is up to me,’ he shrugged. ‘I have many more requests, including an offer to write a memoir. They are promising a lot of money. What do you think?’

  ‘I think we don’t need the money,’ Julia replied brusquely.

  ‘And Paris Match wishes to come here to interview us both.’

  ‘No,’ said Julia firmly. ‘I told you I would do one press call and that would be it. Please don’t involve me in any further plans.’

  ‘D’accord,’ Xavier said glibly, and they ate in silence.

  After a while, Xavier reached his hand across the table. ‘You are not happy, are you, Julia? Please tell me why.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m still adjusting,’ she said simply, unwilling to pursue the conversation.

  Xavier squeezed her hand then poured himself more wine. ‘Yes, perhaps that is the reason. You seem very different.’

  ‘I am different. I feel as though I’ve lived for a lifetime since I last saw you. These … experiences change you, Xavier, of course they do.’

  ‘But we can make it like it was before, can’t we, chérie?’ he beseeched her. ‘Oh! The way we loved each other … it was so beautiful. We can find that again, I know we can.’

  Julia sighed. ‘I hope so, Xavier, I really do.’

  Later, he followed her to their bedroom and hovered by the door.

  ‘Please, Julia, let me be with you tonight. Let me show you how I can love you, and help us both remember how it used to be.’ He walked towards her and took her in his arms.

  Even though there was not an iota of her that desired him, Julia steeled herself and allowed Xavier to caress and kiss her, thinking that perhaps he was right, that it might help her remember.

  After they had made love, Julia lay awake next to him. The act itself had been over in seconds and Xavier had fallen immediately into a deep sleep.

  If she was brutally honest, Julia had found his touch and the smell of alcohol on his breath repulsive. How could it be? Before, she had always longed for closeness, for the feel of his nakedness next to her. Lovemaking had been a strong part of their relationship.

  But tonight … Julia turned over restlessly, unsettled by the fact that, whilst Xavier made love to her, she had been unable to stop herself thinking of Kit. His sensitive, gentle hands, there to please her, waiting until she was ready before he himself let go … the laughter th
at often came with the intimacy … the knowledge that she could be completely herself, that Kit loved her for who she was …

  Julia checked herself. There was no point punishing herself with what might have been. Fate had decreed it was not to be and all she could do was try to accept it.

  *

  Julia stood in front of Arrivals at Toulon airport and saw Alicia emerge from the baggage hall. Her sister was a pinched, pale version of her former self. Julia walked over and took her in her arms.

  ‘Hello, Alicia. Welcome to France.’

  ‘Oh, Julia, it’s so good to see you …’ managed Alicia, before she burst into tears on her sister’s shoulder.

  ‘Come on, let’s take you home. And then you can tell me what all this is about,’ Julia suggested gently, guiding Alicia to the car.

  As they headed east to Ramatuelle, Julia stole a glance at her sister, who was staring straight ahead, her hands folded tensely in her lap. ‘Can you talk about it now?’ Julia asked. ‘Or do you want to wait until we get there?’

  ‘Is Xavier at home?’ asked Alicia.

  ‘Yes,’ Julia said quietly.

  ‘Have you spoken to Dad yet?’

  ‘No,’ Julia replied, ‘I haven’t heard a word from him. As a matter of fact, I was pretty surprised he didn’t call me, given Xavier’s reappearance.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s had other things on his mind,’ Alicia muttered.

  Julia registered the bitterness in her sister’s voice and decided not to pursue it. They drove in silence as the road started to climb upward and the vista opened before them to reveal an azure Mediterranean sea at its most majestic.

  Alicia suddenly put her hand on Julia’s arm. ‘Stop the car here, will you?’ she said. ‘I need to get out.’

  Julia pulled over to a bay at the crest of the cliff, which provided parking for those who wanted to enjoy the well-known beauty spot. Alicia got straight out of the car and went over to the guard rail that separated her from the steep drop to the sea below them.

  Tentatively, Julia followed her. She stood next to her and leant over the guard rail. ‘It is beautiful here, isn’t it?’ she asked neutrally.

  ‘Dad told me three days ago that I was adopted.’