The French Lesson
Page 28
Madeleine rose from the armchair, and sat down on the coffee table, right in front of Stef, staring at him. Delphine leaned against him, nudging his shoulder.
“You love him,” Madeleine said. A statement, not a question.
“He certainly does,” Delphine agreed, “you can tell by the funny look in his eyes.”
Stef tutted. “Don’t you think now is a good time to stop treating your daughter like a secret that would shame the entire universe if revealed? And what about giving Danny the chance to make his own mind up, Stef. How about that as an innovative approach?”
“He’s gorgeous. I can understand why you fancy him so much,” Delphine said, giving Madeleine a knowing look.
“I know I’ve been a gutless heap of shit,” Stef conceded. He jumped slightly, as his mobile phone vibrated cheerily in his pocket. He’d already rung Guillaume as soon as he’d gone back to Madeleine’s, ostensibly to berate his brother for giving Danny his address, but mainly to find out where he was staying in Paris. Stef knew Danny would be staying somewhere in Paris, because…well, he knew Danny and Danny’s ways.
“I thought you were avoiding my calls, my traitorous brother,” was Stef’s opening line to an ebullient Guillaume.
Guillaume’s voice was crystal clear, as was his meaning. “You’re like Nero calling Tiberius slightly unstable,” he chuckled down the line.
“Well, seeing as you and the entire universe has set this up, will you please tell me where Danny is staying?” Stef was aware there was a pleading tone to his voice. He waved Delphine away, as she shouted a greeting to her older, dour big brother.
“L’hotel de sacre coeur, the one the Brits like,” came Guillaume's ironic answer.
“Is that a joke?” Stef asked, racking his mind, then his eyes widening with remembrance. It was a nice little place just off la rue de Mazarin near that chic coffee bar run by a family from Mali. Stef had had a cafe or two in there, and it was of exceptional quality; the place stuck in his mind because of the great ambiance, with fantastic music, and the genial patrons.
Guillaume sighed. “Look, it's a nice, friendly place, that’s all; they’d look after him there, show an interest in him. Also, they have this wonderful brasserie, the food is locally produced and fresh, you know, the place is really taking off. Can’t you remember, Stef, we went there a while back, when I came back home to see you, oh…and Papa, of course. Who, by the way, has told me he’s very upset that you’re back in Paris and haven’t bothered even to ring him…”
“Why? So he can give me yet another yawn inducing lecture on why, of all his children, I am the one who has given him the most trouble…blah-blah-blah…oh, and why do you have to be a homosexual? Is a nice young woman not good enough for you?”
“Stop it; he’s got his faults, Stef, but he has never made any big deal about you being gay, and you know it. If you want a stick to beat him with, then you’ll have to find another one.”
“Why do you always defend him, o favored and favorite son, I wonder?”
“He’s never shown favor to me over you; what the hell’s wrong with you? I’ll tell you, shall I? You cannot stand the thought of facing him after your latest foray into disaster.”
“I wouldn’t describe Fleur as a disaster, Guillaume.”
“That’s not what I meant; although only you would see donating your sperm as a favor to a friend, and not think for a moment about the consequences…called a baby…”
“A friend who I have known for nearly fifteen years, a friend who was in a stable and loving relationship with Alys, before Alys decided to change her mind and walk out; and we all agreed that I would play a part in Fleur's life seeing as I'm a father. It's what I,” Stef paused, flushing self-consciously, “well, it's what I want, I just got scared and have behaved abominably...but I'm trying to make it right, now.”
Madeleine took Stef’s outstretched hand. He smiled at her, winking.
“Okay, okay, it’s done now, and you my brother are a Papa, and therefore responsible for that little girl, so no more running out on her. Else I'll flatten you.”
Stef looked steadily at Madeleine. “No, Guillaume; I promise, Fleur is for keeps. It's what I wanted, after all.”
Guillaume could hear the sincerity, the pride even, in his brother’s voice. On his return to France, Stef had sent proud father photographs to Guillaume, Annelise and Elisabeth, with Stef beaming with paternal protectiveness, his arms around the plump, rosy faced baby girl Madeleine and Alys, and Stef, had called Fleur.
There was thinking silence on the line for a few moments. “You can do this, Stef, I know you can; only…we all think you don’t have to do it by yourself. We can all support you. And perhaps Madeleine can move on from Alys, and find the kind of loving relationship she deserves. Like you do. With Danny, who we all think would be thrilled to help you; we’ve always thought that, only you never believed someone would ever love you in the way you deserve, little brother…and Danny does, even now. Why do you think he came to see you? He wanted to see if you were okay…even though he was devastated, he just wanted to know you were okay. Just drop the defenses, and let him back in, Stef.”
Abruptly, Stef got up and left the room, closing the door behind him. Guillaume could always do this to him; take him by surprise, starkly remind him that the brothers adored each other, needed each other. For a few minutes, Stef made attempts to compose himself, the swirl of emotions rising up like a tidal wave of pain. He could hear the steady crackle on the phone, and Guillaume's voice, low, talking to someone. “Stef? I’m putting Maman on…”
Stef went into the little room with the soft lights and the gentle snoring of his daughter. He looked down at her, sleeping so peacefully; he reached and placed his forefinger in her little paw, which Fleur instinctively held onto, a pink toned whisper of connection that left Stef still unable to speak.
“Darling?” Elisabeth’s voice, instantly reassuring, full of love and forgiveness. Stef went on gazing at his daughter, tears slowly streaming down his face. “Stephane, my beautiful boy; I’m so proud of you, we all are. Papa and I spoke this morning, he would love for you to come and see him, with Fleur. And Danny…he wants to meet Danny, because he’s your family too…”
Stef tried to gather himself. “I let him walk away, Maman; he came to Paris, and I just stood there, unable to tell him how I felt. I’ll never forget the look on his face; utter betrayal, that’s what I saw, and I cannot blame him. How can we ever come back from this?”
“Because you love each other,” Elisabeth said, gently.
Stef wiped his eyes, smiled at the little bodkin who slept on, in sweet tranquility, unawares of the storm swirling around her existence.
Such simple words. Because you love each other.
“Does that mean he could forgive me, Maman? If I tried to explain what an idiot I am…”
“I think Danny already knows that, darling,” Elisabeth observed dryly, “but yes, he needs to be angry with you for a little while, and then, gradually, the two of you will remember how in love you are with each other.”
A little shiver went up Stef’s spine; delicious, anticipatory, the idea of touching Danny again, loving him, making him, with Fleur, the center of his world.
Stef cleared his throat. “You and Caroline just want a wedding so you can wear absurd hats.”
“Speaking of which, she rang earlier. She’s been ringing Danny, and he isn’t answering; she thinks he’s put his phone on silent…”
“So I can’t ring him,” Stef speculated, knowing he was right. Because he had, as soon as he’d got back to Madeleine’s, ringing and ringing, the voice-mail switched off, Danny not picking up. But Stef knowing, just knowing, that Danny was holding the phone in his hand, letting it vibrate and flicker in his palm.
“At least he hasn’t turned it off, Stephane,” Elisabeth said.
Stef flopped down on the floor, peering at a sleeping Fleur through the wooden cot rails. He could hear his mother’s gentle brea
thing down the line.
“What will I say to him, Maman?”
How the mighty are fallen. The sublimely confident Stef, made vulnerable by falling in love. Made vulnerable to the possibility of a life filled with happiness, with no empty promises, or half-hearted romances, or vapid sex, or nights spent drinking too much whisky, and too much wine, and wondering, ten years from now, why he’d let it all slip away from him. The chance for Stef to be happy, and allow the world to see he was just like everyone else, after all. That he needed to be loved, and cared for, too.
That he was simply human. So very human.
“Tell him you are sorry.”
Stef thought for a few moments. “Tell him I’m sorry? Tell him that, and would he at all mind giving up his life in England, so that he can live in a foreign country, learn a new language, share me with my daughter, essentially be a surrogate father to her, try and earn a living here, leave behind everything he knows and feels familiar with? That kind of thing? You see, Maman, I’m not asking much of him, am I?”
“He’ll do it,” Elisabeth assured.
“How can you say that?”
“You keep forgetting, darling...”
“What’s that?”
“That I saw the way he looked at you. I knew instantly I had met my son in law.”
“Aren’t you jumping ahead of yourself, Maman?” Stef managed, his voice still shaky, but the brittle humor was a good sign.
“Like you say, my need to wear an absurd hat is overwhelming, as is Caroline’s. I think what would be truly unforgivable is if you and Danny denied us our mothers’ rights. We demand a champagne reception, we demand to see our beautiful boys in suits, and if all this emotional blackmail fails to persuade you, then imagine missing the most wonderful sight of your life…”
“Danny…” Stef began, but his mother cut him off.
“No, no, that is a given. I meant Guillaume…dancing at your wedding!”
Despite himself, Stef laughed, and listened to his mother giggling down the phone.
“Okay, Maman, you’ve persuaded me. That was certainly the clincher.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Speak to Papa. He’s worried about you.”
Stef rubbed his hand across his eyes, sighing. “All right; but Danny first. That’s how I want it to be now...Danny and Fleur, then the rest of the world. I hope you don’t think I don’t adore you, by saying that, Maman.”
“Darling, I am so incredibly proud of you. I think you may have finally grown up! Hurrah, my work here is done…and who said miracles never happen?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Miracles do happen. They can happen.
Can’t they?
Stef was hoping so. He was really, really hoping so. Short of driving to Lourdes and jumping the queue to ask for a bit of divine intervention...
He’d borrowed his friend Serge’s car on his return to France, and Stef parked it now in the narrow street that backed onto the hotel. Sidestepping the bucketing rain, pulling his jacket over his head, Stef shook himself down in the foyer.
There were two women behind the desk, one talking to a guest, the other speaking on the phone. When Stef approached, both women glanced at each other and smiled. The guest waffled on about his door card, and how it wasn’t opening his door and he wanted to make a complaint-yadda-yadda; Stef’s eyes bore into his back, willing Mr. Jobsworth to politely take his door card and shove it right up his…
“Can I help you?” The other woman put the receiver down, and beamed a smile, a very appreciative smile, at the stunning man who seemed about to explode.
“I’m looking for a friend, Madame, er…Daniel Hastings...he must have checked in here, oh, about…” Stef turned his wrist, looked at his watch, “about an hour ago, no more.”
The door card guy appeared satisfied with his new door card, and very obligingly pissed off.
Now, Stef had the two women gazing at him, their full attention like a laser beam of admiration. He saw them exchange glances again. Stef spread his hands. “Well?” knowing he sounded rude and impatient. But at this precise moment he was being rude and impatient because his adrenaline was pumping and his heart was beating so fast he was finding it a trial to breathe. So rude and impatient would have to do, in these circumstances of life and death.
“The young Englishman?”
Stef nodded like an idiot, aware he was appearing desperate and slightly insane. He didn’t care. He didn’t even know what he was going to say to Danny; all he knew was that he couldn’t be without the crazy scientist who’d turned out to be a barrister who’d turned about to be a frustrated painter, who'd turned out to be his neurotic and utterly adorable lover. And if he had to crawl on his hands and knees and beg Danny to forgive him, well, Stef was prepared for that too; it also helped it was one of his favorite positions.
But it was highly inappropriate to dwell on that just now. Holding onto Danny’s hips, the death grip necessary for the highly intense fucking Stef intended to give Danny once Stef had told him that he loved him, he adored him, he couldn’t be without him, and would he forgive, could he forgive the most vain, self-regarding frog since Kermit?
And then, disaster…
“He’s gone, I’m afraid, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. What! When? How long?”
“He checked in earlier this afternoon, then came back soaking wet, retrieved his bag and left…he looked very upset, we asked him if he needed a towel, didn’t we?”
Favor of the century.
“He was very shy, lovely and polite, thanked us for our concern, and off he went. He handed back the towel, though.”
“We watched him for a bit, he was standing outside, like he was waiting, then he was gone…”
“Shit!” Stef blasted, starting to pace, running his hands through his hair, “shit, shit, shit!!!!!”
“Your boyfriend?” one of the women ventured.
Stef nodded his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. “Where’d he go?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t know.”
“I mean in what direction?”
“Er, left…yes, definitely left…I think.”
Stef fished his phone from his pocket. It rang for an infuriatingly long time. He resumed his pacing again.
“Can we help in any way?” the younger woman asked Stef, but he waved her away as he heard Guillaume's voice.
“How did Danny get here?” Stef blurted to his brother, straight to the point.
“Are you at the hotel?” asked Guillaume.
“Yes, and he’s fucking left!” Stef covered his phone, jerked his head to the women, “sorry.””
“Charles de Gaulle,” came Guillaume's no messing response.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I booked the tickets myself, seeing as Maman and Caroline issued me with strict instructions to obey them without question; for God’s sake, Stef, will you two just get back together so I can actually go back to running my fucking restaurant?”
“What time’s his flight?”
“Hold on…”
It seemed like Stef was waiting an age.
Stef sensed his brother’s pause, the kind of pause that heralded a bit of bad news. “You’ve got...er...” [Stef rolled his eyes, knowing Guillaume was looking at his watch] “oh fuck, Stef, you’ve got less than an hour before his flight leaves!”
“Mon dieu!” Stef shouted.
He ran out of the hotel, and started racing down the street, swerving expertly to avoid passers-by. The roads were busy, teeming with night time traffic, and the rain was still as heavy. Stef came to an abrupt halt, trying to gather his breath as his heart pumped against his rib-cage in protest. He rang Danny. Resigned to expecting the voice-mail yet again, Stef was thrown into further panic when he heard Danny’s crisp accent.
“Yes?”
“Danny…”
“I’ve nothing to say, Stephane.”
“Then
why did you answer, baby?” With that, Stef started moving again, jogging resolutely through the dark, rain sheened streets of Paris. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought one day he might, just might, laugh about all of this, preferably with Danny lying in bed next to him, but until that was the done deal, Stef just felt scared; more scared than he’d ever felt, even when he’d left France, and the daughter that was changing his life. But then, in London, the double whammy of love had hit him, and Stef had been switched on to high speed ever since.
“Danny? Please don’t hang up on me,” Stef muttered, his breathing erratic from his pace. To his immense relief, he saw the taxis lined up outside café Mortain. “Charles de Gaulle, mon ami…”
“What?”
“I was talking to someone else, Danny.”
“Really? Christ, you don’t waste any time, do you?”
“Danny, don’t get the flight; just stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly. Please…Danny?”
Stef clutched his phone as if it was all manner of redemption. The lifeline to Danny, no matter how tenuous. It had to be enough for now. Stef asked the driver if he could get him to CDG in record time, and the guy was up to the challenge. As the taxi sped through Paris, Stef kept talking.
“Danny, don’t do this, please wait.”
Silence. A ‘I’m thinking’ silence. Then, “I don’t even know why I answered; I should have kept it on silent.”
“You answered because you love me,” Stef asserted, and whilst he realized that sounded arrogant and over confident in the circumstances, Stef couldn’t help who he was. And he was certainly both of them…
“I answered, Stephane, because…because I…”
“Just say it, Danny.” The silence again. The prelude to goodbye. “I...I wanted to hear your voice one last time, my Stef,” and there it was, the break, the shattering, the sounds of dreams being smashed, the timbre of heartache, laced through Danny’s voice with the heaviness of hopeless love.
Stef closed his eyes, heard the faltering breath, knowing Danny was struggling to speak another word. Stef swallowed, trying to compose his own tumultuous emotions, not wanting to start sobbing in the back of the taxi, appreciating it wouldn’t be a great look. “Danny,” Stef murmured into the phone, “I’m so sorry; I thought I was putting you first. You see, I had to come back to France, but not for the reason you think…” He stared out of the rain streaked window and remembered. There’d been another taxi, another rainy evening, back in London, when the wound had just been inflicted. Since then, there’d been the slow and subtle hemorrhage of happiness.