Gabrielle smiled at her. ‘Very special, non? Now come, sit over here with me.’ She walked over to a mound in the corner overgrown with grass. Its top had been levelled and a stone bench placed on it to make a pretty garden seat. Gabrielle sat and beckoned with a pat for Pip to do the same.
Pip shivered—the stone seat was as cold as ice and jolted her out of her daze. Dotted between the trees were handfuls of old gravestones tilted on angles, chipped and covered in moss. Some were covered with climbing roses, others crumbling right to the base. Pip noticed the two gravestones closest to them looked less worn. At the base of each were some old terracotta pots brimming with daffodils. Gabrielle caught her staring.
‘There are so many of these pots around the garden. I fill them for spring and summer colour.’
Gabrielle sighed at the headstones and opened up the manuscript to the drawing and placed it in her lap. She tapped the orchard area with her fingers twice. ‘See, we are here.
‘But these two graves, they are new. They are the graves of my husband and son. Jean-Paul and Jean-Charles. Forty years ago an apple lorry took a corner too fast on a narrow lane not far from here. There was nowhere for the car to go.’
Pip opened her mouth to say something but must have looked shocked. Gabrielle leaned over and patted her leg with a sympathetic smile. Pip felt a twinge of guilt—she should be doing the comforting.
Gabrielle’s shoulders dropped. ‘They tell me my boys didn’t suffer. A certain irony, don’t you think, that they lie here under all these apple trees?’ She gave a wan smile. ‘But the Boschaud family has been buried here for centuries. It is what my Jean-Paul would have wanted.
‘My son, Jean-Charles, he would be forty-five now. Perhaps with a child of his own.’
She took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled. ‘But it was not to be.’
Resignation filled the air. Pip felt as grey as the sky—no wonder Gabrielle had all these cheery flowers planted. They sat in silence, staring at the trees and flowers.
‘I went away for a while, you know? Tried to escape for a few years by travelling, living in Paris. Bordeaux. Lyon. But running doesn’t heal the heart. Only time.’ She took another deep breath and continued, ‘This is my home.’
Gabrielle made eye contact with Pip. ‘I try to make my time productive. Do the garden, make chutneys and confitures for the local village school—apple, of course.’ She smiled. ‘This is my place now. But when I go, I will be buried here in this orchard, with my boys. Worm food.’
Before Pip could ask, she went on: ‘The château is already in the process of being passed to the Haute-Vienne department. I will stay here in my little quarters, but they need to open the rooms and the garden to make some money. There is talk of a café …’
Pip reached out to take the manuscript still lying open on Gabrielle’s lap. ‘May I have another look, please?’ She leafed through the pages carefully, then closed it for a second, tracing the dainty lines of the engraving on the cover. Artemisia.
Before showing her the garden, Gabrielle had taken Pip beyond the wall, past the cloister and the rooms where her friend brewed his vermouth, right to the edge of the woods. There she identified old oaks, coppiced chestnuts and elms, and explained that she liked to carry on the tradition of wandering the woods with a basket collecting botanicals. She had opened the manuscript to a recipe and translated: ‘Juniper berries, marjoram, fennel seeds.’ She turned the page: ‘Here is the brew for violets I told you about.
‘Now come, I want to show you something.’ She led Pip to a clearing with a disintegrating, mossy headstone. When Pip stepped close she got goosebumps. Gabrielle traced the top of the relic. ‘According to local legend, this headstone belonged to the girl who haunts the maiden’s room.’ She shrugged. ‘After so many hundreds of years, how can we ever know?’
Gabrielle smiled and her wrinkles gathered in folds around her eyes.
Pip didn’t believe in ghosts, but she made a mental note to keep the windows of her room firmly locked. She studied the drawing on the cover again, and this time she noticed two small figures. She squinted for a closer look: were they lovers embracing in the woods? Her skin prickled hot and cold. Was this Andreas and Artemisia—the mysterious owners of her letters?
‘Ah, you see the lovers now?’ Gabrielle chuckled. ‘Sometimes, my girl, it is easy to miss tiny things that are right in front of you. Like this picture—the details are extraordinary, non? But we are distracted by the lines of the arbours, the arches of the cloisters, this perfect little circle in the middle of the maze.’ She tapped her fingers on the fountain. ‘You see the grand oak and chestnuts, the wild plums and cherries over here in the woods.’ She leaned in close and whispered in Pip’s ear: ‘But we miss the point.’
‘Which is?’
‘Love, ma chére. Love.’
Pip must have looked confused.
‘The entremet, the drawing, the letters—somebody has gone to a great deal of effort for love, Philippa.’ She smiled, nodded and patted her heart.
‘This garden is me. Look at all this new growth around us. New life.’ She waved her hands at the trees and daffodils. ‘Each day this garden helps me to piece together my broken heart.’
The wrens twittered in the distance as daffodils rippled under the trees. It felt too intrusive to look at Gabrielle. Too raw.
Pip felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the backs of her hands, but still they kept coming.
‘I recognise a broken heart when I see one, Philippa.’ Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Pip and she allowed herself to be held. She buried her head in Gabrielle’s wide bosom and sobbed. Out it all tumbled: Pip’s broken engagement, and Jack’s unwillingness to recognise the importance of her research. The night with Pedro that had left her aching with guilt and despair. How everyone in her family seemed to succeed at whatever they attempted—except her.
She paused to inhale the strong perfume of the jonquils and listen to the birds singing in the branches of the apple tree.
Then Pip’s voice dropped to a whisper as she unwrapped the tiny kernel buried deep: that her research mattered because it was bigger than her.
As Pip sobbed her heart out, the older woman patted her back and gently pulled away the strands of copper hair stuck to her cheek. The two women must have sat there for a couple of minutes because when Pip pulled away, she’d left a broad damp patch of tears on Gabrielle’s grey cashmere sweater.
‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘It’s not—I don’t cry.’
‘Shush. You need to be kind to yourself, Philippa. Instead of always this analysing. Give yourself a moment to relax in the woods,’ she murmured as she put one hand on Pip’s heart. ‘Trust yourself—you’re a fine young woman.’ Gabrielle touched Pip’s chest with her fingertips. ‘Everything you need is already in there. Don’t break your heart—your soul—wondering what if? You need to make space for yourself. Hold firm.’ She laughed and shook her head at Pip. ‘If you don’t, Philippa, no-one will.
‘Clear a little corner in life for your own projects.’ She paused. ‘Then let love in.’ Gabrielle looked over at the gravestones. ‘Because life is too wonderful to spend it all alone, looking down your microscopes! You have so much to give.’
Gabrielle lifted the manuscript off Pip’s lap, closed it and formally presented it to her with both hands.
‘You must have it, Philippa. The letters came with the pots from your great-aunt Margot. And the pots came from the kitchen here from her great-grandmother.
‘They are ours. They are yours.’
Pip started to protest as she rose from the bench—the gift was much too generous. ‘Gabrielle, I couldn’t …’
‘Shush, Philippa. You are family. I’m old.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘Falling apart, like this building. If you don’t take it, it will only be gifted to a library somewhere in Châlus. You are my family.’ She smiled and covered Pip’s hands with her own. ‘Keep it.’ Now th
ere were tears in Gabrielle’s eyes. ‘You’ll know what to do with it.’
Chapter 35
Paris, April 2015
Pip bounded up the stairs from the metro and into Charles de Gaulle Airport. As she emerged into the circular concourse, rows of coffee carts with croissants and other pastry treats crammed every corner. Pip was too nervous to eat. She hadn’t touched a morsel since she’d texted Jack yesterday to tell him she was on her way back to Tuscany to pay him an impromptu visit.
It was Jack’s last month at the vineyard at Tenuta di Falgino. It coincided with a fancy masquerade dinner—he’d mentioned it in an email, but no invitation had been forthcoming. Not since their moment in the chestnut hut. Pip hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks and her chest tightened when she wondered what that meant. In two hours she would be on an EasyJet flight to Pisa. She pulled her iPhone out of her back pocket and checked for messages as she walked over to order an espresso.
Still no messages. She’d half-expected that Megs might have sent her a message apologising for cutting her off the night before.
Pip had rung Megs when she got onto the bus in Châlus. Megs had sounded sleepy—no surprises there—but also a little distant, like she wasn’t really listening. Her voice sounded muffled, and there was a clicking sound in the background.
‘Where are you?’ Pip had asked. ‘Sounds like you’re down a mineshaft.’
‘Sorry, I’m expressing—got you on speaker.’
‘You at work?’
‘Yep,’ Megs responded flatly. ‘Right now I’m sitting on a box in a storage cupboard. I’m surrounded by old drip stands.’
‘Jesus, Megs. Don’t you have an office or something?’
‘Yeah, right! In emergency? Only the blokes that have been here twenty years get those. My desk is at the nurses’ station. I express in here so I don’t have to do it in the toilets.’
‘Why can’t you do it in one of those waiting areas? Some of them have got comfy chairs.’
‘O-kay …’ Megs said slowly in her you-have-no-idea-Pip voice, ‘so the families get to see the surgeon with her top off. Nice one, Pip! They think I’m here just to do the prep work and reports until the real surgeons come anyway.’ She sighed then briskly changed to subject. ‘So tell me, what’s up?’
Pip began to pour out her plan to retrieve Jack from the significant charms of Valentina, only for Megs to interrupt her because she needed to go sterilise some bottles. Besides, Chloé had a cold and Megs needed to leave work early to check on her so she really was too busy to talk now. Which probably meant the baby had a slight sniffle, Pip thought. She was annoyed—super annoyed—but checked herself. Her big sister had more on her plate than most.
As Pip scanned the board looking for departure times, a text message came through from Will.
Call me as soon as you get this.
Her heart started racing as she dialled his number. Had there been an accident? She felt sick—maybe Chloé had pneumonia and Pip had dismissed it as a sniffle! She was beyond mean.
Pip’s hands were shaking so much she kept misdialling, and then she forgot to add the overseas area code. Finally, though, she got through.
‘Will?’
‘Pip, thanks for calling me back. It’s Megs. She’s collapsed.’
‘What?’ Pip’s pulse picked up speed. ‘But I spoke to her last night. She seemed normal.’ Normal for Megs, anyway. ‘She said Chloé had a cold. Have they both got the flu?’
‘Look, we don’t know, yet. She’s in hospital—’
‘Oh my God. I should come home.’ The air was starting to feel thin.
‘No, that’s not necessary,’ Will assured her. ‘She’s just resting and they’re pumping her with fluids, running a battery of tests. Angiograms. CTs. MRIs. Your parents are on their way.’
‘What happened?’
‘We don’t know. She was scheduled for evening rounds in ICU, but called in sick. Sounds like whoever took the call gave her a bit of stick about rescheduling. Apparently emergency was rammed so she was on standby for general surgery.’
Pip knew Megs was always needed. ‘Jesus. So doctors aren’t allowed sick days?’
‘Well, it’s not like Megs ever took any!’ Will continued: ‘Anyway, the guilt trip worked because she called the hospital back saying she would head in. The details are sketchy but, according to Eva, Megs was reading some files and expressing milk at our kitchen counter holding Chloé on her hip and then she just passed out cold. Fell to the floor and dropped Chloé.’
Pip gasped.
‘Chloé’s fine,’ said Will. ‘I don’t think she hit the floor—she landed on top of Megs and Eva managed to scoop her up straight away. But poor Megs has some serious stitches across the forehead and a nasty bump. She was out for almost a minute, Eva reckons.’
‘That’s it. I’m coming home.’ Jack would understand, surely. She needed to be with her sister.
‘Look, just wait a couple of days while we run these tests,’ Will suggested. ‘Then you can make a decision. No point rushing back if she just had a sudden fever. You know Megs, she’ll probably be as right as rain by the time you get here.’
The slight inflection in Will’s tone was a tell: he was worried.
‘Sorry, Pip, I’ve got to go. I’m being paged. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything, okay?’
‘Can I call Megs?’
‘She’s asleep now, and then going for some scans. Try in a few hours.’
‘Thanks.’
Pip immediately headed to the nearest airline service counter and pulled her credit card out of her wallet.
‘Can you please get me onto the next flight to Melbourne or Sydney? I need to get home. It’s an emergency.’
Chapter 36
Tasmania, April 2015
Pip strode down the corridor to the end, where she could see her parents sitting on green plastic chairs. Her mother was bobbing Chloé up and down on her knee, clapping her hands and singing ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ with the accompanying hand movements. Her father was reading a sheet of paper, scratching his head. At the sound of approaching footsteps, they both looked up. ‘Pip!’ they said in unison.
‘Surprise,’ she said.
Her father jumped up and wrapped her in a hug. ‘You should have told us when you were arriving, darling. I’d have come to get you.’
Mary, with Chloé on her hip, pushed her husband aside to give Pip a big squeeze, and Chloé wrapped a little sticky arm around her neck. She smelled of apples and milk. Mary passed her Chloé and Pip spun around with her, holding her tight, then glanced at the door to Megs’s room. ‘Can I go in now? How is she?’
Mary spoke first: ‘The nurse is doing a check-up. Just give her a minute.’
Pip returned her attention to her niece. ‘God, I’ve missed this little creature. She’s even more delicious than I remember.’ She held out a pudgy leg. ‘She’s doubled in size.’
Mary looked amused. ‘It happens.’
‘Pippa?’ said Chloé.
‘Yes, that’s right, my little munchkin,’ said Mary. ‘You are so clever.’ She turned to Pip to explain, ‘Megs has a photo of you on her dresser.’
‘Pa!’ said Chloé, giggling as she pointed at David, obviously pleased with herself. ‘Gwum.’ She pointed at Mary.
Mary shrugged at Pip apologetically. ‘Well, grandma is too hard—isn’t it, my little petal? Gwum is just fine with me.’
Chloé reached out for Mary and clambered back onto her hip like an adorable chimpanzee.
It was probably the jetlag, but Pip felt giddy. She was so worried about Megs she hadn’t slept since Paris. It was a relief to see her parents. She’d missed her family.
‘Is Will in with Megs?’ asked Pip.
‘No. I sent him home for a shower and a sleep. He’d worked a double then slept here overnight with Megs. He was exhausted.’
‘You look like you could do with a decent shower!’ Pip’s dad chimed in.
‘David!’ She s
aw her mum shoot him that look she knew so well: be careful.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Her jeans felt soft, and her skin clammy. She did need a shower, but she wanted to see Megs first.
‘What’s that you’ve got in your hand?’ She eyed the sheet of paper with a spreadsheet colour coded in blue, yellow and purple.
David handed it to her. ‘Here, read it if you like.’
Mary shook her head and eyed the ceiling, blinking away tears. What the hell was going on?
Pip held the sheet of paper up and started to read:
Date
Time
Respiratory Rate
O2 Saturation
O2 Flow Rate
Blood Pressure
Heart Rate
Temperature
Why were they looking at a blank hospital chart?
‘Not that side—turn it over, love,’ said David. His voice was low and uncertain. Mary sighed and gave Chloé a gentle squeeze.
Pip flipped over the page and recognised Megs’s handwriting:
15 April 2015
Dear Dr Thompson,
It is with great regret that I resign from Great Southern Hospital, with immediate effect.
I thank you for all the opportunities and training you have given me over the past four years in ICU and Emergency. I look forward to working with you again in some capacity.
Sincerely,
Dr Margot Arnet
MBBS, FRACS, MS (Trauma)
Pip read it another three times to check she hadn’t missed anything, as the nurse slipped out of the room and walked past them.
David scratched his head again. ‘Margot asked your mother to hand this in at the nurses’ station.’
‘It doesn’t feel quite right, Pip,’ said Mary softly. ‘Not after all these years. It just doesn’t sound like Megs. What do you think?’
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