Second Chance with the Best Man

by Katrina Cudmore

  Nodding, he placed his hand lightly on the small of her back and together they joined the others, his plan of action to stay away from Hannah crumbling in the face of her softly spoken truth—what they had in the past, the friendship and fondness, the connection between them even now, deserved better than easy avoidance. Spending time with Hannah might be dangerous and an emotional minefield but it was the right thing to do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WITH A DEEP SIGH, Lara stepped out of her high heels and leaned against the wall of the château. ‘Do you know what this reminds me of?’

  Having similarly divested herself of her own shoes, Hannah closed her eyes and lifted her face to catch the last rays of the setting sun. ‘When we used to hide at the back of the school in year seven during break?’

  ‘Exactly! Mrs Wilson was certain that we were up to no good.’ With a chuckle Lara added, ‘Remember how she used to try to smell our breaths to check if we’d been smoking?’

  ‘When in reality we hid there to make up stories and games about an imaginary zoo.’

  Hannah opened her eyes in time to see Lara roll hers. ‘All of the other girls thought we were so dorky. I guess we were really.’

  Shifting closer to Lara, Hannah rearranged some of the rosebuds that were working their way loose from Lara’s fine hair and said, ‘I’m guessing you refused to allow the hairdresser to use any hairspray to fix these in place?’

  Lara gave Hannah a teasing smile. ‘We all have to do our bit for the environment.’ Both Lara and François worked for environmental agencies. They had met when François had visited Manchester to spend the weekend with an ex-colleague who now worked with Lara. In both their professional and personal lives, they were passionate about protecting the planet.

  ‘François told me about Laurent’s gift.’

  Hannah’s heart tightened at the emotion in Lara’s voice, the tears shining in her eyes. ‘Are you pleased?’

  Lara gave her a beam of a smile. ‘Thrilled and stunned. It has made today even more incredible. Buying our own house was always going to be a challenge on our salaries. Villa Marchand is everything I ever dreamed of in a home, even before it was renovated. I can’t wait to see it later. And of course it has such special memories of our engagement. François is already thinking that we should move here permanently. I suppose we could look into the possibility of working remotely for our current employers or apply for positions in Bordeaux.’

  Hannah took a step back. ‘Leave England?’ She tried not to show her disappointment but then blurted out, ‘I’ll miss you so much.’

  ‘And me you...but flying to Bordeaux from London would almost be as quick as getting the train to Manchester.’

  Lara was right, but, still feeling unsettled at losing her best friend to France, Hannah asked, ‘But what’s the rush. Why move now?’

  ‘We need more room. We’re only able to afford a one-bedroom apartment in Manchester at the moment.’

  Hannah was about to ask why that was a problem when up until now she and François had loved their apartment in Didsbury, but then Lara gently laid her hand on her stomach.

  ‘Oh, my God! Are you pregnant?’

  Lara nodded, her cheeks flushing, her eyes sparkling with tears. ‘You’re the first to know. I’m only seven weeks pregnant. We’ve agreed to wait a little while longer before we tell others but I wanted you to know. I could never keep a secret from you, could I?’

  Hannah pulled Lara in for a hug and whispered, ‘I’m so, so happy for you.’

  Lara, so much smaller than Hannah, dropped her forehead against Hannah’s collarbone. ‘Promise you’ll come and visit me if we move here.’

  Hannah pulled back at the doubt in Lara’s voice. ‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.’

  Lara grimaced. ‘With Laurent being so close by... I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about visiting here.’

  Hannah wasn’t certain how she would feel about visiting either. The stirrings of panic shifted in her stomach as she imagined having to pretend not to be affected by Laurent time and time again. But she couldn’t let Lara know any of that. Slipping back into her shoes, she indicated that they should go back to the reception. Earlier when Lara had pulled her away from the ballroom after the marathon celebration dinner, muttering that she needed some air, François had warned them to be back within ten minutes for the slideshow that Stella and their Manchester friends had compiled and which was about to show against the side wall of the château, next to the walled garden. Hannah had been as keen to escape; a three-hour meal seated at the same table as Laurent had made her decidedly jumpy and exhausted from the constant adrenaline rush that came from observing him and the moments when their gazes would meet, a pointless harpoon of desire and connection piercing her heart.

  Heading down the path in the direction of the walled garden, Hannah said, ‘We’d better get back to the slideshow before François sends out a search party.’

  ‘You’re spending a lot of time with Laurent today.’

  Hannah felt a brief but intense burst of annoyance and then guilt at the worry in Lara’s voice. ‘No more so than with anyone else.’

  Lara raised a disbelieving eyebrow to that.

  After the official photos had been taken they had walked up to the drinks reception together and had stayed chatting, talking about work and travel. And over the long dinner, when many at their table had swapped seats to chat to others, Laurent had invited her to come over to his side of the circular table to join his conversation with Lara’s mother.

  ‘There’s nothing behind it other than the fact that we still get on. I have dreams of my own to follow—you know that.’

  ‘The move to Singapore I understand but your idea of moving to Spain doesn’t make any sense. What’s in Spain for you?’

  Hannah laughed. ‘Spanish men!’

  Lara shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

  ‘I have dreams, Lara, ones that don’t contain Laurent. I’ll always be fond of him. I can’t switch off completely the friendship we had. Yes, he hurt me, but I have good memories too. I want to remember those, learn to have a new type of relationship with him now. I’ll need to, you know that. We have years ahead of us of seeing each other, especially if you move here.’ She paused and gave Lara a reassuring smile. ‘But I have moved on.’

  For long seconds Lara eyed her, clearly weighing up whether she should believe her or not. Hannah forced herself to maintain her reassuring smile, but it hurt her cheeks and her heart to do so; it was hard to smile when doubt was mocking what you were trying to convince yourself and others of.

  * * *

  Laurent chuckled when a baby photo of Lara popped up on the wall of the château. Her fine, wispy blonde hair was standing on end, and the writing on her mud-stained jumper—TROUBLE—was an apt description for the mischievous glint in her eyes as she lunged towards a wary sheepdog with muddy hands. And then he groaned when an unfamiliar picture of himself and François in the bath appeared. He looked about three, François, a year old. Both of them were smiling wildly at the camera oblivious to the crowns of bath foam on their heads, which Laurent guessed, given the grin on their father’s mouth as he knelt beside them supporting François with a hand against his back, he’d placed on his sons’ heads.

  His father looked so young, so carefree in the photo. It was hard to reconcile him with the man who had become so irritable and secretive in later years. Hannah’s question as to how he would react if he wasn’t capable of running the business came back to him. He stared at a new photo, this one of him pushing François in his pram, his hands barely able to reach the handles. Five previous generations of Bonneval sons had successfully run Bonneval Cognac; it undoubtedly would be hard for anyone to accept that they were the first inheritor not to be up to the role. But that didn’t in any way excuse his affairs, his betrayal, his abandonment of his family.

&nbs
p; Another photo flashed up, this time a family photo of the four of them all linking arms in front of his father’s beloved Citroën Traction Avant. He glanced in the direction of his parents, who, like all of the other guests, were standing in the darkness on the lawn to watch the projection show. His mother smiled at something his father said and then they both looked in his direction. Thrown by the affection in their expressions, he studied them, his brain trying to process the easy love in the pictures being displayed on the wall and this new, calmer and contented version of his parents in comparison to the chaotic and angry people they had been when he was a teenager. His mother’s smile faded.

  He became aware of someone moving beside him. ‘You were a beautiful family.’

  He jerked at Hannah’s softly spoken comment. Her attention remained on the wall, her head tilting when a video played of himself and François running through a forest, shouting to one another and then disappearing. Then there was the sound of his father’s voice, playfully calling out to them, but then Laurent could hear the panic growing as he called and searched for them to no avail. The crowd tensed, as his father’s panic grew. His voice became more desperate. The dense forest took on a sinister air. Laurent held his breath. Unease rippled through the guests. And then, as one, the entire crowd started when Laurent and François burst out of a heavy growth of ferns and then relieved laughter ran around the startled guests.

  The video cut to one of Lara and Stella playing in the snow as toddlers.

  Hannah shifted closer to him. She glanced at him, her eyes twinkling. ‘Of course, you’re still a beautiful family.’

  He smiled at that, but then, glancing in his parents’ direction, he said, ‘I’m not sure you could call us a family.’

  Hannah came even closer, spoke softly so only he could hear. ‘I saw how upset you were when your dad was ill. How keen you were to get back here to support your mother. I know they hurt you in the past, but I also know that in your own way you love them greatly.’

  Laurent gazed past Hannah to the wall, smiling automatically when Lara fell against the snowman she and Stella had been building, demolishing it completely. Stella’s crying rang out while Lara lay in the snow, looking horrified at first but then rolling around in the snow chuckling to herself.

  He glanced in his father’s direction. Then back at Hannah. She was waiting for him to respond. He shrugged but did not look away from her. Her gaze held such a tenderness, an understanding, that he felt his heart crack open. He wanted to place his arm around her shoulders, pull her to him. Take refuge in the warmth of her body, for even a minute feel the full force of how grounded, how real he felt in her presence.

  New sounds had them both look towards the château wall. Lara, aged seven or eight, dressed in pink shorts and a rainbow-coloured tee shirt, was chatting to the camera, excitedly exclaiming that they were panning for gold. The camera moved beyond Lara towards the small stream behind her, to a girl standing in the water. Hidden behind a mass of dark hair, the girl lifted a household colander out of the water. Her arms were thin, her denim shorts hanging loose on her waist. Her quietness was in stark contrast to the excitement of Lara, who was now wading into the stream with her yellow wellington boots, oblivious to the fact that she was splashing the other girl, who didn’t even flinch. From behind the camera, Lara’s father called, ‘Any luck yet?’

  The dark-haired child turned to the camera. With a start Laurent realised it was Hannah. Solemn brown eyes, much too pronounced cheekbones faced the camera and with a single shake of her head she returned to her job of sifting through the gravel in the colander.

  He leant down and whispered against her ear, ‘Did you find any gold?’

  Her gaze held a distant haunted expression and for a moment she looked at him blankly before finally answering, ‘A fake gold ring, but I saw Lara’s mum plant it in the water.’ She stopped and gave a faint smile. ‘To this day Lara thinks we unearthed it.’

  Dieu! He so badly wanted to pull her into a hug, to comfort her. A desire that became even more intense when photos of Lara and Hannah a few years older flashed on the wall, Hannah’s gaze more open, her thinness no more, then them as teenagers, dressed for a night out, their make-up too extreme, their skirts much too short, but the happiness and joy in their expressions quickening his heart.

  His respect, pride, admiration for her soared. She’d survived her childhood, moved beyond it, to become a warm and loving and compassionate person with a huge strength of character.

  Next, photos of Lara’s and then François’s graduation appeared. In Lara’s she was surrounded by her family and friends, including Hannah. In François’s photo, however, it was just him and François. At the time, neither of them were in contact with their parents. A few years later, François had begun to have regular contact with them again, but Laurent had kept up minimal contact with them until his father’s stroke.

  He glanced over at his parents. Was Hannah right? Should he talk to his father? Would it backfire on him? He swallowed. The slow realisation hitting him that he was scared. Was that even the right word...? Scared seemed wrong for a grown man to use, but, yes, he was scared of once again confronting his father’s disapproval and dismissive attitude to his ability to run the business. An attitude he’d been facing since the age of sixteen. He could never do well enough in his father’s eyes and it tore strips off his heart.

  The slideshow came to an end with a selfie picture of Lara and François on the evening François had spontaneously asked her to marry him, sitting together in the gardens of Villa Marchand, Lara flashing her makeshift engagement ring of bound grass as proudly as she would a diamond.

  Around them the guests began to move back towards the terrace and ballroom. For long seconds his and Hannah’s gazes met. Something fundamental passed between them. A silent understanding. He touched his hand against hers. Skin against skin. A brief connection. He smiled at her and was rewarded with a tender smile in response.

  Then he spotted François and Lara unhappily looking in their direction. Guiding Hannah towards them, he excused himself, saying he needed to play host, intending to go and speak to an old friend from Paris but instead finding himself move towards his father, who was walking back towards the ballroom alone.

  * * *

  The band had long stopped playing and Lara and François had left for Villa Marchand hours earlier, but Laurent and Hannah still had to encourage the small but determined group of guests intent on partying through the night into their awaiting taxis as the sun slowly rose in the August sky.

  Hannah laughed when one of Lara’s friends leant out of the window as his taxi pulled away and shouted merrily, ‘À bientôt, we’ll see you later... I want a rematch, Laurent, and my ten euro back.’

  ‘Remind me to lock the gates when we go inside,’ Laurent said wryly.

  Hannah folded her arms and gave him a pretend look of chastisement. ‘That’ll teach you for taking on drunk opponents when you’re completely sober.’

  Laurent raised his hands in exasperation. ‘For the last time, I didn’t take his money. Anyway, it was his idea to challenge me to a game.’

  As she remembered the sight of Laurent, jacket removed, shirtsleeves rolled up with a table tennis bat in his hand, taking on opponent after opponent, his reflexes lightning sharp as he cleared the ball easily time and time again over the net, then his quiet pride at winning that was so infectious, a slow warmth spread throughout Hannah.

  Arching his back as though to stretch the long night out of his spine, Laurent said, ‘Time for bed, I think.’

  Hannah nodded, trying not to react to the tenderness in his voice, how it added to the giddy sense of anticipation that had been slowly building inside her all night.

  The dancing had taken place in the ballroom, but the wedding guests had also partied out on the terrace, where the impromptu table tennis tournament had sprung up, Laurent being crowned th
e overall winner as the caterers had finally taken their leave at four in the morning. It had been at that point, when she and Laurent had thought that the party was finally coming to a close, that some of the younger guests had dive-bombed into the swimming pool. She and Laurent had stood by the pool and tried to encourage them to get out, laughing between themselves at their good-natured high jinks.

  Inside the hallway, Laurent closed the main door, turning the key in the lock.

  ‘It was a great night, really fun,’ she said.

  He turned and studied her for a moment, his eyes holding hers fondly. ‘Thanks for your help. I’m not sure how I’d have managed if you weren’t here.’

  It would have been so easy for Laurent to have ended the party hours ago, but seeing what fun everyone was having, François and Lara in particular, he’d asked for Hannah’s assistance in extending the celebrations.

  ‘I didn’t do much.’

  ‘You arranged for the caterers to remain here after their planned finish time to look after the guests, drove my parents home and on your return had to act as a lifeguard and fish out some guests from the swimming pool and organise for them to dry off inside.’

  All night they had easily fallen into a way of managing and communicating over everything that had needed to be taken care of as the party had evolved, and for a moment Hannah was on the verge of pointing out what a good team they made, but thankfully good sense kicked in and instead she said, ‘Your mum looked exhausted. I was happy to drop them both home.’ Pausing, she asked, ‘I saw you talking to your dad earlier. Did it go okay?’