Afterwards, the plummeting temperature and paltry light left little to do until their train left that evening except return to their hotel room where, enervated by the long winter afternoon, they lay side by side reading their books, inhibited from initiating sex by the strange bed and thin walls. Later, tucked up in their banquettes on the train, they held hands and dozed companionably as if they had indeed successfully accomplished the perfect weekend away.
They arrived back in Riberac around Monday lunchtime. Making the excuse that she wanted to fetch his gifts, Leonie went straight to her apartment. In fact she could wait no longer to try the pregnancy kit that she had managed to buy while Patrice had been occupied choosing a newspaper.
She locked herself in the bathroom, despite there being no one to spy on her, took the predictor stick out of its box and sat on the loo to pee. Then she counted off the seconds of two extraordinary minutes, staring sightlessly into the basin’s plug-hole. Taking a deep breath, she dared to look: it was positive! The dream of many years. A child. A child with a man she loved more tenderly than she had ever imagined possible. She gazed at the stick. Life was growing inside her right now, a life they had created together. She grinned at herself in the mirror, mocking her own cliché-ridden thoughts, then danced through to her bedroom to change her clothes. Nothing wrong with clichés, she told herself, not when they were so joyously, amazingly, miraculously true!
Distracted, she almost forgot to take Patrice’s presents with her when she drove to his house. She rang the bell and stood in the gathering darkness, certain she would be incapable now of keeping her news to herself. Besides, she reasoned, what difference would it make when she told him? There was no such thing as the ‘right moment’. Okay, so it wasn’t meant to happen now, so soon, but it had, and it had happened to both of them. When Patrice opened the door, she threw her free arm around his neck, kissed him, and presented his gifts. Back on familiar ground, he too was more composed and contented. He unwrapped and admired the glazed bowl, carried it through to the kitchen table, then returned to lay out some of the stair rods: they fitted precisely, enhancing the imposing hallway in just the way he wanted.
‘Thank you!’ he kissed her. ‘They’re perfect. Come and have a drink. Omelette okay? There’s not much else in the fridge.’
‘Plenty! But actually I won’t have any wine. Just water.’ She followed him into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
When she did not enlarge, he turned from rinsing a tumbler at the sink to look at her. She grinned idiotically. ‘Can’t you guess?’
He shook his head, a polite smile masking his thoughts.
Leonie took a deep breath. ‘You remember the night I twisted my ankle and you came over?’
He handed her the glass of water. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting you.’ She paused. He still didn’t get it. ‘I didn’t use my cap that night.’
He went very still. She saw his eyes lock down. But she was getting used to that now and refused to let it alarm her. Besides, almost as soon as she had registered it, the blankness was gone. ‘Wow,’ he said, breathing again. ‘Go on, tell me.’
‘Oh, Patrice, I’m pregnant!’
‘You’ve known this all weekend?’
‘No. I only just did the test. I wasn’t sure before. Just hoped,’ she said, offering him a lead on her state of unambivalent happiness. ‘Though it is the reason I was a bit jumpy in Nice. Sorry about that!’
‘Gosh.’
He sat down at the table and ran his finger round the roughened edge of the Moroccan bowl. She waited in trepidation, watching him closely, but his face was in shadow. He lifted his head and looked once around the black-and-white-tiled kitchen as if committing it to memory one final time before his life changed for ever. He took a shuddering breath, then she saw his shoulders drop and he smiled up at her, his eyes clear: he had decided. He got to his feet and folded her in his arms.
In the morning Leonie had to leave early for work. The previous night had been the closest and sweetest they had ever spent together. Patrice had been both tender and demanding, murmuring endearments he had never voiced before. She thought she had woken in the night to him thrashing and wailing in the grip of another nightmare, but her memory was hazy, lost in the depths of unconsciousness. Now they were in a weekday morning rush, both running late. Kissing him farewell at the door, she teased him: ‘I won’t hear from you for days now, will I?’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll call tonight.’
‘We’ll see about that!’ she joked, and went off as happy and carefree as she had been in years.
‘Bye for now,’ he called after her.
Gaby looked over the top of her computer screen when Leonie walked in. ‘How was Nice? Good weekend?’
‘Magical!’
‘I’m so glad. I want to hear all about it over lunch.’
Leonie knew she could not yet say anything to Gaby, her employer, about the future: she was barely a few weeks into her pregnancy, and it was tempting fate to announce it too early. Not that her mind wasn’t already leaping ahead to the contingency plans they would have to make in the office for next summer when the baby would be born. Meanwhile, she let her boss assume that her inability to concentrate was due to her romantic weekend away, and was rewarded by Gaby’s evident pleasure in hearing about the windswept Promenade des Anglais, welcome proof that the older woman’s attitude to Patrice was softening.
Leonie couldn’t wait to get back to her apartment at the end of the day, bursting to ring Stella.
‘You’re kidding? That’s spectacular news!’ was Stella’s instant reaction. ‘Can I be godmother?’
‘Who else?’
‘How did Patrice take it?’
‘Pretty well, considering. Really well, actually. I suspect he’s rather pleased. He was – we were together last night, and he was—Oh, Stella, I am ecstatic.’
‘Some Christmas you’re going to have! I’m so happy for you, Lennie. If anybody deserves their dream-come-true, it’s you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Leonie humbly. ‘I still can’t believe it’s happening.’
‘So your weekend went well, obviously?’
‘I was in a bit of a state. Hardly surprising. But it was fine. I didn’t tell him ’til we got home.’
‘I guess you’ll have to start negotiating moving in together.’
‘Don’t! I’m already fantasising about turning his old bedroom into a nursery. We’ll have to do something to modernise the bathroom, too.’
‘And Patrice is truly on board with all this?’
‘Yes, I think so … after last night.’ Leonie glowed at the warm memory. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to railroad him. There’s plenty of time.’
‘Good.’
‘Frankly, I won’t be surprised if he wobbles. That’s what he’s like. But he’s said he’ll be there for me, and however much he drifts off sometimes, he keeps his promises.’
‘Well, I want regular updates, okay?’
‘You’ll get them. Bye, Stella.’
‘Bye, Lennie. Look after yourself.’
After she hung up, Leonie could hardly contain herself. She wanted literally to jump up and down with joy, but there was no one else to share her news with, not yet. Her family had grown too distant, other friends in London not close enough, and friends here, like Audra and Martine, while they would be thrilled for her, might spread the word before she and Patrice were ready for it to be common knowledge. Half of her wished he would ring and be unable not to see her tonight, but the other half knew him well enough to warn her that this was fairy-tale thinking. He wasn’t about to change overnight. Her news was a shock, no two ways about it, and he would need time alone to digest and process this potentially seismic shift in his life. But she luxuriated in the certainty that he would call tomorrow. Or even the day after. It didn’t matter in the great scheme of things. Time and parenthood would gradually alter his habitual reserve. She had only to be
patient and to wait.
By Wednesday night she was cross and irritated. He wouldn’t be able to go on being quite so self-absorbed once he had a child to look after! At some point he would have to learn to take other people’s feelings into account. Around ten, before she went to bed, she called him. He didn’t pick up, but he often ran a bath at this time and might not have heard the phone. At lunchtime the next day she called his office, but got the answering machine – he never employed a receptionist – and decided there was little point leaving a message. When she got home that evening she called his house again, where the phone rang and rang. She tried his mobile, but it was turned off. The first cold fear that this was going to be a more serious wobble than she had anticipated began to creep into her mind, but she rejected it robustly. She had been here before, and all had been well in the end. She just had to allow him to absorb the bombshell in his own peculiar way.
On Friday at the office the ringing phones all day were torture; she prayed each time she picked up that the caller would be Patrice. As she put the key in the lock of her apartment door at the end of the week, panic began to set in. How could she be so foolish as to let herself imagine so easily that, at forty, he would welcome the prospect of fatherhood with a woman he had known for a mere few months, had not even yet lived with? To what depths of self-delusion was she letting herself sink? She could hardly blame him for avoiding her! But while she braced herself for a dose of reality, she also knew that time was on her side. The baby was not due until August. Even if, as after Gaby’s dinner party, it was a few weeks before he came back to her, did it honestly matter? He was a decent man who would never turn his back on her, of that she was sure. She pushed from her mind all memory of Didier.
After she’d climbed wearily into bed, another buried recollection surfaced and clutched at her: when she’d rung his office number the previous day, she’d not listened attentively to the out-going message. Now, certain that out of hours no one would be there, she dialled it again: she was right, the message he’d left had been changed from the usual one. Patrice’s voice sounded neutral, bland, but announced that he wasn’t booking any new appointments at present. If the matter was urgent, he recommended a colleague in a nearby town. She pushed down her infernal misgivings. It would soon be Christmas. He probably wanted to delay all new appointments until after the New Year, that was all. Make some time for himself. Maybe create more free time to spend with her, for all she knew. She must not over-react, not allow hormonal changes to drive her to panic. And even if he had cleared the decks so he could think things through in peace on his own for a little while, he’d be back in touch eventually.
All that night she fought the urge to get up and dressed and drive over to his house. How ridiculous she would look if she turned up, dishevelled and maddened with anxiety, and then found him calmly reading beside a cosy log fire in the salon. But in the morning she showered and dressed with care and went over there, determined not to upbraid him, to act as if five days’ silence from the father of her child were the most natural thing in the world.
As she turned off the ignition outside his house and opened her car door she took in the unusual fact that all the shutters were closed. Trembling in the winter cold, she went to the front door and rang the bell. She could hear it pealing in the empty hallway but there was no sound of his approaching footsteps. She went around to the side door, but found the garden gate padlocked. The padlock was brand new. She stared at it, uncomprehending. The gate was never locked. Full of dread, she returned to the front door. Every window was shuttered, she could not see in, and there was no answer to her increasingly frantic ringing of the bell.
VI
It took Gaby and Thierry some time to chip away at Leonie’s disbelief. She had driven straight to their house and burst in on them as they were reading the Saturday newspapers. In complete shock, she told them everything. Failing to notice Gaby’s disappointed shake of the head at the unhindered revelation of her pregnancy, she castigated herself soundly. How could she have been so naïve, so self-obsessed, so carried away with her own fantasies? Patrice was a dear, beautiful man, trying to recover from past difficulties, and she had just barged into his life, trampling over his most delicate feelings, considering only herself and what she wanted, and expected him to adjust instantly to the idea of parenthood. Hardly surprising he’d felt suffocated, unable to explain himself, in need of some space! It was all her fault.
The Duvals exchanged concerned looks over Leonie’s slumped shoulders and shook their heads.
‘Sweetie, nothing’s ever as one-sided as that. I’m sure he’s more than capable of speaking for himself,’ said Gaby, making a huge effort to restrain her indignation. ‘Maybe he does need a bit of time to adjust, like you say. Probably just gone off somewhere neutral to think things over for a day or two, that’s all. Doesn’t want to face you until he’s ready.’ Gaby looked up at her husband, but found him unwilling to fall into line.
‘There are other ways to extricate himself from the situation without turning tail,’ said Thierry roundly. ‘Strikes me he’s taking the easy way out, looking after number one.’ Gaby shot him a look. ‘Unless there’s some other simple explanation, of course,’ he amended. ‘He could have padlocked the gate because of kids breaking in and making a mess, or something.’
Faced with Leonie’s beseeching look, Thierry excused himself. ‘I’m going to make some calls,’ he said. ‘See what there is to find out. Anyone want more coffee first?’
Leonie shook her head, but Gaby gave instructions. ‘Good idea. And bring Leonie some of that apple cake. She needs to eat.’
‘No, really, I’m not hungry. Thanks.’
‘You’ll eat something.’ Gaby patted Leonie’s cold hands. ‘You’ve got more than just yourself to take into account now, remember?’ She shifted close, holding onto Leonie’s hands. ‘Sweetie, do you think it’s to do with his having another child?’
‘What other child?’ Leonie asked, bewildered.
‘Catherine’s convinced she’s right, that Agnès Hinde did say she’d had a grandson.’
‘No, no.’
‘Well, whatever the truth, he’ll probably be back soon,’ Gaby resumed a brighter tone. ‘And with the biggest bunch of flowers you’ve ever seen!’
‘Poor Patrice,’ mourned Leonie. ‘What have I done to him?’
‘You’re the one who needs consolation, sweetie. Not him.’ Gaby looked up at her husband as he returned with coffee and cake and widened her eyes in warning.
‘He’d never have done this unless he had to, unless it was all too much and he couldn’t cope,’ Leonie went on.
Thierry shook his head. ‘All that should matter is making sure you don’t harm anyone you love.’
‘But surely the way he’s behaved shows how deeply damaged he must be?’ she appealed to them both.
‘A wounded animal is often the most dangerous,’ observed Thierry.
‘My friend Stella, she learnt from the kids she used to work with. The worst behaved were always the ones with the worst histories,’ insisted Leonie. ‘They can’t help it.’
But Thierry shook his head, having none of it. ‘Why is it that women always have to make allowances for their men?’ he asked. ‘Any scoundrel offers a plausible enough excuse and everything’s forgiven.’
‘We forgive our children,’ said Gaby simply.
‘He’s not a child,’ snapped Thierry. Gaby failed to shush him, and even nodded in agreement as Thierry declared, ‘He’s a coward. And Leonie deserves better!’
*
Embarrassed and exhausted, Leonie refused the Duvals’ kindly invitations to stay on for lunch, or even the weekend, and took herself back home. Her apartment seemed smaller and more makeshift than ever. It would be Christmas in a fortnight’s time. The cashmere scarf she had so carefully chosen for Patrice lay in its bag in her bedroom cupboard, waiting to be festively wrapped. Thierry’s calls had thrown no light as yet on Patrice’s unoccupied and shut
tered house, but a voice at the back of her mind warned her he had gone for good. She couldn’t rationalise it, knew it made no sense for him to give up his life here, but was utterly convinced.
She thought back to last Monday night, when she had taken his birthday presents over to his house. She hadn’t noticed any cards or gifts other than her own. Had there really been nothing at all? Patrice had grown up in this town, spent half his childhood here, then returned to work here four years ago. He was a charming man who gained deep satisfaction from helping people, and his patients liked him. How had it been possible not to accumulate friends and acquaintances who knew him well enough at least to acknowledge his fortieth birthday? Why had he never made a social life for himself, however small and tight-knit? Why would anyone willingly tolerate such isolation? But then, maybe he had an existence of which she remained completely ignorant. Maybe he had women all over town, or each kept in separate compartments of his life. Her icy terror at the idea made her laugh: she couldn’t imagine him juggling different women, lying to each of them. He was too sincere, his feelings too transparent. No, he was not that type of man at all!
Leonie recollected how Stella had wanted to Google him – she must call Stella, but not yet. She wished now she had not gone to Gaby’s house. What if Thierry were right, and there was some simple explanation and Patrice was about to call any moment? It was stupid of her to have over-reacted. Patrice would quite rightly not be pleased that she had told her boss about the pregnancy without consulting him first. She would delay calling Stella about this latest development. No need to go overboard until the worst was confirmed, until she knew for certain that Patrice had walked out on her.
Out of Sight Page 11