• • •
Later, when Frederik had finally left, Connie went down to the cellar to comfort what she knew would be a distraught Sophia. And found her instead crouched over her bed, panting.
“My God!” Sophia exclaimed. “I thought you would never come. The baby …” Sophia screamed as a contraction ripped through her body. “Help me, Constance, help me!”
As the liberation of France began and the Allies stormed onto the beaches of Normandy, the battle raging for days, the cries of a newborn infant echoed around the darkened cellar.
29
Three Months Later
On a mellow evening in late September, Édouard de la Martinières stepped into the walled garden of the château just as the sun was setting. He saw a woman sitting under the chestnut tree, cradling a baby. Her eyes were lowered to the child, her full attention on soothing it.
He walked toward the woman, momentarily confused. “Hello?”
The question in his voice was answered the minute the clear brown eyes looked up in surprise at his unexpected intrusion.
“Édouard!”
He walked over to her and she stood up, the baby in her arms.
“Forgive me, Constance, your hair color … you look very different. For a moment, I thought you were Sophia.” He smiled.
“No …” Connie’s eyes clouded, then she said, “I can’t believe you’re here! You should have sent word, Édouard.”
“I didn’t want to risk announcing my presence. Even though Paris is liberated and de Gaulle is back in control, there’s still danger until the whole of France is free.”
“After the Allied invasion down here on the beaches nearby, the Germans fled like a plague of locusts, with the Resistance snapping at their heels. Does Jacques know you’re here?”
“No, he wasn’t at the cave, or in his cottage, but I saw the shutters of the château were open. I came here to see Sophia and Sarah.”
“It has been wonderful to finally live here freely,” acknowledged Connie.
“Is Sophia inside?”
“No, Édouard, she is not. Please …” Connie sighed. “Sit down. I have so much to tell you.”
“So it seems.” Édouard indicated the baby.
Connie, unprepared for his visit, was at a loss to know where to begin. “Édouard, it’s … not what you think.”
“In that case, I should fetch a jug of rosé from the cave. I won’t be long.”
Connie watched Édouard disappear through the door of the walled garden. She’d wished for, yet dreaded, this moment so many times in the past few weeks. Now it was here, she wondered how she would find the words to tell him what she must. Even though his long-awaited presence would at last set her free, Connie watched with a heavy heart as he returned with the jug of wine and two glasses.
“First of all, before we talk, I want us to drink to the end of hell. France is almost free again and the rest of the world will be following shortly.” Édouard clinked his glass against hers.
“To new beginnings,” murmured Connie. “I can hardly believe it’s nearly over.”
“Yes, to new beginnings.” Édouard took a sip of his rosé. “Tell me, where’s Sarah?”
Connie explained how she’d been arrested on the journey south across France. “We’ve made investigations in the past few weeks and believe she was sent to a German work camp. We will simply have to wait for further news.” Connie sighed.
“Let us pray we get it,” Édouard said with feeling. “Since the northern and southern invasions, the new spirit of the people is palpable here in France. We must hope the Germans officially surrender soon. But the devastation of the country and the mourning for the hundreds of thousands lost to the war will take many years to recover from. Now, Constance, please tell me about … that.” Édouard indicated the baby. “I can’t pretend I’m not shocked. How …? Who?”
Connie took a deep breath. “The child is not mine. I’ve only been taking care of it.”
“Then whose child is it?”
“Édouard, this baby is your niece. The child is Sophia’s.”
He stared at Connie as if she had gone mad. “No, no! This cannot be! Surely, Sophia could never have …” Édouard shook his head. “No. It’s unthinkable!”
“I understand you find it impossible to believe, just as I did when Sarah told me. But, Édouard, I helped bring this baby into the world. Sophia went into labor on D-day, so we thought it appropriate to call her daughter Victoria.”
Édouard still had his fingers to his brow, trying to take in what Constance was telling him.
“I understand your shock, Édouard. And I’m sorry it’s me who has to tell you. You must remember that we all treated Sophia like a child. But, in fact, she was the same age as me, and a woman. A woman who fell in love.”
Édouard looked up at Connie suddenly. “Why do you keep talking of Sophia in the past tense, as though she’s no longer here? Where is she? Tell me, Constance, where is she?”
“Sophia is dead, Édouard,” Connie said slowly. “She died a few days after Victoria was born. The labor was long and hard, and afterward, although we did everything, we couldn’t stop the bleeding. And, of course, it was impossible to take her to a hospital. Jacques called a doctor who did what he could for her here, but nothing would have saved her.” Connie’s voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, Édouard, forgive me. I’ve been dreading this conversation with you ever since it happened.”
Édouard was silent. Then a guttural howl from deep inside him shattered the still evening air.
“No! No! It cannot be!” He stood up and turned on Constance, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Tell me you’re lying. Tell me I’m dreaming this, that my dear sister is not dead when I still live! It cannot be, it cannot be!”
“I’m so sorry. But it’s true, it’s true!” Connie was terrified now by the look in his eyes. As he shook her, she gripped the baby tighter in her arms.
“Édouard! Stop that at once! You have nothing to reproach Constance for, and every reason to thank her!”
Jacques strode across the garden and pulled Édouard away from a frightened Connie. “Édouard, listen to me, the woman you attack was your sister’s savior! She protected her at great risk to her own life—even killed for her! I will not have you behaving like this toward her, however deep your shock and grief.”
“Jacques …” Édouard staggered backward, turned around, and looked at his old friend as if he barely recognized him. “Tell me, please tell me what she says isn’t true,” he entreated him desperately.
“It is true, Édouard. Sophia died three months ago,” Jacques confirmed. “We tried to get a message to you, but everything has been in chaos since the Allied invasion. I’m not surprised you didn’t get it.”
“Oh, God, oh, God! Sophia … my Sophia!”
Édouard began to sob. Jacques put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and held him as he wept.
“I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it. The thought that I did this! If I hadn’t tried to save France before her, there’s no doubt that Sophia would still be alive. It shouldn’t have been her life that was sacrificed, it should have been mine, mine!”
“Yes, it is indeed terrible she did not live,” agreed Jacques quietly, “but you must not blame yourself. Sophia idolized you, Édouard, and she was so very proud of the part you’ve played in helping France achieve its freedom.”
“But, Jacques”—Édouard wept—“there was I, sitting safely in London for months as she suffered here alone. I believed I must stay away from her, that my presence would only endanger her. And now she’s dead!”
“Please remember, my friend,” Jacques said gently, “that Sophia did not die at the hands of the Gestapo, she died in childbirth. Whether you had been present or not, it’s doubtful you could have saved her.”
Édouard’s sobbing ceased suddenly and he looked up at Jacques.
“Tell me, who was the father?”
Jacques looked to C
onnie for help. She stood up and tentatively took a step toward him. “It was Frederik von Wehndorf. I’m sorry, Édouard.”
Silence hung long in the garden as Édouard processed the further revelation. This time he sighed, staggered over to his chair, and sat down abruptly as if his legs would carry him no longer.
As he sat in catatonic silence, Connie said softly, “Even you said Frederik was a good man, Édouard. He aided our escape from Paris and helped others at great cost to himself, like you. And whatever his uniform, he loved your sister very much.”
“I saw the love too,” added Jacques.
“You met him?” Édouard’s eyes were glazed over with shock.
“Yes. He came here to find Sophia,” explained Jacques. “At least she had a few hours of joy and comfort in the time before she died. There is more. Falk—”
“No more!” Édouard opened his mouth to continue speaking, then shut it as if no words he could say would express his feelings. “Sorry.” He stood up and walked drunkenly to the door of the walled garden. “I need to be alone.”
• • •
That evening, when Connie had fed Victoria her bedtime bottle and was settling her down for the night in the airy nursery she had created in one of the château bedrooms, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Édouard stood at the door, looking gray and haggard, his eyes red from weeping.
“Constance, I have come to offer my sincerest apologies for my treatment of you earlier. It was unforgivable.”
“I understand,” said Connie, only glad that Édouard seemed calmer. “Would you like to see your niece? She’s a beautiful little girl, the image of Sophia.”
“No … no! I cannot.”
With that, Édouard turned and walked away.
• • •
In the next few days, Connie rarely saw Édouard. He’d installed himself in the main bedroom of the château, just along the corridor. She’d hear him pacing the floors during the night, but he was out by the time she emerged in the morning. She glimpsed him from the windows of the château as she fed Victoria at dawn; a distant figure disappearing through the vines, his body language underlining his misery. He’d often be gone all day, returning home when it was dark and going straight up to his bedroom.
“He’s grieving, Constance. Let him be. He just needs time,” Jacques advised.
Connie understood, but as the days passed and Édouard showed no signs of rousing himself from his despair, her patience began to run out. She was desperate to finally return home. It was safe for her to travel now that the city of Paris was free, and she wanted to see her husband. And, for the first time in four years, take up the reins of her own life once more.
But until Édouard was over his grief and could take responsibility for his niece, she could not walk out on Victoria. Her arms had been the first to hold her, and with Sophia initially too ill to acknowledge her child, followed by her death a few days later, Connie had seen to Victoria’s every need since.
Connie looked down at Victoria’s cherubic face, a tiny facsimile of her mother’s. She had been nervous that Sophia’s blindness might be hereditary, but she saw that Victoria’s beautiful blue eyes followed any bright colors Connie placed in front of her with grave interest. Recently, Victoria had learned to smile, and a huge beam would arrive on her face when Connie came to collect her from her cot. The wrench when she eventually had to say goodbye was something Connie currently couldn’t contemplate. She had become the child’s mother, and the overwhelming surge of love she felt for Victoria frightened her.
Connie prayed that one day, soon, she’d have her own babies with Lawrence.
• • •
After a week of Édouard’s constant solitary mourning, Connie decided she had to address the problem. Up early one morning with Victoria, she heard Édouard’s footsteps along the landing. She caught him as he was descending the stairs.
“Édouard, I’m afraid we must talk.”
He turned back slowly and regarded her. “What about?”
“The war is practically over. I have a husband and a life and I must go home to England.”
“Then go.” He shrugged and turned to continue down the stairs.
“Édouard, wait! What about Victoria? You will need to make arrangements for her to be cared for when I’ve gone. Perhaps you would consider hiring a nursemaid? I could help you find someone suitable.”
At this, Édouard turned again. “Constance, I wish to make it clear to you that I have no interest in that child.” He spat the words out. “It is the reason, along with its bastard father, why Sophia is no longer here.”
Connie was horrified by his coldness. “Édouard, surely you must see it’s not the child’s fault? She’s an innocent baby, who didn’t ask to be born. I … it’s your responsibility as her uncle to take charge of her care!”
“No. I said no! Why don’t you make the arrangements, Constance? Perhaps there’s a local orphanage who will take her.” He sighed. “From what you say, you’ll wish this to happen as soon as possible. The faster that child is out of the house, the better. Please, do as you see fit with it. I will, of course, reimburse any costs.”
Édouard turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Connie reeling in shock.
• • •
“How can he say such terrible things?” Connie wrung her hands in despair as Jacques listened grimly an hour later.
“He’s grieving, as I said. Not just for Sophia, but for all he has lost in the war. His refusal to acknowledge the baby is because her presence gives him a focus for his blame. Of course he knows that the child is not responsible. He’s a man of integrity, who has never shirked his duty in his life. He’ll come round, Constance, I know he will.”
“But, Jacques, I have no more time,” Connie said despairingly. “Forgive me, but you must understand I have loved ones too whom I’m desperate to see. And knowing that if it wasn’t for Victoria I could travel home to England this very minute if I wished is proving almost impossible. Yet I love Victoria, and I can’t abandon her. How could Édouard mention an orphanage?” Tears spilled freely down Connie’s face as she looked at Victoria, gurgling happily on her blanket on the grass.
“Perhaps it doesn’t help that the baby resembles her mother so strongly.” Jacques sighed. “Constance, I swear to you, Édouard will eventually discover that this child could be the one thing he needs to bring him hope and joy for the future. But he’s lost in his own sorrow and can’t see anything.”
“So what do I do, Jacques? Please, tell me,” she begged. “I must go home! And I can’t wait much longer.”
“Let me talk to Édouard myself, see if I can knock some sense into him, bring him out of his self-pity.”
“I’m glad you used those words. I’m afraid that’s how I’m starting to feel about him too. There’s been so much suffering. For all of us.”
“As I said, Édouard is not normally a self-indulgent man.” Jacques nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”
• • •
That evening, waiting on tenterhooks in the cottage, Connie watched as Jacques marched through the vineyard when he spotted Édouard returning home. She sent up a prayer. If Édouard would listen to anyone, it was Jacques. He was her only hope.
Putting Victoria to sleep in the bassinet she kept in the cottage for when she visited Jacques, Connie waited in an agony of suspense for him to return. When he did so, she knew at once from his expression that it was bad news.
“No, Constance”—he sighed—“he won’t be moved. He’s so full of bitterness and hatred … he’s a changed man. I don’t know what to suggest. I still believe that in time, as I’ve said, Édouard will come round. But you don’t have that time. I understand that. And you, of all people, who have given so much to this family, should not feel guilty that you wish to return to those you love. So, perhaps the orphanage I mentioned—”
“No!” Connie shook her head firmly. “Never would I abandon Victoria! I couldn’t live with myself if I did
.”
“Constance, I don’t know what you imagine, but the convent orphanage I’m talking of is clean and the nuns are kindly. There’s every chance a beautiful baby such as Victoria would find a suitable family immediately,” said Jacques, with far more conviction than he felt. “And please try to remember, Victoria is not your responsibility and you must now think of yourself.”
Connie gazed down silently at Victoria. “Then whose responsibility is she?”
“Listen to me”—Jacques put a hand gently on hers—“war is a time of cruelty, when there are many casualties. Not just the brave soldiers who have fought for their countries, but Sophia and her daughter too. Édouard is another. Maybe he’ll never be the same, for even though he lashes out at others so angrily, blaming them for Sophia’s death, it is in fact himself he holds responsible. You’ve done enough, my dear. You can do no more. And as someone who has come to admire and respect you, I think you must now walk away.”
“What about Victoria’s father? Surely, if Frederik knew Sophia was dead and Édouard was refusing to acknowledge the child, he would take her?”
“Yes, I’m sure he would, but how do you intend to go about finding him? He could be anywhere, or even dead, like Sophia.” Jacques shook his head. “Constance, the entire world is in chaos, displaced people everywhere. It would be a fruitless task and not one to even contemplate.”
“No, you’re right. It’s all … hopeless,” said Connie sadly. “There are no solutions.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll visit the convent in Draguignan and speak to the nuns to see if they’re able to take Victoria,” Jacques said gently. “You must believe that I care for her too. And I wouldn’t suggest she be left in a place that does not provide for her needs. But it’s time someone took the burden away from you. And as Édouard cannot seem to do that at present, then I will.”
• • •
Connie lay sleepless that night, tossing and turning, not knowing what was right or wrong anymore. The war seemed to have turned any sense of morality on its head, and she was struggling to hang on to hers.
Then she suddenly sat upright, an idea springing to her mind. What if she took Victoria back home to England with her …?
The Lavender Garden Page 36