Alex gazed inside. “It’s a lift.”
“Correct, Monsieur Detective.” Anton smiled. “And it’s my favorite new toy. Shall we take a ride?”
As they stepped inside and Anton pressed the button to reclose the door, Alex’s eyes swept up toward Emilie’s. They were misty with tears. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
“Don’t thank me, this has been put in for when I’m too old to climb the stairs.” She grinned. “And just in case you want to stay for a while.”
The phrase had become their shared joke. Alex had arrived a year ago, and even though they hadn’t made any plans for the future to be together, nor were either of them intending to ever be apart. They had taken each day as it had come, neither feeling they had to formalize the arrangement, yet knowing that as each month passed their bond grew deeper and stronger.
The mutual admiration society between Alex and Anton had been evident from the start. Anton’s bright, inquiring mind soaked up Alex’s intellect, and Emilie knew the relationship was hugely beneficial for both of them. Their strange little family might look odd to outsiders, but the three of them had found happiness, contentment, and peace together.
Anton still knew nothing of his true blood, but soon their relationship to each other would be formalized—Anton would be adopted to enable him to use his rightful surname and to one day inherit the château. Similarly, perhaps when that happened, she and Alex would legalize their own arrangements, but Emilie was in no hurry. Life was perfect the way it was.
She watched Anton’s excited face as the doors opened and the three of them emerged onto the wide landing.
“Good God! You could put a marquee and parking for two hundred people on this,” Alex joked as Emilie indicated Anton should turn to the left.
“I thought this could be ours,” Emilie said as Anton steered Alex through her parents’ beautiful old bedroom and then into an anteroom. Once Valérie’s dressing room, it was now fitted out as a handicap bathroom, with everything Alex would need to provide himself with the independence he craved. “The builders haven’t tiled it yet. I thought you might like to choose the color and style.”
“It’s wonderful, my darling, thank you.” Alex was moved almost beyond words at the effort Emilie had made for him.
“And, no, we don’t have to share the facilities.” She grinned. “My dressing room and bathroom are over there.” She indicated as Alex wheeled himself back into the center of the bedroom. “Do you like the view?”
“It’s simply stunning.” Alex looked through the long windows across the garden and the sweeping vineyards to the hill of Gassin in the distance. “Long time since I’ve looked down on anything,” he muttered, his voice croaky with emotion.
“Alex, come and see my bedroom,” interrupted Anton. “Emilie said I can choose the colors when it’s ready to be painted, as long as it isn’t black.”
Emilie smiled and watched them leave the room. She stayed behind, still looking out the window, watching the light pour in through it. Two years ago, her mother had died in here, and as she savored the view, she felt a mixture of conflicting emotions. She thought of her father, whose loss of those he loved had made him turn inward on himself. He’d hidden away from the world here in the library for most of her childhood.
She’d also begun to feel an empathy for her mother; from reading the love letters she’d written to her husband, Emilie had realized how Valérie had adored him. She also must have struggled to gain love and attention from a man who was too damaged to give it freely. And, in retrospect, Emilie realized Valérie had spent much of her marriage in Paris, alone.
That Sophia’s grandson would be restored to his family, and that she had taken Anton in simply through compassion, at least righted some of the terrible wrongs of the past. The circle had been completed and it was a whole new dawn.
Emilie turned and walked slowly toward the door to find Alex and Anton. As she left the room, she realized that the lost, angry little girl who’d screamed and wept over her mother’s lifeless body two years ago had finally grown up.
• • •
“I must admit, I’m eager to move in now that I’ve seen my new bathroom,” said Alex later as he lowered the sides of his chair and twisted first his torso and then his legs onto the bed next to Emilie.
“The foreman has told me no more than three months, so we’ll definitely be in for autumn and our first Christmas.”
“By the way, I received an e-mail earlier from my solicitors. Seb’s found a buyer for Blackmoor Hall. I’m sure he’s thrilled. And I’m equally sure that he’ll try and fleece me of my share of what’s left of the profits.” Alex raised his eyebrows. “My lawyer said that the deeds of the house had a charge of over three hundred and fifty thousand pounds on them, the exact size of Seb’s current overdraft.” Alex shook his head. “I’ll guarantee any further money he gets from the sale will have disappeared within a year. I suppose that at least Bella knows him of old. She must love him to put up with him. By the way, heard anything more from the divorce lawyer?”
“No, only that Sebastian has come back with even more outrageous demands. Of course, he won’t get what he wants, but I almost feel like paying him off now just to get rid of him. The lawyers’ fees will end up costing more than the settlement.”
“I’m sure my presence in the mix hasn’t exactly helped.” Alex sighed. “It’s meant that Sebastian’s been able to assuage any guilt of his own by painting you as a hussy and me as a cad and a bounder, stealing his wife from right under his nose.”
“I’m sure.” Emilie paused before she said, “Alex, there’s something I haven’t told you. I’ve invited someone to visit. And he arrives tomorrow. I was sure it was a good idea at the time, but now … now, I’m nervous.”
“You’d better tell me, then.”
• • •
Jacques was dozing by the fire as he heard a car pull up in front of the cottage. It had been a long, cold winter, and once more he had succumbed to bronchitis. He’d wondered, as he did every year, whether he’d live to see another summer.
He heard the door to the kitchen open and remembered Emilie had arranged to bring a friend of hers around for lunch.
Jean appeared first in the sitting room. “Papa, are you awake?”
“Yes.” Jacques opened his eyes as his son walked toward him.
“Papa”—Jean took hold of his hand—“Emilie has brought someone to see you.”
“Hello, Jacques,” Emilie said as she led her guest into the room with her.
Jacques stared at the guest. He was an old man, like him. Tall, straight-backed, and elegant.
“Jacques,” the man spoke to him, “do you remember me?”
His French had a strong accent. He was definitely familiar, but Jacques struggled to place his face.
“It is over fifty years since we last stood in this room together,” the man prompted.
Jacques stared at the faded but still piercing blue eyes. And finally realized exactly who this man was.
“Frederik?”
“Yes, Jacques, it is I.”
“My God! I cannot believe it!”
Jacques dropped his son’s arm and refused help as he hoisted himself to standing. The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, a multitude of memories passing between them. Then Jacques held out his arms to the German, and the two men embraced.
• • •
Alex arrived with Anton at the cottage after lunch, as Emilie had requested. He’d recently bought himself a custom-made car, controlled with his arms, rather than his legs, which had revolutionized his life and given him some autonomy, albeit only reserved for short journeys and accompanied by Emilie or Anton.
Anton lifted the wheelchair out of the back of the car and brought it around to Alex’s door. “Who is it that Emilie wants me to meet?” Anton asked as he helped Alex from the car into his chair.
“I think I’ll leave it to her to tell you that.”
As the two of the
m entered the kitchen, Anton saw Emilie, Jean, and Jacques, and another old man, drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“Hello,” Anton said awkwardly.
Immediately, Emilie stood up, came over to him, and put an arm around Anton’s shoulder.
“Anton,” she said as she watched Frederik’s eyes fill with tears at the sight of the boy, “this is your grandfather Frederik. And, when you’re ready, he has a story to tell you about your family… .”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My very grateful thanks go to Peter Borland, Judith Curr, and the wonderful team at Atria. Jeremy Trevathan and Catherine Richards at Pan Macmillan UK. Jonathan Lloyd, Lucia Rae, and Melissa Pimentel at Curtis Brown. Olivia Riley, my fantastic PA; Jacquelyn Heslop, Susan Grix, and Richard Jemmett. Almuth Andreae, Susan Boyd, Sam Gurney, Helene Ruhn, Rita Kalagate, each one a friend and a fount of invaluable advice, both personal and professional.
Damien and Anne Rey-Brot and their friends and family at Le Pescadou in Gassin; Tony Bourne and Monsieur Chapelle of the Domaine du Bourrian, whose surname, Château and cave was borrowed by Constance and her fellow characters before I knew such a family and their beautiful home actually existed in reality. I walked into my own fictional story last August and it was a humbling and magical experience. Thank you for all the details you gave me. Any mistakes are certainly mine, not yours. Also Jan Goesing, who gave me a vivid potted history of pre-war Germany, and Marcus Tyers; Naomi Ritchie and Emily Jenkins at St Marys Books; Stamford, who kindly sourced two old valuable French volumes on which to base my fictional rare books.
To all my wonderful foreign publishers, who have invited me to their countries and welcomed me with open arms. The travel and culture feeds my imagination and provides me with fertile ground for future settings.
And of course, “The Family,” whose support and encouragement in this past, manic year has been invaluable. My children: Harry for the insightful editorial comments and the speeches; Bella for the initial plot discussions and naming two of the main characters; Leonora for the beautiful poem that she wrote for me as “Sophia” at the same age; and Kit, for being the household’s number one Amazon customer … in the sports section! My mother, Janet; my sister, Georgia; and my husband, Stephen, who has been simply amazing.
And lastly, to every single reader across the world who has spent their hard-earned money on one of my books. Without each one of you, I’d be a very miserable writer without an audience and I’m honored that you choose my stories to read. Thank you.
Lucinda Riley
January 2013
BIBLIOGRAPHY
The Lavender Garden is a work of fiction set against a historical background. The sources I’ve used to research the era and detail on my characters’ lives are:
Lucie Aubrac, Outwitting the Gestapo (Bison Books, 1994).
Matthew Cobb, The Resistance: The French Fight Against the Nazis (Pocket Books, 2009).
Squadron Leader Beryl E. Escott, The Heroines of SOE: F Section: Britain’s Secret Women in France (History Press, 2010).
Hans Fallada, Alone in Berlin (Penguin, 1994).
Anna Funder, All That I Am (Viking, 2011).
Sarah Helm, A Life in Secrets: The Story of Vera Atkins and the Lost Agents of SOE (Abacus, 2006).
John Van Wyck Gould, The Last Dog in France (AuthorHouse, 2006).
Also by Lucinda Riley
The Orchid House
The Girl on the Cliff
PHOTO CREDIT: FRANCESCO GUIDICINI
LUCINDA RILEY is the #1 internationally bestselling author of The Orchid House and The Girl on the Cliff. She lives in the English countryside and in France with her husband and four children. Visit her online at www.LucindaRiley.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or persons are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Lucinda Riley
Cover Design By Alan Dingman
Cover Photography By ArcAngel
Originally published in 2012 in Great Britain by Pan Books,
an imprint of Pan Macmillan.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Atria Paperback edition June 2013
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Riley, Lucinda.
The lavender garden ; a novel / by Lucinda Riley.—First ATRIA Books trade paperback edition
pages cm
1. Country homes—England—Fiction. 2. World War, 1939-1945—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6055.D63L38 2013
823’.914—dc23
2013005536
ISBN 978-1-4767-0355-8
ISBN 978-1-4767-0356-5 (ebook)
Contents
Epigraph
The Light Behind the Window
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Bibliography
About Lucinda Riley
The Lavender Garden Page 44