Whispering in French

by Sophia Nash

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was a shock to see Edward in a wheelchair.

  The moderate progress we’d made in addressing his PTSD was forgotten. Becoming dependent on others was just not something in his wheelhouse. The result was a retreat into himself.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said when I came to see him in the bedroom Magdali chose across from my own. “I only want to thank you for opening the villa to us temporarily.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “I know you and your uncle would do the same.”

  His face was as closed off as the barricade up the road.

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “Eight months in pins, likely. One more operation—although I’ll go back to England to see an Army Specialist and have the surgery there.”

  “Will you come back here?”

  He shook his head. “No reason.”

  I breathed deeply. “Right.”

  “Right.”

  Awkwardness compressed the air in the room. “Um, so Phillip informed that your wife is arriving this afternoon.”

  “She is,” he said.

  From the set of his face I knew I could not ask him how he felt about that. “Magdali and I made up the room next to yours for Claire, unless you would prefer for her to be in here with you. I thought that with your leg and the pins you’d—”

  “Yep,” he interrupted.

  “Okay. Youssef will help you in the mornings and evenings.”

  “Perfect. But as I said, we won’t be here much longer.”

  “Okay, then.” I paused, uncertain how to go on. “I’ll just go now. I must tell—” I backed toward the oak door.

  “Kate?”

  I stopped. “Yes?”

  “Thank you,” he gritted out. “I mean it. Thank you for going back into the teeth of that storm and finding help. I owe you. And there’s just no way to repay that debt.”

  “Edward?”

  “Yep?”

  “I actually owe you. I—”

  “Utter shite,” he interrupted. “Don’t start with the psychobabble. Please. I beg you.”

  “Shush. Just suck it up and listen. You did me a favor. I’ve felt like a pathetic failure the last year and a half and actually much longer—concerning my daughter. While I hate everything that happened during that storm, at least I didn’t fail someone this time. I didn’t fail you. And for that, I am grateful. But I also know you can’t stand the fact that you had to rely on someone else. And I’m sorry for that.”

  He raised one brow. “You have got to get a bureaucratic French job.”

  That was not the answer I expected. “Why?”

  “You spend far too much time worrying about everyone else and what they’re thinking. A short stint at the post office—refusing to make change, closing early, adding weight to packages, and just generally being foul to everyone who enters—will change your life.”

  That was the man I knew. The man who used humor to cover up any emotion greater than gratitude.

  “Okay,” I repeated. “See you at dinner. Got to go check out hairnets and support hose at Gallery Lafayette if I’m going to apply for that job.”

  “Good girl,” he said.

  But as I left, his forced smile dissolved under the sunlight streaming in through the window. Blankness filled its place.

  His wife’s Ryanair flight was late from London Stansted. Phillip went to the Biarritz airport with the children to collect her, while Magdali and Lily prepared a family reunion dinner for the Soameses at Madeleine Marie. I escaped to a surfing festival at the Grande Plage organized to help those affected by the storm.

  “Alors, Kate,” Jojo said, racing up to me on the beachfront. “You know I have un grand problème. I must find a space to work while the current mairie is repaired. Have I told you I’ve arranged for the insurance to pay for every last sou of damage? But it’s impossible to get through to any of the agencies a ce point since hundreds of customers are calling. Would you like me to try to place a call for you? They always take calls first from le maire. Perhaps we can come to some sort of petit arrangement? You hit my back and I hit yours? That’s the American expression isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So, do we have an understanding? You also might have another petit problème. I wonder if your villa, with all the prior poor condition is eligible. But, with one call from me. . . . Well, you know how it goes.”

  “Your kindness knows no bounds,” I said archly.

  His face was scrunched up in obvious incomprehension.

  “Okay, I’m sure I can arrange something. At least temporarily. And yes, could you call? No one has returned my call. But I’m certain with your expert help, Jojo, perhaps you’ll arrange to get them out to assess the damage pronto—if you don’t want your future files in the villa damaged by flooding.” I had no doubt the insurance company would fix the roof. I wouldn’t fall for Jojo’s French bureaucratic nonsense. On the other hand, the man would get them out there all the faster if he was in the villa.

  He beamed like the sun in August. “Parfait. And I have an idea for some immediate money for you. Allow me to introduce you to my friends from Australia, the newest visitors to our great Pays Basque.”

  “No introduction is needed.”

  Jojo arched a black eyebrow.

  Pierrot walked up with the Australian surfing contingent and before I could say, “Raspy, bitchin’, gnarly waves, mates,” I had agreed to take in three Aussies who were desperate for lodgings, having lost everything when the hotel at the Côte des Basques was ravaged. Every undamaged hotel in fifty miles was packed to the gills with people affected by the storm.

  “I will warn you guys, the villa is not a hotel nor can we do anything except give you clean sheets and towels and a simple breakfast.”

  “Great. Perfect! We only need rooms for the next three weeks. You sure are a lifesaver, Kate.” The team captain, Russ Nation, winked at me.

  “Right,” I said.

  Jojo puffed out his chest and stepped in. “Madame is giving you a very good rate—one hundred-twenty-five euros a night per person with breakfast. May I suggest that you help her any way you can? Are any of you talented with carpentry or roofs?”

  I could have kissed Jojo if I didn’t know he probably was going to want a kickback.

  “No problem,” Russ said, still looking at me. “Cody and I know all about roofs. Watcha need, sweetheart?”

  All right. “Um . . . how about if we take a look at it after you move in? Likely just a makeshift tarp until insurance and roofers can be arranged.” I refused to look at Jojo, who was probably smiling again at all the ways he could use influence to arm-twist me.

  “You got it, Kate,” Russ said. “Now how about we check out that barbeque? Do Frenchies even know how to barbeque? You Yanks sure do. Had some mighty fine ribs in La Jolla last season. Shall we?” His eyes were clear and his interest obvious.

  Why was I fighting it? I looked at Pierrot and he nodded in the direction Russ was looking. It seemed everyone in France was on a mission to set me up on a date.

  Except me. “Thanks, Russ. I’ll catch you a bit later.”

  “Suit yourself, Katie,” he said with a huge grin. “Come on, mates.” The threesome headed toward the large makeshift grills.

  Jojo and Pierrot made faces at me.

  “Don’t you start,” I said, shaking a finger.

  “Mais, Kate, alors!”

  “But what?”

  “It’s time to dance la dance,” Pierrot said.

  “I can’t dance. And I don’t want to dance.”

  “Ah,” Jojo said with a grin, “any man here would love to teach you!”

  “Any man would be a fool to try,” I said as I waved good-bye.

  I wasn’t hungry anyway.

  THE NEXT MORNING, at six thirty, I awoke to the sound of voices beyond the door. Youssef’s deep baritone singing and laughter floated in. He was likely giving Edward a bath sin
ce he always sang while attending to my grandfather’s bath.

  The man was just a saint and a lesson to us all. Only Magdali was not enchanted. Youssef was not deterred and it had to be only a matter of time before she would crumble in the face of such goodness. I had been dreaming about a wedding for Magdali in our garden for the last month.

  There was a knock, not on my door, and then Youssef’s jovial voice encouraged someone to enter, followed by, “I’m just leaving, madame. Your husband has finished breakfast.” The sounds of a jostled tray and dishes followed. Youssef whistled a tune and it faded as he walked down the hall.

  I put aside my ever-present list on the bedside table and gave myself a sponge bath, avoiding all the stitches that were finally beginning to dissolve. The Aussies were coming, and I had to go food shopping and towel and sheet shopping, help Magdali make up more beds, set up the large front salon as Jojo’s temporary mairie office, and explain it all to my grandfather and the Soameses.

  At this rate, for the first time in likely a hundred or more years, Madeleine Marie’s fourteen bedrooms were going to be almost all in use.

  Quickly dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt to hide the scar, I opened the door to the hall. They were in the midst of an ugly argument beyond Edward’s door. It was funny how you didn’t need to hear words to know. It was the tone, the urgency, the hissing. I froze and then backed into my room to pick up the forgotten list on the bed. At that moment, Edward’s bedroom door opened and a woman’s back appeared—her posture rigid and her hand on the doorknob.

  So this was Claire.

  “I’m sorry you don’t like my gift, Edward. I found it at the airport and thought it would be useful for your future employment.” She held a briefcase in her other hand and leaned over to put it beside the bedside table I knew was near the door.

  Edward’s eyes met mine before he refocused on his wife. I stood still, uncertain what to do.

  “I can see you don’t appreciate all I’ve done. As usual,” she continued. “Well, you can ring up Mr. Dodd yourself and tell him you don’t want the job he’s offering. I still don’t understand why you won’t try it. He said you could telecommute the first six months after all.” She paused for a response. None was in the offing. “Edward, you have to do something if you’re going to leave the Army. I’m sorry this happened to you, but you can’t just let this defeat you like your last deployment. Everyone else has troubles too, you know. I’m taking the children back as soon as possible. It’s too much to ask these people to house all of us. It’s up to you to decide if you want to live in the house with us or not when you return. But if you do, things must change. I’m not living like before anymore.” She turned to go out the door and stopped when she saw me. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She had the grace to look embarrassed as she shut the door behind her.

  I stepped forward into the hall to shake her hand. She had a beautiful heart-shaped face framed by dark auburn hair curling to her shoulders. Her large green eyes slanted down slightly, above her unsmiling lips.

  “I’m sorry too,” I said. “I didn’t mean to have the door open. I was just coming back for this list.” I held it up like a guilty child. “Sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Kate. Kate Hamilton.”

  We shook hands. She studied me.

  “You’re the psychologist.”

  “I am.”

  “Phillip said you’re helping my husband.”

  “We’ve spoken a few times,” I deferred.

  “I see,” she replied, her lips tight. “Well, I thank you for your efforts. And for your very kind hospitality. As you probably heard, the children and I will soon be out from underfoot. I’m sorry for any inconvenience.” She looked away.

  “Not at all. It has been a pleasure to have everyone.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I tried again. “Phillip helped us so much in finding Youssef. And offering financial advice. And in case no one has told you, I am indebted to your husband for ensuring my family was safely evacuated during the storm.”

  “Yes. I heard all about it,” she said. “And you saved Edward.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” I rushed on, “Shall we go to the kitchen together?”

  “Hmm . . .” she murmured, and then finally relaxed her mouth into a smile. “Yes, of course.”

  Her children were already seated at the large informal table in the kitchen, where Lily and Magdali now cooked. The immense Aga stove took center stage in the large room, and earned its space by giving off lovely heat to ward off the chill of the morning.

  Winnie and Charles laughed when Lily screeched upon discovering she’d burned a few pieces of sliced baguette. “Magdali, what am I doing wrong?” Lily groaned.

  “You have to babysit them,” Winnie said with a giggle. “That’s what Mum says.”

  Claire stepped forward. “Those stoves have to be coddled into doing what you want. Kind of like a mean, old person with a good heart. Here, let me show you.” Claire expertly sawed down the center of a baguette and stuck them under the broiler.

  Magdali caught my eye and raised a brow before returning to a sink filled with dishes.

  Within minutes Claire had perfectly prepared toast, cocoa for her children, and tea for Lily before making her own. I hovered over the churnings of the Nespresso machine before joining the party at the table.

  Max the mutt had his adorable gray wire brush face and one paw in Winnie’s lap.

  “Max has not figured out that I am his master,” Lily said with a chuckle.

  “That’s because Win knows how he likes his toast buttered,” Charles said with a grave expression.

  Winnie leaned over and rested her little face on top of Max’s. “He’s just the best dog ever. I wish I was his master. I miss having a pet.”

  Max let out a low whine to voice his opinion and his big brown eyes gazed adoringly at his favorite cook.

  “Well, perhaps, just perhaps, we can adopt our own dog when we go back to England,” Claire said.

  A chorus of delight suffused the kitchen as Winnie and Charles each promised to do whatever it would take to make this so.

  While Lily and the two children chatted about everything canine, I leaned toward Claire Soames. “You are an amazing mother. You don’t need me to tell you that, but you are.”

  “Why would you say that?” She asked with surprise.

  “Because you raised your children alone while your husband was deployed, and it’s obvious Winnie and Charles are extraordinarily well balanced.”

  “Mummy,” Winnie begged, “May we take Max for a walk with Lily?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Put your dishes in the sink first.”

  “Magdali,” I inserted in the bustle, “do you have time to go shopping with me? We are taking on a few boarders this week and need to make up three rooms. And M. le Maire is taking over the front salon for a few weeks. We’ll need to move furniture.” I suddenly remembered I still hadn’t gotten rid of the old blue sofa. It was growing on me. It was all just part of the tragi-comedy (becoming more the latter by the minute) that was my ridiculous story.

  “What can I do?” Claire asked.

  Magdali and I looked at this beautiful woman.

  “Nothing,” I said, “you’ve got your children to look after and you’re a guest here.”

  “Nonsense,” she insisted with all the authority of a military wife. “Give me part of your list. I can work with Youssef in the salon and see to the bedrooms if you show me the linens.”

  I looked at Magdali, whose smile radiated back at me as she replied, “I’ll be right back with the sheets.”

  As she departed, I looked at Claire. “How can I thank you?”

  “Send Edward back to England a better man. A better husband.”

  “But he is a good man.”

  Her bright green eyes glittered with restrained emotion. “Not anymore.”

  “I see.” I didn’t see at all. “I understand he’s leaving for England soon for more su
rgery. Have you considered joint marriage counseling?”

  “I don’t need counseling.”

  Psychology 101: Don’t force an issue when it’s obvious someone doesn’t see a glaring problem right in front of them. “Claire?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. The only thing I do know is that men and women who serve their countries during war generally have a higher rate of divorce. Absence, PTSD, trauma, resentment, and more contribute. Please forgive me for stating the obvious. But—”

  “You are, indeed, stating the obvious.”

  “I’m sorry. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

  Edward’s beautiful wife stood silent for so long, I wasn’t sure she’d speak. And then, finally, “Go on.”

  “A marriage’s resilience is based on the amount of desire both have to work through issues great and small. It doesn’t matter whose problem it is or who is to blame. All it takes is one person to give up. Don’t give up.”

  She stared at me, daring me to continue.

  “I’m divorced,” I said quietly. “My marriage was a failure almost from day one. I had no clue what to look for in a partner. I had no choice but to divorce. You have a choice. Your husband is a good man.”

  Claire picked up her saucer from the table and took it to the sink. “Do you know what to look for now?”

  “Sorry?”

  “In a partner?”

  I hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Are you looking then?”

  I joined her at the sink with my plate and cup. “No. Now is not the time for me. I’ve got a villa and a family to rebuild and provide for.”

  She placed her hand on my arm. Her fingers were surprisingly warm and gentle. “There’s never a good time, Kate.”

  I studied her beautiful eyes. Why was everyone hell-bent on this subject? Did I have a poster on my head that instructed “Marry her off, please”?

  “I don’t need a partner, Claire. I have a family. That’s all I need—all I ever really wanted.” I stopped myself before I said, ‘I’ve served my sentence.’

  “Everyone needs someone, Kate.”

  “You’re right,” I replied slowly. “Do you need Edward?”