by Chloé Duval
Without even a backward look.
Chapter 34
Gabrielle
Angers
February 1900
How I wish I could write, as Jane Eyre did: “Reader, I married him.”
How I wish I could say that I reached him in time, that when he saw me on the dock, Thomas jumped from the ship as the sailors pulled away the gangway, abandoning both luggage and future aboard to enfold me in his arms. That we explained everything and every misunderstanding was cleared. That we married and had many children.
Life is no fairy tale, as I have had the misfortune to learn.
I missed that ship—if only by a handful of minutes. It had already left the harbor, the town, France, sailing away with the tide toward the other end of the world when I ran onto the dock, demanding shrilly where the liner for New York was. One gruff sailor took pity upon me, guessing I was about to have a fit, and replied that it had already sailed, pointing it out on the horizon. And I collapsed on the ground in despair, unable to hold back my tears, with only one thought in mind—I had missed him. He had left.
Without me.
* * * *
As she wrote those lines, Gabrielle’s throat closed, and she stifled a sob. Forsaking her pen, she rose and pressed her forehead to the icy glass of her bedroom’s window, hoping it would cool the fever burning within her.
Three weeks.
Three weeks since Thomas had left. She was sick with waiting. She could scarcely sit still.
The wait was killing her. Inaction ate her alive.
She needed to see him. Needed to understand why he had left without a word, without an explanation. Needed to know what had happened for him to sail away rather than confront her.
None of the excuses she could dredge up quite managed to explain his decision—and God knew she had thought on it long and hard over the last three weeks. It had been the only thing on her mind, night and day.
She no longer slept but lay awake at night or paced her bedroom over the bookstore, listening to the minutes ticking past, to the hours counting down, the days passing by. Conflicting emotions warred within her: anger, powerlessness, impatience.
And above all—fear.
It lurked in every part of her being, in every feverish and painful heartbeat. It haunted her trembling hands. It crawled all over her until Gabrielle fancied herself nothing but a ball of dread. She was afraid it was too late, afraid that her fairy tale with Thomas had been no more than an illusion, a dream, a house of cards buckling at the first gust of wind.
Afraid she had lost him once and for all, and without even knowing why.
A tear rolled down her cheek, heavy with the weight of her grief, of the lump in her throat, of all the feelings inside her.
She wished it were tomorrow. For at dawn tomorrow, when the plains grew bright, she would go, just as Victor Hugo had written.
It seemed so far away still. An eternity of waiting.
She wanted to be there. In New York.
She wanted to have found Thomas already, to hold him in her arms and read in his eyes that his feelings for her were still true.
She wanted to hear his voice comfort her, reassure her that he had not given up on her.
Of course, she intended to let him know exactly what she thought of his cowardly flight without a word, without an explanation. She was angry at him, and she very much meant to let him know. But that would come afterward.
After she had told him that she loved him more than anything else, more than she loved herself, more than she loved life. After she had made him understand that there was no living without him, that she only wanted to see the world through his eyes and that she would do anything for him.
That he was the one her heart longed for.
That he was a part of her.
That he was she and she him, as Jane was Mr. Rochester.
That he was the one to give her life meaning. To give the world meaning.
That she missed him every second of every minute of every hour of every day she had to spend apart from him.
That she never wanted to be parted from him again for as long as she lived.
“Thomas…why did you leave? Why?” she lamented.
A knock on the door brought her back to the present. She hastily dried her tears.
“Come in,” she called.
The door swung open, but Gabrielle did not move, her gaze fixed on the street below and the people scurrying to return to their warm homes.
She felt cold all of a sudden. So cold.
“Supper is almost ready,” her father said.
“Thank you, but I am not hungry.”
She had swallowed almost nothing over the last three weeks. Her throat was too tight.
“You should still eat. You will need all your strength for the journey; if you fall ill it will solve nothing.”
Gabrielle swung around to face her father, asking him the same question she had already posed a thousand times before.
“Why did he leave like that?”
Maurice came up to her and sat on her bed, gesturing for her to join him. She complied.
“Men are sometimes a little stupid, you know,” he told her once she had nestled by his side. “I am sure everything will become clear once you have spoken. He loves you, that much is obvious.”
“He has a strange way of showing it,” Gabrielle grumbled. Then she sighed and added, “I am angry with him. I am angry and yet I miss him, and I am afraid it will be the end of us before we ever had a chance.”
“It is not the end,” her father promised, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. “It will not be.”
“How can you know?”
“I am your father. Fathers know everything.”
Gabrielle laughed humorlessly.
“I should come with you to New York,” Maurice complained. “I warned Thomas that I would not hesitate to cross the ocean if he hurt you.”
“Out of the question! Hélène needs you here. I will handle this. I am a grown woman. Everything will be fine.”
“I know you are a grown woman, but in my eyes you will always be my child. Promise me you will write if you need anything.”
“I promise.”
Maurice held her tight, and she nestled her face in the crook of his neck as she had so often done when she was a little girl. She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she thought, everything would change. Nothing would ever be the same. She would leave her father, her bookstore, her best friend, her life, in search of the man she loved. A page of her life was being turned. And it was not happening at all in the way Gabrielle had imagined.
The lump in her throat grew, and she swallowed her tears. She would not break down now. It would only make things harder.
Her gaze landed on the small suitcase she had prepared for her journey, at the foot of her bed. She had packed only essentials: a couple of changes of clothes, the copy of Jane Eyre Thomas had given her, the photograph of herself she had taken from the ruins of the castle, a map of New York she had bought in La Rochelle and the addresses where she hoped she could find her fiancé.
She had asked Thomas’s secretary in England for them when she had traveled there the previous week. Yes, she had gone to England alone, with nothing but an address Céleste had given her. She had found Thomas’s secretary and calmly explained that she was his fiancée and needed the addresses he could be reached at in New York. Fortunately, he had been most agreeable.
Everything was ready for her departure. Now she only had to wait.
“I am sorry I will miss your wedding,” Gabrielle whispered. “How I wish I could be there.…”
“Do not worry about it.” Maurice’s arms closed a little tighter around her. “Hélène and I have decided to wait for her full recovery before we marry,
as well as for news from you. Who knows? Perhaps you will return to be wed alongside us once you have found Thomas.”
Tears slipped free from the corner of her eyes, and Gabrielle bit down on her lip to contain her emotion.
“I will miss you, Papa.”
Chapter 35
Alexandra
Paris airport
Present day
I slowly let Gabrielle’s diary snap shut. For a second I just gazed at it, my fingers mechanically tracing the cracks in the leather and toying with the straps. There was a lead weight on my shoulders.
He had left.
Or rather, they had left. Thomas like Éric. When faced with a problem, instead of fighting for the women they loved—or at least claimed to love, I thought bitterly—they had both elected to flee and go lick their wounds across the world.
Cowards.
Both of them. As bad as each other.
I sighed, slowly releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding as I read, my heart still pounding against my ribs.
I knew exactly how Gabrielle had felt. Powerless and disappointed. Frustrated and afraid at the idea of never seeing him again. Full of doubts and uncertainty.
How could Thomas ever have questioned the feelings she had for him? How had he not understood that Gabrielle had loved him, for better or for worse, and that she had chosen him and none else? She had given him everything, her heart, her body and her soul, her love, her friendship and her hand. Her life.
And he’d run away without a word. Without even a warning or an explanation.
If there had been no fire, how long would it have been until Gabrielle learned he had left on a whim? She didn’t even know why precisely he had left!
It was cruel on Thomas’s part to act in such a manner. Cruel and unthoughtful. Gabrielle did not deserve it.
I pulled out the picture of my ancestor and considered it. She looked so happy, so confident, so in love. As though she had just been handed the moon and stars as a gift.
Her happiness had been short-lived, that was for sure.
I pursed my lips.
What a waste. They had been so close to happiness, almost touching it, and he had ruined everything.
And now, 120 years later, my heart bled for Gabrielle. I was angry on her behalf. And I was angry at Thomas.
I sighed. In truth, I was angry at myself—and my reaction to what I perceived as Thomas’s betrayal in the distant past was nothing more than a mirror of my own frustration and anger, an outlet to what I felt deep down and did not know how to process.
Because the truth was that I was responsible for the unraveling of my own life. It was my own damn fault Éric had left. And I could only blame myself for where I had ended—alone in an airport with a broken heart and no idea how to repair it. I had fucked up, and royally so—and managed to mess up the lives of other innocent bystanders by the way.
I was lucky Marine didn’t hate me after all of this.
I reflexively checked my phone for the billionth time in the last two days.
Nothing.
The screen remained empty, the phone was mute, and I sighed. Again.
I should have told Éric about Spencer. I should have been honest. I didn’t know why I’d kept it quiet. If I hadn’t, if I’d been up-front about it from the beginning, I wouldn’t be here right now. I didn’t know what would have happened, but things would obviously have gone differently. He wouldn’t have left for Africa, not so abruptly in any case, not the way he had.
And he wouldn’t hate me the way he did right now.
I had messed up, I had lost his trust, maybe forever, and that hurt. A lot.
There was a heavy weight over my heart, and I suddenly realized tears had begun to roll down my cheeks. I hurriedly wiped them away.
* * * *
Chandeniers-sur-Vienne
Two days earlier
Éric had barely been gone a minute when Marine’s car appeared at the end of the alley.
I was still standing there in my crumpled fairy dress, empty-handed and staring at the place where Éric’s lights had disappeared.
He couldn’t be gone, I repeated to myself. Not like this. He couldn’t just take off on an impulse, leaving everything behind—his cousin, his friends, the castle, Max.
I mean, who the hell just ups and abandons their dog like that? Abandoning me I could get—it was painful, but it was understandable. But Max hadn’t done anything wrong!
I could hear the dog’s plaintive whine, the impatient scratch of his nails on the gravel. I didn’t need to see him to know that he too was staring at the road, alert, ears pricked for the slightest sound that might indicate his master was turning around. Changing his mind. Coming back. For him. For me. For us.
But the seconds ticked by, and he still didn’t return.
Then his cousin appeared at the end of the lane.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed to see someone I genuinely like.
She parked her car and got out. Wordlessly, she put her arms around me. Just like that. Like Bea would’ve. Still in shock, I let her. She stroked my hair, and the steady, repetitive motion seemed to draw me out and bring me back to reality.
“He’s gone,” I said vacantly.
“I know.”
“I’m in love with him.”
“I know.”
Later that day, as I lay in bed turning our conversation over and over in my mind, regretting saying this instead of that, doing this rather than that, endlessly rewinding the scene and every one of our many conversations dozens of times—in short, brooding and wallowing in self-pity—Marine knocked on the door and came in with a tray laden with pastries and biscuits.
“Tea, biscuits and chocolate, that’s exactly what you need when you’re a little depressed,” she announced. “This’ll make you feel better.”
She put the tray down on the floor by the end of the bed and turned to me.
“Come on. Let’s enjoy the feast together.”
I settled down beside her on the floor, leaning back against the bed. Marine poured us some tea and offered me a cup. For a few moments, the only sound was the crunch of the biscuits beneath our teeth.
I was the first to speak.
“I’ve ruined everything.”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“You must hate me.”
“Why would I?”
“I’ve messed up everyone’s lives.… Because of me, Éric is gone, he wants to sell the castle, and you have to pick up the pieces. I never should’ve come here.”
“I don’t agree. Okay, the last few days have been a bit wild, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. And I like having you here.”
“Éric’s gone,” I reminded her. “You think you can fix that?”
“He was always going to leave. He just postponed his departure to take care of the castle, but he’d already arranged to go back. And it’s not like he left forever.”
No. Just until I’m gone too, I thought.
“He’s going to sell the castle,” I insisted miserably.
“Not if I have anything to say about it. And believe me, I’ve had plenty to say. Several times. That’s not on you.”
Oh.
“I didn’t bust my ass, we didn’t all move heaven and earth for him to just throw in the towel and sell,” Marine went on. “He knows that. And I’ve reminded him of it.”
I hoped she was right. I was having difficulty being as certain as she was.
Éric’s words still rang through my mind—and he sounded as determined as he had when he’d said them out loud.
I bit into another biscuit, hoping to drown my sorrows in butter and chocolate chips.
“I also told him to stop being such a child and grow up,” Marine added. “And that you were the best
thing that has ever happened to him. But he’s going to need a little time to reach the same conclusion as I have.”
I almost choked on my biscuit.
“You told him what?”
“I told him you were the best thing that has happened to him,” she repeated. “And I believe that. You push him out of his comfort zone, and you don’t give in to him. He needs a woman like you in his life. Someone who can stand her ground and smooth out his cynical edge. A dreamer who can bring a touch of kindness and craziness to his life. He could use some.”
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing. He changed topics.”
Of course. It would have been too easy. I sighed.
“Do you think he’ll forgive me?”
“He’d better.”
“He didn’t even give me time to explain. He just left without listening.”
“Men…”
“Yeah.”
Marine nibbled a square of chocolate thoughtfully.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said from behind my cup of tea.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
I looked down. I’d been expecting it. It was a legitimate question.
“I don’t know,” I replied, truthfully. “Maybe part me was starting to enjoy being…just me. Not Alex, the fiancée of brilliant lawyer Spencer Ashford. Not Alex the nice girlfriend who cooks for her boyfriend’s colleagues and fades into the background for fear of disturbing. I just—wanted someone to see me. Wanted Éric to see me. And—I don’t know, I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t plan to fall in love with him. Gosh, he was so unpleasant on the first day! I had no reason to tell him about my fiancé. And afterward…I didn’t want to. And then—it was too late.”
“I get it now.”
“I felt guilty too. I love Spencer. He’s a great man and I didn’t want to be unfaithful. I was lost.”
“I can imagine. What made you change your mind?”
“My best friend, Bea. She said Spencer wasn’t the one for me. That he had made me fade away and that Éric had woken me up.”
“I don’t know Spencer, but—I think I agree with your friend. I’ve seen you dance with Éric, and you’re made for each other, anybody could tell you that.”