by Chloé Duval
“Maybe. But he left.”
“He’ll come back. Nothing is ever easy in life, but some things are worth fighting for.”
“You mean I have to travel to Africa and find him?”
“No, that’s not what I mean!” She laughed. “I suppose he needs to think for a while. And realize he misses you.”
“Hmm.”
I took another biscuit and sipped at my tea.
“You know,” Marine said, “nothing ever happens by chance.”
“I really need to introduce you to Bea.”
“Oh yeah? Why?”
“She thinks I found Gabrielle’s picture because I was destined to come and save the castle. And its owner.”
“You don’t seem to agree,” Marine pointed out.
“I never really believed in fate, so I don’t know. And I’d need to have a really inflated opinion of myself to think I can succeed where you, Marc and Éric all failed.”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes it’s the smallest of things that tips the scales. Someone who knows someone who knows someone else.”
“I’m not so sure. I have enough trouble saving myself from my own stupidity, let alone a castle. And anyway, Éric doesn’t want my help.”
“I told you, I’ll take care of Éric. Trust me, he’s going to change his mind.”
Just then, my phone rang with a message. From Éric.
“Speak of the devil,” I murmured, hastily clicking on it.
I’m keeping the castle. You can tell your boss about the vineyard.
Nothing more. No declaration of love, or regret, not even a signature.
Just a few curt, emotionless words.
Okay.
* * * *
I spent my last day in Chandeniers glued to my laptop, fine-tuning the business proposal I planned to submit to Elizabeth. With Bruno and Marine’s help I streamlined a couple of points, adding what other perks the town could offer to my company. All three of us were determined to do everything we could for my plan to succeed.
Now that I was a little less self-centered, I noted a crowd of details that led me to believe that there was something between Marine and Bruno: the glances they exchanged, Bruno’s attentiveness, the way his manner changed, almost imperceptibly, when she entered the room. Marine’s dreamy little smile whenever she looked at him without his notice. My suspicions seemed to prove true, and I was delighted for Marine. Bruno was a good, considerate person. He would know how to build back her trust in men and love.
It was a blow having to go back to California without being able to see their story unfold…but I couldn’t stay any longer. I had a castle to save.
I was going to prove to Éric he could trust me.
* * * *
Paris airport
The next day
I reflexively checked my phone again. Nothing.
My gaze lingered on the door to the boarding gate and the people streaming through. Every glimpse of black hair or a muscular build made my heart beat a little faster.
But it was never him.
Of course it wasn’t. He was in Africa.
And this wasn’t a romance novel. He wasn’t going to run through the airport yelling for me not to board the plane and begging me to marry him.
Those things never happen in real life. Especially not to me.
A chirp from my phone made me snap to attention. An email. From Flavie Kermarrec!
Marine had informed me that her friend was interested by Gabrielle’s story and that she’d given her my email so she could reach out to me.
Dearest Ms. Dawson,
Let me introduce myself. I am Flavie Kermarrec and I’m a novelist. I think Marine Clément has already mentioned me. She relayed the story of your ancestor to me and told me about how you wanted to make it into a novel. I have to admit I’m very interested. It’s a fascinating tale and if you’ll let me, I would love to be the one to write it.
I’m enclosing a digital copy of my most recent novel so you can get an idea of my style and whether it suits your expectations. I can also mail you a paper copy if you would prefer that.
Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.
A series of email addresses and phone numbers followed.
I glanced at my watch. I still had some time before boarding, so I decided to call her right away.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Flavie Kermarrec?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi, this is Alexandra Dawson.”
“Oh, hello! I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon. I only emailed you a couple of minutes ago!”
“Well, I had a little time on my hands so I took the opportunity.… I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all! The chapter I’m working on is proving stubborn, so I’m ready for any excuse to procrastinate. I’m very happy to speak to you, Mrs. Dawson. I haven’t been able to think of anything but your ancestor’s story ever since Marine told me about it. It was all I could do not to write to you straightaway on Sunday. But I didn’t want to overwhelm you, so I managed to restrain myself. For two entire days, as you just saw!”
Her enthusiasm made me smile.
“You could have written on Sunday, you know,” I informed her.
“Ha! My father and husband keep telling me I’m too impatient. That all things come to those who wait. So just this once I tried to follow their advice.”
“Well, I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘patience,’ so I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“Oh, let me hug you!” Flavie laughed. “On a more serious note, though, I want to say again how honored I would be to write this story. I suppose you didn’t have the time to check out my novel yet?”
“Not yet, no, but I was planning to during my flight.”
“Oh, are you returning to America already?”
“Unfortunately yes, but I had to go sooner or later.”
“True. It’s not too hard? Going back home after…all that?”
I wondered whether “all that” meant the castle…or something else.
Like the castle owner, or the fact that meeting him had turned my life upside down. Had Marine told her more than just Gabrielle’s story?
“To be perfectly honest…it’s very hard,” I was surprised to hear myself admit.
“I know the feeling. You go somewhere thinking you’re just leaving for a few days’ holiday and your entire life is changed, and you’re left wondering how to fit back into your daily routine.”
“That’s…more or less exactly it.”
“It happened to me when I met my husband and my in-laws. In a few days I fell in love with him, with them all, and I didn’t want to come home again…but never mind me, you didn’t call to learn the details of my meeting with Romaric. Tell me, do you have any questions?”
“Well…not yet really, I was hoping we could just chat a bit.”
“All right, Mrs. Dawson—”
“Please, call me Alex!”
“Okay. So, Alex, why don’t you tell me more about Gabrielle and Thomas? Marine didn’t go into details, and I’ve been dying of curiosity for two days now.…”
I smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
We talked for a long while. So long, in fact, that it was the boarding call that made me hang up. I think I can safely say that I developed a full-on friendship crush on Flavie during the hour we spent on the phone. She was funny, kind, spirited and romantic. The way she spoke, the way she looked at things, her unending optimism were like a breath of fresh air.
I revealed everything I knew about my ancestors in the utmost details. Once my tale was done, I asked Flavie whether it inspired her. Her answer was unequivocal.
“You can’t imagine what it
’s like inside my head right now! The entire story is unfolding, into a full romance. A castle blanketed by snow, a mysterious scarred castle lord with a tragic past, and the woman with a luminous smile who will bring him out of the darkness and into the light…a wonderful love story—just the way I adore them!”
We then discussed the ending, since I didn’t have any clue as to what had happened. Gabrielle’s last diary entry was dated on the eve of her departure for New York.
I hypothesized that there might be a letter from Gabrielle to her father that I could have missed in the bookstore in Angers. But unfortunately, I no longer had the time to call Mr. Bourgeois before boarding. Flavie, however, was as eager as I was to solve the mystery and offered to look into it herself. Apparently she was also a part-time historian.
The final boarding call for my flight rang out then. I assured Flavie I would scan the diary for her and send her Mr. Bourgeois’s contact details, and I thanked her before hanging up.
When the plane took off, I was so immersed in the pages of Flavie’s book that I almost failed to notice my heart breaking clean in half.
Éric hadn’t reached out to me. In any way.
I had held out hope until the last minute. But now I had to face the truth.
Our story ended here.
Chapter 36
Gabrielle
New York
March 1900
The sun was rising behind the Empress of New York’s stern when land came into sight. Despite the freezing cold, despite the strain from the ten endless days at sea during which she had been violently ill, Gabrielle had been determined to be on deck for their arrival.
She wanted to be among the first ashore.
Gripping her suitcase’s leather handle, staring resolutely ahead, Gabrielle watched the city melt out of the darkness and grow larger as the ship drew closer.
And despite the lump that had settled in her stomach and stayed there ever since she had learned of Thomas’s departure, she couldn’t help but admire the landscape as it revealed itself to her: the towering Statue of Liberty at the forefront, greeting travelers and immigrants, the Brooklyn Bridge behind spanning the Hudson River with its brown brick pillars, and at the very back, the skyscrapers of Manhattan, stretching so impossibly high they seemed to reach for the clouds.
It was both similar and different to what she’d expected—identical to the pictures she’d seen in newspapers, but far beyond what she had imagined from Thomas’s descriptions.
The thought of the one she had come so far to find made dread rise in her stomach.
Would she manage to find him? Would she be able to convince him that she loved him more than anything else, that he was her past, her present and her future?
She dearly hoped so. She did not know what she would do if he refused to believe her.
No, Gabrielle, she chided herself. You didn’t cross the Atlantic to fall prey to bleak spirits now.
She raised her chin.
She would find Thomas and make him see sense.
Failure was not an option.
She ran through her plan in her mind again. Her suitcase held a notebook into which she had jotted down three addresses: the building where Thomas’s company was to set up its office, the address he would be staying at until he found lodgings of his own, and a young women’s guesthouse she could board at.
During her time on the ship, between two bouts of sickness, Gabrielle had located all three addresses on her map of the island of Manhattan, and had traced her path there from the harbor for hours. She knew the names of each of the streets she should take by heart, the crossings she should turn at, the monuments and buildings she would have to use as landmarks.
As soon as she was on dry land, she would set out for the office first. It would only be early afternoon by then, and Thomas had already been in New York for a month. She was fairly certain he would already have started working. If she struck out, she would go to his lodgings. And she would wait there. As long as she had to.
One thing was for certain—she would not leave until she had found him.
* * * *
The ship docked at Ellis Island shortly after. Hundreds of passengers crowded together and jostled each other, eager to leave what some had termed a “floating coffin” and feel the ground under their feet. As she stood in line for the checkpoint, Gabrielle caught sight of Olivia, with whom she had shared a cramped cabin between two decks. The other woman waved exuberantly, and Gabrielle mirrored her more timidly. Heedless of the other passengers, Olivia crossed the room to join her.
“Here we are, Gabrielle! New York! A new life!”
“Here we are.”
Gabrielle did not know yet whether it would be a new life for her. Her fate was in Thomas’s hands.
“Oh, before I forget, here’s my address,” Olivia clucked, shoving a sheet of paper at her. “If ever you need something.”
“Thank you, Olivia.”
The queue moved forward, and Olivia scurried back to her place with a parting “I hope we’ll see each other again.” Soon enough Gabrielle stepped up in front of the customs officer.
“Papers, please,” he drawled authoritatively, his accent so pronounced she had to guess rather than understand what he asked.
Intimidated, she wordlessly proffered all the documents she had—the very same Thomas had had drawn up for her in January, and that she had recovered from his secretary in England.
“What brings you to New York?”
This time she had no choice but to speak.
“I am reuniting with someone.”
“Family?”
“My fiancé.”
“Are you carrying anything dangerous?”
“Just clothing.”
“Any animals?”
“No.”
He finished his interrogation, checked her documentation, then smartly stamped it and handed it back to her, calling out:
“Next!”
Two hours, several dozen checkpoints and a ferry across the Hudson later, Gabrielle stepped on the island of Manhattan and set off resolutely, suitcase in one hand and map in the other.
It was time to reclaim her fiancé.
* * * *
Her first attempt met with little success.
Preferring to be thrifty with the money she had changed on Ellis Island, Gabrielle had not dared hail a cab and decided instead to walk there. But though her map steered her with little difficulty toward Thomas’s office, she had not realized how large the city was and how long it would take her to reach her destination.
By the time she arrived, she was chilled to the bone, her feet ached and her suitcase seemed to weigh a ton. But she soldiered on, propelled by a resolve that suffered no hesitation. She pushed the heavy door open and cast about for someone to help her. A kindly man pointed her to the floor she was looking for and even offered to escort her there.
Gabrielle thanked him but declined, moving toward the stairs.
At the designated floor, she found two men in suits and gathered her courage to interrupt.
“Excuse me,” she queried in her best English. “Where can I find Thomas D’Arcy?”
“And you are?”
“Looking for him.”
Her reply seemed to amuse them, as they both smiled at her.
“He is not here,” the first answered. He was tall, blond and brown eyed. “He had business elsewhere today. I think he planned to meet a partner and scope out some workshops.”
“Do you know when he will be back?”
“As far as I know, he did not intend to return here today,” the other man said.
Disappointment washed over her, but she swallowed it down. She had received two valuable pieces of information: Thomas was alive and in good health, and he worked here. She could return the next day if necessary. A
nd the day after that. Every day until she saw him, spoke to him. Until she understood.
“Would you like to leave a message?” the first man suggested.
“Yes, please.” Then she changed her mind. “No, don’t tell him; I would rather…surprise him.”
Or avoid giving him a chance to flee again before they could talk things through.
“Are you certain?”
Reflexively, Gabrielle fiddled with the ring she still wore on her finger.
Certain?
In that moment, Gabrielle was many things: lost, overwhelmed, intimidated by this immense city she did not know, enthralled by it yet afraid. Exhausted by her journey, depressed, anxious at the thought that Thomas might have decided to forget her. Alone and torn between contrasting emotions: pain, loss, uncertainty, anger.
Yes, Gabrielle was many things—but certain was not one of them. Not in the slightest.
She did know one thing, however. She could not live without Thomas.
She did not want to live without him.
So she put on her bravest face.
“Yes, I’m certain.”
* * * *
After this first partial failure, Gabrielle proceeded to the second address Thomas’s secretary had provided her with. Upon reaching it, however, she hesitated and gazed at it in bafflement. It was a large house, almost a manor, on a broad avenue a few streets west of Central Park. It could have fit two or three times the apartment and bookstore she shared with her father with room to spare. Four stories high, it boasted a red brick façade and a porch framed by two bay windows. It looked…opulent and bourgeois in a way that resembled Thomas very little, and was far from the bachelor pad she had expected. She double-checked her notebook for the address.
It was the correct street and number.
It was probably a temporary address. She shrugged and climbed the steps to lift the heavy lion-headed doorknocker.
A few moments later she jumped as a young maid opened.
“Yes?”
“Good afternoon. I apologize for the inconvenience, I am not certain this is the right address. I am looking for Mr. D’Arcy,” Gabrielle stammered, her English suddenly unwieldy despite her many hours of study.