The Long Way Home

by Fanny Blake

  He took her hand, which she snatched back immediately. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was looking through Marchams online catalogue and saw a picture that was so like the one May left you. I remember it from David’s study of course. It had a reserve of £3,500.

  ‘Do you think it’s mine?’ If so, she had to have it back.

  ‘I’m pretty sure, but the sale took place on Thursday.’

  While they were in Lancashire.

  ‘So we’ll never know.’ She heard herself groan at the loss.

  ‘Don’t lose heart, old thing.’ Ian was bullish. ‘I called them. An old friend works there.’ Of course. In his antiques sideline, Ian maintained plenty of old friends in odd places. ‘I told him that I thought there was a strong possibility the picture was stolen property – if Charlie hadn’t alerted me, I would never have known.’

  Charlie gave a pleased little smile at the acknowledgement.

  ‘And?’

  ‘If you can prove it’s yours, they’ll release the name of the buyer to the police and you’ll get it back. They’ve alerted the buyer in the meantime. Unbelievably, the money hadn’t been transferred to the seller. Very slack. So the whole deal is frozen until things are worked out.’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased?’ Charlie chipped in, obviously excited about the success of their sleuthing.

  ‘Pleased? I’ll be thrilled to have it back.’ And the thought of getting back at Tony in however small a way was delicious too. If only there could be other ways. She hugged Ian then stretched out her arm for Charlie to come and be included. Being knotted up with the two of them was the best feeling she could have. When they disentangled, Charlie was laughing and she could have sworn Ian had a tear in his eye, the old ham.

  ‘Thank you both so much.’ She was overwhelmed by the thought that the two of them had teamed up for her. How Charlie, who had seemed so indifferent to her at the start, had proved to be such a determined soul. In future, she would definitely be seeing more of her. If she could offer her the sort of retreat that Aggie had offered her when she needed it, she absolutely would.

  34

  Paris, 1955

  The evening following the proposal, May returned to David’s apartment for supper. As she walked through the narrow streets, avoiding urchins playing on the pavement, glancing into the shop windows, she felt the magic had left Paris. She didn’t want to refuse David, but she had to. For Eloise’s sake.

  At first, while busy with the baby who refused to go down, they didn’t speak although David, like May, must have felt the unsaid pressing to be heard. Eventually she dropped off, and the two of them sat down to eat the ragout she’d made and the two cheeses he had brought home.

  ‘Well?’ he said, expectant, excited.

  She screwed up her courage, her fists clenched under the tablecloth where he wouldn’t see. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  His face crumpled with disappointment. ‘But why not?’

  She began to lay out the reasons that had presented themselves the night before. He sat quite calmly listening until she felt she was gabbling nonsense, then said, ‘Shall we have coffee? Then I can think.’

  By the time she had made it, he was in his favourite chair in the living room, staring into space. She put the cup of coffee at his side, his favourite puff-pastry biscuit, a palmier, in the saucer. She sat across the room from him in the chair with the uneven springs, one of Céleste’s fringed shawls thrown over its back to disguise how dilapidated it was. At least she would soon be free of reminders of the woman who had preceded her.

  She started going over all the concerns she had about taking Eloise home with them. ‘I don’t want us, and especially Eloise, to be the focus of local gossip. I hate the idea of those tongues wagging. And Céleste…’ She paused, waiting for David to say something. Being in the same room as him was making her doubt all her reasons for not marrying him. With every moment she was becoming more certain that marriage to David was what she wanted. That, and a family of her own.

  Finally David spoke. ‘Eloise is so young that she won’t remember any of this.’

  May sat straight, slopping coffee into the saucer. ‘But Céleste… She will.’

  ‘She doesn’t care.’ Once again, that sadness was just beneath the surface. ‘I tried to contact her today, to tell her that I’m going back to Scotland, but she’s somewhere near Nice, modelling.’

  ‘She’s doing well then.’ May attempted to mask her resentment with a show of admiration.

  ‘Who knows?’ He rubbed his right eyebrow, as if it would help him see things straight. ‘But she’s doing what she wants to do.’

  So why shouldn’t they? Why should she and David have to take second place?

  ‘Darling, why don’t we get married before we go home?’ He sprang to his feet, alive at the idea. ‘We can pretend we married months ago in secret and that Eloise is yours. No one will know any different.’

  ‘But that’s…’ She stopped, lost for words, stunned by the suggestion. ‘But we’d be lying to everyone.’ Although would they be able to get away with it?

  ‘Only we would know that. You can tell Madame you want to go home. She doesn’t need to know any more than that. And who from here will follow us? We don’t have to tell anyone where we’re going and the waters will close over our heads. We’ll soon be forgotten.’

  ‘And at home?’ How tempted she was. She should have known that David would come up with a solution to all the hurdles. But, but, but… something still stopped her.

  ‘Everyone at home will believe us because that’s what we’ll tell them and that’s what they’ll expect. Our parents will be shocked and mebbe hurt that we didn’t tell them so…’

  ‘We could say the magic of Paris swept us away.’ She began to get caught up in the fantasy.

  ‘There might be a few naysayers but if we stick to our guns, they’ll come round. They’ll have to.’ He stood up and walked to the casement window, staring down at the courtyard below.

  ‘I’m thinking of Eloise.’ She went to stand behind him, putting her arms around him, smelling the smoky scent of his tweed jacket. ‘Of her future.’

  He turned and kissed her forehead. ‘I know. And I love you for that.’

  ‘What if Céleste has a change of heart?’ Her greatest fear smashed his plans for their future together into smithereens. ‘You can’t have both of us.’

  ‘I don’t want both of you,’ he said, stroking her hair, her cheek. ‘I want you. But I can’t keep her from her child if she wants to see her.’

  May didn’t look at his face but she could hear the note of yearning.

  For the rest of the evening they went round and round in circles. With every suggestion David made, the more May realised how impossible a future was together and yet the more she wanted that future. The obstacles seemed insurmountable.

  * * *

  Two days later, David arrived home from work early. May had just got in from taking Eloise to the doctor for a slight cold. He was ashen-faced, his eyes red as if he had been crying. He looked broken.

  ‘Whatever’s happened?’ She rushed to help him, taking his bag, and guiding him inside. Eloise balanced on her hip, reaching up to pull at her hair.

  He let her lead him into the main room where he fell into his chair, looking up at them, his face glazed with pain. May propped up Eloise in the corner of the opposite chair and gave her a rattle. Usually David would pick her up, smother her with kisses and tickle her until she couldn’t stop laughing, but today he ignored her, staring ahead, apparently lost.

  ‘David! Tell me.’

  He clasped May’s hands so tight the bones felt as if they might crack.

  ‘David! Please.’

  ‘She’s dead.’ Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

  May stared in horror. She had never seen a man cry. David’s whole body was wracked with sobs, uncontrollable in his grief.

  Only one person’s death could possibly make him react like this. ‘Your mother?
’ she asked gently.

  ‘No! Not her, thank God.’ He blew his nose and tried to gather himself together. ‘Céleste was in an accident.’

  So Céleste was gone.

  May tried to dispel the shameful feeling of schadenfreude that nipped at her. How terrible it would be to rejoice in someone else’s death. But how could she ignore the implications? The real hurdle to them being a family was cleared. Did that reaction make her a terrible person? She mustn’t think about that now. Instead she sat and comforted him until he was ready to talk. She made him tea from the PG Tips his mother had sent him. She went to his chest of drawers and took out two big cotton handkerchiefs. She stroked his back, cradled his head. Waited.

  Gradually he recovered, blew his nose a final time, took the pipe she passed him and lit up. They sat quietly, him exhaling smoke into the room while she sat at his knee, until eventually he was ready to speak.

  ‘What happened?’

  He blew a smoke-ring and they watched it dissolve.

  ‘She was with Jean-Luc in his car. They’d probably had a long day shooting, she’d often start at the crack of dawn. Apparently they went off the road last night somewhere in the mountains near Eze and plunged down the mountainside. They must have been on their way back to the coast. They weren’t found until this morning. Neither of them survived.’

  Hearing what had happened was a shock. May could imagine the beautiful couple in an open-top sports car, Céleste’s hair flying out from under a headscarf, her head thrown back laughing, her arm round the driver who was slim and impossibly handsome, like Louis Jourdan, the film star who had been so good in Three Coins in the Fountain. Wendy and May had been to see it twice. Something happened. Perhaps he took his eye off the road for one fatal moment, responding to something she had said. Perhaps they were tired. Perhaps he went to sleep at the wheel. The car was hurtling over a barrier and rolling over unstoppable, their mouths wide in a scream, eyes terrified, bodies, bits of metal, flames everywhere. May put her hands over her mouth, shut her eyes against the vision. ‘That’s dreadful. I’m so, so sorry.’ But she was aware any words were inadequate.

  So it was over. Her petty jealousy of Céleste, her waking fear of her return to reclaim David and Eloise could be forgotten. Her prime concern now must be to help David through his grief. Not for a moment did she worry that Céleste’s death might alter his feelings towards her except to bring them closer together. She would be there for him and Eloise as she had been since the beginning. They were her future now and she was not going to let them go.

  * * *

  A week later, they walked over the Seine on the arched seventeenth-century Pont Royal and into the Tuileries Garden to mingle with the crowds enjoying the spring sunshine. They walked down the central gravelled walkway towards the round pond, the spectacular Place de la Concorde in the distance. How May would miss the grandiose limestone buildings, the wide boulevards, the atmospheric windy streets of the left bank, the food, the brasseries, the boats on the Seine – she had to stop herself from going on and making herself sad. She looked around at the people, families, young lovers, old men with sticks, children on scooters, others running around, donkeys giving rides and, of course, the boules players. She would never forget the elegance, the excitement and the enchantment of Paris. Eventually they stopped by May’s favourite statue in the Grand Carré, a bronze of a tiger carrying a peacock to her cubs. It spoke of everything about motherhood to her.

  They sat on the grass with Eloise sitting between them, wearing the little pink smock dress that May had spent nights sewing. When they were settled, David broached the subject again. ‘I’ve been thinking about us.’

  ‘Mmm? What’s that?’ She handed Eloise her rattle, fearful of what he was about to say.

  The trees were in leaf, plants flowering in the borders, all heralding the advent of spring. Could this symbolise a new beginning for all of them or would it mark the end? May had to take David’s lead now.

  ‘Everything’s different now Céleste’s dead, but I haven’t changed my mind. There are just the three of us now and I want nothing more than for us to be together.’ His fingers fiddled with some blades of grass.

  His words were like a fresh breeze that blew the cobwebs from May’s mind.

  ‘For Eloise’s sake, we should think about the best way of doing things.’ He caught her up so she sat on his lap, and he kissed the top of her head. ‘I thought we might get married in Gretna on our way home. It’s always struck me as being rather romantic.’ He looked at her sideways hoping she would agree.

  She caught her breath.

  ‘And then we’ll go home and no one will be any the wiser. We can put all this behind us and start again. Will you?’

  She let Eloise grasp her finger and put out her hand to stop her from tumbling to one side. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’

  No parents, no London, no Aunt Jess. But a future as a family with a man she loved.

  ‘If we’re convincing enough our families will believe us. If we say nothing to anyone, we may even begin to believe our story ourselves. I have one more suggestion.’

  He’d obviously been thinking about the arrangement hard. She was a little disappointed it was all about the strategy and not about the romance. She looked at Eloise who was entranced by a couple of puppies so bouncy that they’d tangled up their leads. All May wanted was to be a mother. David was offering her that chance. But if they were going to do this, she wanted everything to be perfect for all three of them.

  They walked on for a long time, wrestling with their plans.

  While they did so, life in the city continued. Busy, colourful, fascinating. She held David’s hand, feeling his fingers entwine in hers. We can do this, she thought. We can.

  35

  Edinburgh, June 2019

  At the garden gate to Braemore, Isla stopped the car and took a breath. Every time she had come here as an adult, she experienced the same sense of reluctance that stopped her from going any further up the drive. When she was a child, she might have been nervous about her mother’s mood but as she grew up and understood a little more what she was walking into, she had to prepare herself for criticism and the feeling she wasn’t good enough. She would prepare, telling herself that she would not rise to the bait over the subsequent forty-eight hours, or however long she was staying. And now, after everything that had happened that day, she was having to prepare herself again, as if sensing something bad was about to happen. Whatever Tony had or hadn’t done, he was not going to stop her from doing this.

  ‘Come on.’ Charlie took the lead and jumped out to open the iron gate that had lost its habitual squeak. ‘I want to see. And if you’re not up to it, I can ask the questions for you.’

  They drove up the gravel driveway to the house, a honey-coloured stone mansion. The windows shone, the paintwork was in good order. Isla was impressed that her aunt had managed the upkeep of the family home so well. A newish silver-grey VW Polo was parked by the door. Aggie must employ a team of gardeners to keep the huge garden from going wild. Over the left-hand hedge a couple of horses looked up to see what was happening at their neighbours’. Isla imagined the field filled with new houses. They couldn’t let that happen.

  ‘What’s she like?’ Charlie whispered.

  ‘You’re just about to find out.’ Isla reached up and pulled the bell. They heard it echo through the house, then steps tapping on the stone flags towards them. The door opened and Aunt Aggie stood in front of them, wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Come away in,’ she said. ‘It’s so good to see you, Isla dear. You probably don’t remember me? But I love your hair.’ This to purple dip-dyed Charlie who was staring at her in amazement. Isla, used to Aggie’s idiosyncrasies, saw her through Charlie’s eyes, as if for the first time. Not many women in their eighties dressed so flamboyantly. Her wide yellow slacks and cornflower-blue duster jacket were accessorised with strings of different-sized coloured beads. Her hair was silver, cut sho
rt and gelled on end. On her nose were her usual dark-framed specs. ‘Come, come.’ She took them into the comfortable tartan-carpeted living room on the left of the hallway. Nothing much had changed since Isla’s last visit. The heavy dark furniture was all in the same place. The same pictures hung on the walls. The old chintz sofa had been replaced by a stylish grey one that looked infinitely more comfortable with lots of coloured cushions thrown on it. Upmarket art, gardening and interiors magazines were scattered over the faded pink velvet ottoman. She took them through the open French windows to the terrace where the wooden table was laid with a white linen tablecloth held in place with a series of dragonfly weights, laid with porcelain plates and cups and saucers. The fine china had been in the family for as long as Isla could remember, only brought out for best.

  ‘You make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get the tea.’ Aggie disappeared inside.

  Isla was about to follow her to offer help when Charlie tugged at her arm. ‘Are you going to tell her about Tony?’

  ‘No. I’d like to try to forget him till I get home. Let’s concentrate on her and what we’ve come for.’

  ‘Is that where you put on your plays?’ The mound that had seemed so large and theatrical when they were children had shrunk with time into more of a bump. ‘I remember it being so much bigger, even though I’ve seen it loads of times since. How funny.’ But like inside, everything else outside was pretty much the same. The borders were a riot of colour, beautifully tended by someone. The wooden swing still hung from the beech tree. The old potting shed which Morag once corralled for the injured pigeon and her procession of small pets was still there but painted a chic Scandinavian green. Through the centre of the lawn ran the quarry stones that stopped your feet getting soaked in the endless winter rain. Just then a sleek grey cat strolled down the garden towards them. Charlie tiptoed to meet it without frightening it away, her hand held out.