A Springtime to Remember

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘Tell me, honestly, what you thought about the conversation last night. Was I wrong?’

  He expels a cursory ‘hmm’ and then pauses for a second. ‘Honestly? I’m an only child, Lexie, and it’s hard for me to imagine what it’s like to have one sibling, let alone two. From what you’ve told me, it’s obvious you are very close to Shellie. You two are very different, though, but it’s abundantly clear that Maisie has enriched your life and brought you even closer together. That’s wonderful.’

  Ronan stares down into the coffee mug, nestled between his hands.

  ‘But your relationship with Jake is more complex, as there are some qualities you share which seem to rub you both up the wrong way. The age gap between you both is bigger, so his relationship with Shellie will be completely different anyway. And, as the youngest of three, you were the baby of the family growing up. You’re a strong person, Lexie, and I can imagine that was probably a cause of some frustration for you at times. And Jake is undoubtedly an over-achiever. But you do have similar personality traits whether you like that or not. It’s just that you have a totally different approach to life.’

  I can see he’s trying to be both diplomatic and fair.

  ‘You think this is about sibling rivalry? That I’m jealous of him?’ The words sound stark in the gloom of the early-morning light.

  ‘No. That’s too simplistic and it isn’t true. You simply strive to achieve your full potential; I believe that Jake is more aggressive in his approach and he definitely measures success in a different way. Clearly, that seems to be changing a little now he’s a family man, if I understood him correctly.’

  ‘That’s a kind way of saying my brother is materialistic,’ I point out.

  ‘You asked for the truth. I think that what hurt you most was the fact that you felt he sold you out. But after hearing what he said, I think he genuinely believed he’d made the right decision. It was a bad situation, but it could have had an even more negative impact on you. He made his decision based upon the facts as they were presented to him. You can’t blame him for what he didn’t know, can you?’

  There’s something about an injection of strong caffeine on an empty stomach. It’s sobering.

  ‘So, you’d have reacted in the same way?’

  ‘No, because I’m a very different person from him. As a researcher, I tend to over-analyse everything, but it’s not always easy for me to keep my emotions out of it. Jake keeps business strictly separate and that’s a trait found in many entrepreneurs. I think that you’re convinced he took the easy way out for fear of upsetting his own boss and losing his precious new appointment.’

  My chest suddenly feels heavy. I guess Ronan is right. I felt used and betrayed by my own flesh and blood, so what was the point of speaking up? My brother was lost to me and that hurt more than the gossip, if I’m being honest with myself. It felt as if he didn’t need any of us.

  Ronan turns to look at me in the gloom and I nod my head in reluctant agreement.

  ‘He’ll always be the man he is, but I believe he has genuine regrets for some of the things that happened in the past. And I’m sure you do, too. But people mellow with age and experience; it’s never too late to change, Lexie, and you have to allow him that prerogative.’

  Draining my mug, I put it down on the bedside table, then snuggle into Ronan’s shoulder.

  ‘I never wanted to be my brother, but I did want him to be proud of me. I guess that, after my father died, it was only Jake who really understood how hard I worked to get where I was; I suppose in offering me a job he was acknowledging that. Oh, what a waste of… all those years, when I could have – should have – reached out to him.’

  ‘Hey.’ Ronan shifts position, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to snuggle me even closer. ‘He wasn’t ready, and neither were you. Lessons have been learnt, but it takes a while for old wounds to heal. All I’m saying is that I believe the process began last night. Why not simply take it from there, and see what happens?’

  ‘I love you,’ I say, a little tearfully. ‘I love that you understand me even when I’m feeling confused and not thinking straight. You’ve made me see that it’s time to admit I made some mistakes, too.’

  He tilts my chin to look at me directly. ‘I just want you to be happy going forward and I know that making up with Jake is a part of that. He didn’t mean to hurt you, Lexie. Love has the capacity to heal everything and forgiveness will set you free.’

  26

  Life Is Good, What Can Possibly Go Wrong?

  Over breakfast at the cottage, Jake shows us several folders full of photos that Brooke put together for him on his iPad. It is rather touching. It captures their journey together up to the present day. From two people who were tentatively getting to know each other, to photos of the proud parents running after two boisterous toddlers.

  I realise that the person staring back at me from those pictures is a very different Jake from the one who had originally flown off to the States. He smiles a lot more and, even before the boys arrived, Brooke certainly made sure his life wasn’t all about work. Just seeing him casually dressed in T-shirt and jeans, being a tourist, is a shock.

  Jake admits that he spent much of his time pre-Brooke in limousines, hotels and conference rooms, rather than exploring the wonders of the USA. They met by chance and went on to have a wonderful year of discovery together, before Brooke found out she was pregnant. They were thrilled and the wedding was simply a formality because the panic was on to prepare themselves mentally and physically for the arrival of the twins. And he admits that he was scared. He tells me that for the first time he felt his life had meaning but he thinks he was being taught a valuable lesson. Success isn’t measured by the amount of money you have in the bank, or your job title.

  When we say goodbye, it is a little awkward, still. Ronan is right, we are at the very start of rebuilding our relationship and that takes time. But I’m excited now at the thought of seeing what happens when I go home, although I wish Ronan could be with me from day one. It’s becoming clear that it will probably be several weeks before he can join me and that makes everything bitter-sweet.

  Shortly afterwards, Ronan heads for home, too. He has a busy week ahead of him and a little thrill courses through me as I realise that he’s doing this for us. Every loose end he ties up brings us one step closer to starting a new life together.

  As I wave him off, I step out into the courtyard. The bunting and the lights are still up in the trees, but the trestle tables are gone, and the metal tables and chairs have been stacked ready for collection. The jam jars full of flowers have been neatly lined up on the wall around one of the raised flower beds and in the warm afternoon sun the perfumed notes tickle my nose.

  ‘Hey, stranger,’ a voice calls out from behind me. Glancing around, I see Elliot hurrying towards me.

  I fling my arms round him; he lifts me up off the ground for a moment before lowering me back down.

  ‘I’m back. Mia is on the mend and I’m ready to work. I owe you big time, Lexie.’

  ‘Mia must be doing well – you’re a day early. Come on in. A lot has happened while you’ve been away. Are you thirsty, hungry?’

  ‘Starving. I had a snack on the plane, but my stomach is grumbling quite loudly now, so apologies if you can hear it. But I just wanted to get here and reassure you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for me, and for Mia.’

  The day just seems to be getting better and better.

  Elliot follows me inside and I immediately start raiding the fridge, handing him a bottle of water.

  ‘Here you go. Right, Mia first. Was it tough leaving her?’

  He grimaces. ‘Yes and no. She says I fuss too much and now she’s starting to regain a little of her strength, she almost forced me out the door. She has lost a lot of weight and her appetite isn’t fully back yet, but the doctor says that’s only natural given how ill she’s been.

  ‘The best thing I can do now is focus on work and making so
me money. Talking of which, I have some cash to transfer into the account. It’s a temporary fix, I know, but I’ll bring you up to speed on where we’re at with regard to a very promising first meeting. There’s been an unexpected development, but I need to sit down quietly with you to go through it in detail. My mouth is watering at the smell of that ham,’ he admits as I slide the plate towards him.

  ‘Sorry about the mess of paperwork on the table, but it’s my office now. Let’s go and sit somewhere more comfortable.’

  ‘Mostly time sheets and bills, by the look of it.’ He grimaces as he carries his plate across to the sofa.

  Just then, my phone kicks into life.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lexie, it’s George. If you want to hear what I’ve got to say then this is your chance, before it’s too late. The choice is yours, but I’m here and I’m ready to talk now.’

  The line suddenly goes dead. I find myself staring at the phone, frowning.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Elliot asks, putting his hand in front of his mouth, as it’s rather full.

  ‘That was George. He says he’s ready to talk. Like, right now.’

  Elliot raises his shoulders as he swallows. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes. But he said, “before it’s too late”, whatever that means. Ronan has the camera and, oh, why today?’

  I feel exasperated and a little annoyed that George thinks he can just summon me at a moment’s notice. Why the urgency?

  ‘Don’t stress. I have the old camera in the boot of the car. We can head off this minute if you don’t mind driving, as I really do need to eat this baguette, and do you have any fruit?’

  I head back to the kitchen area and find a plastic lunch box, handing it to Elliot. Grabbing some apples and apricots, I search around for my bag and throw in a few things. A couple of pens, a small pad, the file in which I’m now keeping my own notes and Grandma’s photo.

  ‘Okay. I’m ready. Anything else you need?’ I ask Elliot, who is devouring everything as quickly as he can.

  ‘No. I’m good to go. Let’s get this done.’

  ‘We called her the Rose,’ George says, staring down at the photograph of Grandma Viv. ‘Vivian Rose Hanley. She was one of a kind, that lady. She’s the reason we all survived that summer of… discord, when everything seemed to come to a head.’

  Elliot is sitting to the side of us, as I face George across the dining table. The room is stuffy, and I wish I’d thought to ask if we could open the window a little, before we began. But I don’t want to distract him now, because it’s obvious that he has a set agenda today.

  ‘I want to make things clear,’ George states rather sternly, ‘because I know he’s working on that last book and he needs to be told the truth.’

  ‘Ronan, you mean?’

  I’m treating this like a formal interview, although I have no idea whether anyone will ever see this, aside from Elliot and me. It could turn out to be the rantings of a man with a grudge to bear, so maybe this is a way for George to get everything off his chest once and for all.

  ‘Yes. We all know why Ronan wants to believe that Fabien Arnoult took his own life because he was bullied. It’s the easiest way out.’

  Why hasn’t Ronan talked to me in detail about this? I knew there was disagreement, but bullying? He can’t surely think they were ganging up on Fabien? It wasn’t personal. And if George knew about the Rose, then I find it puzzling that Ronan hadn’t heard mention of her, too.

  ‘He won’t publish what I know, because it isn’t what he wants to hear,’ George continues. ‘That’s why I continue to refuse to answer his questions. But he told me he’s going ahead, and he will publish the last book anyway. The account will, no doubt, neatly gloss over the truth.’

  It’s obvious they’ve spoken fairly recently and that’s what has triggered today’s impulsive phone call. Why didn’t Ronan mention it? I have no idea if George knows Ronan will be leaving Versailles but now I feel that I have to be very careful what I say.

  ‘I gather Ronan’s intention is to bring the story up to the current day,’ I point out. I wonder why George would even feel what happened to Fabien all those years ago should feature in the final book.

  ‘He knows what people want to read and what will catch their interest. That’s what sells books, right? But without knowing what happened, it will be a biased account. The devastation resulting from the storms in 1990 and 1999 will, in his eyes, validate his grandfather’s prediction. Fabien was a passionate man to whom the trees and the plants were fundamentally living things, more important even than the people around him. In fact, he could be heard muttering away as he worked, nurturing and encouraging as he tended to his beloved plants and trees, as if they were his alone. He saw everyone else as out for themselves, or corrupt. He ranted constantly about money being thrown at the fabric of the buildings and very little being spent on the gardens and the park.’

  George pauses and I can see that the memories are painful.

  ‘Do the nicknames the Bulldog, the Terrier and the Spaniel mean anything to you?’ I’m just throwing it out there, but I am curious still about why Grandma didn’t use their names.

  George begins to laugh, easing himself up out of his seat and approaching a large wooden cabinet on the other side of the room. Elliot pans around, following his every move with the camera.

  Opening a drawer, George rifles among some papers and pulls something out, walking back to the table and placing it in front of me. It’s a colour photo, but faded as if it has been hung on a wall in the sunlight for a very long time. I peer down at it as George points his finger, stabbing at one of the three men standing in a row and smiling rather awkwardly back at the camera.

  ‘The Bulldog is Maurice Perrin, the chief gardener. In the middle is Fabien, the Terrier, as the Rose used to refer to him. And last, this is me – the Spaniel. She said that Maurice had to demonstrate his strength to keep us in order, because the Terrier was constantly yapping and me, the Spaniel – well, spaniels tend to use their heads,’ he adds, tapping the side of his temple. ‘Hunters rely upon them to flush out the birds and that requires patience and a practical nature. I didn’t always like, or agree with, some of the decisions made at Versailles, but I wasn’t a dreamer. I kept it real.’

  That stops me in my tracks. This isn’t some little code in my grandma’s notebooks and I find it hard to believe that Ronan hadn’t even heard a whisper about this from his interviews, or from his extensive research.

  I even remember him asking if I’d come across the nicknames and I thought he was talking about the notebook I was reading at the time. But did he know all along and he was simply checking, in case there was anything I knew that I hadn’t already mentioned?

  ‘And Fabien was, what exactly?’

  George makes a deprecating sound.

  ‘He accused everyone of taking the easy route, rather than fighting for the cause. He could be quite offensive at times, calling us cowards. “The trees will die and the landscape will be laid bare,” he’d rant. “You will be sorry you weren’t man enough to rise up and let your voices be heard,” and that’s what he did, constantly. But people stopped listening, tired of his continual doom-mongering and moaning. Where did he think the money would come from, when even the project to identify the trees most at risk ran out of funds? He took it personally, of course, because that’s the sort of man he was, too intense for his own good.’

  George’s voice softens a little, much to my surprise.

  ‘And eventually it became too much?’ I probe, gently.

  ‘We all knew it wouldn’t end well and the Rose, well, she tried so hard to stop him dwelling over what he couldn’t change and encouraged him to throw his energies into what he could. Today, of course, a doctor would probably say he was suffering from manic depression and, in the later stages of his illness, total paranoia.

  ‘When the Rose returned to the UK, he lost the only person who seemed able to lift him out of t
he black moods into which he often descended. It was a bleak time. The stark truth is that no one bullied him, but it’s hard not to avoid or argue with someone who is constantly angry with the world and overtly aggressive towards everyone around them. Ronan will find that hard to accept, I know, because his grandfather wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t stable mentally.’

  ‘And yet Fabien went on to marry and had Ronan’s mother, so his life must have improved as he did move on.’

  George stares off into the distance for a moment, memories clearly flooding back, and his face pales.

  ‘I can understand why you think that was the case, but it wasn’t as simple as that. It was such a difficult time,’ he reflects, sadly. ‘You and Ronan have more in common than you think,’ he adds, looking at me and narrowing his eyes.

  I feel my own body language changing as I shift in my seat, straightening my back and easing down my shoulders.

  ‘Fabien was in love with the Rose,’ George continues. ‘She cried the day she said goodbye to us all, even though it was clear to me she had made the right decision.’

  ‘Decision?’ I don’t understand.

  ‘He wanted her to stay. He begged her to marry him. Not once, but repeatedly. She saw the difference it made in him whenever she was around because no one else could talk him down when his anger went through the roof. Eventually, one day, she agreed and he was ecstatic. Even before it was common knowledge, we knew she’d given in – and the reason why. He was becoming a danger to himself, picking needless arguments, and if he continued in the same vein, they would have no choice but to let him go. And what would he do then?’

  I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of me. How do I know he’s telling the truth? Does Ronan know this? Did he know this all along?