Reuben paused. ‘Names — I never thought about it once, but they can change a lot, can’t they?’
‘So it seems,’ Grace said tensely. ‘Please go on.’
‘Only a week after our wedding, Annette contracted a fever. There was no medicine, and with her so weak from all she’d been through, she couldn’t fight it. I had to stand by and watch another woman pass away,’ Reuben said, grim-faced. ‘And just like Rae, before Annette died she asked me to do my best for her child. She gave me a secret address and begged me to find her son. “Care for him,” she said, “as you cared for me.”’
Grace stopped walking abruptly. ‘The son, it — ’
‘Yes, it was me,’ Philippe said. He lengthened his stride to draw level with her. ‘Gaston — I mean Reuben — became a member of the Resistance, and saved my life more than once. He may be my stepfather, but he is as dear to me as my own papa.’
‘But I thought that night, in La Voiture Folle, when I saw the man you called your father, I thought we must be brother and sister,’ Grace said in a rush.
‘God above, it’s little wonder you didn’t want to see me again.’
Grace felt overcome with relief but at the same time, yet again, furious with herself. If she hadn’t been so quick to jump to conclusions, everything might have been different. Perhaps it still could be. They could pick up where they left off, maybe even marry. For a brief moment her spirits skyrocketed before she reminded herself that Philippe still knew nothing about Serena. And time was running out.
He went to put his arm around her, but she shrank away. ‘What is it?’ he protested.
Reuben looked from one to the other. ‘Seems to me you both have a few things to sort out,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if Claude and Marie are about.’
Without waiting for a response, he set off through the trees.
‘Philippe,’ Grace said, unsteadily, ‘It’s all been such a shock — I’m not sure I can stand.’
He pointed to a fallen log. ‘Let’s sit on that.’
Once more he attempted to put his arm around her but again she drew back.
‘Of course you’re shocked,’ he began, ‘and I can see why you’re angry with me. You think I deliberately led you astray. But Gaston wouldn’t speak about his former life. It would have been all too easy to make a passing reference, to slip up and give himself away.’
There was a weary sadness in his voice that made Grace yearn to comfort him, to say whatever was needed to make his pain go away. ‘It was only after I left the hospital that I broke down and confessed to Gaston that I was in love with a glorious green-eyed woman called Grace. When I told him she’d grown up on a huge sheep and wheat farm in Australia, he realised immediately who that woman must — could only — be. Then, for the first time, he revealed his true identity. You have to believe me, when I told you last year that I couldn’t find Reuben Wood, I never knowingly deceived you.’
‘And I have no intention of deceiving you now,’ Grace said.
‘What does that mean?’
Secrets and lies; subterfuge and masquerades; on and on for year upon year. They had caused so much grief. No matter the cost, now was the time to tell Philippe the whole truth.
‘I have had a child.’
‘A child? You mean — I am a father?’ His jaw dropped. ‘My God, I . . . I had no idea.’ He turned towards Grace. ‘Darling, now I understand. You’ve been worried about how I’d feel — but I couldn’t have better news! Tell me, is it a boy or a girl?’
‘A girl. Her name’s Serena.’
‘A baby girl — it’s hard to take in,’ he said breathlessly.
Philippe punched the air and gave an excited whoop. His euphoria only made Grace feel more wretched.
‘I can’t believe you did it all alone, darling, with such a terrible thing on your mind. You are even braver than I already thought.’ Then he paused, his forehead creasing. ‘But I don’t understand.’ He looked at her intently. ‘Where is our baby?’
She dropped her gaze.
‘Grace?’
Still she was silent.
‘Look, I know you’ve been through a lot,’ he said, ‘more than I could ever imagine. But can’t you see? This is the perfect time to start again, to put all our problems behind us. They’re over.’
‘They’re not.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know if you are Serena’s father — or if it’s Jack.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Philippe gripped her arm. ‘I’ve been trying to work out why each time I try to touch you, you flinch. You can’t even look at me, can you?’ His eyes blazed. ‘And no wonder. What the hell have you been up to?’
His anger was like a blow, a punch to the head that left Grace reeling. She had to force herself to speak. ‘You remember that night when you arrived and saw Jack?’
‘Yes.’ Philippe folded his arms.
‘Well, earlier, Jack said he would only sign the divorce papers if I had sex with him. Even though the mere thought made me sick to my stomach, I had no other option, so . . . I agreed.’
Philippe’s face darkened.
‘No matter what you imagine, I just wanted Jack to disappear from my life.’
Philippe’s silence confirmed Grace’s worst fears.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve made up my mind,’ she said.
‘About —’
‘About my daughter, Serena.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I thought I had no choice but to give her up for adoption. Now I wouldn’t dream of it. But just in case you have the wrong idea, I don’t want anything from you. Somehow, I’ll find a way to take care of her myself.’
Grace glanced at her wristwatch, then sprang to her feet. ‘I have to leave now. Please don’t follow me.’
She hesitated for only a moment. ‘For what it’s worth,’ she said, unable to stop her voice breaking. ‘I love you. You’re the only man I have ever loved.’ She turned on her heel and began to run.
‘Wait, Grace, hear me out,’ Philippe yelled as he came after her. Catching her by the shoulders, he spun her around. ‘You’re such an impetuous woman! I don’t care who Serena’s father is. If you will marry me, she will be our child and that is all that matters.’
‘Marry you?’
‘If you are free to do so, yes.’
‘But I saw the look on your face. You were appalled, furious.’
‘That was before I knew about the loathsome position you were put in.’
‘I don’t want you to marry me out of pity!’ Grace cried.
‘That’s not the case at all!’
They glared at each other.
Grace looked away.
Philippe groaned. ‘I’ve gone about this in completely the wrong way. What I should have begun with, back in the château, is very simple. I love you too. In fact, I adore you, body and soul.’ His voice steadied. ‘And before you say anything, I want to marry you for an entirely selfish reason. It is because you are simply the strongest, most courageous, most surprising and enchanting person I have ever met, and if you don’t marry me, then my life won’t be worth living.’
‘Well, in that case . . .’ She looked into his remarkable eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes? You mean that you will?’ Philippe grinned. ‘Just as I said, impetuous, through and through. And thank God for that.’ He pulled Grace towards him, murmuring, ‘Darling, you cannot imagine how I have longed for this moment —’
‘Philippe, so have I, but there’s no time!’ she cried, struggling free. ‘If we are not at the Abbaye de Sainte Jeanne within the next twenty minutes, I will never see Serena again.’
Once more Grace found herself in Mother Francis Xavier’s shadowy study, with the crucifix on the wall and the picture of the Holy Maid gazing down.
‘You have both been through much,’ the abbess said, looking from Grace to Philippe. ‘Some of life’s greatest challenges, its most terrible traged
ies, have enveloped you. Yet somehow, you have survived and, though cruel circumstances have driven you apart, you have found your way back to each other again. One might say,’ she glanced at the painting, ‘that it is a miracle. Of course,’ she allowed herself a fleeting smile, ‘such things have been known to happen in this part of the world from time to time.’
‘Does this mean you accept our explanation, that we may take Serena away with us?’ Grace asked, yearning to hold her child.
‘It does. In fact, I believe I can see Josephine at the door with her now.’
Grace gently took her baby, still swaddled in the pink shawl, from the earnest novice.
Philippe’s face lit up. ‘Hello, my little angel,’ he said softly. ‘It’s me, your papa.’
Grace felt him place a protective arm around her shoulders, watched as he kissed the top of Serena’s downy head. They were three now; a family.
‘My children, go with God’s blessing,’ Mother Francis Xavier said.
There was much excitement when Grace and Philippe announced their good news at the gatehouse.
‘A wedding?’ Claude exclaimed, grasping Marie and attempting an arthritic jig around the room. ‘But how has this all come about?’
‘The story is terribly long and complicated.’ Grace smiled. ‘Let’s leave it for another time.’
‘In any case, there’s more to celebrate,’ Reuben declared, looking happier than Grace thought she had ever seen him. ‘Don’t any of you realise — I’m a grandfather!’
‘Well, we must do something to mark the occasion,’ an out-of-breath Marie said. She bustled away, returning with a bottle of wine from Sancerre and a chocolate gateau she had fortuitously baked only that afternoon.
By the time toasts had been made and a date for the nuptials discussed, night was drawing in.
‘You’re tired,’ Marie said to Grace. ‘I can see shadows under those lovely eyes of yours, and I’m sure you want to take your little one home.’
Grace yawned. ‘You’re right, it’s been a very long day. But first I’d like to clear these things away,’ she said, casting a meaningful look in Reuben’s direction.
‘I’ll help,’ he replied, following Grace into the kitchen.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t come back to Australia, or at least let you know I was alive,’ Reuben said, his frame dwarfing the doorway.
Grace nodded. ‘It’s the only thing left I don’t understand.’
‘All I can say is that, technically, I was a deserter. I was afraid that if I came home, at best it would be in disgrace, at worst I would be thrown into jail. I was ashamed.’
‘But you never tried to make contact,’ Grace said sadly. ‘What happened, Reuben? All I had was the box Olive finally gave me with the letter from Lieutenant Carruthers, the shawl and the photograph. The woman in the picture — it was my mother, wasn’t it?’ Thinking of the poor sweet creature who had brought her into the world, Grace felt overcome by grief.
‘Yes, that was Rae. It’s harder to explain the rest of it. By the end of the war, I’d decided you were well rid of me. What would you want with a criminal? Now I can see I should have taken whatever was coming.’ Reuben sat down heavily on a wooden stool, his oversized head slumping forward. ‘Princess, I made a terrible mistake.’
‘Oh Siddy, you’re not the only one to have made a mistake — I’ve made more than my share,’ Grace said, kneeling beside him. She took his large hand in her own. ‘This morning you said you knew I couldn’t forgive you, but you hoped I would understand. There is nothing to forgive. There never was.’
After Reuben and Grace returned from the kitchen the five of them wished each other a fond good night at the door, hugged and exchanged kisses.
Claude took Grace aside. ‘Now is the time,’ he said.
‘The time for what?’
‘To write to your mother. Tell her what’s happened.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
In the morning, Grace tenderly kissed Philippe and Serena before sending them off to meet Reuben at the caretaker’s cottage. So much had changed so quickly that she needed solitude in order to gather her scattered thoughts.
Just twenty-four hours earlier, she had believed her life was destined to be as empty as it was desolate. Yet, astonishingly, in the space of one extraordinary day, her treasured daughter, the man she adored and her dear missing father had been returned to her. Now there was just one much-loved individual from whom she was estranged: Olive, the woman who had surmounted her own searing tragedy and, in so doing, become Grace’s doting mother.
Taking a seat by the bay window, Grace looked happily at the brilliant yellow daffodils that stood in the blue jug on the table. There was something life-affirming about them, like a handful of golden wheat or a stray patch of the sunlight that dappled Brookfield’s creek. Buoyed by these childhood images, she reached for a pen and a piece of notepaper.
Grace expressed her sorrow and regret over what had passed between her and Olive. She provided a brief account of the dramatic events that had transpired since she had arrived in France, revealed she was to marry, and that she had recently given birth. Finally, she wrote:
The fact that you kept the circumstances of my own birth a secret no longer matters — I am sure you had your reasons. What is important now is that you, my dearest mother, know that I feel truly blessed to have received your and Alfred’s devoted care all my life.
With fondest love,
Your daughter Grace
PS I have missed hearing from you so much. Please do write, care of Monsieur Claude Devreaux, Charincourt Cottage, Sainte Jeanne, France.
After a month, Grace became anxious. She reminded herself that, even by airmail, it would take more than two weeks for her letter to reach Olive at remote Brookfield station, and at least that amount of time again for a reply to arrive in Sainte Jeanne.
Philippe had already returned to Paris. ‘Sadly, I must go back to work, which means I can only stay at Charincourt with you and Serena on Saturdays and Sundays’, he’d explained as he held Grace in his arms on the first night in the château. ‘As I’m living in one rented room, I have to find somewhere for us to live — that’s not so easy these days.’
She’d felt tiny ripples of pleasure as he kissed her neck and her cheeks and her lips. Then he’d added, ‘Although one thing is certain, my darling — wherever we end up, I can promise you this time it will not be on the sixth floor.’
Grace was eating a lonely breakfast of crusty bread and hot chocolate when she saw Marie hurry past. ‘Good morning, would you like to join me?’ she said, opening the door.
‘Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush,’ Marie responded. ‘It is market day and that special goat’s cheese Claude likes always sells out quickly. I really only stopped by to give you this.’
She presented Grace with an envelope. ‘Enjoy your day!’ Marie called as she hastened away.
Grace thought her heart would burst. At last, here it was: the longed-for letter from her mother. Yet, disappointingly, she saw that the writing on the envelope was not Olive’s neat script, but Charlotte’s looping hand. She opened it quickly and began to read.
Dear Gracie,
What I have to say will probably shock you, so prepare yourself. Yesterday, I married Jack Osbourne.
There, I knew it would be a surprise! Jack and I have spent a great deal of time together during the past few months, and the friendship we have always shared has deepened. Jack is the kind of man who needs a wife, and now that your marriage has been officially dissolved, we couldn’t see the point of waiting.
I know Jack isn’t head over heels in love with me — not the way he was with you, anyway — and he’s not always the easiest man but, believe it or not, together we make a pretty good team. We like the same way of life and I think we will make a go of it out here at Merindah.
My darling friend, I know this is an unexpected, rather odd situation, but my dearest wish is that my marriage to Jack will n
ot come between you and me.
With much love,
Lottie
The flimsy, pale blue sheet of paper slipped out of her grasp as she stared straight ahead in amazement. Grace shook herself, snatched the letter from the floor and read it again, this time reflecting upon every word.
Jack and Charlotte. Grace had never imagined them together. Yet the more she thought about it, the more obvious the match seemed. As long as Jack kept his drinking under control, she could see they could make each other happy. She hoped with all her heart that, for Lottie’s sake, the marriage would be a success.
Grace had swallowed the last of her chocolate-soaked bread when a sudden thought struck her. She’d felt far too humiliated to write to Charlotte and confess that sex had been the price of divorce Jack had demanded from her on the night he came to Paris. ‘Thank God for that,’ she murmured as she sat staring at the daffodils in the silent room.
The next morning Marie appeared at the door once more. ‘I have some time today — we could have that coffee now,’ she said, smiling. ‘Oh, and I have another letter for you.’
‘Would you mind terribly if we postponed?’ Grace said, trying to contain her excitement after at last spotting her mother’s handwriting on the envelope. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment for an awfully long time.’
Grace sat curled up in an armchair reading Olive’s loving response. She experienced a wave of joy and relief. Now that she, too, was a mother, and having come so close to losing her own baby, she realised the suffering Olive had endured. She could also imagine the pain she had inflicted upon the woman who had looked after her so selflessly. Olive’s forgiveness made Grace’s heart soar, yet the letter’s postscript perplexed her: I do not understand why you never received my letters, she wrote. I posted them all to Paris, care of Christian Dior.
The Paris Model Page 28