Page 45 of Sisters Making Mischief
Ah yes, that was exactly what Isabel had suggested. What a coincidence. Perhaps he was a spy after all. For a split second I imagined a beautiful blonde girlfriend draped over a pale chaise longue, the boats bobbing suggestively behind her on the dark sea. It was possible she had aSobraniecigarette in an amber holder too. Or perhaps he had gone to visit his missing wife, whowould be chic and intelligent with wide, beautiful eyes and a sexy laugh.
‘He was a colleague of mine, now he is a professor, he’s writing a book about the Wars of the Roses, very interesting indeed.’
The imaginary blonde and the wife disappeared in a puff of smoke.
‘Ah yes, York against Lancaster. That didn’t end well for a lot of people,’ I said.
His eyes lit up. ‘And the relationship between Margaret Beaufort and her son was always interesting?—’
You should hear what Isabel thinks about that, I thought.
‘—and the fact that she was descended from an illegitimate line in the first place. English history is so fascinating.’
‘It didn’t seem that way when we were being taught it in school, I can assure you,’ I said.
‘No, I suppose not.’
We talked for a while about various things. School and travel (he wanted to revisit London and York) and were just getting on to family when Isabel came outside again, looking at her watch.
‘Sorry, but we do need to collect Eugénie from the hairdresser,’ she said, ‘there’s only so much gossip that can keep her occupied for this long.’
I stood up, feeling unexpectedly disappointed that our meeting was coming to an end, and I knocked against the table, making the cups rattle.
‘Of course. Well, perhaps we will see you again soon,’ I said.
Luc smiled. ‘A bientôt.’
‘So?What did you find out. I left it as long as I could,’ Isabel said as we walked back to the car.
‘He spent Christmas in Marseille with an old friend.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Old history professor.’
Isabel pulled a face. ‘That doesn’t sound very interesting.’
As we walked back to the car I constructed a rather pleasing mental picture of Luc and another historian, who possibly smoked a pipe and wore a tweed jacket. They were sitting on a sun-drenched balcony (so perhaps the jacket wasn’t needed) overlooking the Mediterranean, discussing the Battle of Bosworth or something like that.
There were tumbling cascades of bougainvillea on either side, perhaps a little table with some glasses of cognac, a dish of perfect green olives. And there was some point in the conversation when Luc laughed, and he looked relaxed and happy.
I wondered what it would be like to go somewhere new like that, to live like a local person, to find out more about the world and no longer be constrained by memories of a husband who had thought every stranger posed a threat.
Perhaps marriages didn’t have to be one person in charge and the other person scrabbling round trying to please them all the time? Although life after Stephen left had been difficult and sometimes frightening, I think I was beginning to realise that I was, after all, capable of running my own life, paying my bills, sorting out my days without him telling me what I was doing wrong.
And then I allowed myself a dangerous thought – what would it be like to go to Marseille with Luc, to be on that balcony, the bright light reflected off the sea, flowers everywhere, colour and fragrance? Fishing boats in the distance, a heavenly blue sky.
Would it be like that at Christmas in the South of France? I didn’t know, but suddenly I wanted to find out.
15
I would have been happy to start sorting out the barn that day after we had collected Eugénie who had been looking very pleased with herself, her white hair having been given a fresh, faintly apricot rinse and set into a rigid-looking French pleat.
Isabel was having none of it.
‘Remember that poem by Rudyard Kipling we had to learn for speech day? “If you can fill the unforgiving minute, tumpty tumpty tum”.Well I would say fill the unforgiving minute with a nice sit down, a good book and a few biscuits. There will always be another unforgiving minute coming along later.’
‘I see the boys have poured the concrete at last,’ I said, ‘I saw them early this morning from my bedroom window.’
