Twenty-Five

UV

FRANCE

The crossing to Calais had been very rough, and more than a few passengers had been green around the gills, including Francesca.

Thus it was that their eventual arrival in Cannes, with its resplendent views of the Mediterranean, had the effect of a good tonic, and Francesca had the sudden and unexpected impulse to share the moment with Phillip.

She was enthralled by the sight of water so blue that it rivaled sapphires, having only ever seen an ocean that was a rather murky green most of the time, and the pleasant sun was a definite bonus. She again experienced the juvenile desire to rip off her stockings and shoes and plunge her toes into the inviting water.

After their arrival, they passed a very pleasant afternoon walking along the coast and then repaired to an hotel in the town of Grasse, a little inland, up in the mountains, so that on the morrow they might show Francesca the villa where they first lived with her and the small mountain town where they had met the woman who gave birth to her. They planned to spend several days there to show Francesca around the entire area where their happy life had begun.

Staying at the same hotel was a middle-aged clergyman on his honeymoon, a Mr. Septimus Sladden and his new wife, Charity. The Reverend Sladden was a portly gentleman of about fifty, and his new bride was not in her first bloom of youth. They seemed well-matched, but Francesca found their company intolerable as the Reverend Sladden spoke in a very nasal tone and was rarely quiet. He seemed to find silence a sinful state, and therefore filled it at all possible costs. His wife was his very opposite and barely spoke a word, though she smiled and nodded a good deal.

“I do believe that Mrs. Sladden married Mr. Sladden due to a misunderstanding,” chuckled Francesca to her mother.

“What can you mean?” replied her mother with a smile.

“I believe that she was so used to nodding while he speaks that he just dropped the proposal into the middle of a very ordinary conversation and she nodded, which he took to be an acceptance!”

Emily’s smile faded. “Francesca, you should be more charitable! I believe they are very well suited, and Mrs. Sladden told me that this is her first journey outside of England. She feels herself very fortunate.”

“Forgive me, Mama. I am still rather new at being a mature adult who keeps their opinions to themselves, but I must say I find him rather annoying.”

The sadness of the rejection by her paternal grandparents continued to hang around her like a noose while traveling, but the ambiance of the Riviera eased the pain somewhat. The eternal sunshine, the colorful houses and markets, the narrow cobble hillside streets with upstairs neighbors so close they hung washing lines across the streets from one side to the other, all aided the improvement in her spirits.

On the third day, her father came back to the hotel, gleefully holding aloft a large set of old keys.

“I inquired with the booking agent and the villa Normandie is not occupied until next week! After I told him my story, the curator has been generous enough to let us peruse it, unaccompanied, this very afternoon! I have hired a carriage to take us there immediately after luncheon, and it was no small feat as it is during siesta! I told the driver that he can find a shady tree and nap while we visit.”

“Oh, John! That is marvelous!” Emily grabbed Francesca’s hands, and they danced a little jig of delight.

T

The approach to the villa was very steep and bumpy, and Francesca held tight to the door handle as they made the slow journey up the hill. At length, they came to an imposing gate that had seen better days but was still grand in its own way. Behind the gate were so many trees that the house could not be seen.

Her father jumped down and took the largest of the keys and placed it into the lock on the gate. After jiggling it several times, they heard a satisfying click and he pushed open the gate as it squeaked on its rusty hinges. Francesca began to hurry up the steep path, but her father explained, “It is still quite a way up, and it is very hot. Let us return to the carriage and save our energy for exploring the grounds after we have seen the house.”

The path twisted and turned until, at last, a magnificent pale-lemon villa sprang into view with a filigree iron balcony in every upper window and magnificent French glass doors all across the front of the house below. Ivy decorated the side walls, and to the right, attached to the main house, was a very pretty, covered walkway, bursting with tropical blooms of every imaginable color.

A well-kept garden led up to the front of the house with short green hedges trimmed to perfection in little mazes and a pond situated dead center of the front entryway.

“Oh, Mama! I wonder that you ever left!” cried Francesca.

“Ah, but you have not yet seen the best detail. Let us walk up to the door, and then I will show you my true delight in this house. Uh, uh, do not turn around yet! It will spoil the surprise!”

Though it tortured her, Francesca managed the short journey without peeking, but as soon as she reached the front patio, she turned around and gasped. Whereas the house could not be seen from the gate due to the trees, an unobstructed, panoramic view of the valley was clearly visible from the house. It offered a vista of sharp mountain valleys with succulent green trees and colorful mountain houses, opening onto the Mediterranean ocean in the distance. It was as unreal as a picture, and she again became aware of a fervent, unanticipated wish that Phillip be there to share the experience with her.

“It makes even me want to paint! Cousin Katherine would be in heaven!”

“I used to love to awaken in the mornings, open the windows, and take tea on the balcony overlooking this view,” said Emily. “It was a perfect way to begin the day. The stresses of home melted away, and I was beginning to come to terms with the fact that I might never have a child. This view was the perfect setting for communing with God, and it became my sanctuary.

“Then, just as I was accepting my lot in life, God blessed me beyond my wildest dreams and allowed me to have a beautiful baby girl. This villa will always hold a special place in my heart.”

“Come,” said John. “Let us go in!”

They turned, and he applied another key to the lock on the front door. This lock was well oiled, and the key turned easily, the door swinging open readily on its hinges.

The foyer was wide and airy, and a stone spiral staircase dominated the space. Artisans of great skill had carved the stone at the center of the spiral so that the rock resembled drapery entwined with ivy. So delicate was the masonry work that Francesca could not resist reaching out to touch it.

On the main floor was a drawing room whose French doors opened out onto the glorious view. Happily, since tenants were soon to occupy the house, the dust sheets had been removed and revealed French woodwork furniture of the most ornate style. It was a happy room.

At her father’s encouragement, they entered the library. It was not as dark as English libraries tended to be.

“I spent many happy hours in this room. I would read for leisure instead of to solve the problems of the estate. It truly was a time of great healing,” explained her father.

Francesca touched his arm tenderly. “How could one not be content in such a room as this!” she declared.

They walked on and her mother pointed to the dining room. “We did not use this room at all,” Emily explained. “For we did not socialize. We kept to ourselves and enjoyed each other’s company, preferring to eat on a little wrought-iron table outside on the veranda. It was like a second honeymoon, was it not, John?”

“Indeed, it was.” His face became thoughtful as he reviewed the past, swept back in time by the old house and the memories.

They walked back to the spiral staircase. The stone was cool to the touch and very welcome on this hot afternoon. Some windows had been opened to air the place and a very pleasant cross breeze drifted in.

Her parents were talking quietly to each other, reminiscing, and rather than disturb them, Francesca hung back, reveling in the beauty and tranquility of the old villa.

Upstairs she lingered, looking in each bedroom until she found her parents, giggling like youths. She smiled at the comforting sight. Her father was trying keys in the lock of the window to gain access to the balcony, but the lock was being stubborn. However, after several attempts the key finally turned, and John pushed open the windows. They entered the small balcony that contained a wrought iron bench and a small circular table with two chairs that gave the impression that the occupants had just left. Her parents sat down and bid her sit.

“We spent every morning here together, welcoming the new day and listening to the birds sing. It was better medicine than any doctor could offer,” Emily said.

“Were you very sad then, Mama?”

“The doctors had become very concerned about my mental health. The last of my closest friends had just had a baby, and the longing was more than I could bear. The world was all blackness and sorrow for me. I could no longer see the light. This house commenced my cure and you,” she said, turning to grasp her daughter’s hand, “completed it.”

They sat in companionable silence and enjoyed the view for some time. Then her father stirred and encouraged them to continue the tour.

After descending the stairs, they exited the front door and went around the side to a north-facing courtyard that provided shade for the whole day. It had arches and porticoes, statues and sitting places, and was filled to bursting with greenery and colorful flowers.

“This place makes the weather at home seem rather depressing, does it not? Even the light here is different, don’t you think, Papa?”

“Your mother used to say the same thing! She believed that the rays of the sun were more bright and clear than in England. Now, let us explore the rest of the gardens, for you have really only seen the formal area. There is a great, vast wilderness of indigenous flora.”

After a while, Francesca broke off from her parents and went to do her own exploring and came upon a babbling brook. She listened to its conversation and it brought to remembrance the time at another brook, with Phillip. Had she imagined the tenderness in his dewy eyes? Of course she had! Phillip had had countless opportunities to declare his feelings, if such they were, and he never had. His tenderness was merely a product of his brotherly concern and his insight into Mr. Ashbourne’s character, and besides, he has surely lost his good opinion of me for being so easily led astray by the said Mr. Ashbourne, she told herself.

She turned from the brook abruptly, deeply shaken by the unexpected disappointment of that realization, and hurried to find her parents.