2009 – March – London
Somehow Louisa muddled through the months since her mother’s death. Margaret stayed until after the funeral and then suggested that she return with her to Yorkshire for as long as she needed. Although tempted by the offer, Louisa declined. In her heart she knew that leaving London would only delay her recovery. She needed to get on with her life, hard as it was to imagine without her mother by her side. Having inherited both her mother’s house and business, money wasn’t an immediate issue, so Louisa gave in her notice at the hospital, glad to escape her stressful job. She intended to find something else when she felt stronger. At thirty-four it was time to be an adult, she told herself, and follow her mother’s example. As a single mother in her thirties, Susan had kept working, eventually opening her own successful, upmarket travel agency. Louisa couldn’t recall her mother ever moaning about the difficulties of bringing up a child on her own, always willing to spend as much time with her as possible. She worked long hours, employing a mix of au pairs and mother’s helps to ensure that Louisa was well cared for. Susan’s parents, now dead, had lived in Surrey and she only saw them in the school holidays. But they had helped Susan financially until her business took off.
After her mother’s death, Louisa had tried to recall everything she had said about Malcolm, the father she had never known. Susan had seemed reluctant to say much, only telling her that they had met when he worked in London for a couple of years. A Canadian, though born in England, he worked in his mother’s hotel business, and came to London to gain more experience. Although her mother hadn’t said so, Louisa got the impression that Malcolm was the love of her life. Susan only dated occasionally and never, as far as Louisa knew, became seriously involved with any man. Her life revolved around her business and her daughter.
One cold, blustery day in early March, Louisa paced around the sitting room excited by what she’d just discovered. For weeks she had tried to trace Malcolm Roget on the internet without success. But this day, she was flicking through the latest edition of a natural health magazine, when her attention was caught by a feature about a new residential centre, La Folie Retreat & Health Centre, in Guernsey. While admiring the photos and descriptions of stunning rooms she noticed a reference to the owner, Mr Malcolm Roget. Stunned, she read it again to be sure. Yes, she’d read it right. The reference was short, mentioning that Mr Roget, a retired Canadian hotelier with an interest in natural health, had invested in the centre after being impressed by the man who would become his manager, Mr Paul England. The rest of the article went on to extol the virtues of spending time as a guest at the centre.
Louisa’s emotions were mixed. Excited that Malcolm was only a short plane hop away, but sad that he and her mother could not now reconnect. I wonder how long he’s been back in Britain? Mum seemed to think he’d be unlikely to return. So what happened? And what’s it going to be like meeting him after all these years and…and without Mum? Tears welled in her eyes as the pain hit her in force. For a brief moment her only thought had been about finally meeting her father, a man who had been lying in wait at the back of her mind for years. Everyone wanted to know who their father was. What he looked like, how he spoke, laughed. Was he funny or serious? But it seemed so cruel that just as she might now have a chance to meet him, her mother was no longer there by her side. As the tears flowed Louisa reached for the only photo she had of Malcolm. The one with her mother wearing fabulous looking rubies and diamonds. Assuming they were real. But that horrible burglar seemed to think they were or why threaten her mother? Brushing away the tears, she studied the photo for the umpteenth time. Malcolm, in full black tie gear, stared straight ahead, a frown creasing his forehead. He didn’t look as if he wanted to be photographed, his hand close to his face, as if to shield it from view. Tall, dark haired, a little overweight, he looked a serious kind of guy. She wondered what her bubbly mother had seen in him. I guess he does look sexy, in a broody way. Oh, Mum! Why aren’t you here? There’s so much I want to ask you. I know I must go and see this man, my…father. But will it only bring more heartache? What if he’s married, with his own family? He might not be best pleased to have me arrive on the doorstep.
The questions skittered around her head until it ached. There was only one way to find the answers. Picking up the phone Louisa dialled her mother’s assistant manager, now running the business while she decided whether or not to sell.
‘Hi, Glenn. Could you book me a trip to Guernsey, please? With an open-ended return.’
Louisa, not one to act on impulse and, she would be the first to admit, a tad unadventurous, found it difficult to travel anywhere on her own. She’d always been able to rely on either her mother, a girlfriend or boyfriend for company. The advantage of having a mother with her own travel agency was a constant supply of cheap holidays and Louisa had taken full advantage of that. Susan had often asked her to go somewhere new for a recce, taking a friend along for company. Louisa had loved it, knowing her mother would be able to sort out any problems that arose with a phone call. But now she was on her own, and somehow even flying the few miles to Guernsey seemed a step too far. As she prepared for take-off at Gatwick, anxious thoughts gnawed at her mind. The first problem was not even knowing how long she would be away. A couple of days? A week? Or more? A lot depended on Malcolm’s reaction to finding he had a daughter. With a woman he hadn’t seen for thirty-five years. When Louisa had told Margaret that she was going to see Malcolm, her aunt had suggested it would be better to write to him first. But she didn’t want to do that in case he didn’t reply, or wrote and said he wanted nothing to do with her. This way he wouldn’t have any choice but to at least see her.
Louisa’s self-confidence had not been great since she’d been unceremoniously dumped the previous year by Jack, her erstwhile live-in boyfriend. Telling her “you’re no longer fun to be with and anyway, I’ve found a new girlfriend”, Jack had simply packed his bags and left. Unable to afford the rent on her own, she had crawled home, devastated, to Susan’s comforting embrace. Her mother suggested she move in to the attic converted by the previous owner, and providing a large bed/sitting room, kitchenette and shower. Previously only used for guests, Louisa was only too happy to have her own space and still be near her mother. The downside was the long journey to the south London hospital where she worked, but she could cope with that. As the hurt began to heal, Louisa felt more settled in herself, socialising with her friends, but unwilling to risk further heartbreak by dating.
Her fear of rejection had grown from the seed planted by the lack of a father. Logically, she knew Malcolm had not rejected her. He hadn’t even been aware of her existence. But logic did not enter into it where her emotions were concerned. Particularly after Jack’s self-confessed betrayal. Sitting in the airplane, braced for take-off, Louisa sent up a silent prayer that her father would accept her and, perhaps, might even come to love her. If not she was truly an orphan. Glenn had booked her into La Trelade Hotel, a short drive from the airport and en route to St Peter Port, the capital. He had also arranged a hire car, giving her the freedom to explore the island if she wished. Louisa had visited Jersey with her mother as a teenager and remembered it as a pretty island with lovely beaches and a bustling shopping centre in St Helier, but this was her first trip to Guernsey. From the air she could see it possessed great beaches but looked more built up than its larger sister island. Her hotel booking was for a week so, at the least, she could use the time to have a break. Not that March was the ideal time, she thought, buttoning up her jacket against the brisk wind accompanying her walk to the car park. Glenn, efficient as ever, had provided a map showing the directions to the hotel and to La Folie. She had told him that she had business at the centre and asked Glenn to choose a hotel within reasonable reach.
Pulling into the drive, she thought La Trelade a good choice. Smart, but not ostentatious. All she really needed was a comfortable room and good food at reasonable cost, but was pleased to find that the facilities included a health suite with indoor pool. The double room having met with her approval, she changed into her swimsuit and went downstairs to the pool. Louisa joined a solitary swimmer, and as she struck out in a strong, smooth crawl, her tight muscles began to relax. She hadn’t been near a pool for months, unheard of for her. Swimming was her go-to exercise of choice, enabling her to keep fit while freeing her mind. Bliss! But since her mother’s death, she hadn’t felt in the mood. Like so many things, it had seemed too much effort to get out of the house and down to Ironmonger Row Baths for a good workout in the pool.
The thirteen metre long pool gave her ample opportunity to stretch her body and after a few lengths her mood began to lift. With a nod to the other swimmer, still crawling slowly up the pool, Louisa pulled herself out in the shallow end and shrugged into her towelling robe. Glancing out of the French windows, she noted the terrace and lawns. Hmm, pity it wasn’t warm enough to sit outside. Shivering, she wrapped a towel around her hair before returning to her room and a welcome hot shower.
Dressed, she found her way to the bar for a snack lunch. While waiting for her soup to arrive, Louisa gave some thought to her next step. She decided to turn up at La Folie and ask if Mr Roget was available. She knew it was unlikely that he would be and planned to make an appointment. From the article in the magazine it was clear that the manager, Paul, ran the place and that Malcolm took a back seat. She could only hope that he wasn’t off the island. In that case she was back to square one. Trying not to think about that eventuality, Louisa enjoyed her meal, allowing herself a small glass of wine. Feeling as if she were about to enter the lion’s den, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the car park.
The wind buffeted her car, forcing her to grip the steering wheel hard as she negotiated round broken tree branches littering the road. The wintery weather sent a chill through her body and Louisa prayed that spring would soon return. She hated being cold and this winter, since her mother’s death, had seemed to go on for ever. Concentrating on the road, she could only catch glimpses of her surroundings; noting a few cows quietly grazing in the fields and roadside stalls selling flowers and vegetables. It was only a matter of minutes before she took the left turn towards Torteval in the south-west of the island. After passing rows of greenhouses, some clearly disused, Louisa came to a narrow lane on the left, marked by an impressive, new-looking sign: La Folie Retreat and Health Centre. ‘Right, looks like this is it,’ she muttered to herself, steering the car sharply left. As she bumped along the lane Louisa glanced around with interest. Open fields, some sporting the remains of greenhouses, gave way to what looked like newly landscaped gardens and a large glazed building that she guessed was the swimming pool. Turning a tree-bordered bend, Louisa gasped at the gothic structure looming up in front of her. She had seen the photos and knew about the towers, but the reality still took her breath away. Pulling the car to a stop on the gravel, she switched off the engine. She stepped out of the car and gazed at the forbidding grey granite building; the round towers, gargoyle embellished parapets and mullioned windows reminding her of old horror movies. In an obvious attempt to brighten and lighten the effect, giant terracotta urns planted with olive trees, date palms and rhododendrons edged the area in front of the house. Smaller pots brimming with colourful spring flowers helped to create a warmer welcome than the scowls of the gargoyles.
Taking a deep breath, Louisa headed to the front door, sheltered by a portico. To the side of the panelled oak door was an old-fashioned bell pull, but the door stood ajar and she walked through into the hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn towards the imposing oak staircase, bathed in a thin wintry light filtering through a tall window on the landing.
‘Good afternoon. May I help you?’
Louisa jumped. She hadn’t noticed the desk in a corner and the young woman in white now offering her a bright smile.
‘Oh, right. I…I was wondering if it would be possible to see Mr Roget, please?’
‘I’m sorry, but Mr Roget isn’t here at the moment. Can I help?’
Louisa pushed down the feeling of disappointment. Tinged with an edge of relief. Wanting, needing to meet him. But also scared. Scared of rejection. It made for an uncomfortable feeling in her solar plexus, as if her stomach muscles were being squeezed.
‘Thank you, but I really only want to see Mr Roget. Is he away?’
The young woman, glowing with health and in possession of shiny brown curls, looked at her intently.
‘I believe he had to fly over to London on business but will be back tomorrow. But Mr Roget isn’t here much, anyway. He leaves everything to Paul, the manager. Is he expecting you?’
Back tomorrow! So, not long to wait…
‘No, he…he isn’t. It’s a…personal matter but I don’t have his home address. Could you let me have it, please?’
The curls bounced as the girl shook her head.
‘I don’t think I should. He might not like that.’ She frowned, as if trying to decide how much she should disclose.
Louisa thought quickly. ‘Look, I do understand and I don’t want to get you into trouble. Do you know if and when he might call in? Then I could pop in on the off-chance and you won’t be involved. It is very important I speak to him. I…I have a message I can only give to him in person. Please!’
The receptionist chewed her lip. ‘Well, I don’t see any harm in that. At least you don’t look like a murderer or anything!’ She laughed.
Louisa felt the blood drain from her face as the image of the man knocking her to the ground filled her mind.
‘Are you all right? Have I said something…?’ The receptionist looked at her with concern.
‘No, it’s okay. I…I recently lost someone very dear to me.’ Louisa forced a smile, not wanting to scare the poor girl. She needed her help.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ The girl, whose name badge identified her as ‘Nadine’, frowned. ‘I do put my foot in it sometimes. Look, Mr Roget is booked in for a session with our physio tomorrow afternoon at three. If you were to drop in about three thirty you should catch him as he usually stays for a swim afterwards.’
‘Thanks, I’ll do that. I, er, understand that you’ve only recently opened.’
Nadine nodded. ‘Yes, in January and we’ve had quite a few bookings so far. We expect to be busiest in the summer, of course.’ She grinned at Louisa. ‘Do you fancy a few days here? We’re offering weekend packages.’
Louisa shook her head, laughing. ‘No thanks, I couldn’t afford it! But I’m sure you’ll do well. Will you be on reception tomorrow when I call?’
The brown curls bobbed up and down. ‘Yes, I’ll look out for you.’
Louisa said goodbye and returned to her car, lost in thought. So, tomorrow I might finally meet my father! Will I look like him? Mum never said. But her eyes were grey and mine are blue so…Sliding into the car, she glanced back at the front door. With a sigh, she revved the engine and drove off, the tyres squealing on the gravel.