Caroline sat on the side of the bed in her room. She clenched her fingers into fists and tried to remember the techniques she’d learned to stave off anxiety. Nothing was working. No amount of deep breathing, holding her breath and slowly releasing would stop the pounding in her chest. Not only had she made a complete fool of herself by fainting in the church, but the news she’d been dreading had finally been delivered, and the impact felt like a knock-out blow.
She wondered what the other guests were thinking. Had they noticed she hardly ate in her determination to keep her figure and not gain a pound? If they did, they would say her fainting was the result of vanity. Were they all laughing behind her back? But these thoughts soon paled, and Caroline’s anguish heightened when she remembered the phone call from her solicitor.
Unable to sit still, she rose and paced around the room. Finally, the truth was out. Months of worrying about whether she could survive her divorce and make a fresh start were over, and now she had her answer.
Stanley and Caroline were broke.
Their home had a massive mortgage, and Stanley owed money everywhere. He’d run up debts of thousands to wine suppliers, and money mysteriously disappeared each month. There were accounts she had no knowledge of, but with none in credit, they mattered little. The debts from her catering business had to be repaid. Making the company insolvent wouldn’t help her credit rating, and if she was to survive, she had to protect it.
But Stanley seemed unconcerned when she called him, demanding to know where all the money had gone and what he intended to do.
‘Get on with your life, Caro,’ Stanley said, ‘make a new start.’ With no further comment, to her anger and frustration, he’d disconnected the call.
Reluctant to tell her but feeling obligated, her solicitor had added that Stanley, in Caroline’s absence, had moved out of their home and was living with Celia Ackland.
Caroline gritted her teeth.
A headache was threatening, and she pressed her fingers to her forehead. The wretched Celia Ackland was loaded. Caroline knew that a windfall had fallen into her lap from her father’s property portfolio, and Stanley’s lack of funds wouldn’t be of any concern. Having a lover with access to the House and Parliament parties was an opportunity not to be missed for the social climber, and Caroline imagined a wedding already in the pipeline. The date, no doubt imminent, following Stanley’s divorce.
Caroline moved to the window.
What was she to do? The few thousand she’d have left after the house sale and debts repaid would hardly fund a property. She’d have to find somewhere to rent, and that meant a move she didn’t want to make.
Should she call Leo? Perhaps her son would offer her the sofa in his studio apartment. But she knew it would never work. They weren’t close before the divorce, and after, crowding his life wouldn’t make things any better.
But Caroline couldn’t think of Leo now, and as she stared at the moonlight, she realised that the storm had washed away the heat and humidity, leaving cooler, more comfortable air. The smell of damp earth and scents from the garden drifted up, intensified by the heavy rain’s cleansing effect, and she could hear the familiar sound of an owl as it gave its long, loud hoot.
Had Caroline been in a better frame of mind, she would have enjoyed this fresh start, as though nature was reviving itself with optimism after weeks of drought and heat. But she was in no mood to appreciate the beauty beyond her window and her burden felt like a dead weight, bringing her down.
* * *
On the other side of Caroline’s door, Waltho gently knocked. ‘It’s me,’ he called out. ‘Daniel has prepared a tray, and I’d like to bring it in.’
Waltho heard Caroline moving around the room and imagined her anxiously straightening the bed and tidying a cushion.
‘Just a moment,’ Caroline replied.
Moments later, she opened the door.
Waltho placed the tray on a table. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Much better, thank you.’
‘You still look very pale.’
Waltho thought Caroline appeared tense. Her shoulders were hunched as she rubbed her arms and fidgeted with the collar of her blouse. He noticed worry lines creasing the skin on her forehead.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said, drawing back a chair.
As Caroline took a seat, Waltho decided that he would stay and perhaps encourage her to talk. A shared problem might lessen her anxiety. He sat, removed the cloth from the tray, and placed a plate before Caroline. Taking a spoon, he served individual portions of pasta.
‘This is a selection of the dishes you all made earlier,’ he said, adding a helping of her salad.
‘I really don’t think I can eat all this…’ Caroline began as she stared at the mouth-watering food.
‘Just try, take a little at a time.’
Waltho poured wine. Sitting back, he took a sip and studied Caroline as she robotically moved a spoon to her mouth. Deciding that he would talk to divert attention from the food, Waltho spoke of the day and the events that had so unexpectedly occurred.
‘Madame Martine was so grateful to the guests,’ he began, ‘and while you were resting, everyone helped to restore the square after the storm had created such havoc.’ He saw that Caroline was listening and was pleased to see she’d taken two mouthfuls of food. ‘It was all so unexpected. The weather forecast hadn’t predicted that rain with such force would sweep over the area so suddenly.’
Waltho knew he was waffling, but as Caroline continued to eat, he kept going.
‘I hope it didn’t spoil everyone’s memories of the church, which is unique and the interior so rare and a privilege to see.’ Waltho paused and took another sip of wine. ‘But it was a good place to shelter and kept everyone safe while the downpour passed over.’
Waltho’s voice, like velvet, was soothing and Caroline’s shoulders slowly relaxed, the tension gently lifting. She wasn’t conscious of his words, just the richness of his tone, like one of Stanley’s fine aged wines. Steady, with an unhurried pace, as the words flowed smoothly.
Before realising what had happened, Caroline put down her spoon and pushed her plate away. To her astonishment, she saw that she’d eaten every scrap.
‘Would you like more?’ Waltho asked, ‘I can ask Daniel to plate up another portion of the dishes.’
‘Oh, good heavens, no!’
Caroline was shocked. She’d eaten more in one sitting than she’d had all week, and her stomach felt like it might burst. But the feeling was peculiar, and instead of rushing to the bathroom to force her fingers down her throat, she let the feeling of fullness settle.
‘Please, drink some wine,’ Waltho suggested, filling her glass.
Caroline did as she was told and savoured the delicious taste in the room’s quiet. She glanced at the label on the bottle, and her eyes popped. It was a Château Margaux – one of Stanley’s favourites. Leaning back in her chair, Caroline stared at Waltho. The cost of a bottle was exorbitant, and, as if reading her mind, Waltho smiled.
‘You deserve something special after the day you’ve had,’ he said.
Caroline drained her glass, and as she watched it being refilled, she felt like she would cry. ‘I don’t deserve anything,’ she whispered.
She saw Waltho lean in.
‘Would you like to talk about it?’ he asked.
Caroline felt a lump in her throat.
Emotions welled up, and her eyes felt misty. What was it about this man that made her feel safe? Cocooned in the room, with only Waltho beside her, she felt tears tracing a path down her cheeks. Her chest heaved, and, unable to help herself, she placed her glass down and, burying her face in her hands, began to sob.
Waltho moved the tray to one side.
Edging his chair closer, he reached out and prayed that she wouldn’t think he was taking advantage as he held Caroline’s shoulders and pulled her into his arms.
Soundlessly, he gently rocked as Caroline’s controlled demeanour crumbled. He felt her body shudder as her weeping filled the room. Closing his eyes, he remembered holding Lauren throughout the agony of her illness. But as he comforted Caroline, Waltho knew this wasn’t about him or Lauren. Caroline was suffering, and he determined that he would help her.
If she allowed him.
‘I know how you feel. I understand emotional pain,’ Waltho spoke softly. ‘You’re not alone.’
After a while, Caroline’s sobs eased. As Waltho opened his eyes, to his surprise, he realised that Lauren’s cat was sitting on the floor, staring at him. Had she followed him into the room?
Tabby’s gaze, clouded with the wisdom of years, was intent. The cat seemed to be saying, ‘Not again?’ Tattered ears with tufts of fur twitched as she caught the sounds of Caroline’s distress.
Waltho remembered how Tabby kept a vigil by Lauren’s side during those dark days, rarely leaving her room, nestling gently on her lap or beside Lauren on the bed, purring comfortingly to the touch of a hand.
Suddenly, Caroline trembled. ‘Oh, God, I’m so s— sorry, I don’t know what has come over me. It must be the wine.’
Waltho wondered if she would start crying again and reached into a pocket to hand her a handkerchief. ‘Here,’ he said kindly, ‘wipe your eyes.’
‘S— Stanley always has a clean white handkerchief,’ Caroline stuttered. ‘He insists on it.’ She blotted her face and dabbed at her eyes.
‘Your husband.’
‘Y— yes.’
‘Is he the cause of your problems?’
‘W— well, yes, I’m afraid he is.’
Waltho handed Caroline her wine and, standing, moved to the window. He closed the curtains and adjusted the angle of a lamp to diffuse light from Caroline’s puffy face. Eyeballing Tabby, the cat didn’t move.
Returning to his seat, Waltho sat and made a pyramid of his fingers, resting them on his chest. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘and when you’ve finished, we might have found a way to sort through everything.’
* * *
Sometime later, Caroline lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. A beam shone through a gap in the curtains, where the moon cast a silvery light. She felt drained and weary and could scarcely believe that she’d poured her heart out to Waltho and told him every sordid detail of her marriage to Stanley, her failed catering business, her divorce and even why she kept so slim.
She wondered if he would arrange for her to leave early in the morning, unable to face the hysterical guest who’d made such a fool of herself. But a little glimmer of light was dancing around on the ceiling, and as she watched the diamond-like facets, Caroline suddenly felt a ray of hope.
Waltho had spoken so wisely and acknowledged her situation.
‘Far worse things happen in life,’ he’d said. ‘I’m not demeaning your problems, but I think these are problems that can be overcome.’
Caroline had sipped the delicious wine and listened intently. She almost held her breath as he continued.
‘When life as you know it ends, another beckons if you are brave enough to step forward.’ Waltho’s voice was captivating and his amber eyes drew her in as she savoured each word. ‘Once you decide what to do, you can go forward,’ he said. ‘At the moment, you are scared because you have no direction.’
He’d suggested that she sell what she could and, after debts repaid, with her divorce settlement, begin a completely new life. Waltho seemed to have the power to dispel her anxiety, and now, as she enjoyed the softness of the downy bed that embraced her, she felt a sense of calm.
To her amazement, the tabby cat lay beside her.
Caroline could hardly believe that she’d reached out a hand and was softly stroking the silky fur. She’d never liked cats and always thought she was allergic to them. Still, as she snuggled into the duvet, Caroline realised that Tabby hadn’t caused any reaction and as the animal curled into the curve of her back, the rhythmic purr was strangely comforting and her rickety old body warm.
Caroline felt exhausted. But there was no need to visualise and count chateaux to help her sleep, and she felt sure she would drift off within moments. But how would she feel in the morning? Would all her fears return?
Shaking away nagging doubts, Caroline remembered Waltho’s parting words, ‘Sleep is the key that unlocks the door to a happy and healthier life.’
In moments, with her eyes closed and a hint of a smile on her lips, Caroline was slumbering.