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OH, I AM IN HEAVEN! I have received word of the return of my friends M’dame Drouet and M’sieur Hugo and she has invited me to have lunch with her today. I am not due to work at Hauteville House until tomorrow and although I knew of their imminent arrival from M’dame Hugo, it is still heartening to know they are safely returned from their travels. It is hard to contain my patience knowing I shall see him tomorrow and we will be working closely together once more. How I have missed those times! To know I am needed and appreciated is balm to my soul. M’dame Hugo has indicated she expects to remain in Guernsey for the rest of the year so it’s possible my time alone with m’sieur will be limited, but it will be better than not seeing him at all.
I dressed carefully in a new dark grey summer dress, no longer wearing a widow’s cap and only my jet beads proclaiming my recent loss. I then made my way to M’dame Drouet’s house, taking me past Hauteville House. It looks exactly the same, no hint that the master has returned and reclaimed his eyrie. There is a skip in my step as I walk down the few yards to La Fallue.
Suzanne opened the door and embraced me like an old friend.
‘My, you are looking so much bonnier than when I last saw you. Come, m’dame is anxious to see you and lunch will be served toute de suite.’ She beamed at me before leading the way to the dining room where m’dame was gazing out at the sea. She turned as I entered and her face lit up and her arms reached out to me as I moved towards her. Tears of happiness slid down my cheeks as we embraced.
‘My dear, you look wonderful! There is a colour in your cheeks that was missing and your eyes are bright. Indeed, it looks as if you haven’t missed me at all!’ She laughed, holding me at arm’s length to study me properly.
‘Oh, I have missed you, but I have been taking long walks, enjoying the summer air, and my appetite has been much improved. But you also look well, m’dame. I trust you are restored to health? Your eyes are improved?’ There was a flush to her cheeks, showing that she had been taking the air in Austria, air that is known to be of great benefit to the sick, so I believe.
She smiled and indicated we sit at the table.
‘Thank you, I am in much better health and my eyes have benefited from not having to read endless manuscripts. M’sieur is adamant I am no longer to overtax myself and we will be relying on you to take on more of the work. If that suits you, my dear?’ She cocked her head on one side, as if not quite sure of my response.
‘Indeed it does, I am keen to work harder than ever now I feel fully recovered.’ My hand went automatically to my flat stomach and for a moment I felt an ache inside and knew I would probably never completely recover from my double loss.
She nodded, patting my hand as if she understood. Which, no doubt she did, having lost her own child. Any maudlin thoughts were chased away by the entrance of a grinning Suzanne with a laden tray and we were soon helping ourselves to the food, accompanied by glasses of red wine. After describing some of the sights of Austria and the other travellers they had met, she insisted I tell her of how I had spent my summer.
‘I have made a friend in my neighbour, Mrs Rabey, and we have gone shopping in Town together and in fact she helped me choose this dress,’ I said, smoothing the crisp cotton folds. ‘We have entertained each other for afternoon tea and she and her husband invited me to supper one evening. It was most pleasant and once I am out of mourning she has promised to introduce me to other acquaintances. Her husband travels a lot for his business and she is glad of some company, as am I.’
Juliette pursed her lips, and I wondered if she was slightly jealous of my having a new friend. But no-one would replace her in my heart. She undoubtedly saved my life with her quick actions and has proved a sincere friend to me over these past months.
The conversation moved onto the continuing success of Les Misérables and how M’sieur Hugo had invited her to be his guest at a banquet in Brussels, organised by his publishers and attended by authors, statesmen, scientists and journalists from around the world. It was the first time she had been by his side at such a public event and her eyes shone as she described it to me. M’sieur has returned keen to return to his writing and it seems he has a number of projects in mind. By the end of our lunch I returned home much cheered at the prospect.
‘Ma petite! How well you look! And wearing such a stylish dress, I see.’ M’sieur Hugo took my hands in his as he studied me, a smile lifting his moustache. I had been awaiting him in the red drawing room since nine o’clock and it was now near to nine thirty when he burst through the door and advanced towards me, arms outstretched. I just managed to drop a curtsy before he took my hands, my heart hammering in my breast.
‘M’sieur, it’s good to see you, and looking so well. I understand your trip was a success?’
‘Indeed it was and now I’m happy to be back on this rock of hospitality and freedom, this isle of Guernsey. And you, ma petite, you are happy to continue with your work here with me?’
‘Indeed I am, and I believe you have ideas for your next works?’
After dropping a kiss on my hand, he began his usual pacing around, arms waving as he exclaimed about the first project, to be entitled William Shakespeare but was to be dedicated to various men of genius. As I listened I was able to observe him without fear of being noted. His thick hair was neatly trimmed, but his attire was the usual careless mix of well-worn trousers and jacket over a crumpled shirt and floppy tie. To me he appeared the opposite of what you would expect from such a wealthy and successful man, although I knew he could be pompous and demanding at times.
‘You have met my son, Victor?’ he said, coming to a stop. I nodded. His full name was François-Victor, but the family called him Victor. I had seen him flitting to and fro along with the various fellow exiles invited by m’sieur as guests. Also at the dinners for the poor where we had exchanged courteous greetings, but never held a full conversation. His furrowed brow left me with the impression he was too busy for idle chat and I knew he was responsible for translating his father’s foreign correspondence.
‘I am to write the preface for his translations of the works of Shakespeare, which I consider an honour. We will be a busy household for some time to come, ma petite, will we not?’ He rubbed his hands gleefully.
‘Yes, m’sieur, we will.’ My heart was bursting with excitement and something deeper, something I am afraid to acknowledge.