We got off the train at Angers station on a hot afternoon in early August. It was busy with people coming and going, women carrying stuffed shopping baskets and men racing down the platform to jump on the train before it resumed its way south.
I sniffed the air and smiled. The sun shone in a clear blue sky and a gentle southern breeze blew balmy air onto my face. France was all around me, filtering into my lungs and pervading my skin. My sweet pea dress reflected the brilliant light and I felt alive and beautiful. I was home.
Dada, who was carrying the pig skin case and its larger matching companion caught my eye and gave me one of his rare grins, he understood and was happy for me.
We walked out of the station and I stopped at the taxi cab rank. When I told the driver where we wanted to go he frowned. “It’s twenty miles, Madame and back again for me. It won’t be cheap.”
“I’ll pay you now,” I said, “if you’ll take us.” And, shifting my bundle, I took out a handful of notes and offered them.
“No,” he smiled, throwing away the thin cigarette which was hanging from his mouth and opening the door of the battered Peugeot. “Wait until we’re there. Come on. Get in.”
I watched every mile of the journey to Riverain from my seat in the back of the not too clean taxi. The neat regiment of trees threw wonderful shadows on the roads and ahead, I could see the water mirages sparkling on the dusty concrete. The sight nearly brought me to tears but I controlled myself. There would be plenty of time for tears later. We turned onto the side road where the verges overflowed with vegetation, creamy cow parsley and pink mallow and through the open window I could smell the fields.
Yesterday, we’d ridden in another taxi from our bleak hillside to the station. Jed Winstanley had taken the house keys from me and wished us luck while the taxi driver had let his engine run up the pennies. Neither Dada nor I bothered to look back as we drove away. We would never come back.
Mr Franklin had finally given in to my constant requests to be allowed to leave and had, in the end, been surprisingly helpful. He’d arranged passports and organised the sale of the house and land to Jed Winstanley. “The money has to be kept in trust for another year until your eighteenth birthday,” he said and sighed his frustration. “But your father’s annuity has been paid into your account and you will be alright for a while.”
“We’ll be alright anyway,” I’d smiled. “I’m going home.”
“You are sure that they’ll take you in?” He was still worried.
“You saw them,” I answered. “How could you doubt it? I’m going to be with the people who love me and want me and to the farm where I’ll stay for the rest of my life. It is enchanting. Can you imagine a more beautiful place?”
Mr Franklin stared out of his office window, at the noisy streets below and the factory tower hooting the midday break. Then, shaking his head, he turned back to me. “No, no I can’t, Eleanor. I can’t.”
So now we were on the road home, Dada and me and…the driver turned his head. “We turn off around here,” he asked. “Which way, exactly?”
“Next right,” I said, dreamily and looked over the fields to where I could see the white farmhouse nestled in its pillow of lush fields. I could smell the river, hot and sludgy and as my eyes travelled above the white house I could see the vineyard.
“Here,” I said and the taxi drove cautiously through the pale stone arch and into the cobbled courtyard. “Go round,” I directed, “into the yard.”
We stood in the yard as the taxi turned and rattled off back to Angers. I looked at the kitchen door and the red geraniums on the window sill beside it. I should go in, I thought, suddenly nervous, but then I heard a small bell like voice coming from the vegetable garden.
“I heard a car, Grandmère, I really did. I’m going to see who it is.” And within seconds a leggy brown haired child came running around the corner of the house and skittered to halt as she saw us.
“Eleanor!” she squealed. “Oh Eleanor.” Her arms were wrapped around my waist and as I bent my head to kiss her the tears started.
She cried and so did I and then through my tears I saw Grandmère coming towards me with a look of so much joy that my tears overflowed.
“My dear, dear, daughter,” she crooned. “You’ve come home.”
We were quiet for a moment and then she stepped back. “What have you brought us,” she breathed and I put the bundle into her arms. Lisette squeaked in excitement.
“Where is he,” I asked.
She raised her eyes to the field of neat rows above the river. “In the vineyard, of course. He’s waited so long for you.”
“And I for him.”
Dada put down the cases and looking around the yard and up to the fields, took in a deep breath, crinkling up his nose, at the smell of the river, I think. Just as I had done and just as I had done he would forget to notice it after the first day.
“This is my father, Edward Gill,” I said. Then I remembered. “Don’t shake hands, he doesn’t like to be touched.” But I was too late. Lisette had grabbed his thin fingers and had started pulling him towards the kitchen door. “Come on, my Grandpère,” she warbled. “Let’s go inside.” And he went, willingly, with a courteous bow to Grandmère and a murmured ‘Bonjour Madame.’
“I’m going to the vineyard,” I said, taking the bundle from Grandmère.
“Good,” her voice choking. “He’ll be so…” Then she coughed and smoothed back her hair where a strand had come loose. “I’ll give M. Édouard some coffee and then start on the vegetables for supper.”
“I’ll help you when I come down.”
“Take your time, Eleanor, my dear. There’ll be so much say.”
I walked, slowly, so I could savour the bliss of being back at Riverain. The trees swayed in a gentle southerly breeze and I fancied I could smell the grapes ripening on the hillside. The sun beat down on my head and now I could feel it on my arms and legs. Oh, it was ecstasy.
He saw me as I stepped onto the bridge and calling my name, ran down the hill while I waited for him. The water flowed, the birds twittered in the willow trees and I was in that enchanted land once more.
Then he was by my side, breathless, glowing and his dark eyes wide with shock as I put our two month old child into his arms.
“This is Stephen,” I said. “Your son. And we have come home.”
The End