Earlier, standing in front of Josette’s cottage, Carla had hesitated for a moment and almost knocked on the door before resolutely pushing the letter into the wall box. Despite it being nearly a week since Josette had blown her life apart with her confession, she wasn’t ready to face her and demand answers. Besides, there wasn’t time this morning, she needed to get back to Villa Mimosa.
On the way home, she stopped to buy croissants and three almond slices in addition to her daily baguette. Joel would have left for work, she knew, but she’d keep an almond slice for him.
Once back at the villa, Carla set the coffee up, put the croissants and a couple of the almond slices in the round bread basket and placed it, along with plates and coffee cups, on the terrace table, trying to quell her nervousness. Arranging a secret breakfast meeting, even with a friend, had such a clandestine feel.
She suspected if Josette had talked to anyone about her outburst at the birthday party, it would have been Gordon. It had been an impulsive decision to ask Gordon if she could talk to him sometime soon and he agreed but suggested an early breakfast meeting would be best if she didn’t want to mention it to Josette. Whether he would talk to her this morning remained to be seen.
When Gordon arrived, Carla couldn’t help remarking how well he looked. ‘You’ve got a proper spring in your step today,’ she said after they exchanged air kisses.
He gave her a smile. ‘Life is good.’
Carla fetched the coffee and the two of them sat at the table.
‘Your garden’s looking beautiful,’ Gordon said. ‘How are you getting along with Joel living here?’
The unexpected question made Carla blush. ‘It’s fine. We get on well. I like having him here. Definitely going to miss him when he moves out.’ She pushed the croissants towards Gordon. ‘Not that we see that much of each other. He’s always out working and when he’s here he likes to potter in the garden.’
‘Josette speaks highly of him,’ Gordon said. ‘Now, my dear, as delightful as it is to be here, I know you want to talk to me about Josette, so come on, fire away.’
‘I could do with some advice,’ Carla said. ‘I don’t know what to do. Should I go and see Josette – or wait for her to come and talk to me? I need her to tell me the whole story because sure as hell there is more to it than she’s told us. I also need to know why she decided after all these years to simply baldly announce to the world the fact she’s my mother, not my aunt?’ She pushed her untouched croissant away. ‘I’m finding it so hard to take in the enormity of what she’s been hiding all these years.’
Gordon took a drink of his coffee.
‘Has Josette said anything to you? Would you tell me if she had?’ Carla asked. ‘If she’s told you things in confidence, of course I don’t expect you to break that, but if there’s anything you can tell me? Anything to help me understand. Have you seen her since her birthday?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen her a couple of times.’
When Gordon didn’t expand on that statement, Carla said, ‘How was she?’
‘Worried about the effect the news has had on you. Worried about if she’s done the right thing. Worried that she’s ruined any chance of building a proper relationship with you. Worried she didn’t take the secret to the grave. Let’s just say, she’s worried.’ Gordon glanced at Carla. ‘She’s not had much practice at being a part of a family for the last fifty years. She’s very fond of you, despite not being in your life for so many years.’
‘You see, that’s the kind of thing I need to know. Surely she could have insisted I was told the truth when I was old enough?’
Gordon shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Like you say, you need to talk to her. Maybe give it another week and then if she hasn’t come to see you, you’ll have to be the brave one. I do know she hates the thought of being outside the family again.’
‘D’you think she’s ready to talk to me? To tell me about the past? A past she clearly wishes she’d left buried.’
‘I think she’s braced for your questions but frightened about your reaction to the answers.’
Carla sighed. ‘A letter came here for Josette this week. I popped it into her box this morning. It had an Italian stamp. The family name on the back rang a bell with me, but I can’t place it. I nearly knocked on the door to give it to her, but I chickened out.’
‘Was the name Grimaud by any chance?’ Gordon asked.
‘It was.’ Carla looked at Gordon in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
Gordon shrugged. ‘Just a guess. It’s interesting though. That’s your friend Bruno’s name. Apparently there were a lot of Grimauds down here years ago.’
‘Of course,’ Carla said. ‘I’d forgotten his surname. But why would he be writing to Josette. He only met her for the first time in the Carlton.’
Gordon shrugged. ‘Who knows? We’ll both have to be patient on that one and wait for Josette to tell us all. Now, I must go. I have a plane to catch later.
Josette placed the letter unopened on the table and poured herself another coffee. Sitting there sipping her drink, she couldn’t stop herself looking at the envelope with her name on it in bold writing, taunting her. What sort of letter would she find inside?
If it was from the person she already knew deep down it was, would it be demanding answers about her actions of over fifty years ago? Or would it be conciliatory in a ‘let bygones be bygones’ kind of way? Would a meeting for old times’ sake be suggested?
Should she even open it? She could tear it into pieces and drop it in the rubbish. Deny ever receiving it if she had to. No, she couldn’t do that. That would just be adding more lies to an already sorry life story. But she didn’t have to open it. Unopened, she could live in ignorance of its contents. Cautiously, she picked it up from the table and half rose to go and put it in the drawer, before sinking back down onto her seat. However painful it was, she had to open it.
Carefully, she peeled the flap open and drew out an expensive piece of notepaper, a name and address printed on top. The name was the one she’d been expecting, hoping, to see. Mario Grimaud. The address was one she didn’t recognise. Somewhere in San Remo. It wasn’t a long letter. It was direct and to the point. Like the writer himself had always been. His voice said the words in her head as she read.
Mio Caro Josie,
I barely know where to begin this letter, other than to say I’m very happy to have news of you from my nephew, Bruno. My dearest wish is for us to meet again, for me to learn something of how your life has been – I hope it has been a happy one. I’ve never understood why you left without a word, but I accept you must have had your reasons. Your parents refused to tell me anything and never spoke of you to me again. I kept hoping you’d return and tell me what prompted your unexpected departure. But life goes on and one learns to accept that certain things were never meant to be. What I’ve never truly accepted in all these years has been your absence in my life as the friend you always were, if not as the wife I’d wanted you to be. Perhaps you missed me too a little? Can we meet as friends? It would make me very happy to see the love of my life once again.
Amore, Mario. xxx
Under his signature was an Italian telephone number.
Josette placed the letter on the table and brushed away the tears that were falling down her cheeks. No recriminations, no blame, just a declaration of a love that had never died despite her cruel desertion of him all those years ago. The letter didn’t tell her anything about him. Had he ever married? Did he have a family? She knew no more about his life than he did hers. Could she bear to meet him? See the man he’d become. Welcome him into her life again? Would he be disappointed in her? Could friendship alone bring a satisfactory closure to their long-ago love?
Mario’s letter was stirring other memories in her, transporting her back to her youth, to the consequences of the night she’d promised to meet him but instead had been forced to run away. To memories of Robert and Amelia. Amelia. How had she ever been naive enough to expect her twin to accept and understand her action? Meeting Mario again would mean telling him the truth about why she’d left without a word. The truth that had driven a wedge again between herself and Carla, instantly joining the one that Amelia had fuelled for years.
Josette closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Would it make any real difference were Mario to learn the truth after all these years? The truth wouldn’t change the effect her actions had had on both their lives. Meeting up with the man she’d left behind to avoid hurting him with her betrayal was a risk, but it would at the very least give her closure on that particular part of her past. But any meeting would have to wait until after she and Carla had talked.
Standing up and moving into the kitchen, Josette opened the dresser drawer. The original ‘Private and Confidential’ package Carla had brought over all those weeks ago was still on top of the bits and pieces that filled the drawer, unopened. Taking it out, Josette scrabbled around the contents of the drawer and found a rubber band. Placing Mario’s letter on top of the package, she joined the two of them together with the rubber band. She would reply to Mario one day soon and agree to meet him, but not yet. The timing was all wrong.