Carla wandered through town in a daze after leaving Josette, trying to absorb and accept the things she’d just learned. She had no doubt that Josette regretted the way her actions of that long-ago night had changed the course of her life, but she wasn’t bitter about things. She’d got on and lived her life as best she could, keeping silent about the truth of Carla’s conception, the knowledge of which could only cause her twin more heartbreak.
Josette wasn’t bitter, but Carla realised Amelia had been. With due cause, as Carla now knew. Losing Bobby, a beloved son, and unable to have more children was reason enough to make any woman bitter. But as a little girl she’d naturally loved her mummy without question and taken for granted the love shown her in return. Until one day she realised the love had become one-sided – Amelia had changed towards her.
She’d wanted a birthday party… it had to have been her ninth birthday, the one before her grandmother had died. Amelia had refused outright to organise one for her, telling her, however many tantrums she threw and however much she sulked, it wouldn’t make any difference and there would be no more parties. Carla remembered crying to Robert, but he’d been unable to make Amelia change her mind.
On the day, he’d taken her and a friend to the zoo, followed by a pizza in town. She’d enjoyed every minute of it and had told Amelia so when she’d got home. ‘I’ve had a lovely day with Daddy. I’m glad you didn’t come with us. You’d have spoilt it.’ Amelia had glared at her tight-lipped before turning away with an almost indiscernible shrug.
Looking back on it now, forty-one years later, Carla realised that particular birthday had been the turning point of her relationship with the woman she’d called Mother all her life. It was the beginning of never being able to do anything right however hard she tried and coincided with what Josette had told her about the funeral weekend.
Josette saying that Amelia had promised they would tell her the truth together when she was old enough raised the question, why had Amelia changed her mind? Josette must have been upset by her twin’s behaviour towards her and hurt beyond measure, being forbidden to tell Carla the truth, as she’d been promised. Once again the position she’d found herself in must have been unbelievably hard. No wonder she’d come up with the ‘emergency only’ contact ploy to try and keep Carla at a distance when she longed to tell her who she really was.
Deep in her thoughts, Carla had paid no attention to where she was walking and was startled when a woman jogging bumped into her, calling out a polite ‘Desolé’ as she carried on without stopping. Looking around, Carla was surprised to find herself near the small cafe where she’d first met Bruno. She hadn’t realised she’d come so far. Turning, she began to walk in the direction of Villa Mimosa. Time to go home and try to come to terms with the whole story of her birth.
After Carla left, Josette splashed her face with some cold water in an effort to try and calm the redness and puffiness the tears of the morning had caused. A swift glance at her watch told her if she didn’t hurry she was going to be late meeting Gordon.
He’d phoned her a couple of times since their night together, checking how she was and apologising that he was having to go away for a couple of days but he’d meet her in their usual place for lunch today. Quickly, she tidied her hair back into its customary neat chignon, a quick spray of perfume and she was ready.
Gordon was already sitting at the table that was fast becoming ‘their’ table in the restaurant when she arrived.
‘I’ve really missed you for the last few days,’ she said, smiling at him, as he stood up to greet her with a kiss. ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’
‘I’ve ordered us a couple of aperitifs. I hope that’s all right? You okay?’ Gordon asked. ‘You look…’
‘Tired? Washed out? I am a bit,’ Josette admitted. ‘Last week I had an unexpected letter and then, this morning, Carla came to see me.’
‘Who did the letter from Italy turn out to be from?’ Gordon said.
‘How did you know it came from Italy?’ Josette asked, certain she’d not mentioned the letter to Gordon before.
‘Carla told me. She talked to me before I went away about you being her mother – she wanted to ask if I knew more than she did. Which, of course, I don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’ve talked to each other.’
‘At least she knows the truth about how it happened. How easy she will find it to accept and forgive remains to be seen.’ Josette sighed. ‘I can only wait and hope we can build a new relationship.’
Gordon took hold of her hand. ‘Sometimes the things one dreads the most turn out to be blips – large blips maybe, but blips in the scheme of things. Give it a few weeks and I’m sure you’ll be surprised how far you and Carla have progressed along the mother–daughter relationship road to recovery. Together you’ll find a way through.’
Josette smiled at him, grateful for his support and inwardly praying he was right. ‘As for the Italian letter. It was from an old friend, Mario Grimaud. A relation of Bruno’s. We lost touch years ago and he’d like to meet up. I haven’t replied yet.’
‘Why not?’
Josette was silent for several seconds before saying quietly, ‘Because Mario is my “l’esprit d’escalier”. The ghost on the stairs of my life.’ She looked at Gordon. ‘For the moment, at least, I think it’s best if he stays there. Things are complicated enough.’ She picked up a piece of bread from the basket on the table and pulled a piece off. ‘I will write to him eventually. I can’t be rude and ignore it. Especially as coincidentally, Carla and Bruno seem to have struck up a friendship.’
The waiter arrived at that moment with their aperitifs and to take their food order.
Once they were alone again, Josette said, ‘So tell me, where did you disappear to so unexpectedly?’
‘London. The agents finally found a buyer for my house there and I had to return to sign the papers, get rid of some stuff and let various friends know. All done and now France is officially my home.’
Josette raised her glass. ‘In that case, congratulations and welcome to a happy and long life in France.’
Gordon touched his glass against hers. ‘Vive la France.’