The Lavender Garden (41 page)

“That’s certainly the truth. I apologize if I sounded patronizing. I actually feel genuinely sorry for you. More wine?”

Emilie let him fill her glass and sat watching him silently. Eventually she said, “Why do you stay here? You tell me you have money. Surely it would be healthier and safer for the both of you if you agreed to sell the house and go your separate ways?”

“Yes, that’s the sensible answer, but it’s also leaving out emotion. My grandmother’s dearest wish was for us brothers to mend the rift between us. She thought—misguidedly—that bequeathing Blackmoor Hall to us jointly might do that. I’ve tried, really I have, but it’s impossible. And, to be honest, I’m slowly running out of steam. Sebastian will win eventually. I accept that.”

“Why does my husband want to sell it so badly? He tells me he loves this house and wants to earn the money to restore it.”

“Em, I can only go so far. And I really think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him. But, yes, I wanted to give my best shot at reconciliation because it was what my grandmother wanted. I let her down so terribly in my earlier life.” He sighed. “I adored Constance and I caused her so much worry and pain when I ran away and went down the slippery slope to oblivion.”

“She must have known why you left?”

“Possibly, but to be fair, Emilie, despite the fact that I have a brother who managed to sabotage me during my formative years, I can’t blame him for my subsequent decline into drugs. It was my choice completely. I wanted to blank out the pain of losing what could have been. I’d reached the point where I felt that nothing in my life would ever turn out right. That no matter what I achieved, however hard I worked, somehow it would all come to nothing and go wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” Emilie nodded.

“But through that process, I hurt my beloved grandmother, and I can never forgive myself for that. Staying here and reconciling with Seb made me feel I was at least doing something to make amends.”

“I understand.”

“Listen, Em,” said Alex after a pause, “I’m worried about you now. You must remember that just because my brother has a problem with me, it doesn’t mean that he can’t go on to forge successful relationships with other people. I’d hate to think that what has happened between us brothers in the past will prejudice your view of him. I’d like to think of Seb and you being happy together.”

“But how can you still care for him after all he’s done to you?”

“I’ve learned that growing up as second best, whether real or imagined, is a tough one. I understand now that’s how Seb felt. And maybe still feels. You, of all people, should understand that emotion.” He stared at her and she blushed.

“Yes, we all carry secrets and we all have flaws.”

“
And
strengths. Seb may not have my academic mind, but he’s amazingly streetwise. He’s lived on his wits for most of his life. Please, give him a chance, Em. Don’t give up just yet,” Alex begged.

“I won’t,” she promised.

“Now, how about some supper? I had a delivery from the farm shop earlier today. And perhaps you could also tell me what you learned about my grandmother’s past while you were in France?”

Over supper, Emilie related what she’d discovered from Jacques as accurately as she could.

“None of it surprises me,” Alex said when she’d finished. “Constance was such a wonderful woman, Em. I wish you could have met her.”

Emilie saw the love in his eyes. “There’s little I can say, except I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Alex gave her a weak smile. “It’ll never stop hurting, but maybe that’s the way it should be. The shock of losing her certainly brought me up short. It’s made me a better person.”

Emilie saw it was after midnight. “I must go, Alex. I’m off to France tomorrow to hear the rest of the story, but I’ll see you when I get back. And thank you so much for being so honest and
fair
about Sebastian. Good night.” Bending down, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Night, Em.”

Alex watched her leave with a sigh. He felt he should tell her so much more, but he understood his hands were tied. It would be down
to her to discover the truth of the man she had married. He could do no more.

•  •  •

Next door, Emilie climbed into bed feeling unsettled but relieved she knew the truth of the relationship between the brothers. Armed with the facts, she at least felt more capable of dealing with the situation. Her husband wasn’t a madman, merely an insecure little boy who had always harbored a deep jealousy of the younger brother who had bested him at everything.

Did this make him a bad person?

No,
no
 . . .

Now she understood Sebastian, surely it was possible to help him get over his problems? He needed to feel loved, valued, and secure.

Unlike Frederik and Falk, surely one character did not have to be pure evil and the other good? Neither life nor people were usually so black-and-white.

Or—Emilie sighed as she switched off the light to prepare for sleep—was she making excuses for her husband’s behavior simply because she couldn’t bear the truth?

Which was that she had made a dreadful mistake . . . ?

•  •  •

When Emilie arrived at the château the following afternoon, the sight of its windows and doors boarded up and covered in scaffolding was almost too painful to bear. She spent two hours with the architect going through what they had achieved so far, then drove down to the cottage, where Jean sat as usual at his desk in the
cave
, completing paperwork.

“Emilie, it’s good to see you again.” He smiled as he stood up and kissed her.

“How’s your father?”

“He’s coming back to life as the spring begins to arrive. He’s resting at the moment, ready to continue his story tonight. He’s told me he wishes for you to know”—Jean sighed—“that it’s not a happy ending.”

After the past week of mental and emotional confusion, contrasted with the current joy of being back in the light and balmy air of
the Provençal spring, Emilie was ready to deal with it. “Jean, this is my
past
, not my present or my future. I promise I can cope.”

He looked at her intently, pausing before he spoke. “My Emilie, you’re different somehow. I feel you’ve grown up. Forgive me for saying so.”

“No, Jean, I think you’re right.”

“People say that the death of the older generation means you truly become an adult. Maybe that’s the prize from the sadness of losing them.”

“Maybe.”

“And now, while my father rests, can we talk about the vineyard, Emilie? I want to explain my plan for expansion.”

Emilie did her best to concentrate on the facts and figures Jean put in front of her, but she didn’t feel qualified to have an input. She knew nothing about the wine business, and her inadequacy made her feel embarrassed that Jean had to come to her to ask for permission to expand it when she was not sure how to advise or help him.

“I trust you, Jean, I know you’ll do everything you can to make the
cave
more financially successful,” she said as he tidied his papers away.

“Thank you, Emilie, but of course I must talk through my ideas with you. You own the land and the business.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t.” The idea sprang out of nowhere. “Perhaps you should own it yourself.”

Jean looked at her in surprise. “Listen, shall we go and take a glass of rosé and talk further?”

They sat out on the terrace at the back of the cottage and discussed how Emilie’s idea could be made possible.

“Perhaps I could buy the business, but continue to rent the actual land, which would mean that anyone who came after me to the
cave
would never be able to separate it from the château,” suggested Jean. “I can’t offer much, because I’ll borrow from the bank and it will take some time to pay back the interest. But, in return, I could offer a percentage of any profit I make to you.”

“I think that in principle it all sounds sensible. I would have to ask Gerard what he thinks of the idea and also to check if there were any covenants put in place by past generations to prohibit it. But I’m sure
that, even if there were, I could remove them, as I’m suddenly all-powerful.” She smiled.

“And it suits you,” said Jean, laughing.

“Maybe it does.” Emilie sipped her wine thoughtfully. “You know, when my mother first died, I was terrified of handling the estate and its complexities. My initial instinct was to sell. I’ve learned so much in the past year. Perhaps I’m more capable than I believed.” She checked herself. “Forgive me, I don’t want to sound arrogant.”

“Emilie, part of your problem has always been your
lack
of belief in yourself. Anyway, if you’re happy to investigate the idea, I’d be keen to reach an agreement. Now, you must be hungry. Let’s go inside and eat, and then it won’t be too late for my father to tell you more of his story.”

Jacques, thought Emilie, looked much improved from the last time she’d seen him.

“It’s the spring air warming my bones,” he said, chuckling, over a supper of fresh sea bream from the local market. “Now, are you ready, Emilie?” he asked as they settled themselves in the sitting room. “I warn you, the story is . . . complex.”

“I’m ready.”

“If I remember correctly, Constance and Sophia had arrived at the château, and Édouard had managed to escape to England . . .”

A glowing dawn, a sweet, ripe peach,

A blue sea lapping on the beach.

A hint of spring, a dewy rose

Whose scent assails an eager nose.

Beauty now at every sight.

A feast for senses to delight.

A darkened cell, the fear of night,

A mistral blows with all its might.

A winter’s chill in barren land,

The bitter cold through frozen hand.

Beauty now has closed its door.

And swept away for distant shore.

A touch of cheek, a lingered kiss

So soft remembered, soon to miss.

A tender arm around me thrown,

The beauty of a heart’s true home.

In black despair, a shooting star,

For Paradise is where you are.

Sophia de la Martinières
April 1944

Gassin, South of France

1944

T
here’s someone coming!” cried Jacques. “Where’s Sophia?”

“In the cellar, sleeping,” replied Connie, immediately alert.

“Go and warn her she’s not to cry out. . . .” Jacques’s eye was pinned to the peephole in the
cave
door. “Wait—it’s Armand!” He turned to Connie with a sigh of relief and opened the door for him. Connie watched as Armand put his bike against the wall and walked inside. After a month of seeing no one except Jacques and Sophia, Connie was extraordinarily glad to see his bright face.

The two men embraced in their peculiarly intimate French way, and Jacques led Armand along the passage to the cottage.

“Sit down, my friend, and tell us all the news. We are starved of it here. Constance, can you make coffee?”

Connie nodded reluctantly, wanting to hear every snippet Armand had to offer. Her current role as comforter and maid to Sophia—a Sophia who, for the past month, had refused to rouse herself from her bed in the cellar to take some fresh air in the walled garden, and who was not eating or responding to Connie’s pleas that she must not give up—was becoming more difficult by the day.

Hurriedly placing three cups on a tray and pouring the coffee into them, she took them into the sitting room.

“Thank you, Constance, and a happy New Year to you!” Armand said as he took a cup from the tray and drank the coffee with relish.

“And let us all pray that 1944 will finally see the deliverance of our country,” added Jacques fervently.

“Yes.” Armand nodded as he pulled a package from his satchel. “This is for Mademoiselle Sophia, but I’m sure she won’t mind if you open it, madame. It contains good news.”

Connie took the package from him and unwrapped it. She looked at the faded green linen of the cover and the title of the book and smiled.

“It’s volume two of
The History of French Fruit
.” She looked at Jacques with shining eyes. “A book I loved from Édouard’s library in his Paris house. I presume this means he’s safe?”

“Yes, madame, Édouard is safe,” Armand confirmed. “And even from his place of hiding, aiding us in our fight. I’m sure it will raise Mademoiselle Sophia’s spirits to know that her brother is alive and well. And who knows? He may return sooner than we think. But he stays away purely to protect his sister.”

“Do you know how he managed to escape? He was so sick when we left.” Connie continued to clasp the book to her like a talisman.

“I do not have the details, madame. But, sadly, I’ve heard that the British agent who saved his life was recently shot by the Gestapo. These are dangerous times, madame, but at least Hero is safe.”