CherguisChild Obooko Gen0046

Cherguis Child/Riddell
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Chapter 1
It had gone. The Photo had gone. A banging from upstairs broke into Siennas thoughts as she surveyed the mess on her sitting room floor. Its three in the bloody morning, a voice yelled through the floorboards. In her bedroom she flung the duvet and pillows off the bed, yanked open drawers, spilling out t-shirts, tights, makeup. She got down on her hands and knees, felt under the bed, in the tiny space between sagging mattress and wooden floor. Nothing. No sign of the plastic folder which protected the Photo. She felt sick. The Photo was all she had. The only reminder of what might have been. She fumbled around in the botton of the wardrobe, amongst shoes, discarded clothes, a broken hairdryer. It wasnt there. Her body was trembling. The Photo defined her and now she couldnt be defined. Now she was nothing. ************************************ Sienna handed over a 20 note as the taxi pulled up outside the lawyers office. You forgot your change, the driver called after her. Thanks, she said distractedly, taking the money. She scrambled up the steps, pressed heavily on the brass doorbell.
In reception, she removed her denim jacket, perched on a leather armchair
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and opened her bag, ripping apart the lining in case the Photo had slipped in there. A safety pin and biscuit crumbs and fluffs of dusk were its only occupants. Could the Photo have slipped out yesterday when she flagged down the taxi? She pictured the plastic folder in a gutter, surrounded by cigarette packets and chewing gum and expired bus passes. She fidgeted, fighting the urge to rush back to where shed hailed yesterdays taxi, to check the pavement, the gutter. The Photo was what mattered. She needed it. It went everywhere she went. It was part of her. Past and present. And why was she here, waiting to see a laywer? Why had she been summoned? A message on her answerphone. Yes, it was important she came soon. No, it couldnt be discussed over the phone. There was nothing to worry about. But she wasnt convinced. Though she couldnt think of anything shed done. Or not done. Mortgage payments up to date, no neighbour problems. No husband so no difficulties there. Had she looked at the Photo last night? If so, it must be in the flat. Somewhere. Hiding somewhere She scanned the paintings on the drab green walls. Cherubs hovering round a loin clothed man with an anguished expression. A murky lake with mountains falling into it and a rowing boat with a cloth capped man grasping a fishing rod beneath a menacing sky. She looked around for something cheerful. Nothing. Fingers drummed the armrests as her thoughts turned to the evening before. James had arrived late, and shed watched him adjust the metal coat hanger which served as an aerial for his Citren. His customary peck, just missing her mouth, irritated her but shed suppressed any criticism. When hed left early, claiming a headache from her incense, of course, not his smoking (nothing that happened to James was ever his fault) - shed been relieved, needing her bed for herself. She was exhausted. Dorothy was dead. Her head throbbed incessantly and her throat hurt. And the Photo was missing. The Photo shed studied for six years,
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combing through memories in search of something to ease the pain. Where was the lawyer? It was 10.15. At the sound of voices, she looked up. The door opposite opened, there was a shaking of hands and a man left, nodding at her as he passed. She picked up a National Geographic, scanned its contents, closed it again, looked at her watch. There was a pain just below her back. And a noise that was more than flatulence. She stood up, intending to speak to the receptionist. Then the phone rang and the woman became embroiled in a conversation. The pain was worse. And the noise. Where was the loo?
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At reception in the Royal London Hospital, a man staggers, his arms flailing in all directions. Sienna swerves to avoid him, edges backwards as he retches. Im looking for my aunt, Dorothy Vennels, she says to the receptionist. All right darlin? the drunk asks as two uniformed men remonstrate with him. My aunt was admitted, Dorothy Vennels, Sienna says, tugging at her neck chain, the only tangible reminder of Richie. Has she got there in time? What if Dorothys dead? Would they tell her now?
As the woman taps her keyboard, Sienna surveys her reflection in the gleaming vinyl floor. Umbrella trees and Kentish palms lining the windows, soften the atmosphere but cant allay her fear. Nightingale ward - 6th floor the receptionist says. Siennas fingers strum her bag while the lift stops and starts. As she follows the sign to Nightingale Ward her feet feel heavy, her body sluggish, unresponsive. At the ward entrance she casts her eye around for a nurse. Can I help? a man asks. Im Nurse Gordon. Mrs Vennels - is she still alive? Youre Sienna?
Mike, Mr Carswells pulled his drip out and x-ray phoned again, a voice behind her says. The man opens a door. Please wait here. Dorothys ordeal is over; he wants to tell her in private, Sienna thinks, as she paces the office, clumsy fingers rubbing a tomato stain on her shirt. She might have got here in time, if she hadnt just missed a train, if the taxi queue had been shorter. If so many ifs. As the nurse appears, his phone rings. Put him through. Sienna leans over. Is my aunt still alive? The nurse mouthes yes, speaks into the phone. Sorry about that, the nurse says. Mrs Vennels was brought in this morning after a stroke. She had another stroke just before lunch and Im afraid she hasnt regained consciousness. Have you given her anti-platelets or anticoagulants? Youre a doctor? I studied medicine. The nurse throws her a sympathetic look. Theres no active treatment. You need to prepare yourself. Im so sorry. Sienna fingers her chain. I was in Leicester. Your aunt asked for you earlier. Ill take you to her. Your uncle and father are there. Sienna opens the door of room twelve. Dorothy looks diminished, as if a magician has shrunk her body. The rooms minimal equipment - a metallic stand with its plastic container of colourless liquid dripping into Dorothys wrist, insensitive to the blue-black bruise where a needle has been inserted with difficulty - conveys volumes. The pale grey bed frame and empty locker top emit a detached vibe. Awaiting their next occupant. She should have stopped for flowers. Freesias. Some colour, in case Dorothy wakes. Her throat tightens. Dorothy is more than an
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aunt and life is draining from her, like water from a bath. She can hear her voice. We bought a fondue set at Sainsburys. Half price. Williams preparing the cheese. Taxis on its way. No arguments Her father rises as she tiptoes to the bedside, her shoes mocking the rooms silence. Its just a question of time, darling, he murmurs. The train took forever. Sorry about your course. Dorothy wanted to see you. Then- Theres only a drip. Nothing else. Her father puts his arm round her. No point. Theres t-PA. Its a drug which- Dottie is dying, Ronald, William says. I dont want them giving her drugs. They stare at William, gripping his wifes hand, tears coursing unevenly down his mottled cheeks. Your mothers fetching her things, dont know why her father says. William looks round. I dont want Nora here. Her father stares at William. Its her sister. William tightens his grip on his wifes hand. Its our anniversary next week. 25 years. Sienna sits down, clutches Dorothys other hand. Its pulse is faint, resigned. Its me, Sienna. Her aunts white hair clings in wisps to her face. The skin to the left of her mouth is distorted as if yanked by invisible string. Sienna sees Dorothy tap dancing in the kitchen, cycling to the newsagents, Dorothy awash with vitality and reduced to this. She talked to her lawyer earlier, her father says. That soothed her. The door opens, revealing Nora, holdall in one hand, roses in the other. You made it, then? she says, kissing Sienna. William stands up. Youve no place, here, Nora.
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Nora transfers the holdalls contents to the locker - a floral patterned box of paper hankies, slippers, a purple kimono with white cranes. Sienna takes a sharp intake of breath. Cranes, the Japanese symbol for happiness and long life. Dorothys only 72. Hardly a long life... Her mothers opening a carrier bag. I had to call in to Marks and Spencers to buy a nightdress. She had nothing suitable at home. Go away, William says. Nora looks up. Dont be ridiculous, William. As he lurches, forward, Ronald and Sienna catch him. I dont want you here, he says, pulling himself free of impeding arms. Ive as much right to be here as you have, Nora says, straightening up. Please dont make a scene. This is your fault, William wails. I think you should leave, Nora, Ronald says as William points his finger at her. Ronald! William wobbles, walks over to Nora. Its your fault Dorothys like this. Come on, Nora. Please. Ronald says, taking his wifes arm, removing the holdall. Before they reach the door, Nora turns round. William is still pointing at her. I wont forgive you for this, Nora says to Ronald. A nurse appears. Noras upper lip furrows. She opens her mouth to say something, closes it again and leaves the room. Dad? Sienna asks Ronald shrugs, You know what theyre like, your mother and Dorothy. One of their squabbles, I suppose. William sits down again, strokes Dorothys hair Its our wedding anniversary next week. 25 years. What do you call that? Your silver wedding anniversary, the nurse says, adjusting the morphine drip.
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In the adjoining bathroom Sienna splashes water over her face, looking in the mirror. Her brown wavy hair has slipped free of its restraining bobby pins and now frames her green eyes and olive skin. Her demeanour is unchanged. Has yet to reflect her grief. The bathroom is spotless, unused. No shampoo or deodorant or crumpled towels. Just a container with Dorothys false teeth and a hair brush. Not enough to convey the impression of purpose. They can be packed away easily enough later She picks up the brush, removes its tangle of hair. She can smell her aunts hair spray. The teeth, the hair - such intimate parts of her aunt - achieve
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what the bedside scenes have failed to do. She kneels down, puts her elbows on the chair by the shower. Buries her head in her hands. This is it. Dorothy is dying. As daylight succumbs to darkness and lights emerge in surrounding buildings, Sienna wills her aunt to regain consciousness. Even fleetingly, so that she can tell her how much she loves her. What shes meant to her. How much shell miss. Dorothy has been present at key moments. The onset of her periods and Noras reticence. Shopping for her first bra and Noras derisory laugh, her suggestion she give it to someone who has breasts. It was Dorothy whod comforted her when Kai, her Vietnamese classmate, decided he preferred Angela. Dorothy shed fled to in Gibraltar six years later Dorothy exemplifies the irrelevance of age: 12 years older than Nora; in outlook and lifestyle, a mere stripling by comparison. Siennas mind floods with memories. The cosiness of freshly-baked bread and threading beads. Pigging out on sausages and mash. Fabric painting and pottery. Life-changing holidays. Dorothy has taken her to Kathmandu - to temples and rickety restaurants, to horsedrawn taxies and Mount Everest at dawn. Her throat burns with unshed tears. Staff check Dorothys pulse. Shift pillows. Change her catheter. Gentle,
efficient hands, a contrast to the sirens of ambulances and police cars. Before the end, her aunts cheek quivers and Sienna wonders if she is aware of her presence. *************************************
Sienna started dialling her mobile. Maybe the Photo had fallen out in the taxi. The passenger after her might have given it to the driver. As a middle-aged man with a tie of concentric circles approached her, she switched off the phone. Shed try the taxi office when she was done here. Miss Bowden? Im Charles Minto. Apologies for such short notice. She followed him into a sparsely furnished room, sat down and tugged at her skirt, grimacing at the ladder in her tights. As he skimmed through a folder, Sienna took a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings. Its cream colours were calming, but would they ease the stress of divorce conflicts, interminable neighbour problems? Outside, leafless trees were being buffeted about and the sky showed no inkling of sunshine. Im sorry about your aunts death, Miss Bowden, Mr Minto said. She nodded. It had been two days now, but she was still struggling to accept it. I didnt manage to talk to her, she said. I was in Leicester. Your father told me. The reason I contacted you was because of Dorothys Will. How much more humane he sounded, using Dorothys name. Her Will? She changed it. You are the main beneficiary. The figures about 700,000. What about my mother? She imagined Noras fury. Being excluded from her only sisters Will. 700,000! But the Photo was what mattered. Shed try the taxi company again. Dorothy dictated a letter to you, Mr Minto said. A letter? As she rummaged in her bag for a tissue, her hand brushed against some plastic.
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She extracted the Photo, pressed it against her stomach. All that frantic searching Mr Mintos expression was solemn as he handed her the envelope. The contents are unusual.
She scanned the paper, gazed up at him. The green and maroon circles on his tie were moving in front of her, her head was swaying. Mr Minto handed her a glass. Its water. Drink it, please. Youre in shock. ************************************ Sienna watched as sombrely-clad people collapsed umbrellas and made their way into the church. Around her rhododendrons dripped, their reds and corals subdued
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in a leaden sky. Soggy clumps of saffron and violet crocuses leaned to the side, as if the effort of growing straight wasnt worth it. She knew how they felt. A blister from her new shoes hindered her walking and her head ached from crying. Not just for Dorothy, but because of the letter. What she now knew. Since shed read it, shed been aware of a strange sensation when she moved. As if she wasnt connected to the ground. A floaty sensation, at the same time a heavy one. It was shock. Shock that seeped through her, particularly at night when she craved sleep. That had her wondering if what her aunt had told her could possibly be true. Shock that kept her sitting for hours on end, struggling to think coherently. To decide what to do. But she had today to get through. There would be expectations of her. Social obligations. And Nora to bodyswerve. Her mothers radar was always on high alert, when Sienna was sinking. Sienna took her foot out of her shoe, waggled it around, shoved it back in. She did up another jacket button, took a deep breath and walked to the church entrance. The church was packed as she crept to the front and slipped into the second row, avoiding eye contact with Nora who had turned at the sound of footsteps on the stone floor. William slouched between her parents, the shoulders of his suit jacket shiny and crumpled. Martin, her twin, swivelled round and winked. If only he was sitting with her. As she stared at the lily-adorned coffin, her eyes spiked with tears. While she wriggled her feet out of her shoes, she became aware of a commotion. Martin was edging his way along the pew. She smiled as he sat down
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and squeezed her hand. Anger emanated from Noras rigid back. Sienna and Martin had shown their disdain for sitting with the immediate family. There could be raised eyebrows. Comments even ... Dearly beloved, the vicars voice resonated. We are gathered today to celebrate the life of Dorothy Vennels. Let us begin by singing Dorothys favourite hymn, For all the saints. Sienna fumbled through the hymn book, aware of a soggy collar chafing her neck. It would be OK. Everything would be OK. She must keep breathing, breathing deeply. Shed avoid Nora, protect her space. At the end of the service, Sienna waited while the front row dispersed. Outside the church, she slipped past her parents while they talked to the vicar, William propped between them. Martin was leaning against a beech tree, rolling a cigarette. As she approached him, he looked defiant. Dont start, Cee, Noras been banging on about it since I got back, he said. I am trying to give up anyway. Give us a hug. His jacket was damp but his arms were strong. Martin was a master of hugs. Had anyone worked out the extra comfort of an extended hug? A standard cuddle might give ten minutes of solace. But an additional five seconds could get you through the day. More genuine. Ive missed you, Cee, he said, his lips brushing her hair. I didnt know if youd get a flight, you know? Easier, even with him, to keep conversation on banal topics. Easier than talking about Dorothy, about the letter. Cancellation. Zo says hi. Had Nora told him about the Will? Hed be loyal to his twin, whatever her mother said. Would it be wrong to mention it now, just to... to what? To check out he didnt think shed influenced her aunt?
Cee, whats the score with Nora? Shes hacked off and every time your names mentioned- I knew shed go ballistic. Weve gotta talk, Marti, I mean, really talk, she said. Lets go to the pub, get wasted. He wiped his spectacles with his scarf, peered to see if they were dry. Sienna reached into her pocket for her liquorice toffees. Do you want one? Do you remember? he said, his gloved fingers struggling with the wrapper.
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She nodded, the taste of liquorice whisking her back to childhood days, two ten year olds ensconced in an armchair, wrapped in their fathers holey pullover. Theyd take turns to read aloud, aware of Ronalds muffled crying after an onslaught of Noras criticism, and from the floor above, the plaintive noise of the vacuum cleaner. She could still conjure up the scent of Old Spice which Martin took from his fathers toiletries. Even then shed sensed this helped him cope with daddys unhappiness. For Sienna, it was the taste of liquorice, the toffees softness from the warmth of her mouth, restoring her to peace. The toffees accompanied her everywhere. Hows the colour therapy? Martin asked through a mouthful of toffee. Sienna nodded. The Centres busy. Anya wants to expand. Shes in negotiation with James. Theres a building nearby. Talking of which - where is James? Hes away - work she said, hating the lie. She couldnt tell her brother her suspicion that James looked down on her family. He can be kind, she continued. When I had flu he read me Wind in the Willows for hours Dont look at me like that. Like what? Your yeh right look - you didnt see him at his best, Martin. I know - something in the pub made his eyes sting. Anyway, I tried to like him, but hes a plonker. You could do better- Shit, heres Nora, Sienna said.
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Their mother was bearing down on them, a black dress and matching coat adding to her height, and Sienna braced herself. Even in the wind, Nora looked in control. We expected you to travel with us today, Sienna, Nora said. New suit, I see. You havent wasted time spending my sisters money. At least youve removed that awful thing from your nose. I cant imagine what your clients must think. Its nothing to do with you, Mum, what Sienna wears at work, Martin said. The vicar was trundling up to them, his smile extending to his ears, his poodle - like black curls flattened by the rain. Miss Bowden, Mr Bowden? he asked, nodding. ************************************ These are the arrangements, Nora said as the car drove them to Greenwich. Dad and Martin will organise the drinks. Marjorie will hand round food sandwiches and fruit loaf. I dont expect anyone will stay long on such a ghastly day. Sienna, youll show people to the guest room to freshen up. Dont go off into one of your dream worlds.
Siennas mood plunged further as cars pulled up outside the house. The rain showed no sign of easing and water from a blocked gutter flooded the pavement. She glanced at her watch. Do hurry up, Nora said. We dont want people hanging around in this frightful weather. In her old bedroom, Sienna gazed in the mirror, rearranging her charcoal dress. It had fitted at the last funeral and before long Nora would berate her for not eating enough. She laid a hand on her breast. Shed have to buy a smaller bra, and to think shed once needed . No, she musnt ruminate. Cut, she told herself, watching her upper and lower jaw coming together. Cut, she repeated, conjuring up her image of cleaver-armed butcher. Hacking through a slab of meat. The unwanted bit falling on an enamel tray. Discarded. Like her thoughts. Cut away the negative
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thoughts. Before they gained control. Catastrophised. Cut, cut, cut. Her heart rate gathered momentum as she remembered Dorothys letter. Its revelation. How long would it be before she could take it in? Before it affected her psyche. A week? A month? It was her choice what direction she took. If any. She scrutinised her face. Did she look different now, with this knowledge? Or did she only imagine this, because she felt different? Same faade. Different interior. Had people noticed, said nothing? She ran a comb through her hair and left the room as her mother appeared with the first guest, flinging an accusing look in Siennas direction. The dining room and sitting room were now full, the scent of sherry vying with that of damp clothes and was someone smoking? She cast about for the two people she wanted to talk to. Ronald had disappeared but Martin hovered by the marble surround fireplace, his tall figure ill at ease in its dark suit. She watched as his hand went into his jacket pocket then came out again empty; as it turned its energy to a loose piece of striped wallpaper, tugging it gently in a preoccupied manner. How are you, Dad? Sienna asked during an off-duty moment. She was nearly as tall as him in her new shoes. Taller and with blistered heels. She could feel the rawness of eroded skin. A dampness from seeping liquid. He shrugged. Your mother has everything under control. And what are you conspiring about? Nora said from behind them. Ronald, Sonja and Hamish need their glasses topping up - the medium dry. Dyou want me to do that?' Sienna said. Its a mans job. You know very well we do things the proper way in this house. As she bustled away Sienna studied her fathers bland expression. Her inheritance. was another thing to fuel Noras anger, as if her mothers past disappointments werent enough But she might need the money if she acted on Dorothys letter. She watched Nora sigh, attributed it to disapproval of the rising noise levels, as reminiscences of Dorothys life rebounded round the room. She knew how her
mother thought. It wasnt appropriate to stay long on such occasions. Someone should be taking the lead, preparing to leave. Then others would follow and Dorothys death would feel real. Matthew, let me introduce you to someone whos going to Hong Kong, Sienna
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heard her mother say. Perhaps Nora had resigned herself to playing host for longer. Id prefer to finish this conversation, came Matthews response, as he removed Noras nail-varnished fingers from his forearm. Sienna suppressed a gurgle of laughter at her mothers failed social manipulations. Through the condensation of half-netted windows, she could see lights appearing in front rooms. When could she leave? I want to go now, William said in his thin voice as he sidled up to her. I dont like fuss. I want to be in my own home. Ill drive you, said Martin. You come, too, Cee.
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Sienna and Martin let themselves into their uncles terraced house. The wind and rain had subsided, a watery sun brightening the sitting room, casting shards of light on the walls, highlighting a resilient cobweb, a faded rectangle where a picture had been removed. William sank into his armchair, scooped up the cat and gazed ahead. The room looked unusually tidy, a film of dust on the mantelpiece and a pile of unopened letters on the coffee table, the only evidence of occupancy. Ill put the kettle on, Sienna said, kicking off her shoes. What relief. Shed find elastoplast. Antiseptic. Youre going to put me in a home, arent you? William said. Sienna knelt down beside her uncle, touched his arm, frail through its jacket and shirt. His fingers looked gnarled. Was he taking his pills?
Dorothy will be back soon, he said. She always plays bridge on a Tuesday. Comes home at five. Its nearly five now. Aye, shell be back soon and shell make me my tea. We always have soup and sandwiches when its a bridge day. When Sienna returned with the coffee, William clutched at the stick propped against the chair and shuffled towards the window. Im looking for Dorothy, he said. She likes to see my face when she comes back. Is it warm out? Drink your coffee, William, Martin said.
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William twisted round, his expression anguished. Shes gone, isnt she, my beautiful Dotty? Martin and Sienna exchanged glances. Yes, William, Sienna said. Did she suffer? I cant bear to think of her suffering. She looked so beautiful on our wedding day she had flowers in her hair ... and her dress was ivory satin. I couldnt believe she loved me. She wanted you to have her engagement ring, Sienna. Get the box down - its upstairs Dusty air encircled the attic and the floor creaked as Sienna squeezed between a sideboard and a camp bed covered with shoe boxes. Shit! she said as her dress snagged on a rusty nail. A chest of drawers overflowed with Dinky cars, porcelain dolls clad in antique white Christening robes, and a couple of wooden tennis rackets with broken strings. Sunshine filtered through the skylight but the air was damp. It was a while before she spotted a blue velvet box with the letters DJV stitched in gilt thread, lying on top of an army trunk. She peeked inside and snapped the lid shut. It was her aunt she wanted, not an emerald ring or ebony beads. She lowered herself onto a rocking chair and draped a blanket over her. It smelt of moth balls and was scratchy but warm. She woke to a crashing noise.
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Bollocks, Martin said, rubbing his elbow. What are you doing, Cee? Did you find the box? Please come down. William keeps wandering over to the window to look for Dorothy. Hes lost the plot and its doing my head in. Nora will have him in a nursing home before summer. The idea sucks. Hell be miserable. Martin ran his fingers through his hair. You looked knackered. Whats the rumpus over the Will, anyway? Noras pissed off but she wont tell me and Dad - I dont know how he puts up with her twentyfourseven. Sienna flicked some fluff from the blanket, and fingered the torn wool on her dress sleeve. Dorothys left me her money. What dyou reckon! I cant believe it. Most people divvy it up. But theres something else... Ill tell you in the pub. Everything? He tilted his head, looked at Sienna appealingly. As children theyd done that when they wanted something of the other. What was it like not having a twin? That closeness? Sharing a womb was a unique experience. Sienna smiled, dragged herself from the rocking chair, and hugged her brother.
********************************** Its freezing in here, Martin said in the pub. Lets move to the fire Its artificial, Sienna said as she picked up her bag. Its heat. Remember Ive come from an Aussie autumn. Martin took out his packet of Virginia Golden Blends. 'So my twins a wealthy woman.' 700,000. Megabucks! Theres a reason
Tell me.
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She sat there, unable to continue. Since shed read Dorothys letter shed thought of little else. But now the words were trapped. Jeez, what is it, Cee? Ill read you Dorothys letter. Tell me. Just listen, please. My dearest Sienna, she read. I know I am dying and that I might not see you again. I am leaving you most of my money. But theres a reason Sienna put the letter down. Dont stop, Martin said. Please Youre the first person Ive told. Told what? For Christs sake, what is it? You remember Morocco, what happened? Martin removed his specs and stared at her. How could I not? I left the hospital too soon. I I just well, I left. I didnt tell anyone. I was so screwed up. Whats this got to do with Dorothy, with the Will? Dont you see, Marti? One of my babies survived!
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Chapter 2
Sienna continued reading. This will come as a shock to you five years later, but I have found out that one of your babies survived. You left the hospital so quickly I know you were in a state. They tried to get in touch with you to let you know. They managed to track down the father, Richie, and he claimed the baby girl as his and gave the impression that you were his wife. Im sure you will want to find your daughter and I am leaving you most of my money to help you do this. Your mother will be furious, of course but it is my decision. This inheritance will provide you with a financial cushion to bring up a child. You have been like a daughter to me, Sienna, and I am sure you will make a wonderful mother. I wish you all the luck in finding your little girl, if that is what you decide to do. Im only sorry that I wont be with you to support you through what will be a difficult time. Your loving Dorothy. Youre a mother! Martin said. Sienna shook her head. I'm not! I could have been but I'm not, I can't be. Bollocks!'
'It was easier to believe she was dead than being brought up by someone else.' 'But you can get her back. She's yours.' Sienna tugged at her chain. 'Id be a crappy mother.' 'Youd be brilliant- 'She's got a mum and dad. They're what she knows. I couldnt just go barging into her life. Even if I knew where she was. They could be anywhere. Martin took her arm. 'You must find her. You cant not try ' 'She's had five years of being with Richie and his wife, you know?' 'But Cee-' 'I've got over it as much as I can. I can't go backwards.' 'You're worried you'd become ill again.' 'I'm weak' 'Not weak, Cee, vulnerable. Lets have another drink. Lets get legless.'
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You dont mind, do you, Marti? You know, about the money? About Dorothy leaving me so much? Dont be such a numpty. Weve never been jealous of each other. Anyway, Ive got enough wedge. **************************************************************** Already the heat and flies and Muezzin calls of Morocco are dream-like in the grey dampness of a London January, Sienna thinks. A new emotion kicks in. Guilt. Guilt over her dismay when she discovered she was pregnant. Did her babies know that? Did they die because they worried she wouldn't love them, protect them? Shes read that infants lose the will to live if not cuddled. If they can appreciate music in utero, if they are distressed by violence inflicted on the mother, nurtured by her conversation, the rubbing of her distended tummy, surely they can sense her ambivalence, can die of heartbreak? She paces the flat, scrunching her hair, clenching her fists. The grief was difficult enough. This is excruciating. She wanted the babies, Martin tells her. It wasnt her fault. She tries to believe him.
She flicks and flicks the remote control- a programme on IVF, a documentary about a childrens hospital, a soap with themes around young children. Even the news delivers rapier thrusts: parents heartache at their twelve year old daughter's disappearance, an award to a boy whos recovered from leukaemia and now visits hospitals inspiring other children with similar conditions.
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*********************************
A room of grey walls and paned windows giving onto fields and distant hills. A whisper of voices. Expressions of concern. Pills dispensed in plastic thimblefuls. Meals from orange-coated women, who mop floors, clean lockers, ram flowers into green-tinged vases; who return to collect barely touched trays. Not hungry today, luv? Shes unprepared for this tidal wave of loss when she returns to London. This paralysing force. When she can get out of bed, washing and dressing deplete her energy. Martin contacts her GP. He visits. Two more doctors visit. She doesnt struggle, allows them to lead her, child-like, to a car. Deep down, in a distant corner which can still reason, she knows this is inevitable, the only way of climbing out of the crevasse into which she has fallen. Catatonic, they conclude. Catatonic - the word is pleasing. She likes the way it sounds, the ts strengthening it, lending it conviction. Its medical, and having a label legitimises her grief. She shuffles around airy corridors in woolly socks and dressing gown, refusing to talk, to respond. She lies, fingers caressing her stomach, as if such actions can restore the foetuses. Her abdomen swells. She smiles at such burgeoning life within. A phantom pregnancy they tell her. No, she screams. The babies are real. They are growing. She starts psychotherapy. Sits with Dr Barak, their silence tangible.
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Family visit, bearing snowdrops, Lindt chocolates, a track suit already too big. Nurses produce magazines, puzzle books; she sweeps them aside with unfamiliar hands, dry hands, their skin reddened from twisting, from digging nails. Occupational therapists offer clay, oil paints, other tools for expressing emotion. How can you sculpt or paint a void ? she wonders. Depict a nothingness? A music therapist tempts her with drums, the Moroccan gimbiri, balalaikas and other stringed instruments. Even if she could smash something, that would be progress. To feel something, anything Her father and Martin appear regularly, their conversations cheerful, incongruent with their facial expressions. Dorothy returns from Gilbraltar with a green kimono and as she admires the pink and yellow flowers, strokes the silky fabric next to her skin, she fleetingly experiences pleasure, before being tugged back into her dark place. Occasionally her mother appears. Never on her own. Ive written to the Faculty, Nora says, as she tidies Siennas locker. You can start again in the autumn. Start what? she asks. Medical school. You can repeat the year. Is there no cleaning done here? Medical school, she thinks. How can she heal others when she herself is so broken? Sienna picks at her hands. 'What day is it?' 'Shes not improving,' she hears Nora mutter. Friends visit. Their stays are brief, curtailed by buses to catch, essays to finish. She discovers that real mates are rare. Fair weather ones widespread. She explains this to Hilary, who wants to specialise in mental health, who can hold Siennas gaze, who doesnt resort to walks or table tennis. Stronger medication, a feeling of disconnectedness. In a circle of people with wild hair and disheveled garments. One woman wears a suit and ankle-high boots. I am an Italian model. These are Gucci clothes, she says, conveying superiority upon the others. She is corpulent and hirsute. Unfamiliar smells, strange
speech patterns. Talk, say anything. Talking will help. Youre holding it in. What
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though? Screams, guilt, a yearning for her babies, breasts, their milk long gone, still aching to feed, to nurture? Occasionally she surfaces, responds to something, so perhaps theres a will to live, a flicker of belief that she will escape . Now, though, shes trapped. Night time brings no respite as her dreams relive labour and birth, the characters distorted, the end products portrayed by gargoyles. Electroconvulsive therapy. The thing shes dreaded. Its barbaric, she says. She isnt improving, they reason; it's been three months. It will help. And in time, worn out from the dreams, from the unrelenting despair, she consents. And it works, gradually the numbness, that feeling of nothingness receding. Replaced by anger. I dont want Mum to visit, she whispers to her father. For a while her he visits on his own. He has aged. He says little, his eyes welling up with tears, forcing her to avert her eyes, unable to witness his distress. Martin visits more frequently. How can he manage the journey and work? she wonders, as he appears with liquorice toffees, Cosmopolitan magazines, Radiohead and Boyzone CDs. His presence brings comfort, hope, though at the time she cant tell him. Later she will learn of his sacrifice. Of the ever deepening schism at home. Of Noras wrath at his resignation from his job, her worry about what people will think, both children now adrift. Later Sienna will see the cottage he rented. For now, he wants only to be near. They shared a womb, its oxygen, its food. They are inextricably connected. Its only when she hugs him goodbye that she detects the tension in his lean body, feels his cheek wet against hers as he kisses her. Finally she becomes aware of tasting food, of pleasure at the sun setting over the hills. She asks to walk in the garden. She talks to Dr Barak. She finds herself listening to the stories of others, arranging their flowers, encouraging them to eat. Its time for home, to resume her life, the staff say. She's not ready, she argues. How can she leave her retreat? she asks, knowing she must.
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********************************** Sienna paused outside her parents red brick terraced house in East Greenwich. Every instinct urged her to flee. To her Paddington flat. To emotional safety. Her choice would have been the pub to celebrate her birthday and Martins, where, away from her dominant home territory, her mother would forget her moans and disappointments. But once shed known Martin was returning for the funeral, Nora had insisted on cooking. Memories of family dinners hovered like a hoar frost. Come in, come in, her father said. Martins on his way. Hes been shopping. She took a deep breath and plonked herself on the sitting room sofa, her finger stumbling on a tiny burn mark, the product of an outburst from Martin when Nora lambasted his smoking. Her body swayed as she turned her head to study her father. Nerves. If only Zo had come over with Martin, or William had been invited. Anything to swell the numbers, deflect attention from her. This was meant to be a happy occasion. In most families it would be. Delicious nosh. Plenty to drink. If they were a normal family, the evening would become lighter as alcohol lubricated conversation and she and Martin opened their presents. Maybe she should find Nora. Say hallo. Get that bit over. Then perhaps she could relax. Youre looking fit, Dad. Still swimming every day? I was in the sea last Sunday. Cool! Actually, it was bloody freezing. As Sienna stared at her father, Nora strode into the sitting room, her eyes inspecting her daughters clothes. It would make a change to see you in something other than your Oxfam bargains. You look pregnant in that top. Sienna registered her mothers pie-crust collared blouse and brass-buttoned cardigan before casting an eye over her own smock and jeans, hastily shoving her
nose stud into a pocket. Maybe one day shed be brave enough to tell Nora what she thought of her clothes. Get her a drink, Ronald. Whats happened to Martin? I said half past seven. The lamb will be overdone. The dining table sported a linen tablecloth embossed with roses, a blood red and seal blue dinner set, silver candlesticks, cruets and napkin rings gleaming in flickering candle light. A scene encouraging romance, passion even, in different
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circumstances. What a waste, Sienna thought, failing to visualise herself and James in such a setting. Cut, she told herself, as her mind overflowed with images of Richie, lying beside her, stroking her back, commenting on the smoothness of her skin, nuzzling her shoulders. Running his fingers through her hair, kissing her with a hunger borne of despair and resignation. Cut, cut, cut. She watched the visions fall with the butchers cleaver. Heard them clang against the enamel tray. Pictured them dumped in a bin, the bin emptied, its contents destroyed. Ronald returned with a tray of champagne flutes, the glasses tinkling against each other as he set the tray down on the sideboard. Its good to have a reason to open this, he said, uncorking a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. The cork popped out, spraying tawny liquid over the ceiling and they laughed. Maybe shed outive the evening. We have two things to celebrate this evening, Nora said, as they finished the duck pat and Ronald refilled their glasses. Sienna and Martins birthday, of course, and Peter Foyles promotion. Hes been made head of the geography department - I didnt mention that, did I Ronald? Many times, dear. Pamelas delighted, of course. Hes worked so hard since joining the school. It wouldnt surprise me if he becomes head teacher. He has such drive. What are you shaking your head for, Sienna?
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Why did Nora persist in reminding her father of his lack of ambition? Her father was desensitised to the digs but she always flinched. She studied her mothers face. Nora was handsome rather than beautiful, her forehead verging on large, her brown eyes intimidating rather than soft. Her lips, neither thin nor generously large, were covered with the usual pale red lipstick and her gray hair had been recently subjected to its purple rinse. The customary pearls round her neck to conceal a thyroidectomy scar, were yellowing. Why havent we talked about Dorothy? Sienna said. Nora gave her a steely look. Griefs a private thing. Some of us cope with that better than others. Sienna swallowed hard. A bullying comment, despicable even by her mothers standards. She remembered the last session shed had with Dr Barak. It had all been about Nora. About Siennas need to be assertive with her mother. About how that would free her up to be herself. So often shed prepared responses to Noras criticism, only to seize up when the opportunity presented itself. She wanted to be free. Needed to be free. Where her mother was concerned, though, she was stuck. She was no better at challenging her than shed been as a teenager when shed started developing her own ideas, opinions. And now another chance had slipped away. She could have pointed out that people reacted to grief in different ways. That what had happened to her didnt make her weak, pathetic. Great soup, Martin said, chucking Sienna a sympathetic look. Nora smiled. Organic carrots. And I soured the cream well in advance. You havent tried my rye bread. I made it especially for you. Ronald, give him a slice. As Nora appeared with a tray of meat, Ronald opened another bottle. Is that necessary? Nora asked. We must have red wine with lamb. Sienna, pass me your glass, darling.
He was about to pour a glass for himself when Nora laid her hand on his arm. You know very well what the cardiologist advised - three units a day maximum. Siennas heart started racing. Her father put his hand on hers. Its all right,
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darling, its all right. She took a sip of water but she could taste regurgitated carrot in her throat. She put her hands on her lower abdomen and concentrated on deep breathing. Inhale, exhale. And again. And again. Think of something soothing. A conservatory with ceiling high palms and cacti, white frangipani blossoms emitting their poignant scent. Lizards scrambling up warm stone walls. It was working. She was taking control. Her body was responding. Her breathing was calming down, becoming regular. She smiled at Martin. Shed tell him about this later. How she was taking charge. Hed be pleased for her. And relieved. 'When I think of all the disappointments Ive had to put up with, Nora continued. 'Some people take opportunities, some dont.' 'Not this evening, Nora, please,' her father said, scratching his arm. 'If youd applied for that promotion, youd have been head of the science department now.' 'That was eighteen years ago. Nora picked up her fork and knife. 'Most men have ambition.' Nora, please Youve never considered the prestige of a management position. 'I like teaching biology. I dont want to manage a department. 'I never had a chance, of course. If I hadnt had that virus I could have become a doctor.' Nora looked grim and for a while silence reigned. The atmosphere was repressive. Over the years, sanded floors had acquiesced to thick pile carpets and sash windows resigned themselves to life behind brocaded curtains. Every chair was upholstered. Gone, too, were the plants which had breathed life to each room, all now housed in the conservatory. The effect clogged Siennas system and she
longed for the bare floor boards and uncurtained windows of her flat, where she felt free. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow. Inhale, exhale. And again, and again. 'There were so many sacrifices, Nora continued, warming to her litany of complaints. We could have bought a bigger house. And wed have been spared
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those frightful holidays. We could have gone to Tuscany or the south of France like our friends. Instead of that ghastly hotel where-' 'The children loved those holidays,' her father said, scratching his hand. Cornwall. Guddling in rock pools with bamboo poled fishing nets. The sensation of hot sand in canvas shoes. The smell of her yellow, plastic binoculars and the red and blue football from the harbour shop, the salty tang of seaweed. Hopping from foot to foot, hands clasped in prayer, while her father decided if he would give her the chocolate flake from his ice cream cone. Nora on a deckchair, some distance away, reading Georgette Heyer, her freshly-ironed checked shirt and navy shorts a rebuke to their slovenliness, her frustration evident. Earlier memories swirled round. First years of school, her mother whisking them home, asking a myriad questions about their day. Humming as she checked their tentatively written sentences, gently correcting the pronunciation of words from The Little Red Fire Engine. Talking or singing as she watered mature yucca and cheese plants in the sitting room, whispering sweet nothings to the geraniums, ivy and busy lizzies in the kitchen. Nora was happy then. Nobody had to tiptoe round her. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It wasnt working. Try again. Her forehead felt damp. She could smell her deodorant, working overtime. If only Nora would stop scrutinising her. She stood up, left the dining room and sprinted upstairs. In her bedroom she tore off her top and jeans, put on leggings and running shoes. She crept downstairs and let herself out of the front door.
The park was quiet, as she stretched her legs and started running. What did people resort to if they couldnt jog?, she wondered as she picked up speed. Two laps then shed return to Chester Gardens. Pant, pant. Her chest hurt, all that lactic
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acid, but she kept going. Pant, pant. Nora would be furious, alarmed - in that order - but it would be worth it. The endorphins would help. Accompany her through the rest of the evening. And when she got home shed sleep better. She let herself into the house, listened for sounds from the dining room. I tell you Ronald, shell end up back in that hospital again, she heard Nora saying. She ran upstairs without waiting for her fathers reply. She slipped off her leggings and shoes, splashed some water over her body and replaced her jeans and top. Nora glared at her as she opened the dining room door. This is no way to behave. No normal person would do such a thing. Going running at this time of night - and leaving a family meal, its ludicrous. And it could be dangerous in the park. Nora shook her head, looked at Ronald, shook her head again. And of course, youre not going to say anything, are you? 'How's the ranch going, Martin?' her father said. 'We've taken on a new jillaroo. She's doing well.' 'It might help if you talked in language we understand,' Nora said. Martin rolled his eyes. 'A jillaroo's a trainee stockwoman. You know - jackarooman, jillaroo - woman? I thought you'd know that, Mum.' Nora wiped some crumbs from the table. 'And you still have no ambition to be more than a stockman yourself, I suppose. What was the point of going through agricultural college? 'I have enough responsibility already and-' 'Moving cows around is hardly what one would describe as responsibility. Martin reached over for the wine bottle. 'There's eight hands working for me now. I like working for Zo's father anyway.'
More lamb anyone? Nora asked, looking around. Whats happened to your appetites?
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Sienna caught Martins eye. It was worse for him. He was staying here. No escape if the evening ever ended. Im going to have some, Nora said, sliding open the door of the hostess trolley, lifting out a container of peas. Siennas heart ached for her father as he gave his sweet smile. Hed make a lovely grandpa. And he didnt know he was one. Strange that she could visualise him with her daughter but couldnt picture herself. She studied the deep lines surrounding his green eyes, the pouches under them more pronounced, the lonely strands of hair straddling his sculp. She thought of the wedding photograph on the sitting room sideboard. Her father in morning dress, his shoulders too narrow for the jacket, the breast pocket carnation too small to make an impact, her mother in cream lace and flat shoes to minimise the additional inch over her husband. She looked at her watch. Thirty-two minutes past nine. Shed stick it out until ten oclock. Her mother, lips clenched, was clearing plates, looking round for help. Her father said little, busying himself with the coffee percolator, a task entrusted to him. 'Those are the wrong coffee cups,' Nora said. 'You know I prefer the green set, Ronald.' Hows William? Sienna asked, sneaking another glance at her watch. Thirty-five minutes past nine. Talking about her uncle could take them to ten oclock. Im looking into nursing homes, Nora said, putting down her damp cloth. He cant cope on his own. Ronald put down the percolator. He could live here. William would hate a nursing home.
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Nora spun round. Have you never considered that Ive done my share of caring for the elderly? All those years of looking after Mother, when Dorothy was gallivanting round the world. No-one appreciates my sacrifices. There was silence. It was like witnessing a volcano belching gases before blowing. In time Nora would explode. Sienna glanced at her fathers barely touched pudding, sensing the colossal effort required to lift his spoon in response to Noras withering look. Martin had disappeared. Then came the strains of Faures Requiem, a river of sound, a soothing sound. Her mother, clearing the table, hands moving slowly, efficiently, appeared intent on her task. Siennas breathing decelerated. Perhaps the pattern of these storms had changed; perhaps her mother had expressed enough anger; perhaps the evening would conclude with smiles and thanks and hugs. The chorus of Sanctus was soaring to its climax, voices clear, pure, carrying her to a calm place. She smiled at Martin as he produced his Virginia Golden Blends and began teasing and twisting strands of tobacco. Then she noticed her fathers expression - like an animal intuiting a trap. Nora turned to her, cloth in one hand, a knife gripped weapon-like in the other. As she moved her arm the silver blade glinted like sheet lightning. There is something you should know, her mother announced. Within the briefest of pauses, Sienna felt fingers of icy steel grip her stomach. I am going to contest Dorothys Will.
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Chapter 3
Its Siennas fourth year at medical school. Her biochemistry lecturer is tall with a high forehead, fair hair and dark eyes which sparkle when animated. He's younger than his colleagues, insists his students call him Richie, joins them in the pub. He's helped her with biochemistry and she finds him attractive but hes married. End of story. One autumn evening she's waiting in the pub for friends. On your own? she hears a voice. Richie looms over her, a pint in one hand, cigarette in the other. So, what sort of term are you having? he asks. She looks at her watch. Where are Jo and Tom? The pub is mobbed with fans watching Manchester United against Liverpool. Her eyes sting from the veil of smoke and intermittent roaring punctuates conversations around her. Well, do you mind if I join you? he asks, sitting down. She shakes her head, tries Jo's number again. Richie has finished his beer. He points to her glass. Whats your poison? Shell have one more drink and leave. Attack her essay. Richie returns with a double vodka and orange. Her hand shakes as he gives her the glass. Hes now drinking shorts. His eyes are red.
You look exhausted, she comments.
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He shrugs. She glances at her watch again. Instinct tells her to leave. He leans over, puts his hand on her arm and her heart quickens at his touch. His breath smells of whisky. I'm hungry,' he says. 'I haven't been home.' She nods, though why, she doesnt know. 'You dont like Italian food, I suppose? Theres a place just opened in Kensington,' he says. In the restaurant, he strokes her hand. Ive always liked you, you see. Their table is white and candle lit and the single rose is real. Pavarottis rendering of La Bohme messes up her heart beat. Her eyes dart to the gold band on his left hand. He notices. 'Well, yes, but it's no longer a good marriage. 'A marriage, though.' He points to a plate. 'Have some bruschetta. She bites into the tomato, the peppery olive oil, the basil leaves. 'I wont sleep with you. His expression is raw and she trembles, imagining his fingers on her breast, on the base of her back. The waiter delivers ricotta and spinach pasta, sprinkles on parmesan cheese and wishes them Buono appetito. She looks at Richie, wishing they were somewhere private. She wants to touch the hollow below his Adams apple, to outline his lips, feel them grip her finger. Arent you hungry? he asks, his eyebrows raised, his head tilted, and she flushes, certain hes read her thoughts, that he knows shes hungry. But not for food. She steers the conversation to university subjects. Safe. When he drops her off, he leans over, touches her gently on the throat. It begins. Being with an older man excites her, no amateurish fumblings, no need for hand signals. Richie is eager to please, instinctive, his style relaxed and paced, sometimes frenzied. It feels like riding a wave, exhilarating, risky. He brings
Valpolicella and Italian chocolates. Never flowers. She feels grown up. She wears
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floral dresses, puts her hair up. Buys satin knickers and expensive eye cream. She cooks: tagliatelle with mushrooms, foccacia bread with parmesan and basil, veal escalope. She knows his wife cant eat wheat. She yields to the temptation to cook pasta. A way of winning him. He who loves all things Italian. They sit across the table from each other, his gaze steady. He doesnt say much. The tickly feeling in her groin becomes an ache as the evening progresses. The timings the same: he finishes his coffee, snuffs out the candle. He walks three paces, pulls her to her feet with hands radiating heat. As he touches her throat his wedding ring is cool against her skin. He kisses the butterfly tattoo on her wrist, pushes a deviant curl behind her ear. Such beautiful hair he says, as he enfolds her. She can feel his desire. He leads her to the bedroom, pirouetting under his arm as they reach the door. Afterwards they lie together. They dont discuss his wife, the future, if he's done this before. In the New Year she attributes tiredness and nausea to stress. Studying, waitressing and the strain of a clandestine relationship are exacting their toll. One day she sleeps through her alarm, waking to the sound of her buzzer. She signs for a jiffy bag and its only later that she notices it. A green envelope on the floor. Im sorry, Richie writes. I cant do this anymore. Alice is suspicious and she could make trouble with the university. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best with your studies. Yours, Richie. She picks up the phone. Dr Williams is teaching until twelve, then he has a tutorial, his secretary says. And then theres a department meeting til five. But he might ring in to pick up messages. I need to speak to him. Are you one of his tutorial group? Yes, she lies.
He doesnt call. *********************************** When Sienna returned to Sussex Lane that evening, a white envelope with the logo WMD was lying on the door mat, with a note from her neighbour Started to open it before I realised it was yours. Sorry. Mr Mintos letter explained that Nora was challenging the Will because shed been the main beneficiary and she was convinced that Dorothy wasnt lucid when she changed it.
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Sienna sank onto the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Noras announcement was more than a threat but why couldnt she have talked to Sienna about it? How could she put money before their relationship? Risk bad publicity? Headlines flashed before her: Mother contests daughters legacy. And the gutter press would be less merciful: Mums dash for cash, Cash thicker than blood. Eventually she removed her damp jacket and ran a bath. She lit two rosescented candles, added some energising bath lotion, and lowered her body into the water. The dark blue walls of the tiny bathroom were cosy, safe, like returning to the womb. She made little waves with the bubbled water, disappeared under it, savouring its warmth. She surfaced, soaped herself, and turned on the radio. Tomorrow she'd phone Mr Minto. Canvas his views. Her attention was drawn to the presenter. More and more adopted children are looking for their birth parents once they reach adulthood. Cut, cut, she thought as she switched to a country and western programme. But the words clung to her. One day it might be her daughter searching for the truth. She couldnt turn her back on her existence. Martin was right. Now she knew she was a mother, she had to find her little girl. She scrambled out of the bath and made a corned beef sandwich. She shoved the pile of magazines and unopened mail on the sitting room table onto the floor, opened Word on her laptop and typed in - 'Finding Richie'. Methodical, thats what she had to be. Otherwise the task would overwhelm her. First place was
London university. Then other UK universities. She entered some keywords in Google, lent back and took a bite of bread. Mayonnaise squished everywhere. Abstractedly she wiped the keyboard. If Richie had gone abroad, hed choose a
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country where English or French was spoken. France was a possibility or the States. Shed need loads of dough if she had to travel far. Finding her daughter could take years, could mean legal action. And if Noras challenge was successful, how much money would Sienna have? Shed fight her mother.
********************************** Martin was at the pub when Sienna arrived, a newspaper propped up on his scarf and gloves, a double gin and tonic surrounded by a garland of cashew nut packets. 'I hate Sundays,' he said. You look better. Youve changed your mind, havent you. Youre going to find your little girl. Shes my daughter! Good call. You think so. Itll- Yeah, definitely. I wish I didn't have to go back so soon. Then I could help you look' She nodded. 'How could Ritchie deceive me like this?' Martin removed his specs, peered at them and adjusted one of the arms. 'I know, Cee. I know. It's a crap way to behave.' Sienna tugged at a cashew nut packet with her teeth. ' Its all I can think of, you know? What she looks like, my little girl, the sound of her voice. Martin rolled a cigarette. Youll email me or text, let me know how its going. Youll be gone soon. Back to New South Wales. Six more days of Nora banging on about the will. Its doing my head in. Do you want another?
Ive checked the UK uni websites, Sienna said when he returned with the drinks. Its so cold I can't believe it's April. And I have to try the hospitals. Richie might not be teaching biochemistry now, of course. Maybe I need to try different faculties. And he might be in France. France? With the baby? With my daughter. With his wife and our daughter. They couldnt have children did I tell you? That doesnt mean he had the right to. Why France? Hes bilingual. His mother was Parisian. I'll try his home. You never know. Martin examined a loose thread in his jeans. 'He wouldn't be stupid enough to stay there. You need a lawyer.'
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'I'm seeing Mr Minto about the Will. Maybe... Ive lost too much time already. Shell be five and a half- 'Hire someone. Speed things up, remove the pressure. Sienna laughed. Yeah right - a man in a raincoat, hovering, a damp cigarette hanging from his mouth, a half eaten ham roll in his brief case.' 'Thats clichd,' Martin said, wiping his specs with his sleeve. 'I'm sure it's not like that. You should get away for a few days. You look knackered. You dont want to get ill again. They were silent as they sipped their drinks Martin inhaled deeply from his roll up. Youre not going to tell Dad ? Sienna shook her head. Not fair to him. If Nora found out shed go apeshit Shes found a nursing home for William. Poor old sod. Sienna rolled her eyes. She cant just take over his life. She takes over everyones lives. She couldnt even trust us to learn enough at school. The maths coach she got me - what a waste. I was always a numpty at maths anyway.
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Sienna laughed, emptied some nuts onto her hand. At least you didnt have Noras mock interviews for med school. Does James know? Martin asked. Sienna scowled at the cacophany from a neighbouring table. He wouldnt understand. For God's sake, Cee. Hes a tosser. Why dont you dump him? Because hes a demon on the dance floor and theres just something about him. I know hes not eye candy But his voice is sexy and he cares about me more than he realises. Martin snorted. Hes a control freak. When do you ever get to say what youll do? Fast forward four years. Dyou see yourself with him, still? I dont want to turn out like Nora. Making a mans life miserable Martin stood up. Same again? I need to get wasted before I go back to Chester Gardens. *********************************** Sienna took a swig from her flask The soup was hot and bland. A yellowy-orange light from street lamps hardly penetrated the fog which had hovered all day. Thirty two Portman Terrace was in darkness, uncurtained windows revealing no signs of activity. Nine oclock. She shivered, buttoned her jacket and switched on her iPod. Another half hour then shed call it a night. She turned on the car engine for warmth. As she was nodding off, she was roused by the sound of a taxi pulling up. A plump woman emerged, followed by a girl who looked about nine. Sienna watched as the woman took the childs hand to cross the road, ushered her up the path, opened the door and turned on the hall light. Shortly after, lights on the upper floor came on. Her heart was pounding as she deliberated. The woman might know something but shed be getting her daughter ready for bed. Shed have to come back. At least she knew now that the house was occupied. ***********************************
Weve only been here four months, the woman told her. You didnt buy this house from a Dr Williams?
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No. Watkins - I think. Hed died. His daughter was selling it. But we never met her. It was the estate agents and our lawyers. Do you have an address for her? 'Whats this about?' 'I'm trying to get in touch with a Dr Williams.' The woman who sold the house lives in Scotland. The agency would know. I've got their business card. Come in. Its cold.' Siennas heart was racing as she followed the woman. This had been Ritchie's home. Her daughter would have lived here, even briefly, while Ritchie made plans. A surge of anger surfaced as she surveyed the hall with its chest of drawers, its coat rack and umbrella box, its floor of alternating black and white tiles. Richie had no right, no fucking right, to do what hed done. She tried to visualise her anger fading, being replaced by acceptance. Anger was negative, drained energy, Dr Barak said. 'Here it is,' the woman said, handing her the card. ************************************ As she walked through the door of the agency a woman was locking a desk drawer, picking up a bag. She looked from Sienna to the wall clock and at the coat stand where a black jacket hung, a scarf draped round the shoulder. This wont take long, Sienna said 'All our properties are in this brochure,' the woman said, handing her a copy. 'We open at ten. 'It's not half five yet.' The woman sighed. 'How can I help you?' After Sienna explained the reason for her visit, the woman produced a folder from a filing cabinet.
Thats right, a Mrs Campbell sold the house after her father died. But she wasnt involved in the purchasing. Its had a lot of work. Two rooms on the ground floor have been knocked into one and- You dont know who lived there before Mr Watkins? Its had several owners over the last few years. Theres a lot of movement in that area. Especially Portman Place and Portman Terrace. Strange, because the amenities are good a choice of schools, park, large supermarket and of course - Do you have a contact number for Mrs Campbell? I dont think her father lived there for long, and, as I said, she wasnt involved in the buying of the house, so it wont help you trace this? Dr Williams Richie Williams. You could try the health centre in Portman Drive. Theres lots of doctors there. He might- He wasnt a GP, she said. Could you give me Mrs Campbells number, please? *************************************** The Indian restaurant was chockablock as a waiter showed Sienna to her table. Where was Liz? she wondered as she surveyed the wooden sculptures of Hindu gods and became aware of sitar music and the aroma of cardamon and coriander. Waiters danced neatly between tables with salvers of multicoloured rice and nan bread. Miniature hot plates were deposited on linen tablecloths and covered with
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steaming curries. She checked her phone again for messages. From her bag she retrieved her book, Men do we really need them?, Lizs Christmas present. She opened the paperback and ran her fingers through the first two chapters, curling some of the pages, tearing one slightly, creasing another. Now it didnt look so pristine, so unread. Sorry, sorry, sorry, Liz gasped as she reached the table and threw off her jacket. You dont want to know what happened. Have you ordered?
As she shook her hair free from its scrunchie, she noticed the book. Ah, finally, youve started reading it, Sienna Well talk about that later. Im starving. Christ, what a day. Ive been faffing around for hours with zilch to show. Ive tried Mrs Campbells number four times, Sienna said when the waiter brought their food. No reply. Not even voice mail. Liz took a sip of water. This is hot! I need yoghurt. Are you sure youve the right number. Anyway, its not likely she could help though, is it? What about Richies friends? Didnt meet anyone. They all knew Alice. Here, try my lamb jalfrezi? Liz said, putting a dollop on Siennas plate. Can I have
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some of yours? It looks yummy. What about colleagues? Earth to Sienna? Hallo? Sienna gave herself a shake. I tried the university - couldnt find anything. What about the golf club? Its men only. Snooty. You have to be professional ... Pass me your plate. Thats enough, thanks, Liz said. You must try the golf club. You need to try everything. This is your baby. Child. Shell be five - Ive lost five years of her life. Phone the club on some pretext. Sienna refilled her glass with water. He was captain when I knew him. Therell be photos that might give you a clue. How do I get in there, you know? the clubhouse? Liz shrugged. Say youre looking for a job cleaner, barmaid, anything. Its no big deal. Use your imagination. You must find her. Now you know she exists Its the only thing I can think of. Brians praying for you every night. I wish I was a believer. Liz reached for Siennas hand. Dont give up. Dont ever give up.
Ive something for you, Liz said as they waited for the bill. A late birthday present. Sienna looked at the CD - How to find a man who loves you as much as you love him. There I was, at the health and wellbeing section of Foyles and it jumped off the shelf into my arms. You can listen to it when youre running. Swear youll try it? Sienna sighed. You dont give up. Liz shook her head. Not until you stop picking the wrong men. Do you have any lippy? I left mine at work.
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************************************ Sienna gazed at an expanse of meticulously cut grass. She must find out something today. Even just a snippet of information. It had only been a few weeks since she started looking for Richie but it seemed like an eternity. The worst thing was the feeling of no progress. No lead from the university or from the estate agents. No lead from any university or hospital website. Every day she went to work, struggled to focus on her clients, then came home to check out more websites. Evenings with James were hardly a welcome diversion. He knew nothing of what was going on, of course, and was both puzzled by and intolerant of her preoccupation. And after Martin had returned to Australia Liz was her only confidante. And Dr Barak, of course. Not that there was much exploratory work she could do during her sessions with him. For once she was clear about her feelings. Her daughter was alive, she was desperate to find her, to be a mother to her. And she needed to find Richie. No ambivalence there. Ladies hours dont start until three, a man in a blue Pringle jumper told her. Im looking for work, she said. Can you let me in please? The man frowned. Women arent allowed in this part of the clubhouse. I only want to speak to someone at the bar please?
The man opened the door. Upstairs, on the left. She started climbing the stairs, descending once the man was out of sight. She walked down a corridor peering at a line of photographs. There was Richie in
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the middle of the front row. 1998. There he was again in 1999, his hair shorter. And again in 1997. The customary ache of longing for him returned. That was what invigorating sex did for you. Once it was gone, any further attempts led speedily to a cul-de-sac. As she willed the desire away, she saw it evaporate, like a handprint on a steamy window. She took a deep breath and continued perusing the wall. The 2000 photo was missing, the 2001 revealed a different captain. Can we help you? a voice said. She turned round to see two younger men. No sign of Pringle jumpers. I was asking if they needed any bar staff. New barman started last month, one of the men said. Anything else we can help you with? Yeah, Im looking for someone, she said. Richie Williams. He was captain. He left, the other man said. When was it, Dave? I cant remember exactly four years ago? Perhaps longer. It was sudden. He didnt even see out his captaincy. Who are you? Friend. Come on Rob. If were going to have a drink we should get moving. This is important, Sienna said. You could speak to Eddie Caldwell. He bumped into Richie one day. How I can contact him? He's here - eighteenth green. He should be finished any minute now. But be as inconspicuous as you can. I know. Its too early for ladies play. Thanks. I did see Richie again,' the man on the eighteenth green said. He was wearing a jumper with a golf bag logo and his face was florid.
'On Oxford Street,' he continued. 'It was all a bit strange. His wife was pushing a
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buggy. We didnt know he had a sprog. Never mentioned it. My wife was pregnant at that time and he was around when I talked to the others about becoming a father, that sort of stuff. He never said a word and When was this? The man scratched his nose. When? Daniel was born in April 2000. It would be just before that. Some time in winter. Who did you say you were? Colleague ex colleague. He left the department suddenly and- He was going abroad. France - to work in France. He told me that. Youre sure? Sienna said. That he was going to work? Sure it was France? She must hide her irritation. He was the best lead shed had. I was so surprised about the baby that Yes, it was France, definitely France. Somewhere beginning with P, I think. Not Paris, Id have remembered that. We had our honeymoon in Paris. My wife and me. Well, it would be my wife, wouldnt it? If it was a honeymoon. Please think. This is important. Is he in trouble? His close-set eyes looked hungry for gossip. Something to share with his golfing buddies as they downed their post-match beers. Nothing like that. Just some research we were working on. Youre a researcher then? Sienna dug her fingers into her palms. Yeah. What was it about the whole frigging golf scene? It was in the south I think. Well, he said it would be hot there. I think it might have been Perpignan. Near the mountains. I remember he said that. Im pretty sure it was Perpignan. Near the border with Spain. Or do I mean Portugal? I was never
good at geography. Do you want to have a drink? I might be able to remember more.' Women arent allowed in the bar. Theres a pub across the road. Dyou remember anything else? she asked. He said he might go to Canada after that. I dont think it was a permanent job. So he was thinking about when it finished. What about a drink? What about your wife? Try Perpignan, he said. Perpignan, Perpignan, she hummed to herself as she left the golf club. Shed moved forward. Shed go to France, to the university in Perpignan. It was a
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start. She smiled and the action felt strange, the movement of the muscles at either side of her mouth. When had she last smiled or laughed, she wondered, aware of the presence of a few tears. Perpignan, Perpignan. *********************************** Sienna pressed the buzzer to James apartment. When there was no reply she felt a flicker of relief. Perhaps she could see her father again while Nora was still in hospital. How often had she been beholden to the dental hospital for admitting her mother for a wisdom tooth extraction? And - the powers that be forgive her - how often shed been grateful for the complication which necessitated post-operative treatment. For giving her three precious days with her father. Theyd milked that time together, cramming activities into the daylight hours, relishing quiet evenings, rented DVDs, intermittent conversation. Him slumped on the sofa, her lying on it, legs sprawled across his lap in her worn, kitten faced bedroom slippers that had remained when she left home. Empty Indian and Chinese carry out tinfoil containers filling the air with curry and sweet and sour spices. Flakes of nan bread slipping down behind armchair cushions. Crumbs of poppadom and prawn crackers making a crackling noise underfoot. Kingfisher lager bottles
littering the sideboard. A crazy few days valued all the more for their rarity. Appreciated before the obligatory return to order and precision and high standards. An ease with each other they could experience only on their own. An exchange of love that words would have rendered commonplace. She could still feel the tears that pricked her eyes when shed discovered him in an Bovril oilskin
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apron, frying sausages and mushrooms whilst humming Once in Royal Davids City. Still recall the well of pain that flooded her throat when she sat at the back of the church listening to the choir singing Jerusalem. Drinking Dubonnets with him afterwards at the pub. Still remember them giggling like children as they vacuumed and dusted, at pains to remove any traces of convenience foods, any evidence of sloppy evenings, or signs of intemperate living. Still feel the sadness when she witnessed his exuberance away from Nora. The intensity of his hug when shed said goodbye to him. The knowledge she might not see him again for months. The front door clicked open and she made her way to the lift. There was no smell of cooking when she entered James flat. Have you ordered Chinese or Indian? she asked, as she dumped her jacket on his hall chair. Ive eaten, he said. I thought you invited me for a meal. Take something from the fridge, he said. Sienna sighed. He clicked his teeth. Ill make you a toastie. As he shoved bread into the toaster, she looked round the kitchen, at the oak veneered units, the fruit bowl with its china apples and bananas, a dying ivy. Even the curly-edged postcards of the Sydney Opera House and the Loch Ness monster had given up. I didnt think you were serious about France, James said as he removed some mould from the cheddar. You didnt even ask me what I thought. Most people
would think you're flaky. Giving up your job to go travelling. Personally I think its nonsense to go traipsing off.'
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The ticking of the clock was intrusive. 'Lots of people go travelling, take time off, she said. 'And where do I fit into all this?' There was an aroma of burning as James retrieved the toast. Am I allowed to visit you? I dont know I dont know where Ill be. So, youre putting your travels before us. You describe me as a friend. Dont you think were stuck? We see each other regularly and- 'Nick and Annabel moved in together after six months. Sophie and Tom got engaged after a year. You haven't even introduced me to your mother. And you won't meet my parents.' 'It's not easy to introduce friends girlfriends - to my mother. 'Im not good enough for you, am I?' 'Thats nonsense. Sienna stared at him. 'Did you introduce her to Charlotte?' 'That was different. She knew Charlotte's aunt.' 'And Charlotte went to boarding school like you. Does your mother know about me?' James looked out of the window. 'I've mentioned you.' 'Only as a friend, I bet, Sienna muttered. What did you say? Its useles trying to talk to you, Sienna said. I dont think you understand. James spun round. If thats how you feel, youd better leave now. What dyou mean, if thats how I feel? Sienna asked. Nothing, James said, storming out of the kitchen, banging the door. She waited a moment before going to find him. He was in the armchair at the sitting room window,
his face obscured by the Financial Times. Part of the curtain had escaped from its hooks. James? Go and do your thing. But dont expect me to be waiting when you get back. Cant we at least-? Just go. And I want my Wind in the Willows back.
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********************************* It was a balmy morning at the end of June as Sienna stepped out of the taxi at St Pancras station. The sky was clear as if the air had been hosed the previous night. Meringue clouds drifted through the blueness. Trees, luxuriating in cloaks of green, swayed slightly in the breeze and there was a frisson in the atmosphere, causing her to look around one last time before she entered the station. A group of Japanese tourists laden with cameras and Harrods' bags jostled her, interrupting her reflections. As she approached the Eurostar terminal the atmosphere of anticipated travel was infectious and she was aware of a flutter of exhilaration as she fed her ticket to the machine. Now that she was leaving, she felt convinced shed made the right decision. This had to be done. She'd be in limbo until she'd tried everything to get her daughter back. She looked around the passenger lounge at the suited people with laptops, speaking constantly into mobile phones, at the jeaned and jacketed students, at a group of American tourists. The travel energy was mixed with impatience to be away. She watched as a twenty-something woman ran up to a man. Dressed in flouncy skirt, cropped top and gold pumps, she defined youth, energy. Her boyfriend kissed her, his arms twitching round her bare waist as though such restraint was excruciating. Could she ever possess that womans aura? she wondered, remembering Jamess drink-induced comments that she didnt exude sexiness. He
could never understand what shed been through. And - though shed never been
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assertive enough to point this out - if shed fancied him more sexually, he might have seen a different side of her. Richie had never complained about her. Cut, cut, just cut. Dont think about the good side of Richie. Hed deceived her. Stolen her child. She mustnt forget what hed done. She flicked the thought away, like an insect landing on her arm. As she fingered the softness of her leather jacket her mood lifted. The autumnal brown and the flaring-out above the waist line, suited her. Dads treat. On the train she gazed unseeingly at her book. Had she tried hard enough in the UK? Was going to France the logical next step? Maybe Martins private detective idea made sense. Was she resilient enough to cope with this? The inner negative voice - a thin-bodied Gollum, with large, pale blue eyes and an evil grin persisted. Money was the issue. It was one thing hearing Mr Minto's optimism in his comfortable office. Another when she resigned her job. Renting out her flat would pay the mortgage, but she couldnt travel far on the raft of her savings. She glanced at her watch. James would be back from the partners meeting. She picked up her phone. He answered immediately. I knew you wouldnt go, Sienna. Its just not you. You see, I know you more than you know yourself. I know whats right for you. Now look here, tonights busy but tomorrow well- 'Im on the train, James,' she said. You have to- but he hung up. As she glanced around her, eager to be away, her fingers returned to the chain, the scenes indelibly etched on her mind. An oak four-poster with crimson drapes. Its like being in a cocoon she thinks as she lies in the curled up position, Richie beside her, his arm cupping her breast. He sleeps peacefully, his skin pale against the dark grey sheets, his face at rest like that of a younger man. From a gap in the drapes, she can see the view from the hotel room: gently undulating hills; trees, their summer clothing discarded, like
sentinels on the horizon in the fading light. When she wakes again, he is watching
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her, a pale green towelled robe wrapped round his slim frame, in his hand a brown velvet box. He opens it. 'A gift to celebrate our coming together, you see,' he says, handing her a rope chain, his dark eyes sparkling. Its Italian silver. She sits up, thinking how much she loves the softness of his voice, his scent. He puts the chain round her neck, kisses her damp hair. Then he slips off his dressing gown and lies beside her, lacing his fingers through hers. They remain like that for hours. Three months later, the weekend after Valentines Day, in the same hotel room, he gives her a silver leaf for the chain. Outside the sky is grey, the trees shaking unrelentingly in the north westerly. When she arrives home again shell start yearning for him, formulating a plan to keep busy until they meet, but for the moment she is contented. She polishes the chain and leaf for months after their relationship ends. As if such action might rekindle their love. ********************************* Sienna woke to sunshine flooding through her hotel bedroom. Opening of the shutters of one window revealed a vista of mossy pantiled roofs, with a backdrop of purple Pyrenees mountains already hazy in the radiant Mediterranean light; the other overlooked a courtyard, where at ten oclock a fountain already shooshed away, a gentle reminder that another day was in full sway. The hotel dining room had long passed its zenith, a harassed-looking waitress scooping up plates of breadcrumbs, miniature jam containers, the greasy paper of butter portions. As she disappeared through the swing doors to the kitchen, the sounds of shouting could be heard. At a corner table, a t-shirted man was remonstrating with a grey-haired woman, wielding a map in a hairy, tattoo-covered arm. At another table, a man spoke on a mobile phone, sipping his coffee from time to time. She helped herself to ham and emmenthal cheese, nut bread and grape
juice, found the one remaining debris-free table and sat down. The swing doors opened and the waitress appeared. Du caf ou du th, mademoiselle? Caf, sil vous plat. The temptation to skip breakfast and go straight to the university was overwhelming but she needed to be calm this morning. As she arranged the slices of cheese and
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ham on her bread, the dining room door opened, revealing a dark haired man with a little girl clutching a shiny red handbag. Her heart started racing. Of course it wasnt Richie, she realised immediately. But today she might find out more, might even glimpse him on campus, even though it was the summer break. ********************************** As she walked through the campus grounds of the university, Sienna was aware of looking constantly for Richie. He could be here. Preparing lectures for the following
semester. Catching up with paperwork. Despite months of envisaging such a moment, she still had little idea what shed say if she did find him. In despairing moments, she imagined him running away. Herself giving chase. In optimistic mode, she could hear herself assuring him she didnt want unpleasantness, only access to her daughter. But how to begin such a conversation There werent scripts on how to engage with someone at this level. She could suggest they meet to talk. But what if he denied he knew her? Hed been able to deceive her. What else might he be prepared to do? Desperate to hold on to their daughter. Yes. Docteur Williams did work here but he not work here now, the university registrar told her. The midday heat was sweltering. How did people work in such conditions? When? Ah. Yes, he was here for two years but it was - how you say in English - only a contrat temporaire.
Do you know where he went when he left? Sienna said, removing her jacket, noticing the unused fan in the corner of the room. No. We not have this information. Why you wish to know, please? I am a friend. The woman drew the window blind. This room, it is too hot in the summer. Sienna looked again at the fan. a ne marche pas, the woman said. Its important that I find out where Dr Williams is. I have not information. Je suis desole. Would anyone else know? Sienna said, wiping her forehead, aware of her damp tshirt. Did you meet his wife? His wife? Or his his child? Why you ask these questions? the woman said, picking up the phone. Sienna lent over and put her arm on the womans hand. Please dont. Could we sit down, please, and Ill explain, Sienna said. The woman took off her thick rimmed specs and already her face looked softer. I make coffee. Thanks, Sienna said, her voice trembling. The woman stared at her as she handed over the coffee. Please explain me why you come here at the university. Dr Williams has my daughter. Our daughter. I not understand. Please explain me the situation. Why is he having your daughter? I thought the baby died at birth. She didnt. The hospital couldnt find me they found him, the father. He collected the baby from Morocco. Morocco? You have baby in Morocco? Sienna nodded.
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C'est une situation bizarre. And he keep the baby? You never see this baby, your daughter? Sienna shook her head. She felt dizzy. She leant back on the chair. Mon dieu! Such a wicked thing to do. Mon dieu! It is possible I help you. There is here a lecturer who know perhaps where Dr Williams go after he leave. I see if is possible to speak him. Thanks. I You are unwell. Please, you lie here. The woman opened a door behind a black lacquered screen. Im OK. You drink more coffee? the woman said. No thanks. Can you speak to this person now? The woman opened the window and a trickle of air drifted over to where
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Sienna was slumped. Immediately it revived her and she sat up. From outside came a faint hum of traffic, a chorus of voices. Somewhere a summer school class had finished. The evidence of everyday activities helped, reminded her of a world going on around her. The woman was on the phone now, speaking in rapid French. She nodded several times during the call, and when she hung up, she turned to Sienna. Dr Hunckler is not here today, she said, But he return tomorrow. He talk to youtwelve oclock. Sienna nodded. If you prefer, you come here first then I go with you in his office and while you speak. Thank you Madame Leonard. Thank you Madame Leonard, for . She glanced at her watch as she left the campus. James would be leaving work for lunch. Hed find a park bench, unwrap an egg and bacon roll, drink from his
flask of coffee. Today he'd no doubt ignore his Daily Telegraph, but instead would mull over her unreasonable behaviour, convinced he had nothing with which to reproach himself. At his desk again, he'd immerse himself in legal tasks, on the phone about property acquisitions, dictating letters to the long-suffering, efficient Luisa. His PA with a business studies degree could find a better job. Instead she stayed with the law firm, enduring James refusal to email letters to her and his computing ineptness. But Sienna had persevered with him as well. Tolerated his dominating
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behaviour, his meanness, and for what? Liz was right. She needed it to be difficult. Needed a challenge, waiting for expression to register in his green eyes, to hear him say he loved her, to feel some urgency in their lovemaking. Determined to become indispensable to him. But if she had, then what? The thrill of chasing evaporated with the catch. There was no tension with James. There had been with Richie. As Sienna walked around the citadel which lay to the south of vieux Perpignan, her feet drew to a halt in front of a bronze sculpture. It was of a woman kneeling, an infant pressed to her collar bone. The mothers expression was at once tranquil and thoughtful, one arm supporting the babys shoulder, the other, pressed against its feet. Her tightly braided hair was scraped off her face. Her upper body bare, the piece of cloth draped loosely over her legs, stopping mid thigh. A knot lodged in Siennas throat. Threatened her breathing. She reached for her camera and photographed the sculpture from every angle. Oblivious to other surroundings. Like someone posssessed. It was carthartic. A purging of the emotions. Later, in the privacy of her room, she wept until she feared shed drown. That evening, calm but fatigued by such crying, she strolled by the canal in Perpignan until the sun set and the sky turned to rose. When darkness appeared, she made her way to a street with a surfeit of restaurants. At least she hadnt reached a dead end. At least this Dr Hunckler might be helpful, she thought, as the
waiter brought her couscous and a bottle of Valdepenas. Her mood improved as she tasted the lamb and sipped her wine. ********************************** Dr Hunckler was a large man with thick, curly hair and a wide smile. Sit down, please, he said. Sienna sat down and waited, her mouth dry. I speak with Madame Leonard this morning he told her. She has explained me your situation. I am sorry. Dyou know where Dr Williams went when he left? I do not have much information. Anything might help. Did he return to England? He talk about Canada. Montreal. He tell me he has friends in Montreal. Did you meet his wife? He shook his head. But you believe me, you believe my story? Sienna said, standing up, feeling her stomach lurch. But of course, yes. People do not lie about something so important. Dr Hunckler handed her a paper tissue. I hope you are successful to find your daughter.
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In her hotel room once more, in the midday heat, Sienna closed the shutters and slipped between the clean cotton sheets, relishing their crisp freshness. The aching for her little girl throbbed like an infected wound. Would she ever find her? Would she become a mother? Think positively. She had to believe she could do this. To keep going. There was no room for self-doubt. For negative thinking. She had to be logical, systematic and resilient. LSR. The room, now protected from the worst of the sun had already cooled down. Was conducive to rest. Exhausted, she sank into a deep sleep. She awoke to the phone.
Hows it going? Liz asked. Sienna updated her friend. So what now?
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Return to London, find out whats happened with the Will then head off to Canada. I have to find him, Liz. I cant just stop now, you know? Canadas huge. But you have to try. Ill start with Montreal. Its good to hear your voice. How are you doing? How's Brian? Were in France, Menton. Brians brother and wife rented a villa. Come and see us? I don't want to crash in on you. And I need to get back, get things sorted. Youre my best mate. Please? Im not talking about clubbing or anything. Just meals in the old town, walks on the beach. Theres loads of room. A couple of
days wont make a difference and I might not see you for ages. ************************************ The journey to Menton was smooth and Sienna felt herself relaxing as the train whirled along the track. Her long cotton skirt and loose t-shirt were comfortable and having her hair tied up with a scarf kept her neck cool. Her compartment was quiet. No mobile phones. No hissing from headphones. Nothing, in fact, to intrude on her thoughts. Liz was right. She needed time with friends. As the train pulled into Nice she studied the frenzy of passengers on the platform. It was a Friday evening with commuters returning to coastal towns Suddenly her eyes homed in on a man with a grip bag boarding the train opposite hers. It took a few seconds to realise. She stood up and yanked down the window. Richie! she yelled, as her train started moving.
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Chapter 4
Sienna collapsed onto her seat. It was him. The straight fair hair swept back off a high forehead, the way he hopped onto the train like a deer. *********************************** Im pregnant, she blurts out when Richie appears one evening. Youre on the pill, he says, his face drawn. She steps back. I am. I was. Yes, well, yes, yes. What are you going to do? You can't keep it.' She gapes at him. His expression is bewildered. I dont know. I feel numb. She opens his bottle. The sky has darkened and she switches on lamps, waiting for him to flop onto the sofa, indicating she join him. Shes been plagued by nausea all day and yearns to be looked after. He remains standing, hovering from foot to foot. I shouldnt be drinking, she says, as she sips her wine. It tastes rough. He says nothing, his glass untouched. 'Do you love me?' she asks, avoiding eye contact, loathing the question. Look, Im sorry, I have to go, he mutters. Youve been here two minutes!
Alice were having people for dinner, you see. Im sorry, yes. Ill ring you. She feels like a hewn tree as he leaves, already speaking on his mobile.
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For days she lingers by the phone, ignoring texts about tutorials, her mothers invitation to Sunday lunch, Liz anxious messages. The following week she attempts to study, slouched at her kitchen table in leggings and woolly jumpers, a supply of Kitkats ready for when the nausea becomes bad. Drinking lemonade to get rid of the metallic taste in her mouth. Her breasts ache. She needs a bigger bra but cant face leaving the flat. Theres a stale smell and she contemplates vacuuming. Realises she hasnt the energy. She peers at her sallow skin in the bathroom mirror each morning. At her unplucked eyebrows. Her unkempt hair. She picks up the phone, dials the hairdressers number. Puts it down again. Is this really happening, she wonders. By March her jeans wont zip up and the daylong nausea persists. In maternity wear of a large store in Oxford Street, she fingers muted grey and blue dresses, roomy trousers with mammoth elasticated waists. Depressed by the
unimaginative clothes, she leaves the maternity section and walks through the coats and jackets department. To her horror, a familiar figure approaches. She considers lying, but her thickening waistline is unmistakeable. She takes a deep breath. What have you done, child? Nora says, her eyes on Siennas stomach. So this is why you havent been home. Come on, well sort this out. Her mother bundles Sienna into a taxi, and sits looking straight ahead, lips clenched, back rigid. Put your jacket on, please, Nora says as the taxi pulls into their road. Im boiling, Sienna says. Do it. As they walk up the path to her parents home her mother looks around to see if theyve been observed. Inside, Nora opens Yellow Pages. What are you doing? Sienna asks.
Looking for clinics. Nora says, scribbling down a number. I hope you havent told anyone. I dont want to you know.. Its better than keeping an unwanted child. I want the baby. Nora looks over her bifocals. Youve two more years of studying. You know very well you couldnt cope with a baby. I dont suppose the father has any intention of marrying you? Its not- Hes married, isnt he? And stop biting your nails. Sienna put her hand down. I want to keep the baby. I can finish medical school later. When the babys older. Youve worked hard. Youve invested so much in this. But this is a child. Its part of me.
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You know your father and I only want whats best for you. This is a frightful situation, for all of us. Nora adds more numbers. Of course youve always been immature for your age.' Her mother closes the Yellow Pages, returns the book to the phone table, wipes some dust from it with a j- cloth. 'Ill discuss this with your father.' Nora starts to water the begonias on the window sill, frowning as some boys whizz along the pavement on skateboards. A wave of nausea engulfs Sienna and she rushes to the bathroom. Her heart pounds as she rinses her mouth. The mirror reflects a blotchy skin, a darkness to her eyes. This should be the radiant stage - a honeymoon period between morning sickness and exhaustion from carrying additional weight. She feels cheated, envisaging other women, hands on abdomens, awash with love for the growing foetus, glowing with an enduring tranquility. She yearns for Richie. To be enclosed in his arms, cherished, wanted
When she returns, Nora is on the sofa, gazing into space. Her mother looks up, a momentary tenderness tenanting her eyes. Sienna stares at her, longing to slump down on the sofa, to cry, to talk or just feel her mothers arm round her. Her aching for touch is physical. Mum? Nora looks at her watch. I must start dinner. Sienna puts on her jacket. 'I have to go now. Ive a doctors appointment.' Think of your fathers reputation. Hell want me to be happy. She swerves to avoid Noras hand. You tramp, her mother calls as Sienna opens the front door. Her phone rings later. Your father and I have talked, Nora says. Well pay for the procedure. No-one need know. Its for the best. Afterwards you can join us on the cruise to Norway. Ive checked and they still have cabins. You can rest there, and youll be ready to start the summer term. Youll have forgotten all about it in a few months. ********************************* Whats happened? Liz said when Sienna disembarked at Menton. Ive seen him. .. Richie? Getting on a train in Nice. My train pulled out just as I saw him. Was he with? I didnt notice There was nothing I could do. If hed appeared a minute earlier God, I need a drink. Wheres Brian? Were meeting him. So what are you going to do? The old town of Menton was heaving as afternoon sunshine yielded to dusk and lights gradually appeared. Tantalising smells of fish soup and garlic emanated from shuttered windows. Already tourists were studying menu boards, clutching
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postcards, bemoaning sore feet. Sienna looked around as if at any minute she might spot Richie again. Under other circumstances, shed lose herself in the ambience of narrow, winding streets. Surrender to the enticement of French food. To have been so close to him Brians obviously been delayed, Liz said when they reached the restaurant and there was no sign of her husband. Lets order. So what now? Ill look for work in Nice. That way Ill be in the area. I might have a chance of finding him. You should check with the station work out which train he was on. He had luggage. It could be a holiday. Alice and the my daughter could have already been on the train. But theres no point in rushing off if he might be here. You look like shit. Stay a few days, Liz said. Youre my best mate. I mightnt see you for yonks. Ill help you make a plan. Nice is huge. ******************************** We have some nanny positions in Nice or near the city, the woman at the agency told Sienna. There is a family with four children. They ask for for someone who speaks good French. Are you fluent in French? Before Sienna could answer, the door flew open and a small, red-haired woman in a billowy pink dress blew in. She had damp patches under her arms and was heavily pregnant. Madame Chevalier - ca va bien? The woman sank down, and wiped her face with a sleeve. No, everything isnt OK. The girl you found for me - Julie - the girl you found, has broken her leg. She was meant to be arriving tomorrow. Didnt she phone you? This is a disaster. The children have finished school, I have the caf to manage and theres bambino - the doctor says Ive not to do too much. And Bertrand cant take time off work. Its a disaster. And its so hot.
The agency woman handed her a glass of water. This is Sienna Bowden. She is looking for work. Madame Chevalier looked at Sienna. Could you start now? You must interview her, verify references, the agency woman said. I can do that here - now - the interview, couldnt I? Madame Chevalier said. This is an emergency. You must understand that. An emergency The woman looked from Sienna to Madame Chevalier and nodded. Daccord. How many children dyou have, Madame Chevalier? Carys. Call me Carys. Henri is nine and Odette is seven. And this ones due in
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September. Bertrands a doctor. We live in Villefranche. Do you have references? Have you looked after children before? Sienna gave details, while Carys nodded vigorously Oh yes, yes. Youd have your own bedroom, of course, and en suite bathroom. What about time off? Most weekends, Carys said. And every second Tuesday. Whats your French like? There are classes in Villefranche. It would make life easier if you could cope in French when you have to. We tend to speak English at home. Can you drive? I have my advanced drivers licence. Carys looked startled. Righto. Well, heres my email address for your references. Shouldnt I meet the children to see if they like me? Sienna suggested. I like you. Theyll like you too. And Bertrand There wont be any problem with him. He always likes who we choose. Not that he Itll be OK.
********************************* The platform at Villefranche station was sweltering as Sienna squeezed past fellow passengers. Even her legs felt damp under her trousers and her throat was parched. She squinted around for Carys in the midday light, noticing the sea and to her right, the port of Villefranche with its picturesque buildings in terracotta, ochre and yellow,
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their shuttered windows, sun awnings, wrought-iron balconies. By the harbour there were pleasure boats and further out, yachts. Sorry Im late, Carys said, appearing by her side. I called into the caf big mistake, of course, got sucked into sorting out endless problems. At least Im here now. The cars double parked, but thats unavoidable. We use that beach quite often. At least in Villefranche you see all shapes. Even women with cellulite. Nothing awful but definitely the dimpled effect. Not like some beaches where the rich and beautiful display themselves from dawn to dusk. Not a gram of unnecessary fat. Sienna surveyed the area Carys was indicating. The beach was mobbed: bodies reclining in the sun; infants shielded by umbrellas; children splashing around in the water. She pictured herself with her little girl, playing in the sunshine, water wings around tanned, chubby arms. Would a five year old have chubby arms? How much shed missed. Might continue to miss. I hope without expecting, she recited, the words now like a mantra. A difficult task, her therapist had conceded. Like the Buddhist philosophy of love without attachment. Sienna followed Carys to a dark green Renault Clio. Scuse the mess, Carys said, flinging sandals and sweet wrappers from the passenger seat. I want to show you Villefranche quickly. With skill she negotiated her way through traffic, pointing out a church here, a good restaurant there. The traffics a nightmare at this time of year. Fifteen years in France and Im just getting used to the way they drive. She swerved to avoid a car which had cut in front of them. Cythraul! One good thing is that I can swear in Welsh and no-one will understand. Did she always talk this much, Sienna wondered, or was Carys just nervous ? It was a gamble, taking a stranger into your home to care for your children, on the strength of a snatched interview and two references. She shifted position, aware of
damp patches under her. Would there be air-conditioning? She mopped her brow with her wrist sweatband. How did Carys manage in this heat? We live up there, on the moyenne corniche, Carys said, pointing up at the
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mountains. Its close enough to drive to town in a few minutes, but far enough away to have a sense of space, and the views are fantastic. Carys turned left and drove down a narrow road, parking by the harbour. I thought wed have an ice cream, she said, heaving herself out of the car. Heres a good spot to get a sense of Villefranche. Its the Place Amelie Pollonaise. We have pizza here sometimes, a treat for the children. Over theres Cap Ferrat. You can take a bus or walk only a couple of hours. What flavour do you want? Im having pistachio. Its all home made. The children are dying to meet you,' Carys said as they devoured their ice creams. Henri's nine. He's bright - well, we think so. He can be a monkey. He's
practical, loves pulling apart radios and reassembling them and making elaborate space ships from the weirdest things. Hes football-mad and he plays the clarinet. Odette's quiet, into reading and dancing, loves the garden - not so confident, needs more reassurance. In the midst of Caryss prattle, Sienna was gripped by homesickness. At this time of day the sun would highlight the red and grey rug on the sanded floor of the sitting room, shafts of light sliding between the leaves of her cheese plant. Normally on a Wednesday shed finish her last group at three. See one or two patients for individual colour sessions, before heading back into London. Once there shed debate whether to do a quick shop on the way to Sussex Lane. Wonder if shed have the energy to go to the gym after her run. If James would phone. If shed phone him if he didnt. Edgware Road would be heaving, last minuters plundering the corner shops for an evening meal, pub goers overflowing onto the pavement with their pints and fags, residual heat radiating from brick-fronted buildings, window boxes spilling out their pink and purple geraniums, scents mingling with traffic fumes,
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spices from the Indian restaurants, garlic from the French brasserie. Other peoples activities helped her feel part of something. Diminished the loneliness. Her neighbour would be watering his dahlias, or scrubbing the steps. ' Your windows need a clean. Could do it now if you'd like?' A retired engineer, whod never married, he pursued ways to help neighbours. Washing her windows would mean coffee and chat. We always have an au pair over the summer, Carys was saying. Odette and Henri adapt quickly. All the girls have loved them. Did you study medicine at one of the London colleges? I studied domestic science there. London, I mean. My parents wanted me to stay in Cardiff but I was keen to move on. The course was good. Lots of emphasis on puddings and cakes and elaborate sauces; the sort of things that would make you an eligible wife. The lecturers were from the dark ages, though. Lots of advice like girls who sit on tables dont get married. Many of them had lost fiancs in the war. It's changed now, of course, no longer the push to find the right man, whatever that means. Of course Villefranche was small compared with London. Wouldnt it be claustrophobic? There was always Nice to escape to but everyone would know each other in a place this size. And shed had enough of that, growing up in Greenwich, Nora constantly worrying about what the neighbours thought. Still, she could hide behind her language limitations. And it was only for a few months. 'Here we are, Carys said as she drove up a path. Sienna slid out of the car, aware of the damp patches lingering on the passenger seat. Her trousers were crushed and there were wet patches under her arms. She took a swig from her water bottle, ran damp fingers through her hair. Would the children like her? Would she like them? Would caring for Odette remind her painfully of her little girl? Or would the two years age difference help her feel more detached? Had she really thought this job through? Or just acquiesced to an inherent desire to respond to peoples needs. Would working slow down her search for Richie? For her child?
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She needed to think positively. A job would give structure to her day. And Bertrand might be helpful, though shed have to be careful how she introduced the subject of Richie. She took a deep breath and looked at what would be her home for the following months. The three storey house was cream with dark green shutters. The upper two floors had intricate wrought-iron balconies with window boxes of geraniums, plumbago and tiny white flowers. On either side of the front door, palm trees extended the full height of the building. An olive-skinned man was reading a
newspaper on the patio and a girl was splashing about in an kidney shaped pool. To the right she could see a similar view of Villefranche to the one from the station. Straight ahead was the wooded peninsula of Cap Ferrat, slumped like a sleeping animal. This is my husband, Bertrand, Carys said as the man strutted over to them like a gangly horse. His eyes were flecked hazel but too far apart to be handsome. He smelt of Issey Miyake. Welcome in France, he said. Odette, come out of the pool, cariad, Carys called. The child climbed out and ran up to Sienna, proffering her face for a kiss. This is Odette, Carys said. 'Isn't she a cutie? Odette, this is Sienna. The girl now holding her mother's hand had brown, shoulder-length, wavy hair and brown eyes. She felt a twinge of pain. Was her daughter dark too, or had she inherited Richies fair hair? What would it feel like to hold her hand? To make her feel safe when she met a stranger? 'The children are bilingual they go to the international school in Nice and Ive always spoken to them in English. We usually speak English en famille but Bertrand speaks in French when he's on his own with them. Odette, where is Henri? 'The Agency said that you teach at Nice University,' Sienna said as Bertrand led her into the house. What do you lecture on?
'Dermatology.' Do you know a Richard Williams? Bertrand shook his head. I will show you your room. As they reached the top of the stairs a fair haired boy appeared. You must be Henri, Sienna said. He nodded and pushed past his father to open the door. Do you like it? he asked. The spacious room effortlessly accommodated a double sleigh bed with hand-
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painted bed ends and a lace bedspread. A matching wardrobe extended along one wall, a chest of drawers and bookcase along another. Two oak chairs and a
circular table formed a pleasant cameo by the open window, where light streamed through cotton curtains, fluttering in the breeze. Pale-grey floorboards were partially covered with a rug of rusts, creams and yellows, on which danced patterns of light. Already she pictured herself at this window with her laptop, searching through websites for Richies name. Mama and I decided together what colour to paint the room, Henri said. You have your own shower and a toilet. I'll show you, Sienna.' The wardrobe is empty, for your clothes, Bertrand told her as Henri scurried round the room in circles, his arms outstretched, his mouth mimicking an engines whine. Go to Mama, Bertrand told him. Mais, Papa... Henri began. Maintenant, he said, fiddling with the handle of the wardrobe. I will mend this. It always becomes loose. Sienna stepped out onto the balcony and found herself overlooking reddyorange pantiled roofs and the sea. To the left was a view of the forested Cap Ferrat, to the right the harbour of Villefranche stretched out, the citadelle at the far end just visible. A breeze cooled her down. Bertie, Bertie, the sound of Caryss voice from downstairs infiltrated the room.
I think there is enough room to store your clothes, he said. All the girls like this room. The evening light is beautiful. Its brilliant, she said. There are sandwiches for you in the kitchen. Bertie, Bertie, what are you doing? Please come down. He sighed. I go now.
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Sienna waited until Bertrand reached the bottom of the stairs before sitting on the bed beside her unopened bags. A knock on the door broke into her thoughts. Ill show you the rest of the house, then you can have lunch, Carys said. Sienna got up and followed Carys. This is Odettes room, Carys said, flinging open the door. Sienna had a fleeting impression of cream-coloured walls, bare floorboards, a green and blue patterned bedspread partly obscured by teddy bears. Henris door needed a shove before it opened. A box of wooden bricks had been emptied onto the unmade bed. Mauve walls were covered with posters of Star Wars and Paul Meyer holding a clarinet. Plastic boxes of toys lay on the floor beside a heap of t-shirts and trainers. Carys closed the window and picked up a plate and a mug half filled with milk. Henris untidy, like me, she said. Carys deposited the crockery on a wooden chest in the landing and opened another door. This is our room. The master bedroom overlooked the sea. Two cherrywood wardrobes took up one wall. One had its doors closed, the other was open, revealing pulled out drawers and a mound of bulging plastic bags at the bottom. A bundle of dresses lay on the bed. Carys shook her head I keep meaning to sort out that stuff. By the window there was an exercise bike. Cool bike, Sienna said.
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The idea was to cycle while I watched the news, Carys said. Once the babys born Ill use it again. Get back to my ideal weight. Each pregnancy, its just piled on. I dont even look in the mirror any more. You can see the rest of the house later. Come and have lunch. The children ate earlier with Bertrand and Im not hungry. I tend to nibble at the caf. I used to be so skinny before I had children. Ill show you Bertrands study now, Cary said as they made their way downstairs, but normally no-one is allowed in it. Sienna found herself in a large room overlooking the back garden. Ceiling-high bookcases lined two of the walls. One contained books, the other journals of medicine and science, one shelf devoted to computing magazines, with dividers separating the different ones. On a huge oak desk by the window were two Apple Mac desktop computers and a laptop. A small table supported a printer and a fax machine. The third wall was lined with filing cabinets, all drawers labelled in capital letters in different colours of ink. green silk Persian rug. Hes obsessively tidy, Carys sighed. Problem is, he wishes I was. Sienna smiled when she saw the kitchen. Its solid, oak table, the centrepiece of the room, was surrounded by oak chairs with striped cushions. Two troughshaped fireclay sinks and an iron range added to the homely atmosphere. The walls were an earthy orange, the floors of brown flagstone which made a pleasant, muted, tapping sound when walked on. A huge wooden dresser was crammed with bottles of wine, olive oil, vinegar and spices. The window, its sill brimming over with pots of herbs and cuttings, miniature green bottles and a mlange of seashells, gave onto palm trees, yuccas and the garden. She could imagine homework being done in this room, drawings, the reading of bedtime stories; a cosy, reassuring place where problems were resolved, children comforted by the aroma of vegetable soup and homemade bread. The sort of kitchen she yearned to share with her little girl. The sanded floor was bare apart from a blue and
Ill clear a space, Carys said, sweeping aside a pile of magazines and unopened mail, plasticine and paint brushes. From the fridge she produced a bulging baguette and a glass of pink liquid. The baguette's goat cheese and salad and the drink is Odettes lemonade. Its
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terribly keen, she is, for you to try it. She's worried she didn't add enough sugar but I've tried it. Do you want to taste it and then I can put her mind at rest? Sienna took a sip and gave the thumbs up sign. Carys smiled. 'Good. Shell be delighted. I'll tell her. Do you think youll be happy here? Id better go and tell Odette. If you want to rest after youve eaten... After lunch, Sienna unpacked, hanging up cotton skirts and cropped trousers in the wardrobe with the wobbly handle, putting tee shirts and cami tops in the chest of drawers, keeping one drawer for her running clothes: her Asics Lady Ariel Knee tights, heart rate monitor, Asics Lady Gel Kayano shoes, anti blister stick, her 1000 Mile Ultimate Performance socks and sweat bands, the new Adidas Lady Climalite tshirt. She wouldnt need her running jacket. The greater the internal chaos, the greater the need for external order, she mused, as she rearranged things. Finally, she retrieved the Photo from her handbag, gave it a lingering look before putting it into the drawer of the bedside table, turning the key, slipping into her zipped pocket. The sun pouring into the room made her sleepy so she lay down, rearranged the long, bolster pillow and turned her face towards the window. Outside Carys rapid Welsh voice and Bertrands slower French one filled the afternoon air, accompanied by childrens laughter and the whish of a garden hose. Further away a car engine revved up, a dog barked, then another. More laughter and squeals, Non, Papa, non. Mama, aide moi, aide moi! She heard Carys high-pitched giggle, visualised little bodies soaked with water as they played with their father. As rays of light toyed with the yellow walls, she imagined her little girl in a paddling pool, drying her afterwards, helping her change back into a green dress with frilled sleeves, insisting
she wore a sun hat. Would her two months with the family be long enough to find Richie and her daughter, if they were here?
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****************************** Sometime later she was roused from sleep by discordant voices. From the window she could see Henri and Odette in a paddling pool, Henri pouring water over his sister who was laughing and calling out, Encore! I thought you were going to be here this afternoon, Caryss voice floated up to the bedroom. I must give a lecture, Bertrands reply. Guillaume is still ill. Why not one of the others? It doesn't have to be you, always, Carys said. You promised youd cook tonight. You know Dr Brim said Ive not to do too much. Sienna moved from the window. Any further conversation was drowned by a thud of rap from a passing vehicle. The next thing she heard was the crunching of a car on gravel, Caryss voice calling after it, Dont be late, Bertie, please. When Sienna awoke it was after four. A shower revived her and as she dried her hair, she peered at her face in the mirror. Normally such scrutiny reflected back her mothers critical expression but today the brown hair, greeny-blue eyes and square jaw, her fathers characteristics, were all she saw and she felt reassured. Already her skin had caught the sun and looked better. She ran her finger down a cheekbone, found her tweezers and tidied up her eyebrows. She retrieved her colour blocks and put them by her bed. She put her lips to the Photo, laid it carefully under her pillow. Imagined other photos - of a little girl perched on a harbour wall licking an icecream, blobs running down her chin. At the bottom of a slide in a playpark. Fast asleep on a sofa clutching a favourite doll. *********************************** Sienna apprehensively took her place at the dining room table and accepted a glass of wine. Carys topped up her own glass and sat glaring out of the window, her beige
dress resembling a collapsed marquee. From the kitchen came clattering sounds and humming. We're having something simple, Carys said. Bertrand had to work this afternoon and he was going to cook a Provenal meal. But we'll have that tomorrow, to welcome you. Bertrand appeared with an earthenware dish and began serving out a souffl, clicking his teeth as his wife put her hand over her plate. I would not give you thank you for eggs right now, Bertrand Chevalier. And you know that, Carys said. Did you make a salad? Bien sur. It is in the kitchen. Odette and Henri dont normally have dinner with us, Carys said. But they were keen to spend time with you this evening. What is it cariad? Odette whispered something in her mothers ear. She wants to sit beside you, Carys said to Sienna. Swap seats please, Henri. Mama! Please, Henri. Odette sat down next to Sienna and gave her a shy look. Your lemonade was yummy, Sienna said. Better than any other lemonade youve ever had? Definitely the best. Mama helped me, Odette said, sticking her tongue out at Henri.
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The children studied her throughout the meal, Odette with furtive, shy glances, Henri more openly. They were attractive; Odette taking after her father with her dark hair and eyes; Henri inheriting his mothers colouring, a sprinkling of nose freckles, a mop of floppy strawberry blonde hair giving him a rakish look. His green flecked eyes were intelligent. Sienna helped herself to salad and started mixing a sauce from vinegar and mustard, Don't forget the oil, Carys said. It won't work without that.
Sienna hesitated. Not watching your weight, are you? Carys said, her eyes darting to Bertrand. Was now a good moment to find out when her first Tuesday off would be? Sienna wondered, as she tasted the cheese souffl. She needed to plan her time. The obvious starting point would be the university. And shed want a weekday for that. Though people might work weekends. As she looked up from her plate she noticed Bertrand observing her. She forced herself to withstand his gaze until he turned to speak to Odette. Carys returned from putting the children to bed, flushed and breathless. I'll
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tell you about our routine. Bertie, please dont smoke in here. Its bad for the baby. Drinking wine is also bad, Bertrand said, getting up to leave the room. Hes tired, Carys said. One of his colleagues is ill and he's been giving extra lectures. ' Later Carys followed Sienna upstairs. Do you have everything you need? Do you think you'll like it here, with us, with the children? Theres plenty to do, with the beach and their friends. And the swimming. Henri would live in the pool. And there are loads of day trips. Ive got some brochures Ill let you see tomorrow. I expect you're glad to get away from London, such a big, impersonal place. I hope you'll sleep OK. The bed's comfy. Well, I'll leave you now. I hope there isn't anything important I've forgotten - theres always so much to remember. Normally I make a list. Therell be time in the morning. There will, yes. I dont have to be at the caf until eleven. Well, good night then. I think Ill go for a run. At this time of night? ******************************** Sienna awoke to a sun-filled room. In morning light, the yellow walls seemed richer and the scent of wet earth drifted in through the open window. Fleetingly her
surroundings confused her. Then everything surged back. She was searching for Richie and her little girl, she was looking after someone elses children. Time
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couldnt be squandered, her free weekends, her fortnightly Tuesdays. She lay for a few moments breathing deeply, before realising the time. Carys was in the kitchen spooning pats into plastic containers. Morning. Sleep well? I didnt mean to be so late. I have to be at the caf by eleven, Carys said, pouring Sienna a coffee. with your Lego somewhere else, cariad. I dont want to trip over bits. What would Carys feel if she knew Siennas real reason for being in France? Would she, as a mother, identify with her desperation to find her child? Most women would, surely? A strong urge to unburden herself to her employer surfaced and was thrust down. She didnt want Carys worrying that her mind wouldnt be on her job. During her time off she could concentrate on the only thing that mattered When Carys had finished explaining routines, Sienna searched for the children. She found them in a small room off the kitchen sorting through their beach toys. We should throw this spade out, Odette, Henri was saying. Its no good. I like that spade. Its my favourite, Odette said. Its pink. I like pink. Its useless. The handles cracked and theres a nail sticking out. You know Mama said it could be dangerous. Put it in the dustbin Odette. It's got feelings. Its cruel to throw things out. You think everythings cruel, Odette, Henri said. Just like a girl. Sienna popped her head round the door. Will you stay with us all summer? Odette asked. Henri play
Yes, she will, Henri said. Just like Amanda did last year. Sienna will be here until school starts in September, then Fabienne will look after us at Christmas until the
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shop closes. Then next summer someone else will look after us. Every year it is the same. Do you mind having different people? Sienna asked. Its interesting. Papa thinks so, too. Lets play hide and seek.
Sunhats, sun cream, kids, Carys called as she got into the car. Remember what Papa said about protecting your skin. Its getting hot. As soon as Sienna had checked that Odette and Henri were smothered in sun cream, she followed them into the garden at the back of the house. A den painted in army colours occupied one corner. In another, a hammock stretched between two pine trees. Other areas of shade were supplied by cypress and palm trees. A wisteria pergola formed an arch in front of the back door. The surrounding wall was smothered in red and pink bougainvillea, pale-blue plumbago, purple clematis. As she inhaled the fragrance of jasmine she saw herself lying on a deck chair, enjoying the sunshine. She edged herself onto the hammock, rocked from side to side, enjoying the movement, the rush of air it created, the feel of canvas beneath her, the manure-like smell and roughness of the connecting rope. ******************************** After lunch, Odette took Siennas hand. Do you want to see where Mama keeps clothes for the new baby. Odette opened a door off the kitchen, revealing a room with washing machine, ironing board and two full size freezers. She wrestled with the top drawer of a pine chest, finally pulling it out triumphantly, grabbing a blue polka dot babygro with red feet. Mama told me I wore these when I was a baby. Its lovely, isnt it?' Another drawer with a tiny green cardigan and a yellow jumper which had taken three months to knit. Shed laid them beside some Winnie the Pooh bibs and a horse-shaped rattle. These things still resided in her storage room in Paddington.
Occasionally when a torrent of emotion emerged, shed retrieve the box and press
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the jumper against her, pondering how her babies would have looked in it. Cut, cut. What were her daughters eyes like - bluey green like her or brown like Richies? Dont you like it? Odette asked. Im sure you looked fabby in it, Sienna replied. I told Mama I'd take you to the park. When they returned from the park, Bertrand's car was in the drive. She found him in the kitchen unpacking some shopping. ' You cook for the children and I will cook a French meal, he said. I have bought food. See beef for a casserole, Pav cheese, chocolat for a mousse au chocolat. I have everything,' he said. 'The children eat first and we eat later. Papa ..... Odette said. 'I want to eat with Sienna.' It is arranged, Bertrand said. It is a special occasion tomorrow. We are going to fish and it is important you go to bed early. Shortly after, Sienna heard Bertrand calling her. It is time to prepare a meal for the children. Reluctantly she made her way back to the kitchen. A frying pan sizzled with onions and garlic. Bertrand stood over the dresser, cigar in one hand, glass of wine in another. The table was patterned with food: beef luxuriating in a wine marinade, a cluster of grey oyster mushrooms, celery twists and chopped parsley; a bar of Aquarelle Gourmand dark chocolate, a vine of cherry tomatoes, crisp green rocket, unshelled walnuts. He said nothing as Sienna made a fish risotto for Henri and Odette, aware with a growing discomfort of the effort he was making for her. ********************************** 'Dyou want me to do anything?' Sienna asked, the aroma of wine and garlic making her hungry. Please, relax, Bertrand said, handing her a glass of wine and going over to the music centre to put on a CD. We eat soon.
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He put on a Michel Petrucciani CD and as the sound of piano and percussion music wafted over her, she remembered the time Richie had waived all caution and taken her to Jazz after Dark in Soho. Shed drunk too many Brooklyns and made a lunge for him in the taxi afterwards. In her flat their love-making had attained a new intensity and hed stayed til daylight. Shed never found out how hed squared that with his wife. Cut, cut, cut, stop thinking of Richie as a lover, she told herself, as she flicked through a Marie Claire for distraction, stumbling across scribbled comments beside a long floral patterned skirt: could try this, probably not tall enough; next to a day time moisturiser possibly too greasy, and under a layered bob hairstyle : forehead may be too small for fringe even if thinned out. We eat now, Bertrand announced. The dining room looked different tonight: the removed oilskin cloth revealing a French polished fruitwood table; a vase of roses replacing yesterday's wooden sculpture of a boy holding a fish. The French windows, framed by Provencal print curtains looked onto a garden bathed in misty light. A disconcerting intimacy abounded and she wished Carys was here. That was great, Sienna said as they finished the casserole. Bertrand removed the plates and returned to the kitchen. While he was away, the phone rang. When he didnt appear, Sienna answered. Bertrand isn't back yet, then?' Carys said. He is, he's cooked dinner. Henri and Odette are asleep.' ''It's only eight thirty. 'Bertrands taking them fishing tomorrow. He must have shopped on the way home. Dyou want to speak to him? - I'll get him. Dont bother, and the line went dead. Thanks for the meal, Sienna said. Ill sort the dishes.
You are tired. You rest,' he said, picking up the bottle of wine. She shook her head, putting her hand over her glass. He topped up his own glass. 'I will make coffee.
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It was nearly nine. What she wanted was to look through websites, make a detailed plan of where to look for Richie. Shed have a quick coffee then excuse herself. Drowsy from the alcohol, Sienna sat down on the chaise longue. Through the open French window she could smell honeysuckle, hear the prprpr sound of crickets. She closed her eyes, vaguely aware of the sound of crockery, chink of glasses, an aroma of coffee and cigar smoke. She woke to silence. She stood up, stretched and went through to the kitchen where Bertrand was seated at the table, glass in hand, another wine bottle half consumed. Im off to bed, she said. Its early, he said, standing up, veering forward in her direction, a hand brushing her breast. She pulled back. Good night. Her bedroom had cooled down but there were beads of perspiration on her brow. Was Bernard drunk or was the contact with her breast deliberate? The yowling of cats permeated through the open window. Somewhere a dog barked. Trees rustled in the faint breeze and a motorbike whined its way up the hill. The air felt pure and inexplicably poignant. It would have been a pleasant evening had she not been left with a niggle over Bertrands motives. ******************************** What are you doing on your first day off? Carys asked, watering some basil on the window sill. I thought Id look around Nice, you know? Sienna said. Itll be hot this morning though they said it might rain later. I could give you a lift in this afternoon, if you want. On the train from Villefranche to Nice Sienna looked at her notes:
medical faculty board with staff photos, show Richies photo around. library CSD: Common Service of Documentation collects data for 7 libraries. Carte de Lecteur ( readership card) needed for admission ? dining room show photo.
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As she hovered outside the Universit de Nice Sophia-Antipolis, she felt a her stomach fluttered like a sheet flapping on a washing line. If she did bump into Richie, what would she do? She couldnt just walk up and say Im here to collect my daughter. But what to say was the least of her worries. The Faculty of Medicine was quiet as she walked along the main corridor, reading names on doors. At the end she found a board with photos of faculty staff. She studied it carefully. No sign of Richie. She looked again. At the sound of footsteps she turned to see two girls approaching. Excusez-moi, sil vous plat, she said. Je cherche quelquun. Connaissez-vous lhomme dans cette photo? The girls looked at the photo and shook their heads. Dsole. As they walked away, several more people appeared. Again there was a shaking of heads. She returned the photo to her bag, a feeling of despondency filtering through her. This was a waste of time. Shed already looked up Richies name on the university website with no results. On her return along the corridor, she paused to knock on a glass-fronted door. Excusez moi, sil vous plat. Je cherche lhomme dans cette photo. Le connaissezvous? The woman shook her head and returned to her typing. It was only two oclock. Too early to go back to Villefranche. It would be wise to look around Nice for Carys would be certain to ask what shed done with her day. For a while she wandered around the Cours Saleya, admiring the flower and fruit and vegetable markets, aware of the soothing effect of this pedestrian area. And when she found herself gazing at the law courts in the Place du Palais-de-Justice, her
mood improved further. At a caf terrace she ordered coffee and a chocolate
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patisserie. As her teeth sank into a fathomless mound of chocolate she experienced a further lifting of spirits. Biochemistry of course. The serotonin the brain produced after eating chocolate, during exercise, and during sex. A high she craved. The chocolate and exercise were easy enough to acquire. The sex, that was more difficult. With James it had been routine, a release. No sense of new heights awaiting. But with Richie - a different language. How often had he commented on her beauty - she whod considered herself acceptable - her radiance, after theyd made love. He would watch her while she slept - even when unconscious, part of her had known that. Shed love waking to his gaze. Stop. She had to stop. This was destructive. She pictured the cleaver, but couldnt move it from its chopping block as memories of Richie assailed her. What hed done was unforgivable. But the babies had been conceived from love. Even if hed never pronounced the words. Hed loved her, she told herself as she strolled along the Promenade des Anges dodging rollerbladers and cyclists. She must be positive, she told herself on the train back to Villefranche. Today hadnt propelled her forward in her search but that didnt mean she wouldnt find Richie. And shed go running this evening, whatever the weather.
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Chapter 5
Sienna perched on a rock by the beach and checked her pulse. Not bad... She took a long drink of water, mopped her brow with her sweatband and shook the sand out of her running shoes. Overhead the sky was a rosy-gold as the sun set, a faint breeze ruffling her hair, cooling her. Nearby, a couple stretched out on a rug over the shingled sand and a child emptied water from a bucket. The peace was splintered by the ring of her mobile phone. It was James. She ignored it, grasped her right foot and slowly pulled her heel up until she could feel the stretch in the front of her thigh. Her phone rang again. Now look here, Sienna, when are you coming back? I mean, I thought youd have got this whole thing out of your system by now. You dont need to stay just to make a point. She exhaled. The sky was changing by the second. Ive got a job. Doing what? Nannying. Im looking after- Nannying! Hardly a career, is it? Besides, you dont speak the lingo so- Im going to classes. But what about us?
It wouldnt have worked, James. Youre too controlling and- Now look here, I wont let you talk to me like that. Its ludicrous to describe me as controlling. I have to go. Bye James. The sun was descending, the corniche high above now dark and eerie, casting ever-growing shadows; the air oppressively scented with frangipani as the breeze evaporated. The deserted beach, an expanse of pale gold shingle in the diminishing light, was beautiful but accentuated her loneliness. She lay down and looked across the sea to the crimson ball of sun, to its reflection on the unruffled water. The shingle dug into her back but still she lay, as the sun continued its inexorable course, the rich ocre of the harbour buildings losing its intensity in the
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autumn of daylight. As she returned to the town centre, Mobys Why does my heart feel so bad? played and replayed in her head. Why did she feel so incomplete without a man? Was it a yearning for love? Or for touch: the feel of a man - and this wasnt about sex - so fundamental a need that women endured bad relationships. Like her. Shed stayed with James for the infrequent occasions when he shelved his self-absorption and responded to a womans distress. But Richie was the only man shed ever desired. And now all she wanted was her daughter. She perched on the harbour wall, feeling its residual warmth through her shorts. Such a poignant time of day, this, the twilight, a hint of breeze, the evensong of starlings and gentle lapping of water. A hint of frangipani fragrance - always more intense in the evenings - blended with a salty tang and garlic and fish. As she gazed out to the cruise liners, she visualised their passengers changing for dinner and dancing. There were smaller boats approaching, holiday makers preferring to come ashore for sole stuffed with mushroom pure Sole farcie Sainte Marie sounded more romantic. Fleetingly she coveted such evenings, their reassuring predictability, when, satiated by lobster-stuffed ravioli in a seafood cream sauce or its exotic French translation les raviolis de homard la crmede crustacs, people would
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peruse harbour shops for Provenal herbs, fridge magnets for grandchildren, before returning to their ship, for a nightcap or bed and a comforting if routine lovemaking or a snuggling up beside a body they knew as intimately as their own. ******************************** Its April. Around them, the constant drip of water from trees and bushes. Near the park bench, someone has emptied a litter bin and Sienna gazes unseeingly at coke cans, soggy newspapers and a green blob of mould. The bins been spray painted in purple with the words Dave shagged Emma. Richies springer spaniel strains at his leash. Beside her, Richie munches a sausage roll. Her sandwich lies neglected in her bag. Her breasts feel heavy and achey, like bad PMT. I cant leave Alice, he says. Its not a brilliant marriage, no, but Ive made a commitment, you see. Which doesnt include monogamy. Its your decision, he adds. As long as no-one knows of my involvement. Your bloody job she stings. Richie shrugs. If you were in my position... Your position? Yes, well, it hasnt been easy. Youre aware I had to work my way through university. You know that. Youd feel the same if it were you, Im sure. It's too late to you know.' Richie puts down his sausage roll. 'Is it? There's no way you could have got your dates muddled, no?' The sausage roll slips from his lap to the damp grass. 'I couldn't get rid of it. And I won't give it up for adoption.' Silence. Richie watches some ducks skimming over the pond. He chucks the sausage roll at the litter bin. It misses. 'Who else is aware of this?' 'Does it matter?'
He removes a sticky label from an apple, takes a bite. His crunching grates on her. His appetite is offensive. Havent you brought anything? he says, his mouth full of apple. She looks away. They should make child care more affordable. 'I could help financially nursery, that sort of thing. As long as Alice...' I know. The shitd hit the fan if she found out
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She thinks of the second residence Richie and his wife own in Cornwall, of the accounts Alice has at Luis Vuitton and Harvey Nicols. Wonders for the umpteenth time if he married the woman or her money. She remembers venturing down the street of his London home, gazing at the terraced villa with its recently painted front door, its scallop-edged blinds in the lower windows; she recalls the scrawny woman scrubbing the steps to the front door, stopping to draw from her cigarette and retie her apron, fag between teeth. Watching as another woman emerged from the house, speaking briefly to the cleaner, pointing to the windows, squeezing gingerly past her and into the waiting taxi. Hows the studying? he asks. She shrugs, wanting instead to talk about the unrelenting nausea, the persistent sour taste in her mouth. His voice has lost its softness. It starts to rain. Richie looks at his watch. After this meeting, she's in a daze, unable to think coherently about anything except her studies, to which she escapes whenever possible, relieved to have something to absorb her thoughts. Keeping her mind occupied with biochemistry and physics is easy. Thinking of the future - thats a challenge. Shes consumed by her isolation. Apart from her parents, only Liz and Martin know. If Dorothy were around shed turn to her for comfort. But Dorothys in Gibraltar. Liz and Martin do what they can, listening to her frequent rehearsals of the issues. Her midday siestas lengthen, as she lies, a pillow under her knees, looking at the ceiling, wondering if she has the strength to see this through.
Now when Sienna and Richie meet, their unarticulated thoughts hang between them like drapes and she wonders why he doesnt sever the relationship. There are no more intimate dinners. Gone, too, are the visits to out of town theatres. Mostly he reads the papers or they watch TV. Often his expression is vacant, as if trying to process something. She, herself, is past the shocked stage.
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The longing for him to hold her is overwhelming but she wont beg. Nor will she ask him why he still sees her, should that jolt him out of his visits. Their relationships
no longer physical. He doesnt want to hurt the baby. His arriving and leaving embraces are hurried, perfunctory, in some ways more painful than no contact, provoking an expectation, a craving for more. Is it duty, she wonders? Or is he struggling as much as she is? She studies her changing shape in the mirror. Her pendulous breasts, her swelling stomach, its tummy button now protruding through layers of concealing cloth. Her face looks puffy, moon-shaped. She wonders if he finds her repugnant now. She remembers how he used to love her breasts, her toned stomach. One day she takes his hand, puts it on her breast. He pulls away. A knee-jerk response. And to her horror, she notices a damp patch on her sweatshirt. The beginning of the milk machine. She looks out of the window, her eyes stinging. One night he doesnt appear and she finds herself loitering outside his home, pondering whether to call him on his mobile, whether to ring the doorbell on some pretext. Eventually, his Peugeot pulls up and Alice emerges, starts walking up the path. He remains seated and Sienna wonders if he senses her presence. As she approaches the vehicle, Alice wheels round, calls to him. He trudges up to the house. By the time he reaches the door, his wife has disappeared. He fumbles for his keys, dropping them twice. Maybe Alice knows. Damp, cold, and weighed down with self-disgust, Sienna goes home. Yes, well its been chaotic at work, he says, when he phones the following week . Im off to a conference on Saturday but Ill be in touch.
Why didnt you turn up on Tuesday? An intake of breath on the end of the phone. You might have phoned, Richie. Sorry, yes, Im sorry. Where are you going? A pause. Florence. I could come too, she says. I need a break. Itd be brilliant. I love Italy. And Im not too far on in the pregnancy to fly. I dont think thats a good idea, no. I wont bug you. Well have the evenings... Therell be conference dinners, meetings. You know how these things are, he says. Ill wait until you get back to the hotel, she says. I dont mind eating alone. Their ping pong conversation continues. She moves up a gear. Youre taking Alice, arent you? Ive said Im not, no, shes not going either. 'Actually you didn't say you weren't.' 'Alice can't come. She's organising an exhibition. 'You mean youd take her if she was free?' 'Well, yes, she is my wife. Its possible, yes, that she might have come too if shed been free but she isnt. 'Please, Richie? She detects a sound, like a rush of wind through pines. 'I'm sorry but I need to go, he says. Gatwick airports mobbed and she cant see Richie. On the verge of leaving,
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she spots him. Hes with a man and theyre poring over a laptop. Theres no sign of Alice. She hovers. His wife might be shopping. She looks for the loo, desperate to pee. When she returns she looks around. Hes still with his colleague. A tannoy
announcement and he stands. Sienna watches, expecting a woman to rush up, hands clutching a Chanel carrier bag. She waits until Richie goes through passport control before leaving the airport. She tells no-one of her actions. She hears nothing from him on his return and she feels sweaty when she remembers her actions. Her craving for him blunts. No man merits such longing.
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He can keep his job and his sugar mummy. She'll have the baby and move on. She studies, she rests, she learns relaxation techniques. Teaches herself to breathe from her diaphragm. Has frequent back massages, relishing the touch, the chance to talk. And then one day, when shes accepted their affair is over, Richie phones.
********************************* It was dark by the time she ascended the moyenne corniche to the Chevaliers. Carys was in the kitchen making a fish pat. You look tired, Sienna said. The bump was getting bigger, not helped by the dungarees. The blue t-shirt Carys wore did nothing for her. Orange would be better or olive green. Maybe in time Sienna could advise. Dyou want me to to finish that off? she suggested. Carys nodded. If you would - it goes into these containers. Once its cooled down. As Sienna was stacking the last carton of pat in the fridge, Bertrand appeared, wiping his brow. She washed her hands, retrieved the photograph from her bag and handed it to him. I wondered if you know this man? Bertrand peered at the photo. Who is he? A cousin of mine whos disappeared. Have you seen him? Is this why you are here in France? She shook her head. Do you know him? No. Is this the biochemistry lecturer you ask about before? She nodded.
Your shoulders are sore, he said, massaging them. He moved closer, changed to a kneading action and the dull ache started to retreat.
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Now she was aware of smoky breath on her neck, of his legs pressed against hers. She edged forward. Something made her turn round. Carys was by the kitchen door, vulnerablelooking in candy striped pyjamas and bare feet, her hair tousled from sleep. Bertrand? I am massaging her shoulders, he said, continuing to work on Sienna, but she could feel that hed moved back. She mustnt pull away. Give the impression of something untoward. Carys yanked open the fridge, and reached for a carton of orange juice, banging the door so hard that it opened again. She shoved it with her foot, before pouring the juice into a glass, spilling some on the worktop. Thats better, thanks Bertrand, Sienna said, picking up her bag, hoping her tone conveyed innocence. Night Carys. As she made her way upstairs she strained for sounds of conversation in the kitchen. Nothing. Then she heard the door to the garden open and quietly close. In her room she stood for a while by the window, looking out at the darkness, at the winking lights of Villefranche. She'd find a way to explain to Carys that what she'd seen was innocuous. Persuade her. But as she switched on the laptop she could still feel Bertrands legs against hers, a stirring beneath his flimsy shorts, like the uncoiling of an waking animal. ******************************* Carys handed Odette a pile of magazines. 'Tell Henri and Papa dinner in five minutes, cariad. And give Papa these. If I had a euro for every computer magazine Bertrand has, I could retire tomorrow. Sienna, a letter came for you - where is it? This kitchen is such a guddle.
Sienna watched as Carys raked through a pile of receipts and junk mail on the dresser. 'Here it is,' Carys said. As Sienna peered at the white envelope with the WMD logo, Odette ran into the room, her face flushed. 'Papas coming Is it a love letter?' 'I wish,' Sienna said. 'Arent you going to open it?' Odette said. 'Why do I never get any letters?
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'Go and wash your hands, please, Odette, Carys said, And give Henri another call. Honestly, I have a meal ready on time but it's like rounding up goats.'
In her room Sienna tore open the envelope. I have good news, Mr Minto wrote. 'The consultant who treated Dorothy in hospital, was able to vouch that she was in sound mind when she added the codicil to her Will. Your mother has therefore decided to withdraw her challenge and your inheritance is safe. I am sorry it has taken so long to let you know but it took a while to contact the consultant and your mother has been slow to reply to my letters. My colleague is in the process of winding up your aunt's Estate and estimates that this will take another month. We hope that things can be finalised by the middle of August, or at the latest by September. In the meantime, should you need any money, we can arrange for a sum to be deposited in your account. I hope that things are going well for you in France and would be pleased to hear how you are getting on in your search for your little girl. If you are home for a visit, perhaps you would arrange an appointment to discuss how you might invest your money. I remain yours..
Sienna clutched the letter, inhaling deeply. Now she didn't have to worry
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about the expense of further travel if she had no luck tracking down Richie in France. But Nora would be furious, and her father would bear the brunt of her anger. 'Sienna?' came the sound of Carys voice. She shoved the letter in the drawer of her bedside table and ran downstairs. 'You look happy,' Odette said. 'Was it a nice letter?' 'Yep, she said as she picked up her wine glass. ********************************** Sienna heaved a sigh of relief as she navigated Carys Renault out of the driveway of the Chevalier home. Her eyes were sore from evenings glued to websites and a weekend away would be therapeutic. Furthermore, Carys descriptions of the Languedoc - vineyards, rocky outcrops and montane scrubs, somnolent villages and undulating hills - had sharpened her appetite to see another region of France. How long will it take to drive to Lacoste? Odette asked. Its over 400 kilometres, Sienna said. Depends on the traffic and how often we stop. About five hours. Mama said we can go to the festival dance with Tante Antoinette and Oncle Fabrice. And theres a donkey race, Odette was saying. Thats the bit I like best. Did you pack my boots - Mama said I should take them cos its muddy at the farm. I wish Mama and Papa were coming with us. Theyll join us the day after tomorrow, for the dance, though I dont suppose Mamall be able to do much. ********************************** Fabrice was tall and dark, with a quiet and thoughtful presence. His wife, Antoinette, was also tall with prematurely grey hair, cut in a bob which accentuated her cheek bones. Her dark grey eyes were intelligent, her expression contented. Sienna warmed to them both immediately.
'This is traditional Provence farmhouse,' Fabrice told her as he showed her round. 'Doors and windows faces only south.' 'Oh yeh - the mistral winds,' Sienna said. Fabrice nodded. 'We work hard here twenty years. There is fruit trees and olive trees and we grow also the grapes. Antoinette is doctor in next village but she help with harvest.
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Please come into the kitchen, Antoinette invited, when Fabrice had finished his tour of the farm. There is coffee. Sienna took a sharp intake of breath at the entrance to the kitchen. The walls were whitewashed with a hint of blue. The long table was painted seal blue in distressed style, with matching chairs. A corner dresser displayed handpainted dishes and a vase in crimsons and green. Unbidden, an image flooded her of her daughter painting flowers on a plate, an apron protecting her dress, a splodge of red at the end of her nose, her tongue waggling about as she focused on her task. Fabrice built the table, Antoinette said. My parents and my sister and her children often eat here so we need much space. At the far side, a range of gurgling pots emitted an aroma of basil, garlic and olive oil. Two skinny kittens nuzzled into each other in the corner. A rocking chair with quilted cushions was installed beside the shuttered, paned windows and a low ceiling added to the ambience. We eat dinner soon, Antoinette said, replacing her apron as she began stirring pots, adding herbs from earthenware containers. After the meal, Sienna managed to put Henri and Odette to bed without their customary stalling techniques. Tucked up under patchwork duvets they drifted off to sleep instantly, faces flushed, expressions peaceful. She kissed them goodnight and retrieved their clothes from the floor. Before she left their room, she paused by the open window, drinking in the warm and lavender-scented air, gazing at an inky-blue sky alight with stars.
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In the kitchen, Fabrice was attacking a baking tray with steel wool, Antoinette in the rocking chair reading an Italian novel. Cape Breton music mingled with the bouquet of wine and coffee. There is another child joining us for the weekend tomorrow, Antoinette said. His name is Philippe - he is the son of a colleague of my sister. Later, Sienna checked on the children, pausing awhile beside Odettes bed. Asleep, the little girl seemed younger than her seven years, her arms spread out on either side of the pillow. Sienna felt raw as she gazed at her. Was this what her daughter looked like when she slept? Would she ever get to tuck her up in bed? Smooth her hair back off her face? Kiss her goodnight? In bed, herself, in a room with sloping limewash walls and wooden beams she was tormented by the need to be close to someone. She pictured a wooden crib next to the bed. Pictured Richie lying beside her, reaching out to her, cupping her face in his hands. Conveying love without words. She imagined the baby crying, Richie picking her up, putting her in bed between them. Smiling at Sienna as they watched trembling hands and wondering looks. A cocoon of love. This was a destructive thinking pattern, she chided herself. What purpose did such thoughts have? Dr Barak would ask. It hadnt been like that and it could never be like that now. She tried to visualise the butchers cleaver but could only see it chained to a wall. She thought of a childs magic board where a picture was drawn and erased. She tried erasing the thoughts of her and Richie caring for their babies. It was working, the thoughts were evaporating. ****************************** At breakfast, Antoinette offered to show Sienna their land. I take children to the market, Fabrice said as Sienna hesitated. The morning passed pleasantly as Antoinette hurtled them around in a jeep which smelt of olives and lavender. The surrounding landscape was of silvery olive trees beneath an azure sky, in the distance, purple mountains, their contours well-defined
in the clear light, further away a hazy view of the snow-crested Pyrenees, closer a yellow carpet of sunflowers, and closer still, an abundance of piercingly blue lavender, generating wafts of fragrance. Small farm buildings lay like loaves of bread in the arid heat. This is awesome, Sienna said. If she lived here shed sit for hours looking at the view, perhaps attempting to paint the scene or compose a poem. She would lie in lavender fields, relishing sunshine on bare shoulders. Antoinette nodded. We grow some red grapes but the olives are our livelihood. I enjoy helping Fabrice when Im not working at the cabinet. What a brilliant life. Antoinette smiled. At first I was friendly with Bertrand. We were students together at Nice University and helped each other with our studies. When I met Fabrice, I realised I was with the wrong brother. Bertrand was successful, but Fabrice was the kind one. 20 years later he still sometimes asks me why I did not choose the clever brother Sienna could imagine Antoinette reassuring Fabrice when he compared himself to
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his older brother. Explaining that she shared his passion for the land, that she loved his gentleness and stability, the tilt of his head when he smiled at her; that the way he observed her when she talked, meant more than grand words, museums and theatres. Antoinette had brought a picnic lunch - home made onion quiche, roquefort, peaches and tarte aux pommes, - the slices of apple on the pastry reminding Sienna of furrowed fields. They ate in the shade of olive trees, looking over to the hilltop
village of Lacoste. From time to time, a red kite would soar up from a nearby tree and buzzards skim past overhead. As Sienna surveyed her surroundings, a feeling of desolation raged within like a forest fire. But you, Antoinette said. You are not happy.
Sienna stared at the French woman. Antoinette smiled at her. There is a sadness in your face. Sienna hesitated. She yearned to offload, but she hardly knew this woman. Anything you say will be private, Antoinette said. My patients often talk to me. After Sienna had relayed her story, Antoinette patted her arm. I am glad to know why you are here. I dont know many doctors in Nice, apart from Bertrand of course- Dont tell him, please. Or Carys. Perhaps Bertrand can help. No.
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Daccord. I have another suggestion. My brother, Laurent, will come to the fte this evening. He is a psychologist at the university in Nice. He may be able to assist you. You can trust him. Antoinette stood up. Now I will explain to you about the olive trees. Fabrice thinks we will have a good harvest. When they returned to the farmhouse, Henri was spread across a plane tree and Odette was helping Fabrice plant seeds. When the little girl saw Sienna, she dropped the trowel and rushed up to her. Weve been to the market. Oncle Fabrice bought me a candle with a smell. And we made a tarte. He let me add the sugar! All by myself! Did you ride in the tractor? As Odette showed Sienna the baking, a car could be heard pulling up outside the house. Here are the Bruhmans, Antoinette said. A tall woman dressed in a white blouse and black trousers, emerged from the car and glided towards them. Salut, Antoinette, she said, moving her face from one side of her hostess face to the other, without making contact. Fabrice, she added, nodding. Rene, Clara, venez ici.
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The back doors of the car opened and a dark haired girl of about eleven cantered up, flapping her arms. Salut! she said, offering her cheek to Antoinette. She was followed a minute later by an older girl and a small fair haired boy in khaki pedal pushers. The children studied each other. Clara smiled, but Rene scowled. Philippe went up to Henri. Do you like Buzz Lightyear? he said, opening his backpack. Ive got all the characters. Papa bought them for me last year. Toy Story is for little boys, Henri said. Im a little boy, Philippe said. Odette took Philippe by the hand. I love Woody. Do you want to see the kittens? Coffee, Vronique? Antoinette said. Non merci. Il faut que je parte maintentant. Rene and Clara must be at camp by five. Clara, attentions! She has already changed her clothes two times today. Rene, please stop eating. She will become fat. What time will you collect Philippe tomorrow? Can he stay with you until next weekend? The girls will be at camp. Antoinette hesitated. Pascal has suggested I visit him in Florence, Vronique added. We have not seen each other for three weeks. I have brought clothes for Philippe. Id rather go to Florence, Rene said, chewing on a baguette. Rene, put that baguette away, please. You know that you will enjoy the camp. It is not often that Pascal and I can be together. Antoinette laid her hand on Vroniques arm. I will be working and Fabrice will be busy on the farm. Pascal would like to see Philippe? He did say something, Vronique said, flicking some mud from her sandals. But we have not been on our own now for years.
I am busy this week with the olive trees, Fabrice said. It is not possible to be with young boy. Desol- He could stay with us, Tante Antoinette, Odette said. Vronique, this is a difficult situation
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Vronique put her hand on Antoinettes arm. Please, Antoinette. This is important to me. Mama and Papa will say yes, Odette said. I will phone you tomorrow before I make a flight arrangement, Vronique said. And now I must go. La circulation. The traffic. Fabrice and Antoinette followed Vronique and her daughters to the car. On seeing his family leave, Philippe rushed over and flung his arms round Clara. As he looked at Vronique, she patted him on the head. Sienna felt a knife nick her stomach as the child waved to the departing car. For a moment he stood apart from the others, a forlorn figure. Then Odette took his hand and led him to the barn. From the kitchen, Sienna could hear Antoinettes raised voice as she talked to Fabrice. Le pauvre petit. Sienna, come and see the kittens, Odette called. An hour later came the sound of another car. Mama and Papa, Odette and Henri shouted, downing their toys and rushing outside. Sienna followed slowly, her heart plummeting as a single figure appeared, bag in hand. Wheres Mama? Henri asked his father, while Odette peered into the back of the car. Elle ne vient pas, Bertrand said. Elle est fatigue. Odette and Henri looked at each other. The baby? Sienna asked quietly, as the children shuffled towards the house Bertrands bag between them, trailing along the ground. Is there something wrong?
She has a bleed, Bertrand said, strolling towards the farmhouse. The doctor say she must stay in bed for some days. It is not serious. Sienna took a deep breath. I dont want to speak out of place, you know, but dont you think someone should be with Carys?
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I will return if she becomes bad. I did not want to upset Odette and Henri if I did not come here. Sienna went up to her room, and sat by the window, hands on her tummy, thinking about Carys and her situation. She remembered the shock when shed discovered some spotting in her seventeen week, the self-imposed days of bedrest, suddenly terrified shed lose the baby. That everybody - well Richie, and Nora, of course, would be relieved, would have got what they wanted. Richie would have her off his back. Nora could regain the daughter with a promising career ahead of her. And there she was, suggesting to Bertrand she return to Villefranche to look after Carys. Was this masochistic or did she really feel detached enough - at the moment - to cope with such a thing? Shortly after his arrival, Bertrand left with Fabrice to play boules. As their jeep pulled out of the drive, the phone rang. The bleeding's stopped, Carys told Sienna. The doctor's recommended several days of bed rest. You mustn't worry, you musnt. Itll be nice just to sleep and read. Ive got the new Marie Claire and Elle. Not that theres anything educational about them. All those skinny models in their size two dresses. Its what you are inside that matters. Still, I might get inspiration, for after the babys born. I was worried, Sienna said. Carys, theres a child here called Philippe. His mothers dumped him. Odette wants him to come back with us for the week. Hes a little cutie, you know? Its not a good time for you to be having someone else around but dyou think it- Ive met Vronique, Carys said. I don't mind but it'll mean extra work for you. Fetch Odette and Henri, Im dying to talk to them.
*********************************
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At dusk, the village square was thronging, the air heavy with expectation. The band - six men in jeans and t-shirts, three women in folk dress - were installing their equipment and being plied with carafes of wine by onlookers. Fairy lights on the plane trees cast a gentle glow on the surroundings: the varying clusters of people drinking and talking animatedly; infants sleeping in buggies; older children cavorting in a corner to a flute played by a boy little older than Henri. It is a local band but it is good for dancing, Antoinette said. People will visit from many regions in the south of France to this fte. Sienna could feel Antoinettes pride as she regaled her with stories about past events, and the role her parents played in organising the event. She and Fabrice did their part each year by bringing food this evening theyd brought large earthenware pots of bull stew and crme catalan and a case of wine. Fabrice appeared with a tray of drinks and handed Sienna a glass. Pastis, Antoinette said. Its made from nectar and vanilla and cinnamon. Sienna took a sip and choked. Jeez Antoinette laughed. Drink some water. As darkness descended there was a screech of bagpipes, speedily joined by an oboe-like noise. Sienna watched Fabrice lead his wife onto the dance floor and swirl her around. Their years melted away as they demonstrated their suppleness and agility, Antoinette's striped skirt twisting and teasing like a kite on a windy day. Sienna could visualise her as a young woman being courted by Fabrice with evening walks and wordless looks. She pictured them meeting for the first time at one of these ftes, Fabrice asking his brother's friend to dance, surprising her with such ease of movement. She observed the other women around, mostly in dresses, and looked down at her linen trousers, wishing shed brought a dress, felt more feminine. She reached up and pulled off a leaf from the plane tree, ran a finger over its waxy surface, scrunched it up in her hand. Shed enjoy this evening, dress or no dress.
As she watched Henri and Odette dancing with other children, she remembered Philippe. Where was he? Then she spotted him tapping a block of wood with a stick, immersed in the rhythm. As Fabrice and Antoinette returned to their table, Fabrice asked Sienna to dance. I enjoyed my tour of your farm, Sienna said as he took her arm. Fabrice nodded, The life it is good. I am not like Bertrand. He hate this life. He clever, he go to university. I leave school when I am young. I want to work with my father. He too was farmer. Sienna glanced at Antoinette who was talking to a man. Is that Laurent? Fabrice nodded. He go here every year for dance. He is nice man. When they returned to the table, the man stood up to embrace Fabrice. He had short hair and heavy rimmed spectacles and smelled of mandarin and musk. Sienna, this is Laurent, Antoinette said. Laurent smiled. 'Will you dance?' As they walked to the dance area, she noticed his limp. To her surprise, it didnt impede him and she was the one who begged to stop three dances later. 'I will bring you paella,' he said as they made their way back to the table. Shortly after, he deposited a steaming plate of rice, fish, chicken and chillies in front of her. Fabrice took his wifes arm and led her to the dance floor once more. Why are you limping? Sienna asked Laurent. I injured my foot when I was trekking in Nepal. Is it sore? I mean, walking. Is that painful? Sometimes. 'This is yummy. 'You look beautiful when you smile, he said. I cooked this. I was chef before I became psychologist. Do you like Villefranche? Its pretty.
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That is not what I asked. Ive lived in London all my life. Villefranche is too small for you, perhaps. Sometimes I feel, you know, shut in. I go for walks, but sometimes I want to get further away. I have a motorbike which you can borrow.
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Antoinette told me your story. I do not know this man but perhaps I can help you search for him,' Laurent said when the band finished. He scribbled down a number on the back of a business card. Please, if you want to meet me ****************************** Sienna stared at the University Archet hospital in Nice. Would today propel her forward? Her head ached from checking lists of radiologists in universities and cabinets throughout the south of France. It was half past twelve and she was starving. She located the dining room, joined a long queue and when shed finally been served took her tray to the only free table. Moments later two women appeared in white coats with stethoscopes dangling from pockets. Libre? one of them asked, pointing at the empty chairs. Sienna nodded and they sat down. As she ate, she scribbled down notes. Excuse me. You are English? one of the women asked. She nodded. Are you a student? No, she said, producing the photo. Im trying to find someone. The women shook their heads when they saw the picture of Richie. We have been at the hospital only since two months, the other one said. If you wish, we ask our friends. Hope without expectation.
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In the coffee lounge, a group of people huddled round the photo, shaking their heads. As Sienna rose to leave, another woman joined them. She frowned at the photo. I think I see this man before. Siennas heart started thumping. In the hospital? The woman nodded. It was long time. When I begin my studies. Please, wait. She went to another part of the coffee lounge and showed the photo to a man. Instantly he leapt up and approached Sienna. Salut, he said. I see this man before. He give une confrence- Lecture, the woman said. Yes, a lecture. But he did not work here in Nice. He go to train station after he finish. I think he live in Paris.
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Chapter 6
You mix the flour and butter until it turns into crumbs, Sienna said. Watch me. Like this. Now you try. Philippes fingers starting blending the ingredients, his teeth clenched in concentration, his forehead furrowed. Flour flew around the kitchen and clung to his hair and face. Now well add milk, she said. Ill do it, Ill do it, he said, taking the jug. Careful, sweetheart, or youll spill it. The child clutched the jug handle and shakily added the milk. Shall we add raisins? Sienna suggested, reaching up to a high shelf. Ill do it, Ill do it? Philippe said. Sienna unscrewed the lid and handed the jar to him. He dug both hands in and lifted out a mound of raisins, dropping some. Oh, he said, looking at her. Its OK, she said. Can we eat the scones now? he said. We have to cook them first.
My Papa is away. Do you know Papa?
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Sienna wanted to hug him. Banish his vulnerable expression. She wanted to make a chocolate cake with her daughter, in a kitchen with an old-fashioned range and shuttered windows, while thick snowflakes drifted down and candles twinkled from worktop surfaces. Hes away for thirty days. I have a calendar in my bedroom and I put a cross on every day after its finished. But I cant do that because Im here. Youll have loads of days to cross off when you get home again. Will these days have gone? Of course. His face lit up. Where are Odette and Henri? Didnt they want to make scones? Bertrands taken them fishing, she said, putting the baking tray into the oven and adjusting the timer. Did you want to go fishing? I wanted to make scones with you. Thats far more fun. I think its horrible to catch fish. When Ive growed into a big man Im not going to eat fish. Im not going to eat meat. Before Sienna could reply, there was a commotion outside. She found Odette and Henri at the back door, peering at an overturned bucket, a fish some distance away. Youre just a stupid girl, Henri shouted. It was an accident, Odette sobbed. Calm down, Henri, Sienna said, scooping up the fish. Go and wash your hands, both of you. The sconesll be ready soon. Henri scowled at her. In the kitchen, Philippe was watching the countdown on the timer. Can we make scones again? he whispered.
When? she wondered. The week was evaporating. In three days time Philippe
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would have gone and that might be the last she saw of him. He was staring at her earnestly, then his expression switched to one of resignation and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Youre a little cutie, she said, bending to hug his slight body, sniffing his lemon - scented hair. If only she could have him for longer. Long enough to read every Winnie the Pooh story. Build Lego models. Cook pizza and spaghetti. Watch him in a bubble bath before tucking him up in bed, all the stuff she did with Odette and Henri. But she needed to be a mother. Not just look after other peoples kids. There was an empty place in her heart. She could picture it, in its various guises, changing as it did, from day to day, like the weather or moods or seasons. Sometimes it was a large green leafy space surrounded by a stone wall. Other times a velvety container of warmth and cosiness. There was a snowy version and one of mountains and grassy meadows. And in all of them, her little girl, in old-fashioned frocks or striped dungarees or fleecy pyjamas. Her little girl, needing her, loving her. She must find her. She must She glanced at her watch. When Carys returned, shed go to the station and book her ticket to Paris for the following weekend. She could be there by lunchtime and thered be Monday. Not enough time to visit all the medical or science faculties but it was a start. Carys had been laid-back to her request for time off. Better now than when she was even more pregnant, shed said, nodding as Sienna explained her keenness to see Martin during his brief visit. Sienna grimaced as she recalled the lies which had slid off her tongue. ******************************* 'Eat your tea, Philippe,' Sienna said. The child took a mouthful of pasta, chewing listlessly on it. 'I'm not hungry,' he said. Carys heaved herself from the table. 'He looks tired. Ill put him to bed.
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Can we get the paddling pool out now? Odette asked. Mama said we can stay up until Papa gets home. Sienna nodded abstractedly. Just over a week until Paris. If only it had been this weekend. But Bertrand was working and she couldnt be spared. 'Bertrand wants me to go to Lyon with him tomorrow Carys said when she returned. Ill take it easy while hes at his conference and then on the way back hes going to take me to a garden Ive always wanted to see. Could you manage the three of them? Sienna nodded. The busier she was the quicker time would pass. I want to have some time on my own with Bertrand, before this little thing emerges. Oh, lawdy, its seven-thirty. Youll be late for your French class. Its OK. Bertiell
be home soon and hell put the children to bed. Try and get Henri to practise his clarinet while were away. I promised his teacher he wouldnt let it slip over the summer. ********************************* Carys and Bertrand left early the next day. There was a downpour so the children snuggled up on the sofa watching DVDs and played with Henris fire engine Playmobile. By the evening, however, Philippe had begun to cough and his voice was hoarse. Sienna bathed him and gave him Calpol and he was asleep before shed finished reading Toy Story. By nine oclock Odette and Henri were unconscious. When she checked on them later, Philippe was coughing and his forehead was hot. She found a duvet cover and swapped it for the duvet. Then she fetched the humidifier, filled it with water and plugged in the machine. In the middle of the night, she woke to a tugging on her arm. Wake up, wake up, Sienna, Henri said. Philippes making funny noises. She went through to Henris bedroom and knelt down beside Philippes bed. His face was red and each breath was accompanied by a rasping noise.
Philippe? she said, as he opened his eyes. The little boy sat up, and gave a barking cough. Whats wrong with him, Sienna? Henri said. 'It might be croup. Wed better get him into the bathroom. Whats croup? Its an infection - the tubes that go into the lungs to help you breathe become smaller so less air gets through. Henri, go and turn on the hot tap in the bathroom and shut the door. Philippe started crying and as she listened to the hoarse sound, Sienna could feel pain in her own throat. Is he going to have a bath now? No, but if we get the room hot, thatll help. Quickly Henri, please. Philips breathing was becoming more laboured. As she helped the child out of bed, Odette appeared. Is he going to die? No! But he needs medicine. You should go back to bed. I want to help. 'There's nothing you can do, sweetheart.' 'Are you going to phone Mama?' She's too far away. I'll phone Dr Brim.' 'He makes everyone well.' Yep - you must get back to bed. Please, Odette.
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Its all right, Philippe, Sienna said, noticing his bewildered expression. Dont talk. Were going to make you better. She carried him through to the bathroom where she sat him on a chair by the bath. He was becoming agitated, clinging to her. Henri, she called.
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Henri reappeared with a paper bag. He can blow into this. Mama told me it stops you from hyperventilating. That wont help. Henri, I need to call the doctor. Dyou think you could find the phone number in Mama's book, and get my mobile. Quickly, Henri. Is he going to die, Sienna? No. But we need a doctor. Sienna held Philippe as the bathroom steamed up, her anxiety increasing as his rib cage heaved up and down to give him enough oxygen. Her own chest felt tight, her breathing shallow. Where was the doctor? When Dr Brim finally appeared, he listened to the child's chest and timed his breaths. 'He was tired yesterday and not very hungry,' Sienna said, 'This evening he began coughing but his breathing wasn't laboured until a few hours ago. Then he developed a barking cough and I think there's some stridor - I can hear a high pitched noise when he breathes.' 'Are you a nurse?' he asked. 'I studied medicine.' 'That explains your knowledge of stridor. I think the boy has croup, he said. Sienna turned to Henri. 'Go and sleep in my bed.' 'But Sienna- ' 'Please, Henri,' she said. 'It's easier for Dr Brim if there are fewer people around. Come on. Is he in danger? Will he have to go to hospital?' she asked Dr Brim when she returned to the bathroom. He laid down his stethoscope and turned to her. He is quite ill you can see how hard his ribcage must work. I will give him an epinephrine nebuliser to dilate the bronchioles and dexamethasone to decrease the oedema. If these do not help him it is possible he must go to the hospital.
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Philippe was struggling in her arms. She was aware of damp patches on her back, of perspiration on her forehead. Anxiety more than the hot night. 'He's becoming distressed, she said. 'You must contact his mother. Shes in Florence. Both his parents are away. Dr Brim looked surprised. He is young to be on his own. We take him to his bed. He will be OK, wont he? she asked, overcome by foreboding. If he doesnt respond to the medicine, it is necessary to intubate him. But we must first try the nebuliser. Please remain calm. It is better for the child that he does not sense your anxiety. She nodded. She could do better with Philippe than shed done with her babies. She should never have abandoned them. She didnt deserve to be a mother. Parents had to stick by their children. Whatever the circumstances. However difficult it was. She couldnt afford to think like this. She closed her eyes, saw a metal shutter crashing down over a window, heard its clanging. The thought had gone. When the nebuliser was ready Sienna placed the mask over Philippe's mouth and nose. As she fed the strap over his head, his hand reached up to his face 'It's OK, Philippe,' she said. 'This will help you breathe.' Soon a fine mist could be seen and to her relief the little boy didnt attempt to remove the mask. She saw again the gowned figures working at the incubator, gloved hands adjusting controls on tubes, so absorbed in their task of saving two new lives that they didn't notice her leave. She had abandoned her babies. Given up on them. Too distraught to reason that her presence might give them the will to fight Cut, cut, fucking cut. Either the thought survived or she did. Sienna held Philippes febrile hand, tormented by his rasping breath, his indrawn ribcage. His fair curls were lank, the sprinkling of nose freckles more
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prominent on his damp skin. He had such a beautiful face. What mother could leave a child with strangers? After a while Dr Brim adjusted the nebuliser. 'Look,' he said, pointing at the child's chest. 'He is breathing better. The nebuliser works. I now give him Dexamethasone. He will be like this for several days, but his breathing will become easier and quieter. You have done well. Perhaps you should return to medical school.' When Dr Brim left, Sienna moved an armchair through to Henri's bedroom and observed Philippe until the nebuliser had finished. She removed the mask, shifted his pillow and sank back, falling asleep immediately. Intermittently she woke to his muttering. She would kiss his hand, reassure him, before sponging him down, singing him back into an uneasy sleep. Did Alice do that for her daughter when she had a fever?, she wondered, hating her for having the opportunity she didnt. Or perhaps it was Richie who did the sitting up. Or both of them. He advising as the doctor, Alice producing tepid cloths, sponging a febrile forehead, changing her nightie. Could Alice sing or did she play tapes of comforting, sleep-inducing music? By dawn, Philippes temperature had dropped, his breathing was less raspy, and he managed to sip some water before falling into a more restorative sleep. Only then could Sienna relax enough to be dragged into a deeper sleep herself. ******************************** Sienna woke to a touch on her hand. Is Philippe still alive? Odette asked. Sienna looked at the little boy. His colour was better and his breathing quieter. Ssh, she said. Hes much better now. Im hungry, Odette said. Ill get you some cereal. Is Henri awake? After shed made breakfast, Sienna returned to see Philippe. As she watched him, he opened his eyes.
Im in a different bed. Youve been ill. Philippes eyes widened. Am I going to die and be with the angels?'
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Siennas eyes filled with tears. No, sweetheart, youre not. Youre much better than you were last night. In a few days time youll be completely back to normal. Im thirsty. She held the cup of water to his lips. Are you hungry? Philippe shook his head. I dreamed that you were here with me.
That wasnt a dream, Philippe, I was here - to look after you. He smiled and shut his eyes. She lay back, closed her eyes, aware of noises from the garden, that she should be making sure Odette and Henri had applied suncream, that they were wearing sunhats. Shed check on them in a moment. Meanwhile it was so lovely just to rest, reassured that Philippe was on the mend. Late that afternoon as Sienna was reading to Philippe, the bedroom door opened and Carys rushed in. I should never have gone away, she said. How is he? Hes improving. Dr Brims not worried. You look shattered. Go off to bed and Ill sit with him. Its all right. Bertrand will do something with the children. I feel so guilty for having such a good time while this was going on *********************************** When Sienna surfaced the next day, it was raining heavily and several minutes out of a lukewarm shower, she was sweating in the humidity. She looked through her wardrobe for the coolest thing, selecting a thin cotton skirt and loose cheesecloth shirt. She found Carys by Philippes bed, cutting out advertisements from Marie Claire. Carys had a fan on but was still mopping her brow and her ankles looked swollen. The bump was even bigger. It taunted her.
I dont expect any of these will make a difference, she said, But you never know. Sometimes I envy Indian women because their husbands like them tubby Philippe seems better this morning. Sienna went over to look at him . His breathing was more or less normal. If you want to stay with him, thats OK, Carys said. Bertrands gone to the supermarch with the children.
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While Philippe slept, Sienna studied the magazine cuttings: A model in a tight black leather jacket and the customary Im up for it look; Another woman with a gauphin haircut in a short satin skirt and stilettos. She put the cuttings down. Carys would look crap in these clothes. When Philippe woke, Sienna read to him. Later on she bathed him, changed his pyjamas and took him downstairs to eat with Henri and Odette. To her pleasure he managed chicken nuggets and icecream. He looked thinner than ever but beamed at everyone, his monkey on his lap. ********************************** When Liz phoned the following week, Sienna launched into a description of Philippe's illness. 'I haven't heard you talk about Odette or Henri in the same way,' Liz said. 'There's something about Philippe, you know, that tugs at me. Maybe its his age ' 'You are OK, aren't you? I mean, you're not' 'Im knackered, and . I feel so guilty Guilty? All that looking after someone elses child. All that worrying but I stayed with him. I was shit scared it would go wrong, you know? He had to work so hard just to breathe. I was terrifed that his little heart might just stop beating. I would have sat with him for days til he got better, yet I gave up on my own babies. How could I have done that?
But youre looking for your child now. Youre doing everything you can to find her
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and when you do, you can be a mother to her. Youll have another chance, Sienna. Dont beat yourself up about the past. Im going to Paris tomorrow. She told Liz about the student whod recognised Richies photo. I feel Im getting closer. Though I probably wont get to everywhere on my list. But I can go back how are you? I was at a workshop last night on women who love too much. I went with a mate from work. Shes involved with a real loser at the moment. I made loads of notes and Im going to email you them. You must read them. Jeez, Liz, the only thing I can think about is finding my daughter. Yeah, I know but you should read the book. You need to admit you have a problem with men. Sienna took a swig from her water bottle. Hallo. Im Sienna. Im a woman who loves too much. Im here for the twelve step programme and- There is a twelve step programme. You should- 'I'll have to go. There's a weird noise from the hall. If it's Henri, he'd better have a good excuse.' Sienna found Bertrand rummaging in the hall cupboard, a grip bag and two suitcases by his feet. Carys says the baby is arriving. Shes only thirty two weeks 'She has pains. She felt her stomach contract, a damp patch between her thighs. She had to stay with reality. This was about Carys. Carys labour. Not hers. Carys contactions. Not hers. Carys needed her. Carys was half lying, half sitting on the bed, clutching her stomach. Are you having contractions? Sienna said. Yes. And my waters have broken.
Bertrand is calling an ambulance, Sienna said. Make some coffee, Sienna. Use the brown flask. And sandwiches. Bertrand appeared with a grip bag. The ambulance is arriving. As the ambulance left with Carys and Bertrand, all Sienna could think about
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was Paris. There was no way she could go now. Even if Bertrand returned during the night. ********************************** They meet in a pub one June afternoon, when sleety rain pounds off the window and Sienna shivers despite the radiator next to her. Yes, well how are you? Richie says. He sips his whisky, glances at his watch. She waits. His eyes dart around the room. She braces herself for his suggestion that she has a termination. How are you? he asks again. How is the baby? Are you aware yet if its a boy or girl? I havent had a scan, she says. It kicks a lot. Its kicking now. Richie smiles. Can I feel? She takes his hand, moves it around her stomach to find the movement. Her wish for him to experience the babys kicking mingles with her desire for him. She feels a stirring in her groin, a tingling in her breast. This is normal. Pregnancy heightens sexual appetite, after all. Or so they say. Could he still be attracted to her? In that way? They were so good together. If he hadnt been married, who knows what might have happened. His expression is new. Radiant. Fulfilled. He wants, needs to, be a father. Hope ensconces her like a blanket and she smiles, anticipating his conversation. He loves children; why had she forgotten that? He traipses to the bar for another whisky, an orange juice for her. She sits there, relishing an inner glow. All she has to do is wait. Be patient. By the time they part that afternoon, things will be sorted at least theyll have a plan. Shes glad now that she didnt accompany
him to Florence, that she didnt make her presence known at the airport. They needed this time apart. He needed to miss her. Them. Her familiar daylong nausea recedes, she feels hungry. 'Do you want something to eat?' he returns to ask. Why has she always been so negative? she wonders. Hell support her and she'll resume her studies when the babys older. It'll be hard work, but with his salary, nursery care will be a doddle. Her mother might babysit - anything to help Sienna qualify as a doctor. By that time, of course, theyll be married; ultra
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respectable. Divorces are common and their age gap isnt that unusual. Besides, on a good day, Richie can pass for thirty. She attacks the wheaten roll, savouring the taste of chicken. His eyes look strained and she understands. He's suffered too. Life at home must be fraught. She wonders if he's already left Alice. She waits; being patient now is easy. He tosses back his whisky and she watches his Adams apple as he swallows. Smiles as he swallows again. Hes so nervous that she considers taking the initiative. But that would be like opening a present before her birthday. Hes clutching his empty glass. Eventually he puts it down, picks up her hand, touches the amber ring she always wears. Such a beautiful stone, he says. He releases her hand. Her heart beat reverberates round her body. Will he produce another ring, slip the amber one from her finger, replace it with an emerald or perhaps a sapphire? She resists the urge to lean over and hug him. Therell be time enough later. Time enough for everything. Life was all about timing. He delves into his pocket and she wonders if he can hear her heart thudding. Her eyes fill with tears. This is so romantic. Not classically, what with the rain rapping against the window, the moaning wind and the dim pub lighting already on at three oclock, but good enough. He produces a hanky, blows his nose.
Sorry, he says, I cant shake off this sniffle.
He's run down, with the stress, the decision-making, and she plans to give him peppermint tea or perhaps elderflower. She can't wait to get him back to her flat. Hes sweating and she remembers how she loved that smell, though she hates to
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think of him unwell. Shell add catnip to the elderflower. Thats good for fever. And St Johns Wort for angst. Maybe hell stay over. Now that Alice knows everything, he doesnt have to rush back. Conceal anything. He picks up her hand again. His is clammy. Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you, he begins. She nods, smiles. He averts his eyes, drops her hand. Alice has found out, he says, his voice slow, deliberate, so that shell understand. She nods, a wave of compassion embracing her. Alice will lose so much. As you are aware, he continues, she and I cant have children. Thats always been a sadness Silence as he chooses his next words carefully. He will want to do this sensitively, she realises, not rush straight from Alices pain to their future happiness. She reaches out, touches his arm. 'I know,' she says. He withdraws his arm. She berates herself for not giving him space. You, well, you are obviously not in a position to bring up a child on your own, he says. And so we have a suggestion, you see.' 'We?' she asks. 'Yes. Alice and I, we would like to bring up the baby as ours, yes we would. Her head reels. This isnt part of the script. Who authorised these lines? Is he wimping out? She waits, giving him a chance to reconsider, to say what he intended to say. What he really wanted to say. He waits too. He searches her face, a gravity in his expression. You want to adopt my baby? she squawks. Our baby.
She knocks over her glass.
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'I can't.. I don't know how you could even think of such a thing? I cant believe you mean this. Its pragmatic, he says. It's callous giving up my baby. Well, I know it may sound strange but- How did she find out? We were so careful. Richie stares at her growing bump. Not careful enough. I dont know, I dont know. I wasnt aware she knew anything about it. I must have slipped up somewhere, I suppose. And it just happened like that your wife finds out, finds out Im knocked up, though God knows how and you agree that youll bring up the baby, just like that. As if I never existed, she says, hearing the hysteria in her voice. He cant do this. He cant. Hes no right to suggest something so awful. Well, no. It wasnt that straightforward. You dont need to be aware of the details. Im making a suggestion as to how to get out of this mess, he says. She laughs shrilly. A mess! This isnt some student problem you have to sort, you know. This is about you and me, about a baby. You sniffed around me.. You whinged about your marriage. You made the moves. I thought you were going to suggest we give our relationship a go - that you'd decided to have a family with me. Im sorry, yes I am truly sorry but that was never an option, you know that; you have always been aware that I wouldnt leave her, he says. She lifts her jacket and stumbles off, her legs struggling, as if in a muddy swamp. Her heads like a spinning top but she has to get away. One step and then another, that's all thats required until she's out of the pub. Wait, he calls after her. Come back, please. Youre entitled to hear more. Please. Reluctantly she agrees, returns to her seat. Her back aches and her fingers look puffy, flesh bulging on either side of Dorothys ring. She didnt notice that when
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he picked up her hand - could it only have been ten minutes ago? Or did she just not notice? But he hadnt said anything. He was a doctor but he didnt comment on her pregnancy-induced swollen fingers. Shed been so intent on his words, on waiting for him to pronounce that everything was OK with them now. And hed been concentrating on his - his and Alices - loathsome idea, on how to sell it to her, how to get himself out of what he considered to be a mess. Her life, their baby, his mess 'Finish your roll,' Richie says. 'You need food.' You havent a frigging clue what I need, she says. Youve lost the plot here, Richie. Her hands are trembling but she takes a bite.. She cant taste anything and she wonders if she has the energy to continue chewing. The rains heavier, cars are pulling off the road. The room looks gloomy now. How could she have thought it romantic? When Alice found out Richie is saying, She insisted I leave. And so I did. Where did you go? Does it matter? - I stayed at the golf club. You didnt think of contacting me? Let me tell you what happened, he says. She exhales. Nothing he can say will help. She picks up her mobile phone, starts dialling a taxi company. He reaches out, removes the phone. Two days later, Alice contacted me,' he continues. ' Well, I hadnt told her about the baby but shed found the number of a private clinic in my trouser pocket. And she worked it out and did some thinking. Her terms were that if we agreed to bring up the child as our own and I promised never to see you again, we could stay together. And you wanted that Well, theres more to it than that, you see.
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Richies hands are clenched. She studies these hands which have generated such pleasure in her. They seem bonier, smaller. Strange that she hadnt noticed how hairless they were. The lack of hair makes them appear cruel. Yes, well, she threatened to report me to the faculty. And I might not lose my job but it would jeopardise any promotion. So you see, I had no choice. I can promise the baby will be brought up well. And it will have everything. Except its mother, she says. I cant believe you could be so mercenary. Its not like buying a sofa. Well, no, of course not. I didnt mean to make it sound like that, he says. Its such a crappy thing to suggest, staring at her doughy hands. Hes not going to notice them now. Hes detached from her. He wants her baby. Not her. This is it. Its final. He flinches. Yes, yes, I can understand that this is a shock. And you dont need to let me know just now, of course. Oh, well that's all right then isn't it? I can take a few days to decide, can I? How reasonable. Especially when its such a small decision. Dont be so bitter. Bitter? He looks round the pub. Well, yes. And keep your voice down, please. Oh, Im sorry, Richie. Someone might overhear. Know what you're like. Alice is welcome to you but not my baby. If she can do something like this then she doesnt deserve a child. And shes not having mine. Richie leans forward. 'She's desperate for children, you see. It worries me sometimes the lengths she'd go.' 'You mean there's something worse she can do than this?' Just before you and I got together, we were considering adoption but our marriage was shaky and I think she was aware it would be hard to convince adoption agencies that our relationship was strong enough to give a child stability.
Ive heard enough. Im off, Sienna says, rising, fighting a wave of nausea. Ill drive you. Ill get a taxi. Dont be silly. A taxill cost a fortune from here. Let me drive you please And then? Well, you'll have to let us know what you decide, I suppose. The 'us' stings like a whiplash. Yet she asks: And you and me? He shakes his head. 'And that's it?' His nod is barely perceptible.
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You came on to me, remember? she shouts. But you can bugger off now, you and your stinking rich wife. Both of you ************************** Sienna searches the waiting area for other women without partners. Theres one, by the door. She studies her. No wedding ring. Then a man appears, sits down beside the woman and puts his hand on her stomach. The woman smiles at him. He kisses her neck. The way Richie did with her. At the start. She looks at her puffy hands. Remembers how Richie didnt notice. Didnt care. Thinks that if shed agreed to him and Alice bringing up her baby, hed have noticed. Would have immediately grilled her about her pregnancy. Wanted to reassure himself she was well. That the birth would go well. Shed become a baby machine to him. Not a former lover. Just a means to an end. Satisfying Alices need to be a mother. Keeping their ropey marriage intact. His career prospects intact. She turns away, unable to tolerate another couples serenity. The walls of the maternity unit are bedecked with posters of breastfeeding women, under slogans Breast is best. Give your baby the best start in life. Posters of oranges and bananas, tomatoes and broccoli. Advocating five portions of fruit and vegetables a
day for health. She touches her rapidly growing abdomen. She twists the silver band shed put on her wedding finger, tries not to think of Richie. She flinches as the radiographer applies cold gel to her stomach. This wont take long, the woman says as she moves the probe around. Theres one heartbeat and theres the other one. 'Shit! Sorry.' You're having twins. A boy and a girl. Look theres one head and thats a foot
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and. Most people are surprised when they find out. Everything looks fine, though. Mothercare have a sale of double strollers at the moment. Tears slide down Siennas face as she buttons up her shirt. The radiographer pats her arm. We ask for a donation for the photo. ******************************** Sienna studies the Photo of the scan. It looks like two little otters - her little otters. On the table Richies letter lies unopened. She moves her hand round her stomach, amazed shes now looking for four little legs. Four lots of kicking. Do twins communicate with each other in the womb? She imagines one saying to the other. You kick, then Ill kick. A laugh becomes a sob. If only she could share this with Richie. If only She picks up his letter, replaces it. It wont say what she yearns to hear. How could she have thought theyd get back together? The monied Alice can do more for him than she can. Maybe more than shed realised. Sienna digs into the alcoves of her mind. Richie had been reticent about Alice. But one evening hed let slip something about her father being an eminent surgeon. Retired now. Perhaps Alice had pulled strings professionally. Perhaps her use to him was based on more than money. Had daddy already been instrumental in Richies career? How can Sienna compete with this? She sees a large wooden trunk, a lid being nailed down. The end of their relationship. Finally she accepts it. Her shoulders ache, as if bearing the weight of grief. Some time before midnight Sienna reads Richies letter.
Please reconsider, he writes. I promise that Alice and I will give the child a
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good home. The best that money can buy. Private education. Skiing holidays, riding lessons. He/she will want for nothing She imagines Alice coaching her husband as he scribes. She shreds the letter, shoves the bits in the envelope. She trudges out of the back door, thrusts the envelope into the bin, covers it with a bag of rubbish, returns to the flat and locks the door. Five minutes later she unlocks it, removes the dustbin lid and retrieves the letter. Its soggy and reeks of onion. She opens a kitchen drawer and pushes the envelope to the back of it, scrabbles around for a plastic folder, scissors and sellotape. She trims the folder to the right size, inserts the Photo, covers the open end with selotape, cutting off the surplus tape. She puts the Photo into her wallet. Later she slips out of bed, retrieves the Photo and gazes again at the otters. With a lump in her throat, she kisses the Photo. I love you both already, she whispers. My baby otters. The Photo slides out of her hand as she is engulfed by sleep. She dreams shes in the desert with Richie. Hes carrying one baby on his back, she another on her front. Its hot and theyve run out of water. This way, Richie says with a sweep of his arm. Theres a well near here. We should make it before dark. They tramp off into the falling sun. She isn't afraid. She feels safe with him. The baby in her arms starts crying and Richie turns round. Ill feed her, she says, unbuttoning her blouse. Ten minutes. Ill catch you up. We must keep going. I cant leave you - a sandstorm could blow up. Theres a shelter near the well. She starts walking again. As she reaches the water hole, two turbaned figures jump out and grab the baby from the papoose. Richie turns to her and shrugs. She wakes, her body saturated in sweat. She must distance herself from Richie. Dorothy she needs to be with Dorothy. But Dorothys in Gibraltar. She
flings some clothes in a bag, finds her passport and pauses by the front door. A
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ribbon of light appears in the darkness, already a bird is in song. She drops her bag, retrieves the Photo from the bedroom floor, places it in the inside pocket of her jacket, does up the zip. As she locks the front door, she feels for the outline of the Photo. A bus to Waterloo, train to Paris, to Madrid Its a blur. Drifting in and
out of sleep,disturbing dreams, emmenthal baguettes, treacly coffee, bustling platforms. Peeing in filthy loos. Vomiting in cracked, green-tinged wash hand basins. Three days later she arrives in Gibraltar. **********************************
After the ambulance left, Sienna checked on the children. They were asleep, oblivious to the commotion. Back in bed, her circling thoughts prevailed, preventing sleep. At six oclock she went down to the garden. The air was fresh and fragrant with rose, the grass still damp from Bertrands twilight sprinkling. She thought of her grip bag, packed for Paris. Of her lists, the route shed planned for universities and hospitals. Making the best use of her days there. Carys timing was cruel. When would she get away now? As she prepared breakfast, the phone rang. Carys has borne a baby girl, Bertrand told her. The doctors make a Caesarean section. Thats brilliant, Sienna said. The babys OK, then? She is small but she is well. We are calling her Frances. Ill bring the kids in. She hung up, inhaled deeply. Odette, Henri. Immediately the children appeared from the garden. Was that Mama, Sienna? Has the baby been born? Henri asked. Yes - youve got a sister - Frances.
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Odette started jumping up and down. Now I have another girl to play with. As she ran off to her bedroom, Henri kicked at the door with his trainer. Henri, whats wrong? Is Mama coming home soon? The baby was born early so theyll keep her in hospital for a while to make sure she is well. I think Mama will stay with her. Shes tired and itll be easier to rest in hospital. He nodded, looked down at the ground. Perhaps it will be a boy next time. Mamas dying to see you. Go and have your breakfast, then well leave. No faffing around, Henri.
********************************** Sienna was aware of a constriction in her chest as she walked through the outpatient department, the children scampering on ahead, past obscenely pregnant women, bustling nursing and medical staff, past the florists shop emitting scents from roses and gardenias, past the gift shop displaying baby grows, soft toys, balloons with Felicitations, cest un petit garon, cest une petite fille. Trolleys bearing early lunches wheeled into lifts; porters carrying trays of blood samples; here a painter touched up a bit of wall, there an electrician fixed a faulty socket. Tannoy messages competed with hammering noises. A normal hospital day. But not for her. She glanced at her watch. She would have been half way to Paris by now. A room full of dark-skinned people. Push, come on, you can do this Siennas heart was racing, her breathing rapid and she could feel beads of sweat gathering on her brow. She looked round for somewhere to sit as her head began to sway. In the distance she could see Bertrand. Another minute and hed be with them. She had to calm herself. When Odette and Henri spotted their father, they ran to him. He picked Odette up and swung her, ruffled Henris hair. With a cursory glance at Sienna, he led the children off.
In the ladies Sienna sank down on to the loo seat. She should have
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anticipated that being back in a maternity unit might churn her up. How would she manage to make conversation, coo over the baby especially when it was a girl - do all the expected things? she wondered, as she forced herself to breathe deeply. As soon as she felt her heart rate decelerate, she splashed water over her face, gazing in the mirror at her flushed appearance. She could attribute her redness to the heat. No-one would guess. She looked in the mirror again, practised smiling, prepared what shed say when she reached the ward. Carys was in a two-bedded room opening Odettes present, the children gazing uncertainly at their mother as if sensing that things had changed. Bertrand was gazing out of the window. I'm glad you've come, Carys said. She looked tired and pale, but overjoyed. Sienna turned away. Thats how newly-delivered mothers were when everything had gone well. That contentment, that inner glow, that heartfelt happiness that would compensate for the inevitable broken nights and twenty four hour service. Were you there when Frances was born, Papa? Henri asked. Bertrand nodded, smiling. Where is the baby, Mama? Odette asked. She's in a special room just now, cariad, because she was born early, Carys said. You can see her later - checking her heart, they are, at the moment. I will find coffee, Bertrand said. Viens, Odette, Henri. Mama wishes to talk to Sienna. Its OK... Sienna began. Let them go, Carys said. I'm dying to have a woman to woman chat. It was so dramatic, the ambulance whizzing along the road to the hospital. I was expecting a bit of hard graft in labour, but they had to do a section. Sienna sat down. Shed have to subject herself to this, Carys experience, the inclusion of the smallest, most intimate details of giving birth. Like she herself
would have done if things had been different. If shed given birth in a London hospital. If itd had gone well. How often shed had imaginary conversations with
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other mothers in the post-natal ward. Shared the most personal of stories, euphoric with relief that the baby was well, so high on the joy of becoming a mother that even the post-natal problems - the bleeding, the pain, the difficulty of establishing breast feeding - couldnt bring her down. The cocooned environment where exhausted but elated newly-delivered women were wheeled in any time of day or night, tired and stunned partners in tow, promising to contact family and friends, bring in siblings, put announcements in papers, take time off work. When I arrived, Carys was saying, they monitored the baby and told me they needed to deliver her immediately. I said I didn't want a section. But there was no choice, her heart rate was dropping, so they whisked me off to theatre. Carys babble continued, the sound of her voice now far away as if someone had turned down the volume on a radio. Sienna? Carys voice was shrill, her expression accusing. Are you listening? No-one had acknowledged that her trip to Paris was scuppered. No-one had any idea of how things were for her. No-one cared. Everyone was caught up in Carys and the baby. And thats how it would continue Sienna gave herself a shake, forced herself to lean towards Carys, feign interest. Then they gave me a local anaesthetic and it felt like someone poking around in my stomach and finally they produced this little baby. Over in a winky, it was. It seemed so easy but it isn't. It's not like taking a cake out of an oven. It's a big operation. There are risks. I'll be sore for a while but they've given me something for the pain I'll have to find out what it is. Euphoric it makes me feel Are you all right? Its hot in here. I need air. Im sorry, Sienna said, swaying as she stood.
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Chapter 7
The beauty of the hospital grounds - iris, verbena, lily and geranium; clematis and climbing roses straggling the stone walls; cypress and jacaranda trees - mocked and intensified Siennas anguish as she sat, elbows on knees, hands supporting her head. Her body felt like an infected wound. A wound now ripped open. Sienna? Laurent! What is wrong? Being here it brought it all back, you know giving birth. She continued her haemorrhage of words, vaguely aware of the rough fabric of Laurents shirt as she leant against him, of the scent of mandarin and musk. When she finished, she pulled away. And I was meant to be going to Paris. I found out Richie might be there. I had the tickets booked, and then this. Now itll be even more difficult It is a bad time for this to happen, he said. Sienna stood up. Id better get back to the ward. Theyll be wondering. Ill have to take Odette and Henri home. I hope it is safe for you to drive, Laurent said.
She nodded. I feel calmer.
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I made copies of your photograph, Laurent told her as they walked to the hospital. I have sent it to several colleagues in Paris. ********************************* 'Good youre back. Are you OK? I'm dying to show you Frances,' Carys said. Normally only immediate family are allowed in the unit but they know youll be helping me look after her. Theyre bringing a pump to express some milk. The special baby care unit swarmed with blue-gowned figures checking machines which monitored heart rates, took x-rays and assisted breathing. Staff wrote on clipboards, spoke to anxious parents. Frances was swaddled in white, with a tuft of dark hair and a nose tube feeding her formula milk. As she studied the red face, the fluttering hands, Sienna was overcome with torment. This would have happened to her babies; she could have watched them being fed, witnessed their fight to survive, if she hadnt panicked. Hadnt fled the hospital. How could she keep her head now? Say the right things to Carys, standing beside her, awash with tears. She clutched her neck chain, looked at the sunlight streaming through the window. There was hope. There was Her little girl was alive and she might find her. She must hang on to that. Must hang on. You leave now, a nurse informed her. We are receiving two more babies. Carys barely acknowledged Siennas departure, so absorbed was she in Frances. ********************************* That afternoon Sienna took Henri and Odette to the cinema, acquiesced to demands for popcorn and coca cola and luridly pink chewy sweets. She hung out washing, ironed t-shirts and pedal pushers and made lasagne. Once the children were in bed, nevertheless, anxiety enfolded her, the house quiet as Bertrand visited Carys. Her reaction to a maternity unit, the intensity of her grief in the hospital grounds, was unnerving: her protective layers eroded, any benefit from bereavement counselling obliterated, her coping faade reduced to rubble. If only hed return and she could
get out running. It was almost ten. He should have been back by nine. Unless
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hed gone somewhere else first. That wasnt fair. She was meant to finish at eight. She needed to run. Keep busy, keep busy, was her incantation, as she filled the dishwasher, swept floors, watered plants, aware of her sluggish movements. By nine oclock she yielded to exhaustion. When she checked on the children, she noticed a line of Odettes dolls and teddies along one side of the room. Henri had inflated white balloons and painted the name Frances on them in pink. She didnt even know her daughters name. If anyone had painted it on a balloon, for a birthday party. ********************************* Next morning Sienna woke early. She lay there, head throbbing, back aching. She woke again to childrens squeals in the garden. It was after nine. She should be making breakfast, planning the days activities. A knock on her door was followed by Odette in denim cut offs and a pink crop top. Her hair looked greasy. Arent you going to get up? Of course. I could read you a story. Ill be down soon. Bertrand was making coffee when she went into the kitchen. He nodded, staring at her t-shirt. Bonjour, she said, wishing shed worn something looser. Youre late for work. Today is holiday. I take Henri and Odette to fish. We visit Carys first. When theyd left, Sienna padded round the house, finding things to do. After lunch, she flopped onto the sitting room sofa and picked up an old copy of Marie Claire. Her head felt like a cupboard so overflowing that it had to be locked to stop anything falling out. She needed to talk. Her bedroom panorama of an aquamarine sea failed to work its customary magic as she waited for Liz to pick up the phone.
Liz? Im so glad youre there. Whats wrong? Everything. Carys had her baby and I just went to pieces when I saw her at the hospital. And I had to cancel Paris - Im just so hacked off about that- Slow down, Sienna.
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I couldnt handle it, all the memories. I had to get out. Laurent was there outside, I mean, and he was so nice. I just, you know, collapsed and told him everything. Did that help? For a bit. But I dont know how Ill cope when Carys gets home with the baby. If only shed had a boy. And I dont think Ill ever get my little girl back and I dont think I can go on if I dont. I never even got to touch her, to know how it feels to hold her and- You could arrange a phone session with Dr. Barak. How am I going to cope with being around a baby? 'Sienna, are you getting out at all? Im here to find my child, not go clubbing You still need company. I dont want company. I hope youre running. Not as much as Id like recently. You need to keep that going. Whatever.. So, are you and Laurent an item?' 'He's not my type.' 'You mean he's emotionally available' Sienna groaned. 'Not another diagnosis from your pop psychology books. He just doesnt do it for me. Hes a friend. End of story.'
'I saw an awesome film yesterday about relationships under pressure. I kept
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thinking of you. You should watch out for it. I cant remember the name its French - but Ill email it to you. How are you getting on with the How to find a man who loves you book? Sienna sighed. Im too tired to read. Liz sounded exasperated. I just wanted to point out- That I never fancy the right men. That my familys dysfunctional and that because of my Dad's relationship with Nora I'll never chose someone who's good for me. All I can think about just now is finding my little girl' I know. I know thats the most important thing. But you need to stay cool. Get Paris rearranged as soon as you can. I must go. Brian's just home. Get back into the running again. Ill email you the name of that film. It won some award at Cannes. Liz was right about the exercise, Sienna realised, as she changed into her running shoes. It needed to be regular to stave off the depression. How could she have let it slip? Especially when she had the beach, not polluted streets. ********************************** As her moped revved up at the traffic lights before the hospital, Sienna broke out in a sweat. How would she cope today, with no Odette or Henri to detract attention from her? How would she stop thinking of her own child when she looked at Frances? She should have made some excuse for not visiting. Not hers. Why was she always so compliant? She found Carys in tears. The baby has a hole in her heart. Sienna glanced at the basket where Frances slept. It's common. There's a good chance that it'll heal up by itself. And even if it doesnt, it only means a small operation. Too young to have an operation, she is, Carys sobbed. 'Can you bring her over, please.' 'Youll wake her.' This was Bertrands family.
'I need to hold her.' Sienna handed Frances to her mother. Carys, lots of adults have holes in their hearts and theyre completely healthy. Theres nothing to worry about. You can't understand. You're not a mother.
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But she was, she was a mother, she thought, loathing Carys and her babblings and insensitive comments. Youre not even listening to me, Carys wailed. I can't stop thinking about a tiny white coffin with her body in it. Why dont you phone Bertrand? Sienna said. Would you get me a copy of Elle? Carys asked. The new one came out this week. Itll distract me when she goes for her chest x-ray. As Sienna approached the hospital shop, she froze. A dark-skinned man in a white coat advanced towards her. It was him, the doctor in Morocco. She composed a question, opened her mouth but the words were mangled in her throat. She tried again, but nothing happened. She remained motionless as he drew nearer. She stared at his face. It wasnt him. When she rejoined Carys, she found her standing over the empty cot. Shes gone for an electrocardiograph, Carys said. Do you think she'll be OK? Yes, Carys, I do. Please try not to worry. You hear such terrible stories . Why dont you try Bertrands mobile? ********************************** Instead of returning home, Sienna rode to the harbour in Villefranche, parked her motor bike and strolled along the waterfront, observing swabbing out of boats, adjustment of sails; relishing the flapping and tinkling of flags, slopping of water, the clink of cutlery and scent of cooking from galleys. How lovely to be happy, to head off aimlessly. Go onshore on a whim. Her thoughts catapulted back to a moment of madness when Richie had arranged to borrow a friends boat. Shed been giddy
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with the prospect of espousing him for a weekend. Then the chum and his girlfriend had suggested accompanying them, assuming Richie was taking his wife. Hed cancelled, hadnt proposed they try again. Shed been riddled with disappointment, thrilling at the prospect of waking beside him, frying bacon and eggs, sipping Brooklyns at dusk, unrushed lovemaking. Clichd scenes, but ones shed ached to experience. She drew to a halt. Maybe he had taken Alice. Strange that such an action ruffled her years later. It was her child she yearned for. Not Richie. She yawned - the hospital visit had depleted her. Shed been crap at comforting Carys. She needed all her energy to stay afloat. It was Bertrands job to support his wife. That evening when shed put the children to bed, she changed into her running things. But she was too tired to run, she realised, as she adjusted her heart rate monitor. That was when injuries happened. And the last thing she needed was to be restrained by a twisted ankle. No, better to do something quiet this evening. Tomorrow shed go, definitely. She wandered out into the garden. The sun was setting, the air saturated with honeysuckle and rose. As she heard the ppp of crickets, Radioheads House of Cards played and replayed in her head. There was a sense of being tugged down and further down to a hostile place. She must keep going. There was hope. As soon as Carys was home, shed negotiate time off, rearrange her trip to Paris. She must keep going. When she returned to her bedroom, her laptop screensaver of waves dispensed its calming effect. Then she noticed her chair. It had been moved. Not far. But definitely moved. She crept into Odettes room. The little girl was fast asleep. Henri too was in the land of nod. Her heart pounded. That left Bertrand. She opened up history. There were the websites of London psychiatrists, from when she was searching for Dr Baraks number, the Mdecins sections of Pages Jaunes of other French regions. Who knew what hed make of this? But any snooping was disturbing. She must set a password.
********************************** When will Mama and the baby be here? Odette asked next morning. Soon. Henri Henri, go and tidy your room? When she went up some time later, she found him looking at his football stickers book. Look Sienna, Ive got all the Brazilian team. Do you want to see?
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Have you put anything away? she said, dismayed by the Kapla wooden blocks and Playmobile bits strewn on the floor, by his green plastic box of cars spilt over the bed, by the pile of books littering the bottom of the wooden chest. She dropped a bundle of t-shirts and jeans into the laundry basket, opened the window, pulled back the duvet cover, scattering the cars onto the floor. Ive sorted out my Top Trumps cards, he said, without looking up. That would take five minutes. Come on, Henri. Jeez, Ive enough to do without having to hassle you the whole time. Henri gaped at her. You havent tidied. You cant leave small bits lying around in case the baby puts them in her mouth, Odette said, bursting into the room. Who asked you, Odette? he said. Put that sticker book down, please, and get on with it, Sienna said, hearing a crunching noise on the gravel. This was the worst moment. Seeing Carys with her new baby. Everyone else would be happy. Everyone would want to hold the baby, coo over it, help look after it. Everyone except her. She tried to visualise Frances in her arms. Even if she had held her babies once, she had touched their faces. But no-one had suggested that. Theyd been too ill. Today, of course, contact would be encouraged. Doctors would know that the baby instinctively recognised its mother and father. They would know that a mothers touch might bestow on a baby the will to live. She should have
been stronger. Shouldnt have left. Cut, cut, cut. The butchers cleaver hacked through the thought with extra force. Henri rushed over to the window. Theyre back. Mamas back, he said, pushing past Sienna. Well, at least youve tidied your room, Odette, she said. Come on, lets go down and see Mama and Frances. Come on, Odette. The little girl hung back. What is it? Odette said nothing. Sienna bent down and took Odettes hands. Tell me whats wrong. Will Mama still love me now that theres another girl? Sienna put her arms around the child.
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Of course she will, sweetheart. She always
will. Even if she has another fifty children. It doesnt matter how many children you have, you don't stop loving one just because another has arrived. Still Odette lingered. Come with me, Sienna said, taking her hand and leading her to her bedroom. Sienna picked up a doll with striped dungarees. Odette, when you got Claudine for your birthday, did you stop loving the other dolls? No. I love them all the same, she said. Well, thats how it will be with Mama and Papa. Youll see. Come on, Mama will be wondering where you are. Shes longing to see you. Odette slipped her hand into Siennas. Are you sure? As sure as Ill ever be about anything. Odette stared at her. Why are you crying? Sienna shook her head. Im not. Its just a cold. ********************************
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The next few days evaporated. Frances fed incessantly and Sienna took nourishing snacks to Carys, observing how tired she was, how little attention she paid to her own needs. She found distraction in planning unusual offerings. This is delicious, Carys said, munching on a smoked salmon and crme fraiche sandwich. You don't need to do this, though. And you didnt even have your weekend in Paris with your brother. Sorry about that. Never been great on timing. Why dont you bath Frances this evening and I'll cook? I dont know, Sienna said. You're not nervous about being with such a young baby, surely? I'll show you how to do it. She's good, she is. Doesn't wriggle much. I think she likes water. I've already planned a meal, Sienna said. Just a suggestion, Carys said, turning away, removing Frances from her breast, putting her over her shoulder and patting her. Carys could have no idea of her trauma at being around a baby. Shed changed nappies, occasionally picked Frances up during a bout of prolonged crying, but that was her limit. The infants touch goaded her about all shed missed, what she might never experience. Keeping busy helped. But not enough. The last few days shed woken to Odette tugging on her hand. Its time to get up, the little girl would say. Were going to the beach today. OK, OK, Ill be up in a minute, shed reply, squinting in the brightness of the morning sunlight. What are you going to wear? Odette would continue. Mama said I could wear my new trousers. Shed struggle to smile at Odette, envying her joie de vivre. At dinner shed be aroused from contemplating to find Bertrand watching her. You've hardly eaten, Carys would say. All that time in the kitchen and no pleasure in eating.
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You know what they say about something youve cooked yourself, shed reply, her laugh hollow. If only she could shed this disconnectedness. It was one thing feeling uncomfortable with Bertrand. She was used to that. But feeling separate from Carys and the children was new. And painful. She shared the detail of their lives and yet now it wasnt enough. Daytimes with Odette and Henri were busy - picnics, the swimming pool, seeing friends. Early evenings challenged her: Carys and Frances in their contained and cocooned world of feeding, changing, singing to sleep; Bertrand, Odette and Henri comprising another unit. Bertrand now came
home earlier to eat with the children, before playing hide and seek in the garden or taking them cycling. Several times shed emerged from her room to find them jiving in the sitting room. The yearning to belong was almost physical. It wasnt that she begrudged the children time with their father. Only that she felt dislocated as she bought her single ticket for the cinema or went to Cap Ferrat on Laurents moped. Running helped, but as soon as shed finished, the loneliness would return with interest. If only she could get to Paris. If only she could sleep through the night without awful dreams. She was drained. Slipping off a map, into an abyss. She must talk to Dr Barak again. Soon. Before her depression took hold. ******************************** Theres sunshine and an intoxicating sea breeze as Sienna looks onto a sandy beach from the Tangiers coastal road. The crossing from Gilbraltar has been smooth and although she's sorry Dorothy had to call off, she welcomes this time on her own. The last few months have helped her gain perspective. To understand Richies actions. Its not fair to judge, Dorothy has told her. Nor is it possible to understand the pain of the childless.
Is Dorothy talking about herself as well as Alice?, Sienna wonders. In time she
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questions whether, in Alices situation, she, too, might not have behaved in the same way. She rests against a rock, staring out at the hazy line which divides sea from sky. She sips her water, eats a banana. Then she is gripped by stomach pain. As she waits for it to pass, she feels something wet - her waters have broken. She's only 29 weeks. Another pain. She breaks out in a sweat. She tries to call Dorothy. She stands up, swaying slightly. A passing car stops and a fair skinned woman emerges. Are you all right? she asks. Im in labour, Sienna says. Its too soon Come on, the woman says, taking her arm, helping her into the car. Pain, terrible pains. Urelenting pains. Shes sweating, shes sick. Someone examines her - her cervix is dilated. A nurse sits by the bed, says the doctor will be
along soon. But hes called to theatre. As dawn breaks, early bird song filtering through heavy shutters, he appears, examines her, draws up a shot of diamorphine. A wave of drowsiness washes over her. Such relief. The pains gone and shes sinking into a sleep from which she surfaces sporadically, aware of encouraging comments from the companion. Shes doing well, it wont be long now. A sensation of being pulled down into slumber once more. Dreams of floating above the clouds, of gazing down at the coast, at fields of cows and pigs, at wheat and corn waving in the wind, and crops being harvested; shes relieved to be observing, detached, glad to escape the normality of life on earth, before a feeling of being alone in the now-darkened sky, surrounded by stars and moonlight. The morphine fades and she wakens. The contractions gather momentum: dull, all-consuming pains. Walking is all she can endure, but exhaustion pulls her back to collapse on the bed. The room is hot, the ceiling fan ineffective. Shes
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examined again. It wont be long now, the soft voice reassures. Shes been told that before, but shes too tired to question. Wheeled to another room. Glaring lights, hazy faces, mutterings, people coming and going. Not an epidural someone says and she hasnt the strength to protest. Someone attaches a mask to her face, shows her how to use it. It doesnt work and they remove it. The pain agitates her. Another mask. She feels claustrophobic, pushes it away. Someone applies it again, more gently this time, explains with a French- accented English that the gas and air will help, that she should allow it to help. So many brown faces. The eyes are kind, the darkness unnerving. The feeling of being boxed in remains but she resigns herself to it, disorientated by the morphine. Not long now, shes doing well, distant voices say. Shes watching a variety show with dancing, choruses of youre doing well, not long to go now. Part of her despises such passivity, another part longs to sink once more into that pain-free sleep where she drifted gently in the sky, distanced from everything. The door opens, revealing a tall figure. His skin is lighter, his head bald, his presence strong. The others defer to him. A whispered conference before he introduce himself. His is a different air of authority, and she panics. Normal deliveries dont need doctors. Someone puts her legs in stirrups, tells her to breathe her way through the pains. She struggles in the stirrups but they tell her to save her energy for pushing. Keep pushing, they say, push harder, thats better, another one, now stop, dont push, concentrate on the breathing, not long now. Shes doing well, she tells herself. Martin would think so, Liz would think so. Dad would think so. Everyone would be pleased if they knew how hard she was pushing. Except Nora Nora wouldnt think she was good at this pushing business. Nora would have pushed harder when she and Martin were born. She would have got it right. Nora got
everything right. Except the love. She didnt get the love bit right. That was the problem.
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A machine beeps, another huddle of whispering The babies heart rates are dropping. The charismatic man is helped into a white gown, rolls up his sleeves, washes his arms like they do on medical soaps. She can smell the fragrance of rose. His hands look strong and gentle and she would like him to stroke her face. He smiles at her. His eyes are almost black, hypnotising. Push now, a big push, come on, we must get these babies out now, now. Three more pushes then well have to use forceps. The heart rates drop further. No forceps, I dont want forceps, she shouts, as a tray is brought nearer, its instruments gleaming against the white enamel. A tray of torture, she thinks. The man with the kind eyes and strong hands looks at the wall and she notices a cross. Is he praying? she wonders. Her eye focuses on a bit of flaked enamel. I dont want forceps she cries, her eye on the black spot where the enamel was. If she watches this, theyll listen to her. A big push, come on - big push. Her bodys splitting. She cant do this. Shes soiling the bed with her pushing, shes going to die, she knows that now. Thats why the doctor looked at the cross. He knew before she did. The dream was a sign, she was leaving earth. A quick conference, not enough time, she hears. Theatres the only option. She doesnt want a Caesarean. Theres no choice. A room of grey tiles and trolleys of shining stainless steel. She screams in agony before a mask is applied. She awakes to solemn faces. Both her babies are in intensive care. The girl is in better condition than the boy but she must prepare herself for the worst, the doctor with the kind eyes says. Can she see them? she asks. A nurse pushes her wheelchair to the baby unit. Her abdomen aches as they squeak along an interminable corridor. As they enter the room, she hears a beeping, sees a commotion around two incubators. The pinging continues, a flurry of activity.
Tubes, machines, so much equipment round such little beds, around her babies.
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Shes numb. All those green gowned figures and her in a white robe. She should be in green too, then shed belong. Could help. Could will the babies to live. Theres no-one to be with her, explain whats happening. Someone rushes into the room, apologises for bumping her wheelchair. Figures huddle over the incubators. She glimpses two white capped heads, two dark red wrinkled faces. She sees a figure shrugging. Another looking over at her. Dont stop, please dont stop, she whispers. She tries to call out but no words emerge. Please dont stop. The action by the incubators has slowed down. Someone is walking to a cupboard. Theres no urgency. They know. She knows. Quietly she wheels herself from the room, unable to be there at the end. She dresses. Leaves the hospital.
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Chapter 8
Here they are, here they are!' Odette called. ' Mama, Tante Antoinette and Oncle Fabrice are here. Mama! Come! Theyre early, Carys said, scampering into the kitchen, Frances in her arms, a white stain of regurgitated milk on the shoulder of her brown t-shirt. Odette, you haven't washed your face. Sienna gaped at Carys trousers. The white, synthetic fabric revelled in accentuating a ripple of fat above the waist and spotlighting dimpled buttocks. Theyre still too tight, I know, Carys said. I must find time for that bloody bike. . Henri, viens ici. Oui Mama? Is your room tidy, cariad? Oh look, Oncle Fabrice has a parcel. Presents. Come on Odette, Henri said. Come too, Sienna. There might be a present for you, Odette said, grabbing Siennas hand. Sienna watched Bertrand remove one final decaying rose head and lay down his secateurs before helping Antoinette and Fabrice retrieve their suitcases and parcels from the boot.
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Fabrice has another present, Antoinette said. Pour la petite. Oh, she is beautiful, Carys. Shes a honey. Hardly ever cries. Sienna turned away, swallowing hard to remove the lump in her throat. Cooing and nauseating comments. Thats all thered be for the next few days. ********************************* It was sunset when Antoinette and Sienna strolled down to Villefranche. The streets were quiet, now and again the sound of cheering from bars. I hate football, Antoinette said. Such a fuss! Fabrice has watched every match. Me, it is of no interest if Brazil wins. A golden ball of sun gradually dropping towards the horizon exuded an aura of tranquillity as they reached the harbour. A hint of lavender and the salty tang of sea water pervaded the air. I love hanging out here, Sienna said as they stood in Place Amelia Pollonnais. Especially after running. I look over at the huddle of houses when its getting dark. I love the colourful awnings over the restaurants and the street lamps. Sometimes I imagine how it must have been years ago, before tourists came in their hoards, you know? I picture myself on one of these balconies watching the sunset or walking along a narrow alleyways for bread as palm trees creak in the wind and waves crash over the harbour walls. Sometimes I come to the brocantes on a Sunday morning I dont buy anything, I just like to she broke off, her throat constricted. Whats wrong? Sienna exhaled. Its so difficult now - with the baby. Im scared I crack up again. I need to be strong, I need to find Richie, find my daughter Antoinette listened as Sienna relayed the events of the last few weeks. And Dr Barak. You say you have spoken with him again. Yeah, well...
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Why not return to London to see him? You are holding in so much so much pain. I was all set to go to Paris - someone I met thought Richie might be there - then Carys went into labour. But theres nothing in the websites so he might have moved on. When I saw him in Nice, I hoped it meant he was living here. He might have gone to Canada. Have you tried academic journals? Antoinette suggested. Sienna shook her head. Not yet. I need to get to Paris, but I cant ask Carys just now. I think that it would not be wise to go there at the moment, Antoinette said. You are vulnerable. Perhaps you should return home for a few days. I can stay longer to help Carys. This is all I have of her, Sienna said, shoving the Photo into Antoinettes hands. My little otters - otter ********************************* The baggage area at Heathrow was crowded with business travellers and toasted August holidaymakers impatiently awaiting the delivery of their luggage as Sienna struggled to acclimatise. In six weeks shed become accustomed to that unique perception of space and privacy bestowed on those embraced by an unfamiliar tongue, and the easily understood conversations around her were jarring. She missed that space. Already the sunshine and vibrancy of the south of France seemed so distant. Her spirits continued to plummet as passengers reclaimed their suitcases and disappeared through Customs. When Sienna spotted her father in the arrivals lounge, she waved and walked over to him. Its lovely to see you, darling, he said. But you look rough.' Im tired. Im glad its just you. I was hoping it would be, she said. Dyou think we could get a drink, have some time together before we leave? Your mothers in the car.
She sighed. This might be the only chance to see him on his own.
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As he picked up her bag, he turned, put his free hand on her arm. Dont say anything about the Will, darling, if you dont mind, just this weekend. Dad, I ... She stopped as she saw the fatigue in his eyes. He looked haggard. The lines on his forehead and around his mouth like trenches. Ripped between loyalty to wife or daughter. She could imagine life at home, her mothers vitriolic talk about the Will, her repository of grievances, the museum pieces, as Dr Barak labelled them, produced on a whim, exhibited, polished with seething vigour, before being stowed away for future use. Im glad your flight was on time, Nora said, as they pulled out of the carpark. Ive made sweet and sour pork and it doesnt keep well in the oven. You look thinner. I hope youre not on one of your silly diets. As the car sped along the motorway, past a mlange of muted greys and greens beneath an untextured white sky, Sienna zipped up her jacket, wondering if shed packed a jumper. Your father thinks we should go for the coral but Id prefer buttermilk, Nora was saying. Sienna? Sienna! You havent heard a word Ive said, have you? I suppose youre too caught up in your beloved France. I was trying to tell you that weve decided to have the outside window frames repainted. ******************************** I dont feel like Ive been gone six weeks, you know? Sienna said, as she filled the sink with water. Nora added detergent to the washing machine. Hmm - the way you prattled on at lunch - France this and France that. Leave the baking tray to the end. Sienna flung down the j-cloth. I hoped youd be interested, she said, watching her mother wrap clingfilm round dishes of rice and broccoli, spoon lemon meringue pie
into a plastic container. Talking to Nora was like walking on cobbles with stiletto heels. Weve been frightfully busy here too. Getting William settled in the nursing home
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and deciding what to do about their house. Hes adamant that its not to be sold. Ive explained to him that he cant manage on his own. You can understand why hes hacked off about selling. They lived there for so long. Youre parroting your father. No-one understands, of course, that I am the one who has to do all the work around here. Nora rubbed her finger against her lower lip. A signal to be careful. Now she was picking up tupperware containers. Ill put these in the freezer. Sienna listened to her mothers flat-heeled shoes on the way down to the basement, waited in the silence before counting her returning steps, eighteen and two more to take her back into the kitchen. She remembered the childhood game of guessing what her mother would bring up from the freezer. Mint flavoured ice cream, leek and vegetable soup, Dorothys chocolate fudge cake. In those days Noras footsteps were quicker and lighter, content as she was in her role of housewife and mother, awaiting the promotions her husband would undoubtedly attain. Simple days. Happy days. Sienna went upstairs to change into her running shoes. Then she tracked her mother down in the conservatory, listened to her hum as she dusted and misted the cheeseplants. The only place Nora ever seemed at peace. Theres a new garden centre. I thought we might have a look at it, Nora said as she watered the rubber plants. Youre not going out running now, surely? Its going to rain. You know its good for me. Well, dont be too long. We can go to the garden centre when you return. Sienna tugged at her chain. Im seeing someone this afternoon.
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Nora put down the watering can. Youve hardly been home a moment and already youre dashing off. Sienna was too drained of energy to reply; too exhausted from absorbing her mothers anger. She drifted back to the kitchen and looked around at the creamcoloured units with their bare worktops. The sash window with its striped Liberty blind and row of pansies obediently flowering on the window sill. The cork board
with its lists of shopping, reminders to phone the window cleaner, collect suit from dry cleaners, the WRVS rotas for the hospital library and caf. A calendar of English gardens opened at August, with three Thursdays ringed in red. Hope not expectation. Hope not expectation. She closed her eyes and summoned another kitchen: an oak table strewn with non-functioning pens, decapitated soldiers, fashion magazines, no matter how often it was blitzed; a window sill crammed with cracked yoghurt cartons of lavender and basil, earthenware pots brimming with coral coloured geraniums with brown tipped leaves; orange painted units displaying art work by Odette and Henri, papier mach pigs and remains of model airplanes on top of the fridge, the broken flagstone by the range where Henri had dropped a frying pan, baskets of Playmobile which strayed with unfailing regularity from the playroom, an obdurate lower wall spiders web which Odette talked to, a wooden clock with Roman numbers and comforting tick. Early evening sunshine pouring in, a scent of rose and jasmine drifting through the open back door. A kitchen which evolved every day as things were added and moved around and occasionally discarded. An organic place. A familys life force. She visulized the Place Amelie Pollonnais, a warm glow from lanterns stealing over the street as darkness fell. Remembered meandering up the steep narrow side streets, peering into cavernous restaurant kitchens, inhaling the smell of frying fish. She saw the cluster of houses which defined romance with their red pantiled roofs and dark green shuttered windows. She imagined herself with Richie,
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in a salmon-coloured apartment, French window open to the balcony, making love, accompanied by thunder reverberating through the sky and a cacophony of flapping sails and flags, clanging metal and groaning anchor chains. Its Dr Barak, the appointment, she said as her mother returned to refill the watering can. I hope youre not ill again. I always thought it was absurd to go to another country. Nora went into the hall and called up the stairs. Ronald, Sienna is seeing that doctor again. There was no reply. Ronald, are you there? her mother tried again. You really cant run in this weather, Sienna. Sienna studied the downpour. Maybe thered be time this evening. I dont know why you bothered coming home, Nora said. You obviously dont plan to be around. With your money you could have afforded a West End hotel. ********************************* The waiting room was empty as Sienna lowered herself into a mustard-coloured armchair and listened to the silence, broken only by an unrelenting drip from the water fountain and a subdued click of computer keys from an adjacent office. The black marble fireplace, an oasis of umbrellas plants, ferns, dragon trees and vines, achieved its intended soothing effect. A pine bookcase overflowed with self-help books. Academic texts on the psychology of the female mind, the theory of depression. A bundle of dog-eared Beanos and other childrens magazines formed a rug at the bottom of the bookcase. Who would bring a child to a psychotherapy session? As always, Sienna was ambivalent about seeing Dr Barak. She trusted him, she liked him, he was professional. And when she left his room an hour later she knew shed be calmer, if spent. That shed type up the essence of their conversation - for comfort and future reference. But the opening up, the searching within required during that sixty minutes was inevitably harrowing. The technique
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was like preparing leeks: an unravelling of layers of green and white leaf, a washing out of grains of dirt, without destroying the integrity of the vegetable. Or a skilled excision of a throbbing wound. An irrigation. A cleansing, which necessitated suffering before the requisite healing could take place. The pain would be there afterwards, but blunted, more manageable. And the accompanying weeping would be cathartic. The work shed done with him since her bereavement was enriching, as emotions were disgorged and insights gained. Nonetheless, an energy was mandatory to achieve any solace. An energy she doubted she had. Where would you like to start? Dr Barak asked. Sienna shook her head, mortified by the early appearance of tears. Ive hit rock bottom again. Im tired but I wake up feeling that I havent slept and I dread getting up. I hate the sunshine, you know, the start of another day. And Im finding it more and more difficult being with Carys and the baby Tell me about that. I feel panicky. And jealous Jealous. She gets to do the things I couldnt with my babies. Like feed her. Theres a way she holds her - with her head snuggled into her shoulder. They look like theyre welded together. Carys normally just rabbits on the whole time. It does my head in. I stop listening. But when shes with the baby, you know, shes like someone else. Her expressions different. Its like shes at peace, even though shes up half the night. Dr Barak nodded. So its hard watching her do the things you werent able to do. Its hard to see her enjoying her baby, loving her. If I believed Id get my little girl back, then Id still have lost those early years but shed still be small enough to really need me. I want to be needed in that way. You need to be a mother, to have someone who is dependent on you. A sob escaped Sienna as she gripped her neck chain.
Whats the babys name? the therapist asked. Frances. Does it matter? You talk about her as the baby, not as Frances. I wonder if thats because it
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makes her, her existence, less real for you. As if shes not a real person Theres some tissues on the table. Take your time, Dr Barak said. Sienna grabbed a tissue. I never got to do these things, Sienna said. They call it flesh time, the holding of the baby next to your skin. Its a unique experience - that relationship with a new baby, the touching of two skins. Its so special, and I didnt have it. And I wont have it, not with my child, if I find her. Shell be almost six. Ive missed so much. This is a big thing for you. Its so important to you. The nurturing, the dependence of a child on its mother. Wouldnt it be for all women? Dont you think all women feel like this? What do you think? I dont know I dont know. My best friend, Liz - you know about her - shes not
in a rush for children. But people I was at school with - most of them were longing to become parents. Most of them have, too. So is there something about wanting to be like other people, your friends? Its about knowing I could have had this, if I hadnt left the hospital. If I hadnt abandoned my babies, I would have known that she survived. I could have done this. I could have fed her. Shed have been on a formula feed at first, you know, for premature babies, until she was better but then I could have taken over. I could have fed her, I could have. Dr Barak handed her a paper hanky. Would you like some water? Sienna gulped. Id arranged to go to Paris the weekend Carys went into labour. Id planned what Id do there. Made a list of the hospitals and universities.
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Id planned a route. Exactly what Id do and then well, I couldnt just go. Not when she was in hospital, when I was supposed to be looking after her children. You feel angry with Carys. It wasnt her fault. It was just the timing. A week later, three days even But you managed to come back to London. Antoinette - Bertrands sister in law - offered to stay on, so I could go. I said it was a family celebration. I spend my time lying these days. Antoinette thought if I went to Paris in this state - it wasnt a good idea. And what did you think? Sienna shrugged. She could see I was raw. Fragile. But I cant faff around doing nothing, can I? I wont be any further on if I dont go... ********************************* Sienna scanned the bay-windowed room. Her uncle was in an armchair, clutching a crumpled newspaper, over which he peered periodically at the motor racing on television. The room had dark green walls and a red carpet patterned with biscuit crumbs and fluffs of dust. Around the perimeter, residents slumped in tan coloured vinyl chairs, some asleep, some talking to visitors. Women in the uniform synthetic dresses, shiny material riding up bony thighs to reveal the ends of wrinkled ecru stockings. Men in checked shirts, cord trousers and slippers decorated with flakes of dead skin. A whiff of urine escaped the rigours of air freshener, competing instead with the scent from decaying flowers. She shuddered. To end your days in a place like this Still, William beamed as she approached his chair, and she forced herself to smile. Ive brought ginger biscuits, she said as she bent down to kiss him, relieved to sniff the familiar apple-scented aftershave. Dyou still like them? Its good to see you, dearie, he said. Have you left France? Just for the weekend. Do you like it here?
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William looked round the room. We play backgammon in the evenings. Helps pass the time. And we have a singsong on Sundays. Are you happy? she said. William beckoned her with a bony finger. She lent forward. Have you found your baby yet? he said. Siennas pulse quickened. You know about her? Dotty told me after the row she had with your mother. It was a terrible row. I didnt know theyd fallen out. I never saw her so angry as that day. It was just before she had her big stroke. What was it about? William tugged at his frayed shirt cuff. Her face was still red when she got home. She poured herself a large sherry. Then she had another one. Her face got even redder. He chuckled, lost in memory. What did they fight about, William? She didnt like to drink but she was shaking. Sometimes they give us Guinness here, if we cant eat. Uncle William, I need to know. Please. What did Mum and Aunt Dorothy row about? You shouldnt have done that, Nora, he said, his hands trembling. Its Sienna. Now, youre not to distress yourself, a nurse said. Im sorry. I didnt mean to upset him, Sienna said. The nurse handed William a tiny plastic container of pills and a polystyrene cup of water. Time for your medication, William Its OK. His periods of lucidity vary. At any minute his concentration and memory can go. Her uncle took the pills and a sip of water, then picked up his paper again. His faded blue eyes blazed. It was wrong of you, Nora. You tell Sienna I want to see her. All
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right, Dorothy, Im going to have a nap. Now, remember to tell Sienna I want to see her. The nurse looked at Sienna sympathetically, retrieved the paper from Williams arms, and put a rug over his legs. He was tired. She should leave. Perhaps thered be time to visit tomorrow. She looked out of the window, as if the view over the hills might guide her. Come back again, the nurse said as she walked past her with her trolley, the dispensing of the afternoon medication completed. Late morning's good - hes at his best then. She patted Siennas shoulder, adding Its hard to see someone you love like that, I know. He hasnt been like that before. Come into my office, the nurse said. If you have time. The office was small but the warm yellow of the walls and the large avocado plants on either side of the window gave it life. You know, dont you, that people with Alzheimers tend to recall memories from long ago more easily than recent ones, the nurse was saying. He talks sometimes about a baby and a row and he becomes agitated. We havent been able to find out what he means.' Sienna nodded. 'This memory is recent but it doesnt make any sense to me either,' she said. I dont know if Ill be able to visit again before I go back to France, but could you email me if William does say anything about a baby, anything that makes sense? Heres my address. ******************************* As Sienna jogged round the park, the conversation with William kept returning. Hed seemed lucid enough. Shed ask Nora what he meant, if she and Dorothy had argued, what it was about. It would be uphill. If her mother didnt want to talk, she wouldnt. And if Nora suspected she was nervous, shed use that to her own
advantage. It was important to appear relaxed, in control, whatever she felt.
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take some Kalms, before she broached the subject. She quickened her pace. Pant, pant. She might manage two more laps before the rain started. And shed run
again tonight. After dinner. Pant, pant. That way she might sleep properly. At least shed been able to make another appointment with Dr Barak. She needed to talk about Nora. Nora was an obstacle. Always there, blocking her, sabotaging, whatever the geographical distance. And Dad, poor old Dad. Plodding along, on the look out for minefields. Shed hardly seen him on his own. Even when Nora was making tea, shed had ten minutes, if that, before the melamine layered trolley had made its appearance, the buttercup china rattling, the plate of neatly cut shortbread fingers juxtaposing with an indulgently-iced fruit cake, her mother announcing with a faade of gaiety, Here we are. Almost out of Earl Grey. Has that ghastly rain stopped? Now I expect you to try my shortbread, Sienna. She flopped against a tree, pressed her hands against the damp, brown bark and stretched her hamstrings. She wiped her dripping forehead with her sweatshirt, adjusted the scrunchie on her hair, and traipsed back to Chester Gardens. ********************************* Hows William? Siennas father said as they sat down to dinner. Sienna shrugged. I could talk to him at first then he lost the plot. He thought I was Mum and then Dorothy. He has dementia, Nora said, passing Sienna a plate. Its the best place for him. Not that he was ever that sharp, of course. I never knew what my sister saw in him. She could have done so much better. Like you did, my dear, Siennas father said. Sienna, fetch the parmesan from the fridge, please, Nora said. Sienna stood up. Dorothy and William were happy, you know that. Nora sighed. He was good to her in his own way.
What dyou mean? You know perfectly well that William wasnt an educated man. My sister married beneath her. William told me you and Dorothy had a terrible row. I thought you were going to get the parmesan. Sienna trudged through to the kitchen. The sun was beginning to set,
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casting a misty light on the rosebeds. She opened the fridge, took out the container of parmesan and laid it on the worktop, stuck her arms out of the open window and watched as droplets of rain, light as gossamer, caressed her fingers. Then she remembered her Kalms. Disregarding Noras querulous call, she sprinted upstairs to her bedroom. From her handbag she retrieved the tiny green canister and dispensed two tablets. How long would they take to kick in? she wondered, as she looked out of the window. A car was pulling up on the other side of the road. Two young children jumped out and ran up the path, vying with each other to be the one to ring the door bell. As Mrs Marlborough appeared and grasped the children to her voluminous bosom, Sienna turned away, a yearning to confide in her father, to tell him he was a grandfather. But, before dinner was over, hed know. She didnt give a shit about Noras lasagne with its organic pasta and Waitroses leanest minced beef. She needed answers. She delved into her handbag once more, extracted two more miniscule white pellets and threw them into her mouth. She grabbed the parmesan and ran downstairs, ignoring the spillage on the bannisters. What was the row about? she asked, as she handed the cheese to Nora. What row? Where have you been? The row with Dorothy. It was a private matter. William said that hed never seen Dorothy so angry. He asked me if Id found my baby? Nora added a spoonful of parmesan to her plate. What baby?
I know that my little girl is alive. I need to know what the row was about, Sienna said. Nothing can be achieved by talking about this. It was a long time ago. I want to know. Did Dorothy talk to you about my baby? If you wont tell me Im going back to see William again.
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Nora turned red and a muscle in her neck started pulsating. Now surely youre not going to upset an old man. I will if you wont talk to me. I did what I thought was best at the time. Sienna stared at her mother. Did what? What are you talking about? Siennas father laid down his fork and knife. Yes, Nora. Id like to know what this is all about. Are neither of you going to eat your lasagne? I want to know what you argued about, Sienna said. Nora sighed. The hospital wrote to us. Sienna clutched her stomach. The hospital in Morocco? Nora? I didnt know anything about a letter, her father said. What did it say? Sienna said. They were trying to get in touch with you. Why? They wrote to say that one of the babies had survived.
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Chapter 9
You knew? Sienna said. You knew all along and you never told me It was for the best, Nora said. Sienna clutched her stomach. As if from a distance she heard Noras voice. Heard it again, louder, strident. She put her fingers to her ears to obliterate their ringing, blinked to focus her eyes. to the side of her plate. Her father stood up. Are you all right, darling? She shook her head. How could you do this to me, Mum? You know perfectly well you couldnt have brought up a baby on your own. You had a career ahead of you. You had the future I didnt have I couldnt have. Sienna gripped the table. How can you compare having a baby with a job? All those years, those wasted years. She turned to her father who was now pacing the room. Dad, you werent in on this, too? Of course not. Well, Ive had my comeuppance, being written out of Dorothys Will. Its a frightful way to be treated by ones sister. Nora said. Her mother lifted the dish of chutney, added a spoonful
How can you compare money with a child? Did you know Richie had my baby? Nora said nothing Did you? Dad, make her tell me, please. Her father studied his wife. Nora? The hospital wrote to us your father. He was the contact on your passport. I opened the letter. I only read a few lines about a baby surviving, then I burnt it- What! Sienna said. We didnt know where you were. I still hoped youd return to London, become a doctor, have a future. I thought that would be that. The child would be adopted. Sienna exhaled. What?
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Nora sniffed. Last winter, Dorothy found out about the letter. We were arguing. She contacted the hospital in Tangiers. Nora stood up and walked over to the window. They spoke in French and it was a bad line they told her the baby girl had survived. Theyd managed to contact the father- How could they know who he was? Nora rubbed at a greasy mark on the window. There was a photo with your belongings. And a card - Richies business card. DNA test. And me, the mother? Didnt they want to know? According to Dorothy, he told the hospital you were too ill to travel. They assumed you were his wife. You know what its like being a mother, how could you stop me being one? He was married. It was a sordid affair from which an innocent baby was born. My daughter. She was my little girl, Sienna said, her voice breaking. I thought it was for the best. He went to Morocco. They did a
You saw how I was in hospital. Even if youd told me then. Youve lost me six years of being with my child, and if I dont manage to find her, then-
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Her father shook his head as he looked at his wife. I dont know how you could do such a thing. She couldnt have brought up a child on her own. It would have meant the end of her career, the end of a respectable existence. That that wasnt your decision. At least there was a chance of someone in this family being successful. Ronald glared at his Nora. Success! You deprived your daughter of the greatest possible chance of happiness. The words cracked like a whiplash and Nora recoiled. ********************************* Sienna collapsed onto the park bench. A drizzle had begun and a bank of murky clouds forecast heavy rain. Around her picnickers were packing up, tennis players conferring. A mother called to her son who was tugging at a toy yacht on the pond. Sienna felt engulfed by her pounding heart. Her mouth tasted of bile and a swathe of pain surrounded her head. How could Nora have done such a thing? Deprived her like this? For five years. How could she know she had a granddaughter and feel nothing? Nora was damaged. The rain dropped in sheets now and the park had emptied. It was too wet to run anymore but Sienna remained seated, gazing at the ducks with their mangy feathers, inhaling the scent of damp earth. Shed ignored the knock on her door that morning. Held her breath as her father beseeched Nora to leave her alone. Shed heard the car ignition. Watched Nora pause by the passenger seat to stare up at the netted curtains of her window, say something to Ronald, look up again, before climbing into the car. Sienna had padded back to bed, dozed for a while. Later shed visited William whose lucidity lasted long enough to offer her a ginger biscuit before surrendering to confusion.
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Sienna stood, pulled up her foot and stretched. Shed have to go home now. Shed delayed long enough. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a thunder clap as she opened the park gate and crossed the road. ********************************* Sienna watched Nora trim a piece of oasis before inserting the green, crumbly block into the vase. She watched her insert a yellow chrysanthemum in the centre of the vase, then another one to its left and one to its right. She watched her lop off the ends of roses with her yellow secateurs and add them to the chrysanthemums, before selecting some silvery grey-foliage. The flowers reminded her of soldiers standing to attention. She felt sorry for them. Snatched from their garden habitat. Now captive, unable to dance in the wind. Her father was reading by the window, emitting an occasional, apologetic guffaw, his hand tugging abstractedly at a hole in his cardigan. Saturday evening and just over 48 hours to go. Sunday would be broken up by seeing Liz and running, of course. And on Monday she could offload to Dr Barak. She stood up to leave the room. Dont go anywhere, Nora snapped. Dinners nearly ready. Im not hungry. You must eat. You hardly touched your lunch. You need to keep your strength up. Come on. Sienna waited as her father got up heavily from the armchair. She trailed after him, hovered as her mother lifted up a dollop of cauliflower au gratin. The sight of the cheese glistening on the serving spoon triggered a wave of nausea. Im really not hungry, she said. I made it especially for you, her mother said. Im trying to find her, you know, my daughter. Thats why I went to France. Because Richie might be there. With her. And I will find her. I wont stop until I find her. And theres nothing you can do about that. Nothing.
Nora looked startled. You knew before that she was alive? How did you know? Dorothy told me. Dorothy! Sienna enunciated her words. She wrote to me, before she died. She told me.
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Nora picked up her knife and fork. This is best left in the past. Its unfortunate that my sister saw fit to tell you but there it is. Sienna flung her napkin down on the table. I cant believe this is how you really feel. In the garden, she lent against the wall of the house, ignoring the water that trickled off the Virginia creeper onto her shoulder. Nora must hate her, to do such a thing. Hate her. Or perhaps she thought it was no big deal. Youve only yourself to blame, she heard her father say through the open window. He spoke slowly and calmly, an unaccustomed hardness to his words. Her mothers voice was shrill. Dont use that tone with me. Im the one who made the sacrifices, married to someone who couldnt make anything of himself. Sienna pictured her father, reduced to rubble once more. Sacrifices, oh yes. Well, you wont have to make these any more, my dear. What do you mean? Ronald? What are you talking about? Sienna crept closer to the dining room window. She could see her fathers face. His resolved expression. I am leaving you, he said, his words slow, deliberate. Noras laugh was like a knife scraping a plate. What on earth do you mean? Where would you go? Id manage. Dont be so pathetic. You wouldnt leave me, Nora said. Ronald? I never thought I would. Ive always thought it best for children that their parents stick together. After Martin and Sienna left home, I hoped you might mellow -
goodness knows why. But I did. I thought we might be happy. But now. this changes everything.
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Sienna peered in through the window, saw her mother reach out to pick up her glass of water and topple off the chair. It could have only been seconds but it seemed longer. Ive broken my ankle, Nora said, flinching with pain. Youd better call an ambulance. Ill drive you to hospital. Dont be ridiculous. I cant walk to the car. Help me onto the sofa, Ronald. Sienna watched as her father bent down to lift his wife. Then she went back into the house, through to the sitting room where Nora now lay on the sofa, her expression steely. Her fathers face was vacant. As if something had switched off. Ambulance, Ronald. But explain its not an emergency, Nora said. After her father replaced the receiver, there was a sense of waiting for more than an ambulance. Nora said nothing, dignity preventing her from groaning. But Sienna could imagine her thoughts. This was fortunate. This could be turned to her own advantage, bring her back to where shed been with her husband for three and a half decades. Her father stood by the window, head bowed, hands clasped as if deep in thought. She wanted to hug him. But not in Noras presence. Look what youve done, Sienna, Nora said. I blame you for this. Youve managed to divide the family. Her father spun round. No, its you whos done that. Youve only yourself to blame. Only yourself. Nora looked round the room. Ronald, tidy up the magazines on the coffee table, and take the glasses through to the kitchen. Sienna shook her head. Its an ambulance were waiting for, not a photographer for Ideal Home. Nora clenched her lips. Just do it.
The paramedics were quick and efficient and within a short time Nora was strapped onto a stretcher. One of them gave Sienna a sympathetic look. Does one of you want to come? he asked. Silence. Well follow in the car, her father said eventually. Sienna avoided her mothers eye as they carried her out of the sitting room. Ill need my bag, Ronald, Nora called as they opened the front door. Sienna hovered as her father fetched the bag, as the ambulance pulled away. Across the street she saw the twitching of a net curtain in the fading light. Her father closed the front door, leaned against it. Are you going to leave Mum? He straightened up. I know its a shock. I cant imagine you living on your own. I wouldnt necessarily be on my own. Dad? I think weve had enough revelations for one day. Well talk tomorrow, darling. Don't you hold out on me, too. Please Dad, please? Her father hesitated. His shoulders were slumped and he looked spent. I have a friend, he said. A woman? Louise. Shes a sculptor. Well, what dyou reckon? I always told myself I wouldn't leave your mother. But now . what shes done. You understand, you do understand? Sienna put out her arms. Give me a hug.
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I want you to be happy, she said, as he enfolded her in his arms.Youve put up with so much, Dad. Its your time now.
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Thank you darling. It seems strange to look for approval of a new relationship from ones daughter. But my first priority is to help you find your child. She disentangled herself from him. I think I saw Richie at the station in Nice. Oh youve no idea what a relief it is to tell you everything. I wanted to tell you when I found out but Her father nodded, went to draw the sitting room curtains. As he tugged at the cord, a bit of curtain slipped out of its ring. Ive always hated these curtains, he said, pulling more ferociously, laughing as the curtain landed on the floor. I think I understand why you said nothing, he continued as he sat down. 'I dont know if I have any legal claim. As Sienna lent against her father, he stroked her hair, as hed done when she was a child, however small the trouble. I am so sorry, Sienna, so truly sorry. Ive been a useless father - too busy protecting myself - but Ill do anything. Anything. Pay for anything. If we manage to track down your daughter my granddaughter, Ill support you in court. You cant be a character reference. Not as my father. Of course not. But I can tell them you knew nothing of your little girls existence. Oh Dad Theres nothing like the love for a child and you and Martin have kept me going. I want you to experience that love. I know youre young and might have other children. But the thought of you being apart from your little girl tears me up. Sienna squeezed her father's hand. ' I said I stayed with your mother because of you and Martin, he continued, 'But there's something else. When she was in labour there was a problem and it looked like I might have to choose between saving her or you and Martin. I said if there was a choice, I would go for the babies. She was so looking forward to being a mother, I
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thought it would break her heart if she lost you two. When she found out, it affected her profoundly. Soon after that her feelings for me changed.' 'I didnt know,' Sienna said. 'There's something else. Just before you were born, she went into heart failure. They resuscitated her of course, but it left her with a weakened heart. At that point I think she knew that becoming a doctor wasn't a good idea, even if she did qualify.' 'Dorothy never told us that,' Sienna said. 'You remember that weekend when we did a sleepover there - when you and Mum had a row and..' 'You were ten,' her father said. 'Im telling you this so that you can understand her a bit more.' A while later Sienna took a plate of reheated cauliflower au gratin. It was still raining, and she and her father said nothing, the clink of cutlery against china and the pattering on the windows the only sounds. Shock must have affected their appetites for they refuelled quickly, as if by doing so they could brace themselves for what lay ahead. Where have you looked for Richie? her father asked as they sipped their coffee. Sienna updated him. Antoinette Bertrands sister in law - suggested journals because theyd give contact details. Why dont we look at publications? her father suggested. Ill get my laptop. They opened up Google and began noting journals: The Journal of Biochemistry, Biochemical Journal, Journal of Cellular Biochemistry, European Journal of Radiology, Journal of Radiology Nursing. The list went on and on. Most likely you have to subscribe to these to get hold of complete articles, she said. Nonsense, darling. Abstracts give names and contact addresses. Itll take forever, she said as she typed in: British Journal of Radiology, clicked on Select an issue from the archive, 2005, July, index by author. Nothing showed
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up under the name R. Williams. She tried under June, then May, to the beginning of the year. Maybe Martin was right and I should hire someone, she said, an hour later. Why dont you make more coffee and Ill have a go? her father said. Later that evening her father drove to the hospital to collect Nora. While he was away, Sienna searched in the sitting room cupboard for magazines. As she picked up a copy of Homes and Gardens she noticed a pale blue box. Inside was a faded white photo album tied with a pink and a blue ribbon. She undid the ribbons. It was a journal which began the day her mother had her pregnancy confirmed. I am eight weeks pregnant Nora had written in black ink. There was a record of how shed been each week. Week sixteen A wonderful week shed noted. I felt both the babies kick at the same time. Ronald wondered how I knew it was both of them but I was certain The nausea has gone and I feel so contented. Sienna turned the pages, each one protected by a layer of discoloured tissue paper. There were photos of Martin and her at two days old, in babygros with teddy bears embroidered on the shoulders. The remains of her mothers plastic hospital identity bracelet. There were photos of her and Martin lying in their double pram in the back garden, her in a pink dress with a hand on his tummy. There was a photo of them in their fathers arms. His expression conveyed pride and bewilderment, his mouth open as if to say I cant hold both of them at once. She moved the remains of a fly from the spine of the album. Now a comment in green ink: Sienna smiled at me today, at three and a half weeks. She was sitting in the armchair wearing her little green hat. Id been up half the night and had sat down for a moment. Something made me look up and there she was smiling at me. A wonderful smile which seemed to say Everything will be OK. Suddenly my tiredness lifted. That was all I could think about for the rest of the day. Rosemary and I went to a concert at the Albert Hall and while we were listening to
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Rachmaninovs 2nd piano concerto, all I wanted to do was to go home in case I was missing another smile. There was a menu plan for their first solid foods. Day 3 - 1 teaspoon pureed carrot ( and a comment in pencil) Sienna beamed when she tasted hers, Martin spat his out and it landed on the silk blouse that Ronald bought me the day after they were born. It doesnt matter - nothing is more important than my piglets. More hair snippings, measurements of their first shoes, a note of their first words appu, boo, nockears (binoculars), carbon ( cardigan). In a polythene pocket she saw their baby teeth, each wrapped in its own even smaller bag. A party invitation: Martin and Sienna invite you to the Jelly Club to celebrate their fourth birthday. Tears slid down her face as she read a comment at the end of primary two: Twins above average in ability and are well-behaved and popular. I am so proud of my poppets. Ronald and I had booked a table at Whytes but we cancelled. We had mince with mashed potatoes and icecream and it was wonderful. Some time during their tenth year the album ended abruptly with a photograph of Sienna and Martin in a plastic dinghy, both in white sunhats with arms caked in sand. Sienna closed the book, carefully retied the blue and pink ribbons and returned it to its place in the cupboard. She lay on the sofa, ensconsed in a travel rug, and listened to the rain beating against the window. Shed always known her mother had been different, softer, in her early childhood, but that was the first time shed felt her intensity. The energy expended on her love for her children. And yet Nora had prevented her from having the same experience with her daughter. What bitterness and misplaced ambition could do! She might feel for her mother but she couldnt forgive her. She wrapped the rug round her more closely. The sound of the car in the drive woke her some time later. Slowly she dragged herself up as she heard the key in the lock. Nora appeared smaller, older, her right ankle strapped, a stick helping to take her weight.
Ill make a sandwich, her father said as she lowered herself into an armchair.
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They sat in semi-darkness in the sitting room, the only light coming from the lamp on the mantelpiece. Sienna waited for her mother to complain about the gloom, about the crusts on her sandwich and about the abandoned curtain on the floor. ********************************* So your fathers moving out? Liz asked as they selected a window table overlooking the Thames. There was a suggestion of early autumnal crispness in the air, the occasional leaf fluttering down from the oak trees to the grassy banks. Sienna helped herself to a cheese scone. Louise has asked him to move in. I want him to be happy, but you know, I can't help feeling almost sorry for Nora Liz put more jam on her scone. I hope it works out. And when you finally meet the right man itll either be someone like him or the total opposite ? How can you know that? Liz waved her knife in the air. Aha. Its to do with your childhood experience. Your father is the first man in your life, in a way. Youve seen how hes under your mothers thumb. Thats your main experience of a man-woman relationship. So either youll choose someone passive like him and youll wear the trousers, like Nora, or youll go for a strong man, one who can stand up to you. Its all subconscious, of course. When you fancy someone, I mean. Its not like youre thinking: hes like my father. It just sort of happens. Sienna shook her head, topped up her tea cup. I suppose you read all this or saw a film Its in that book I sent you. You havent looked at it, have you? I havent time to read. Spose not. So when dyou think youll get to Paris? When Carysll give me time off. Soon, I hope. If you knew in advance, I could meet you there, Liz said. Help you look. Itd be difficult to do it all in a weekend. Im due time off
Sienna grasped Lizs arm. Youre a sweetie. Ill let you know. I mean it, Sienna. I know how important this is Sienna swallowed hard. So, any developments with Laurent Liz asked. Hes a lovely guy but theres no chemistry.
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Liz clicked her teeth. Thats because hes available. You keep going for men who cant make a commitment. All those relationship nomads. Tom, Mark and then there was Bill Jeez, what a relationship phobe. He didnt treat me badly. Sienna! You cant have forgotten. Going out in a group, having to pretend you werent a couple. And after at his place, him becoming all lovey-dovey, as if you were a light he could just switch on and- Yeh, all right. Dont start banging on about that. I know Im not good at picking And look how you were with James. You lost your sense of self. You let him choose everything. But you can change. We can all change. You dont need to have an edge in a relationship. Just look for a nice, regular guy. Someone wholl treat you well the whole time. Look I gotta run. But Ive another book for you. Post it back when youve finished. I said Id lend it to someone at work. Sienna looked at the title The Thrill of the Chase and the Disappointment of the Catch do you stop loving him once he loves you? ******************************* Carys caf was in a small square in the Old Town of Nice, flanked on one side by a candle and handmade paper shop, on the other by a boutique. Opposite it was a 17th century church whose bells chimed every fifteen minutes. A park framed by plane trees provided a shady place for elderly men to play boules. Sienna smiled when she stepped inside the building. The shop, deceptively large, had walls of a sky blue wash and a terracotta tiled floor. Mature palms leaning lazily against corners
provided a feeling of restfulness. Underneath heavily paned windows were rattan tables and chairs for sitting-in customers. One wall was given to shelves displaying jars of black winter truffles, Marseillan olive oil soap, Richart chocolates, Cabcou goat cheese wrapped in
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chestnut leaves. Another supported a wooden rack of newspapers and magazines in Italian, French, Spanish and English. Having absorbed the surroundings, she took a deep breath. Hopefully business wouldnt be too hectic, customers wouldnt talk too quickly. Thered be deliveries of bread and cheese and shed prepare baguettes and salads, using the assortment of pats and other spreads that Carys had brought from home. The shop was busy, but customers were patient when she didnt understand their orders. To her amusement, Carys spent an inordinate amount of time chatting with regulars. As Sienna was about to take a break, a familiar face appeared. Laurent looked different today, his lighter framed spectacles highlighting his greeny brown eyes, his face softened by his longer, wavier hair. Bertrand told me you were here, he said. I must talk with you. I am going to a conference in Paris next weekend, he said as they sipped their coffees. It is about cancer and there will be radiologists attending. Perhaps Richie will be there. I think you must come too. Why are you going, if its about cancer? The afternoon session is about complementary therapies. So it is relevant to my work. You should come. Carys wouldnt agree to another long weekend. It is one day only. You could take the train overnight, and return the next evening. Its in the Novotel Hotel, very near Gare de Lyon. You do not need to cross Paris, even. Can I just turn up at a conference?
You can pretend to be with me, perhaps as a psychology student. There will be doctors from all over France and Europe. *******************************
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Sienna glanced at her watch as people made their way into the Novotel. Where was Laurent? What would she do if he didnt turn up? As she checked her phone for messages, a taxi screeched to a halt and he got out, looking flustered. He thrust some notes into the drivers hand and rushed up to her. Id almost given up on you, she said, as he kissed her. Desol, he said. There was a manifestation near my hotel and the circulation, the traffic was bad. It would not be Paris if there was not a demonstration about something. It would not be France if- What will I do about registering? she said. Everyone will have a badge except- I have a badge for you, he said. Here it is. Put it on when we go into the building. Sienna looked at the badge - BOWDEN, Sienna, tudiante de la psychologie. What if anyone talks to me? My French is crap. They wont believe Im studying with you. This wont work, Laurent. Ninquiete pas, Sienna. Do not worry. If you stay with me and someone talks to you, you can find the excuse to leave. But you must be absent from the matricule table. The badge youre looking for is Richie - Richie, or maybe Richard, Williams. Williams is the family name. You must relax, Laurent said. There will not be a problem. Sienna hovered uncomfortably as Laurent registered for the conference. When he joined her again, she took the conference pack he held out. I managed to take an extra one, he said. Did you see Richies name badge? No, but it is possible he is already here. Come, the conference begins now.
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Various people greeted Laurent as they entered a large room with a platform at the top where four people sat at a table. We will sit at the back, Laurent said. There is more chance to notice Richie. Sienna looked through the list of delegates. There was no mention of a Richie or Richard Williams. He might have registered at the last minute, Laurent said. She shook her head. Richie wasnt a last minute person. Not when she knew him. At coffee time, two men approached Laurent and shook his hand, looking enquiringly at Sienna. Excusez-moi, sil vous plat, she said, slipping away. In the lo she realised she was trembling. She splashed water over her damp face, and left. She had fifteen minutes. She must circulate, see if Richie was here. The foyer was littered with tables bedecked with posters, leaflets, pens, and gimmicky products advertising medicines and treatment protocols. She made her way round them,
taking a leaflet here, a sample pack there, all the time looking about her for the one face she yearned to see. She returned to the main room where people mingled in small groups, someone worked on a powerpoint presentation, another adjusted the air conditioning. As she walked round, searching for Richie, the room filled up once more, the voices like the hum of bees on a warm summers evening. There was a manifest air of expectation as the presenter spoke into the microphone and turned it down. At the far end of the room, translators, encased in glass-fronted cubicles, gave the thumbs up that they could hear. Participants seated themselves. Donned their head phones. Scrutinised the programme. At lunchtime Sienna grabbed a baguette before checking the conference rooms again. Repeatedly she looked in the main room, the foyer, the smaller rooms where workshops had been running. No sign. With heavy heart she returned to the main room just before two. Thered obviously been a turn around of participants, here and there empty chairs, abandoned programmes and drugs brochures, new
attendees exchanging words with the translators. Richie might appear for the afternoon session, she consoled herself. She sat through three presentations,
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coming alert during the question time. After the last paper, the chair announced that thered be a panel discussion. Sienna yawned as a heated debate began.
Employees assigned to passing round microphones darted about in demoniac fashion shoving the wireless oversized pens into eager hands. Questions were asked and duly answered. There was the occasional laugh. Then the chair asked for one last question. Someone got up to speak. Sienna would have recognised his voice anywhere, whatever the language. Its him, she whispered to Laurent. Its Richie. Keep calm, Laurent said. For a while, Siennas eyes were so fixated on Richies back she wondered if he could feel her gaze boring through him. She looked at her watch. The conference would be ending soon: already the chairperson was standing up to make his closing remarks. She bent down, picked up her bag, rammed her programme and drugs leaflets into it. She must be ready to leave as soon as the chairman stopped. She looked over to where Richie was seated. The chair was empty. Merci pour votre attention, the chairman concluded, to a round of applause. Sienna jumped up. Excusez-moi, excusez-moi, she said to people on her other side as they packed up their conference bags and meandered to the edge of the row. Sienna! What are you doing here? Helen! So you did qualify as a doctor, then? No, she said, looking past Helens shoulder, searching for Richie. Im a senior lecturer now, Helen said. In biochemistry. Theres someone else here youll know. Do you remember Dr Williams. Richie? I dont mean to be rude, Sienna said, But I need to go.
Do you have to? Just a quick coffee or a drink. Catch up.
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Sorry, I cant, Sienna said. The room was emptying. Every second counted now. Helen laughed. It was so strange seeing Richie again. You remember him? A bit too friendly with us students. I never told anyone, of course, but he made a move on me, once. Of course I wasnt interested. I always suspected it was more because of my fathers position than fancying me, though I may have been wrong. After all, I- I have to go, Sienna said, pushing past Helen. Take my business card, get in touch, Helen said, shoving a card into Siennas hand. Hope hes worth it, she called after her. She dashed out into the foyer and looked around wildly, bumping into people, ignoring their look of surprise. She hovered outside the mens toilets, signalling to Laurent to join her. Go in and see if hes there, she urged. Hes wearing a green shirt. He might have specs on, I dont know. Hes tall. Youll have to look at the badge. Its Williams, Richie or Richard Williams. Quick Laurent! What will I do if I see him? Anything. Just talk to him, keep him talking when you get out. It doesnt matter what you say. Im going outside. He might be waiting for a taxi. Outside the sky had darkened and rain fell in curtains. There was no sign of Richie. Pale grey saloon cars with their red lettered TAXI Parisien signs littered the wet streets, honking their horns as pedestrians wove through the traffic to cross the road. Umbrella clad women hung around outside the hotel, a porter retrieved
suitcases from a taxi boot for an elderly couple and a policeman gave directions to two shell-suited tourists. No Richie. Sienna rushed back into the foyer. Laurent was standing outside the mens toilets. He shook his head when she reached him. At least you have seen him, he said. That is progress. Not if I dont know where he was going, she said. He could have booked a taxi to the airport, to another station.
Inside the main room, a group of men were talking by an exhibition board. They might be radiologists, Laurent said. I heard them mention x-rays. Ask if they know him, please Laurent. Laurent went over to the huddle of people, nodded a few times. Well? Sienna said, when he returned.
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They do not know the name, but they told me that some radiologists are going to a caf in Montparnasse. If we take a taxi, we could arrive by five. Allons! The downpour continued as their taxi squished its way along broad streets, honking randomly at traffic. Shoppers sheltered under waterlogged awnings, people crowded onto single-decker buses, here and there a resigned grocer rescued crates of bedraggled oranges and and soggy mushrooms. Sienna stole a glance at her watch. Two and a half hours until her train. When the taxi arrived, she leapt out and sheltered in the doorway while Laurent paid the fare. I havent even thought what to say to him, she told him. You must stay calm, he said. Ask for his address, arrange to meet him. The caf was packed, the air pungent with cigarette smoke and coffee, the ornately paned windows covered with condensation. In the corner a group of men and women were eating crpes and drinking from carafes of wine. Richie wasnt
one of them. Sienna collapsed onto a chair near their table, her body trembling. As Laurent sat down beside her, he took her hand. I will ask if they know him. He returned moments later. Well? she asked. They work here, in Paris. They dont know the name. But one of them spoke to a British doctor this afternoon. She thinks he was going to the airport afterwards. Where was he flying to? She does not know.
Lets go. We can get a taxi. We dont know which airport he is flying from. Which is it likely to be? Come on, Laurent, we need to find a taxi.
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Laurent grabbed her arm. Sienna, both Orly and Charles de Gaulle have at least thirty airlines. You do not know where he is flying to, or what airline. We have to try. You go to one, Ill go to the other. We can keep in touch. Please! Laurent nodded. Daccord. I think it is best if you go to Orly. That is the main airport for flights to other parts of France. Orly Ouest. Theres more than one terminal? This is Paris. Why dont I do Charles de Gaulle? It is bigger than Orly. You could try Terminal two, but that is divided into smaller terminals. Sienna looked at her watch. Ill go to Orly. Come on. It will be expensive to go with a taxi. Theres an airport bus at Gare Montparnasse. It leaves every 20 minutes, I think. We havent time to hang around. Well go by taxi. Weve got to do this.
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Chapter 10
Sienna lent back against the taxi seat. Orly aroport, sil vous plat. The rain showed no sign of easing up as they sped along the busy street. She checked her watch. Two hours until her train. Shed never make it but she must do this. Her chances of spotting Richie at the airport might be slim but she had to try. Hope without expectation. As she took a deep breath, the taxi drew to a halt behind a river of cars. The driver was mouthing off. Il y a un problme ? she asked. Un manifestation the driver said. Les chauffeurs des bus. Just her luck. A bus driver demonstration today of all days. She dialled Laurents number. Where are you? We are crossing the Seine. Im stuck in a traffic jam. Theres a bus driver strike. Hang on, were moving again. The taxi edged forward. Horns blasted and the driver scratched his head and muttered. Five minutes passed, another five. This journey would cost a fortune. Already the meter read 40 euros. At least Dorothys money meant that she didnt have to worry about money. Was her aunt watching over her, she wondered. Nodding wisely at Siennas decision to try the airport? She craned her head out of
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the taxi, trying to see what was happening ahead. Should she get out, try another route? She wished Laurent was with her. Hed know what to do. Suddenly the cab driver pulled out, did a U turn and shot down a narrow street, swearing as a couple stepped in front of him. After a labyrinth of pot-holed alleys with overflowing litter bins and graffiti-sprayed walls, they emerged onto a wide thoroughfare where they picked up speed. Then another traffic jam. Another ten minutes lost. At Orly Ouest she shoved some notes into the drivers hand and rushed through the main entrance. Excusez-moi, pardon, desole, she mumbled as she bumped into passengers. Inside she scrutinised the departures board. A flight to Bordeaux leaving in thirty minutes, a delayed one to Nantes, a KLM flight to Amsterdam with no departure gate showing. Of course Richie could be flying further afield. She dialled Laurents number. Nothing. Shit! Flat battery. She reached into her bag for her recharger. Where could she find a power supply? Christ! She hadnt given Laurent Richies photo. He wouldnt know who he was looking for. This was a mess. She tried to remember how shed described him to Laurent earlier. Green shirt, tall. Might have specs. That wouldnt get him far. She gaped at the long queues of passengers waiting to check in. She was sweating in the humidity and she felt nauseous from hunger. It was six thirty. Ah, there was a power socket. She rushed over, plugged in her phone and dialled Laurents number. I didnt give you the photo, she said. I have a copy, he said. But I havent seen anyone who looks like him. Keep looking, she said. She ran from queue to queue, searching, searching. Flights to Marseille and Dijon. To Geneva, Barcelona, Lugano. Somewhere a baby wailed, a woman collapsed, prompting a flurry of activity. As a PA announced the last call for a flight to Brussels, a crack of thunder echoed round the sky and a child started crying. She
continued examining the queues of passengers. No sight of Richie. Six fifty. As
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she stood up, she noticed a man in a green shirt in a check-in queue. She ran up to him. Richie, she called. He turned round and she saw it wasnt him. Desole. A lump lodged itself in her throat as she walked away. She wasnt going to find him this evening. Even if he had been here, hed have gone through security by now. She returned to the power socket to discover someone recharging a lap top. She looked around for another supply. Ten past seven. She dialled Laurents number. I cant find him, she said. It is the same with me. I am sorry, he said. I dont think theres anything more we can do this evening. Do you want to meet for dinner? I have a rendezvous with a friend, he said. She works for Orly airport and- Why didnt you tell me? Thats brilliant. Ask her to check the passenger lists- That information is confidential, he said. Bribe her. anything. Silence. Laurent, please. It is not fair to her, Sienna. I am sorry we have not found Richie. I will phone you when I return to Nice, he said. Siennas heart was heavy as she switched off her phone. Laurent hadnt suggested she join him for dinner. And she was stuck here overnight. Toute seuleall alone. ********************************* Ive said Im sorry, Carys, Sienna muttered from her hotel room phone. I thought Id enough time to get to the station after our meal but theres a taxi demonstration and I missed the train by minutes.
This is bad timing, Sienna. First your weekend in London and now this. Im struggling as it is. Bertrand is around and - Bertrand! Ill get the first train tomorrow. Ill be back by 3 pm. Im so tired. Youve no idea how tiring it is being a parent, Carys said.
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An innocent comment, but a wound. She could do without the hassle. Carys didnt know how lucky she was. Three children. Even if she only had one child, she would have experienced it from the start of its life. Siennas body was like a silent scream, a torrent of emotion. And Carys went apeshit because she wouldnt be there one Sunday morning. Did she need this job? Was it hindering her search for Richie? What if she just quit now? But if she found Richie and the case went to court, shed want a recent reference for looking after children. That meant Carys. If she chucked things in now she couldnt ask for a testimonial. She had to finish her contract. And she had to find some other way of looking for Richie. Perhaps it was time to use a private detective. Maybe her father could help her with this. Shed phone him later. And it was only now she realised that Helen might have, almost certainly would have, ascertained from Richie, where he was now working. She rummaged in her bag for the business card Helen had insisted she take. Shed email her. The card wasnt in her bag. Maybe shed put it in her pocket. Yes, she remembered now. In her hurry, shed shoved the card into her jacket pocket. She retrieved the wet jacket, searched its pockets. Nothing. It must have fallen out sometime during the last few hours, in the confusion of rushing around. She looked around the room. The outsized bed, the mahogany table with its leather container of writing paper. The mini bar crammed with miniature whiskies and brandies, the kitkats and Mars Bars and packets of cheese biscuits. From the tiny balcony she could see the Arc De Triomphe and again she blessed Dorothys
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foresight in leaving her so much money. 200 euros a night, excluding breakfast. OK, so she could have wandered round in the rain for longer looking for a budget price hotel - if such places existed in Paris - but she was worn out from the roller coaster of emotions. All she wanted now was to find a bistro, and then sink onto the meticulously ironed sheets and - hopefully - drift into oblivion. ********************************** In a Tangiers hotel Sienna falls into a deep sleep. When she wakens she phones Dorothy, ignores her aunts entreaties to return to the hospital for post-operative care. Reassures her shell keep in touch. Next day she takes the bus to Marrakech. At a clinic near the bus station, they clean her wound with strong smelling brown liquid, give her an antibiotic and cream, advise her to stay overnight. She acquiesces. Its dusk and she has no hotel. The following morning she leaves the clinic early. Promises to return for a check up. She trails round narrow, crowded streets, wiping off sweat, flapping away flies. Late afternoon she stumbles across a sign advertising chambres louer. For a paltry sum shes offered a large room on the upper floor of a rectangular building. It has double windows and a view onto a courtyard of palm trees. Its clean and sparsely furnished: mattress, electric hob, wash stand with enamel bowl. The floor is stone with a worn rug in the middle. Your passport? the landlord, a small chubby Frenchman asks. Then she realises. I dont have it. I was in hospital. I forgot to take it.... He looks at her stomach, still distended from pregnancy. OK. Her relief is overwhelming. She cant return to the hospital - shell report the passport as stolen. She sleeps for days, surfacing to drink, apply cream to her stomach, take an antibiotic. One time she returns from the bathroom to find a plate of bread, brown cheese and oranges, outside her door. The unexpected kindness makes her cry.
Shes looking for work, Sienna tells her landlord. He suggests the nearby
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leather business. She shakes her head. He claps his hands, his face illuminating. He will pay her to teach his children English; not much, he says, but enough to cover her rent. Shes met his children: Cherki is seven and impish; Biba, his sister, is
eleven. She agrees to work with them after school. Before long she adjusts to her new existence. Its simplicity suits her. No buses to rush for, shops to catch, family tensions to circumvent. A routine develops: morning visits to the souks for fruit, goat cheese and fish, preparing her English lesson. A post lunch siesta until Cherki and Biba return from school. After
teaching, she walks and in the evenings she reads and gazes at the Photo. Her neighbour, a dark- skinned, grey-haired woman, shows her how to bake the chewy, soft crusted Kesra bread. Tells her of the custom in Moroccan homes of preparing bread, kneading it in large, unglazed red clay pans called gsaas, sending it to the community oven on the heads of children wearing padded caps. Residents cook in the courtyard and often there are impromptu parties with dancing and lamb in filo pastry, green tea and cheap wine. Sienna surveys the scene from her room, inhaling the aroma of cumin and ginger, beguiled by the sound of the raita pipes, the drums; fascinated by the white tunic-clad people who drift into the courtyard and start swaying to the music. Sometimes she allows herself to be persuaded to join in. To eat beef tagine and aubergines and rice cooked in orange and cinnamon. When she feels stronger, she dons her hijab and wanders in Jemmaa el Fna. The garment is hot but protects her from the contemptous and lusty gaze of Moslem men. She is bewitched by this famous square, the pulse of the city. Hypnotised by aromatic fragrances of the spice market, snake charmers, acrobatic feats. Perplexed by the tenacity of water sellers and fortune-tellers. Enchanted by the haunting music of pipers, the distant snow- capped Atlas mountains. In early evening she strolls round the red city walls, now aflame in the setting sun. As
darkness falls, she returns to Jemmaa el Fna. Watches the square convert to an open-air restaurant selling spicy vegetable stews, thick harira soup, grilled fish,
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almond and honey pastries. The atmosphere enhanced by tiny swaying gas lights. Accompanied by a hum of noise from the thronging crowds who radiate here, the heart of Marrakech. When she succumbs to tiredness, she takes a horse and cart to her room. Infrequently she cries, such emotion being cathartic. Allowing her to sleep, to ease herself into the next day. The redness and throbbing of her wound fade. Some energy returns. She takes trips into the mountains. Dark haired, dressed in baggy trousers and loose-fitting tops, she escapes excessive attention. She watches goat herders guiding their animals. Eats from bottomless pots of pungent stew. Has moments of oblivion. From time to time there are travellers, in whose arms she retreats. Shes careful. On one occasion, consumed by wine and the sharing of a joint with a gentle, intelligent man from Tasmania, she hesitates. So what if she gets pregnant? A new beginning. One day, while walking in the Menara gardens, she notices someone sitting on the wall surrounding the artificial lake, looking over to the Atlas mountains. Hes in his sixties, she reckons, and although dressed in a gray gandora, like her is Western. When she emerges, blinking, from the pink pavilion, she spots him again. She walks over to the wall. Sits down. Immediately she can understand why hes chosen this spot. Its early December and the mountains are enveloped in snow. The pavilion is framed by olive groves and giant date palm trees and its green tiled, pyramid-shaped roof sparkles in the winter sun. Its a lovely view, she says, cringing at her jaded words. He says nothing and she feels uncomfortable. As she rises to leave, he speaks. I come here every day.
She studies him. His eyes are inky blue with irises white as ice. She revises his age. Although his skin is lined, his eyes portray a younger man.
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The sultan Abderrahmane used to stay here in the 1870s. I love the roof. Ive tried to paint it. How long have you been here? she asks. Ten years, maybe more. Are you an exile too? Sorry? I did something wrong and this is my punishment. I chose the place, though, but I didnt choose not to go back Back where? Home. Boston. As darkness falls and pink light slides over the snowy mountains, he talks. His accent is soft, seductive. I killed someone. He was seeing my wife and one day I came home early from work. It was our wedding anniversary and Id brought orchids and champagne, booked a table at the restaurant where we met. The house was quiet but there was something about the atmosphere. I went upstairs, into our sitting room. My wife was on the sofa, her arms draped round a man. As he stood up, I hit him in the stomach. He dropped to the floor and didnt move. I tried to resuscitate him. My wife and I agreed our story. Hed had a heart attack before falling. The condition was that I leave the country. Because he was in our sitting room and not the bedroom, we got away with it I thought she was happy with me. I thought I knew everything about the rhythm and texture of her life, our joint life. Silence descends. As shadow slips over the mountains, cattle egrets fly past, their white plummages a contrast to the darkening sky. And you? Your smile is deceptive. When it ends I see sadness. He says nothing as she talks. His silence allows her to tell him everything, peeling off layer after layer as she spills out the details with painful clarity.
When she finishes, he suggests meeting again. She agrees. Wonders if
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she could have loved him. The talking, like the crying, has been purgative and she is pulled into a deep, restful sleep. I want you to see something, he says next morning. He takes her to a convent on the outskirts of Marrakech, shows her gardens with women tending vegetables. Inside she glimpses baking, sewing, pottery. He points out the chapel where nuns must pray for three hours a day. Many Western women come here, avoiding their pain, he explains. Experience shows that they are unable to devote their lives to God while they are in turmoil. They are requested to leave for six months and then return if they are still want to use their lives in this way. Few do. He turns and smiles so sweetly that she blinks back tears. His penetrating eyes search her face as he talks. You are running away from your pain. Travelling, escaping, will prevent you from making a full recovery. You can go home. You have a choice. After that they meet regularly. She has never known anyone who uses language like he does, and she loses herself in his words. Before long she feels ready to return to London. His parting gift is a rope of sandalwood beads. He walks away while she digs for words of thanks. She leaves early one morning. Says her silent farewell to the city in which she has taken refuge. Perches on the wall outside her room, clutching the beads, watching the sun rise. Listening one last time to the first calls for prayer. bus station. ********************************* We've been invited to the Bruhmans for dinner, Carys announced at breakfast. On Thursday, as a thank you for looking after Philippe. Just think, Sienna no cooking or dishes for one evening. At last, a chance to see Philippe again. She searches for him as she makes her way to the crowded
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Ill have to buy something, of course and I need your advice on colours. We should do it now while Frances is asleep. I cant compete with the likes of Vronique, but Ill do my best. Pascal - her husband will be back. He's been lecturing at summer school in Florence. Leave the dishes. As a wail came from upstairs, Carys looked at the clock. You can show me your colour samples while she feeds. Slowly Sienna followed Carys upstairs. Normally, she managed to avoid being with her while she fed the baby. Once shed inadvertently stumbled in at feeding time. Felt her breasts ache. Propelled back to heat and flies. To an era when any thought of the babies had triggered a milk flow. Instinctively shed put her hand to her breast, expecting to find a wet patch. Even if shed just fed one of her babies once. Experienced that feeling. The metal shutter clanged down. Obliterated the thought. Sienna! Carys asked. You haven't heard a word, have you? Sorry, Sienna said. The rusts more you than the red. Its warmer. Can you see that? its got more yellow in it. Sienna brought the hand mirror over to Carys. Mmm, I see what you mean. Pity, I love the material of the red blouse... Drape it round me again, will you. Hang on a minute, and she moved Frances to her other breast, helped her attach. ********************************
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The interior of the shopping centre in Nice was lined with ceramic tiles, its wroughtiron staircases and central fountain surrounded by cacti, palms and yuccas. The air was thick with energy and expectation as shoppers pursued their business. Boutiques displayed tailored dresses, linen shirts, exotic shoes; hair salons comingled with chocolatiers and shops selling scented candles and tropical plants. Sienna wished she was on her own. Free to rake around. Unencumbered by Carys and her incessant ramblings. Come on, Sienna, Carys called. We havent got all day. I am glad we had that bonfire last night, Carys said as they took the escalator to the first floor. Now I'll have to find something. Sienna laughed. Youd better not regret getting rid of so many clothes. The bonfire was symbolic. Goodbye frumpy Carys. Handing them in to a charity shop wouldnt have felt the same, it wouldnt. Lets start here and work around this floor. What do you think? Carys said half an hour later, sweeping back the cubicle curtain. Sienna looked up. The black dress had a low neck and flared skirt but despite the extra material around the hips, it clung to her. Well, do you like it? Sienna shook her head. Black really isnt your colour, Carys. It makes you look washed out. Why dont you try on the dress in the window? Blacks more suitable for a dinner party. Apart from the colour, what do you think? Sienna hesitated. What about a larger size? Carys pulled in her stomach. I dont want to go up to a forty two. Ive still got time. If I do an hour on the bike every day ... Its so unfair - Frances feeds and feeds and look at me. Its the caf. Too much temptation. Sienna glanced at her watch. Eleven forty five. Carys hadnt a clue and wasnt going to listen to her. She might as well have stayed at home. Done something
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useful. She stifled a yawn, rubbed her eyes, still strained from last nights checking of websites. Maybe her father was making progress. Had found a private detective. ********************************* I do want to make a good impression at Vroniques, Carys said as they sat down by the window of a restaurant looking onto the mall. Its so seldom we go out for dinner. Maybe I cant look as stunning as her but at least I can make an effort. I
know Bertrand has an eye for attractive women, well, most men do, dont they? Have you decided? The waitress is coming. Sienna scanned the menu again. Lasagne, sil vous plat, Carys said. Avec des pommes frites, madame? The chips here are good, Carys said to Sienna. Oui, merci. Une salade Caesar, sil vous plat, Sienna said. Avec des pommes frites ? the waitress asked. Sienna shook her head. I was lucky to get that dress in a sale,' Carys said. 'If we'd been even a day earlier, it would've cost sixty euros more. How's your salad? Do you want some of my chips? And those trousers were a good price. Oh, there's Marie Pierre; she looks awful. A tall woman with lanky, brown hair and baggy trousers was pulling a tartan shopping trolley. It's OK. She's passed now. What a relief. If she'd seen me, we'd never have got rid of her. Whats wrong with her? She's a bit weird, Carys said, her voice lowered. I think they call it clinical depression. You know, there are times when she wont get dressed or washed, just sits at the kitchen table muttering. Not that I've seen her, of course. She's even been in the mental hospital to get stabilised or whatever it is they have to do. It's
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not her fault of course - runs in the family. They say her father once refused to leave his bedroom for a month. They had to well, it was grim for the rest of the family. I'm sorry in my heart for her, of course, but I have a horror of such things depression, schizophrenia, that sort of thing. People who have to take pills to function properly - not that they can help it. I just don't want to know... Come on, eat up, its after two. I cant finish this, Sienna said, pushing aside her plate. Carys signalled to the waitress. Are you OK? Sienna pulled at her chain and took a deep breath. I was thinking about mental health. Sometimes peoples body chemistry goes out of balance and they need medication. It's its not something they can help. Of course, you were a medical student. You know about that sort of thing. Well, her fault or not, people like that give me the creeps. Carys gave a shudder. The worrying thing is that last summer we were about to take on a nanny and it was only when the third reference came in that we found out shed been in a psychiatric hospital. She seemed such a nice girl but think what a risk we would have taken. Odette was only six and Henri just eight. Who knows what might have happened?' Sienna stared at Carys. Wrestled with a wave of nausea. What prejudice. What ignorance. What appalling lack of compassion. Carys was ignorant. Fat and ignorant. ********************************* At the Plage Manires later that afternoon Sienna sat on the rocks watching passers by. It was almost five but still the beach was crowded. The usual German, Italian and British accents co-mingling with French ones pervaded the air; the customary skimpy sundresses, bikinis and sleek bathing costumes. She observed as
sunworshippers meticulously applied suncream, the sea breeze, though refreshing, no match for the suns intensity. She watched as mothers rearranged sun umbrellas over baby buggies, changed nappies, felt her hand move to her breast as one
started feeding. Everywhere she looked that afternoon, there was a young child. The cameos of nurturing, loving, togetherness mocked her. She had never smelt
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her babys skin. Would never know what she looked like when her arms trembled, when she woke from sleep. Would never experience her little girls head nestled into her shoulder. Her body, it seemed, was locked into a rigid position. The inner turbulence, like a high speed fan, the only indication of her distress. Her mouth ached from its lack of movement, her eyes were dry as desert sand. During the French class that evening, and in the caf afterwards, the conversation with Carys replayed itself in Siennas head. Her anger had evaporated. Carys had only said what most people felt. Horror. Fear. But her employers prejudice was depressing, and worrying, she thought as she ran along the beach, pushing herself as if by so doing she could annihilate Carys and her limited thinking. She should have pointed out how common mental health problems were. Pant, pant. But that might have provoked suspicion. Resulted in questions about her own emotional state. ********************************* On the morning of the invitation to the Bruhmans, Odette came running into the kitchen as Sienna was clearing away the breakfast. Mama wants to speak to you. Come in, Carys called out when Sienna knocked on the bedroom door. Look at this. Its awful. I cant wear it tonight. Carys was wearing the black dress theyd bought four days before. It seemed even tighter. Sienna sighed. I did suggest the larger size. You should have been firmer. You should have told me it didnt flatter me. I I did tell you, Carys What am I going to do? Havent you got something else. I havent anything else. I chucked away my other dresses.
Sienna shrugged. Have you anything I could borrow? Nothing that would fit... Carys twisted and teased herself out of the dress. Maybe I could let it out. What dyou reckon? Sienna examined the seams of the dress. There isnt enough material. This is a disaster, Carys said. I wanted to make a good impression.
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I can hear Frances, Sienna said. Dyou want me to get some milk from the freezer? No! Carys exclaimed. Ill feed her. Itll help me lose weight. In fact, Ill get her to feed as much as possible today. It might make a difference. Half an hour later when Sienna was getting Odette and Henri ready to go to the beach, she could hear a clacking noise from the exercise bike. When she and the children returned that afternoon, again there was a clacking noise from Carys bedroom. She suppressed a laugh. ********************************* Sienna stared at herself in her black dress. Her toned and tanned arms enhanced the cap sleeves and the flouncy skirt made her feel sexy. She sipped her wine and adjusted the neckline. Just the right amount of cleavage. She laughed as she imagined Noras reaction. Well, if you want to attract that sort of attention She
shook her hair free of its restraining comb, let it settle around her face. Applied lip liner and glossy lipstick. Applied a second coating of mascara. She laughed again at the effort shed made. She was going to dinner with couples. Not men on the look out. Would anyone notice, let alone care how she looked ? She jumped as Odette burst into her room. Arent you ready yet? Odette asked. Do I look nice? Its my second best dress. Mama said I could wear it tonight because everyone would be looking pretty and she found a new ribbon for my hair. Its velvet. I love velvet.
You look fabby, sweetheart Sienna said, bending down to kiss the child. Sienna, Sienna, are you ready? Henri called from the hall. Tell them Ill be down in a moment, she said to Odette. Mama isnt ready either. I want to watch you put on your earrings. Another time, darling. Go and tell them Ill be ready soon. Her phone rang as she picked up her bag. 'It's Dad.' Are you OK? Where are you? Louises flat. Is that a Christmas carol I can hear? She thinks Im mad. But shes out. Any progress with your search? 'Just a minute,' she said, closing the door. ' Any developments with the private detective agencies?
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Ive an appointment with one tomorrow. Meanwhile, Ive found a publication got a bit of paper? Journal of Cellular Biochemistry, Volume 101, Issue 4 , Pages 887 907, Williams, RP et al, February 2003. He was attached to the Sorbonne. If it
was published in 2003, it was probably written the year before. So we know he was working in Paris in 2002. And I've found an organisation which might help. It's called Trackers International. I haven't managed to contact them but Ill try again tomorrow. And there's another organisation called Free UK People Finder. I'm going to find their website. I just wanted you to know. I'll phone again once I'm any further on.' She needed to go back to Paris, Sienna thought after shed hung up. If Richie had been employed by a university or hospital, there might be a record of where hed moved on to. Even if he was only a visiting lecturer, there would be contact details. It was worth a try. She had to be systematic. She had to keep checking what she could. Even if she planned to hire someone. But Carys would go ballistic if she asked to change her day off at the moment.
Sienna, Sienna, came the sound of Henris voice once more. Bertrand was pacing the hall, looking at his watch. Henri was reading a Spiderman comic and Odette was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, a doll in her
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hands. Was she just imagining it, Sienna wondered, or could she hear the exercise bike? Bertrand said something to Henri, who ran up the stairs. When she looked up, Bertrands eyes were hooked on her cleavage and she grappled with the urge to tug her dress up. Several minutes later a flushed Carys appeared. She was wearing the black dress with a Pashmina scarf which concealed some of the bulges. To Siennas dismay Bertrand was still looking at her, ignoring his wife. ******************************** At the Bruhmans front door, Sienna suddenly felt jittery. She hadnt taken to Vronique on the couple of occasions theyd met and she didnt know her husband. But shed see Philippe again. A blast of a horn made her look round. When she turned back, the family were making their way into the house. A bespectacled man waited for her to enter. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at him.
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Chapter 11
You must be Pascal, Carys said. Im Carys, and this is Bertrand, Henri, Odette and Frances. The man stood back as they entered the house. Come on, Sienna! Odette called. Sienna stepped into the house, aware of a floating sensation, a ringing in her ears. She peered at the man. It was definitely Richie. This is Sienna our nanny, Carys said. Sienna, this is Pascal. The man stared at her. It is tonight, isnt it? The invitation? To dinner? Carys said. Yes, yes it is. It is, the man said. I please go through to the sitting room. Ill show you. Are you all right? Carys asked. Oh yes, yes, theres nothing wrong. Its just along here. The sitting room. As the Chevalier family made their way into the room, Richie turned to Sienna, Dont say anything, please, Ill- There was a thudding noise as Clara ran downstairs, jumping the last three steps. Philipe te demande. Il pleut.
Richie turned to Clara. Jarrive.
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As Sienna clutched at the banister, he bounded up the stairs, turning once to look at her. She lowered herself onto a chair, her mind flooding. What was Richie doing here? Where was her little girl? With Alice? Was Richie now married to Vronique and why was he calling himself Pascal? Where was her daughter? She needed to speak to Carys. She might know something. She stood up slowly, clutching again at the banister to steady herself, and walked into the sitting room. Can I speak to you, Carys? Carys jumped up. Whats the matter? You look awful. Not here, Sienna said, leaving the room. Carys followed her into the hall. Why are you being so mysterious? Is Pascal Vroniques husband? Sienna asked in lowered voice. Yes. I thought she was Vronique Bruhman. Thats her maiden name Or it might be her first husbands name. Keep your voice down, please, Sienna said, looking round to see if theyd been overheard. Whats this got to do with anything? Why all these questions? The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted their conversation. Richie looked enquiringly at them as he passed and went into the sitting room. Do you know him? Who? Her first husband? Pascal? No. I've only met Vronique a couple of times. Shes a friend of Antoinettes sister. Hlnes worked-. How long have they been together? Sienna! What's wrong with you? Can we please go back to the others?
Sienna followed her into the sitting room. Richie was pouring drinks. Ros or red, Carys?
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Anything, Carys said. Its such fun being out to dinner. Its ages since weve done that, isnt it Bertie? Bertrand, Bertrand said. Richie caught Siennas eye, Sienna? Red. His voice retained its softness but there was an edge to it. Was he worried shed make a scene? She took the glass, gripping the stem tightly and sat down by the window. Where was her daughter? Surely Richie didnt expect her to go through with this charade? As he left the room, she stood up and made to follow him. Its a lovely room, isnt it Sienna? Carys was saying. Sienna? Sienna turned round. Nodded. Are you ill? Carys asked. Im just going to the loo. Youre sure youre all right? At the door she collided with Richie who was carrying a corkscrew. The metallic end grazed her hand. She found a bathroom, flopped onto a chair, patting the blood
with a hanky. There were wet patches under her arms and her face was flushed. She had to calm down. Making a scene would be counterproductive. Richie loathed scenes. She had to get through the dinner at least, then catch him on his own. She splashed water over her face and returned to the sitting room. Its cream coloured walls, oak parquet floor and Persian rugs, its matching antique walnut commode bureau and low coffee table bestowed a tranquil quality upon the room, an ambience which mocked her turmoil. Bertrand was seated at one end of a cream leather sofa, Rene at the other. The girl was wearing a low cut green dress with a corner of bra escaping and her
fuschia-lipsticked mouth resembled a squashed plum. Her hair was scraped back
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into a pony tail, accentuating her thin eyebrows and wide set eyes. Sienna felt like an outsider as if viewing a picture at a gallery. Even Carys in her tight dress had an unaccustomed air of calm. Richie paused in the middle of fixing a drink when Vronique entered the room and Bertrands intake of breath caused his glass to tilt, spilling wine on his trousers. If Renes endeavours to look good had failed, her mothers had triumphed. A knee length grape satin dress displayed her contours without being clingy and black sheened stockings complemented strapped, high-heeled purple shoes. Silver earrings reflected the colour from the dress. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her bare neck and her skin glowed. Sienna felt a stabbing pain as a familiar fragrance infiltrated the air. Richie had given her Paloma Picasso after the first time theyd made love. And now he gave it to Vronique. The ultimate betrayal. Renes expression was sullen as Richie gazed at her mother. As Bertrands eye feasted on Vronique, Carys edged closer to him on the sofa and took his hand. Bienvenue, Vronique purred. It is such a beautiful evening. I hope that my husband is looking after you. Has he offered you a second drink yet? As Richie refilled their glasses, Sienna inhaled deeply. This was going to be hell. All she wanted was to learn what had happened to their daughter. Instead she was subjecting herself to what was going to be a long evening. Vronique was obviously in no rush for dinner to be served. Theyd probably sit here for at least another half hour before eating. And she had to pretend everything was normal. That she was just Bertrand and Carys nanny. That she didnt know Richie. And shed have to put up with him and Bertrand drooling over the sensuous Vronique. There was a cruelty to the elegance of the dining room. Cornflower blue walls contrasted with a polished fruitwood sideboard and bureau. The table, luxuriating in antique linen, was patterned with ink blue porcelain china,
complemented by salmon cloth napkins and a marble sculpture centrepiece of a
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twisted tree trunk. A vase of coral roses at either end of the sideboard filled the room with an intoxicating scent. Siennas heart pounded and a bilious taste filled her throat. How could she sit here, not knowing what had happened? How could she behave normally? Just as well the children are eating in the kitchen, Carys whispered. Sienna nodded, stealing a glance at Richie. His face had thinned down, his cheekbones more clearly defined. Brown metallic rimmed spectacles framed dark, clear eyes and his straight fair hair, now cut short, showed little sign of receding. Tailored trousers replaced baggy cords and his seal-blue linen shirt looked expensive. The evening had a dreamlike quality, with Sienna fulfilling the role of illrehearsed understudy, suddenly required to stumble through her lines. As she surveyed her ratatouille, the conversation sounded like the distant hum of traffic on a warm day. Her fork felt heavy as she raised some vegetables to her dry mouth, and she was aware of an outbreak of perspiration as the food dropped back onto her plate, splashing tomato sauce over the table cloth. As she looked up she caught Richie staring at her, only to remove his gaze as Vronique suggested another bottle of Cte du Lubron. The wine by her water glass looked like blood. She sipped her water. Managed a mouthful of courgettes. Tried to relax. All she had to do was survive the meal. Catch Richie on his own. Some energy returned, and she became aware of the others. A discourse about the governments housing policy, an animated Vronique. The darting of Carys head from Vronique to Bertrand
whose body was turned towards the French woman. As Vronique bent down to pick up her napkin, Bertrands eyes were fixated on the fabric of her dress which stretched slightly to her movement. He appeared oblivious to Carys hand on his arm, to the twitching of her head.
A feeling of panic washed over Sienna and, mumbling something about a headache, she left the room and made her way outside. The garden, bathed in
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evening light, soothed her. If she didnt manage to speak to Richie, shed write. A short letter. Unemotional but clear. She needed to know what had happened to her little girl. Maybe Laurent would help her with the wording. Hed be good at that. She jumped to a tap on her shoulder. Are you all right? Carys asked. You missed the most wonderful Banon goat cheese. Its so nice having a grown-up meal for a change. We're about to have crme brule. Bertrand will be in raptures. Better than sex, he says. But not better than sex with Vronique. Carys had greasy marks on her dress
and her breath reeked of alcohol. This was her way of coping with her husbands infatuation with their hostess. What would happen later ? Would Bertrand take refuge in fantasies while making love to his dumpy wife? Would Richie deluge Vronique with romantic and passionate comments? Or would he be too disturbed by Siennas unexpected reappearance in his life? Speculate about what might happen? Wearily Sienna followed Carys back into the house. Richie glanced at her as she took her place at the table, proferred the wine bottle. She stared at the plate of crme brule, garnished with fresh mint and strawberry slivers. Listened to the contented chugging of a coffee percolator. The meal was drawing to a close. Her opportunity might be approaching. I will show you my collection of art, Vronique said to Carys as they finished their coffee. Carys giggled. Im a Philistine about art. Viens, Rene, Vronique said. We leave the men. A maid appeared with a tray, picked up crystal glasses, fragments of tarte aux poires and Banon. Bertrand frowned at Sienna, prompting her to stand. She had no choice but to comply with the custom of joining the women.
My cigars are in the car, he said, rising from the table.
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Discreetly Sienna opened her bag and dropped it so that its contents spilled out. As Bertrand left the room, she knelt down and scooped up her belongings, her heart hammering. She sat down again, her breathing shallow. Bertrand would return in a few moments. This might be her only chance. As Richie poured a coffee, spilling some on the saucer, she noticed the rash on his neck, the throbbing vein on his forehead. The maid was picking up rose petals and breadcrumbs. Did she understand English? Sienna opened her makeup bag and reapplied lipstick, pretending not to understand when the elderly woman indicated the direction of the cloakroom. As the maid left the room, Sienna could hear Vronique and Carys voices, the sound of the front door opening. Bertie, you must see this painting, you must, Carys voice was high. Sienna tugged at her chain as she waited for Vronique to reclaim her husband. Cheri, a va? she heard her ask from the hall. Oui, a va bien, he said. The children have finished their meal, Vronique informed Sienna from the doorway. Now they watch a DVD. Bon, Sienna said, remaining seated. Vronique, please come and explain the paintings to Bertie, Carys called. Thanks for not saying anything, Richie said, once Vronique was out of earshot. Wheres my daughter, Richie? He looked shocked. She didnt make it, Sienna. She only lived for about six hours. But my aunt told me shed survived, that she was living with you. No, no - Philippe ran into the dining room. Papa, Papa, will you read me a story? Clara is going to read to you tonight, Richie said, scooping the child into his arms.
The action was instinctive, practised. I want you to read to me, Papa. Tomorrow night, darling. Promise Papa? As Richie cuddled Philippe, he said quietly, Im going sailing tomorrow. Rene is meant to be coming too, but Ill put her off. Ill meet you at the harbour at three.
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There you are, Pascal, Rene said, entering the room. Clara is waiting for you, Philippe. As Philippe ran out of the room, Rene took Richies arm. I am looking forward to tomorrow, she said. Can we leave early? Marie Beatrice has prepared a picnic. I have things to do in the morning, he said. These things can wait, Rene said, leading him out of the room. As Marie Beatrice returned with an empty tray, Sienna remained motionless at the table. Her ears were pounding and her stomach felt hollow. She didnt have a child. She wasnt a mother. Dorothy had misunderstood the conversation with the hospital in Tangiers. They must have contacted Richie about funeral arrangements A vision of Philippe came to her. The little boy running up to Richie, the obvious bond between them. But Philippe was Vroniques son, Rene and Claras brother. Or was he? The age was right. He could be her son. Hers! For the last hour of the interminable evening, Sienna sat perched on the end of her chair, hoping for a way of catching Richie on his own. Shed only need seconds to ask him one question. Was Philippe hers? They drank more coffee in the sitting room, Richie and Bertrand talked about developments in heart surgery, new techniques in skin grafting. Sienna watched, waiting for Richie to leave the room, to refill the coffee percolator, to go to the loo. 10 seconds with him was all she needed. Several times she absented herself, hoping he might follow. Hovering in the hall, scrutinising a painting when someone walked past. Richie didnt appear.
She thought about seeking out the children, but didnt dare, not trusting herself to stay in check when she saw Philippe. Just before they left, Sienna hovered by the sitting room door, hoping for
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another chance to catch Richie on his own. But Vronique was by his side the whole time, as if there was a magnetic link. When Sienna said goodbye and thanked them for a lovely evening, Vronique nodded in an offhand way and Richie avoided eye contact. That night she tossed and turned in her airless room. All those months of believing she had a daughter, of hoping she might become a mother. And now she knew she didnt have a little girl. But maybe a boy And hours to go until she saw Richie. Hours until she could find out if she was Philippes mother. She should never have abandoned her babies. She was in this awful, awful situation because of her spinelessness, her lack of staying power. What kind of mother did what she had done? ******************************* You look rough, Carys remarked at breakfast. Do you know how long Pascal and Vronique have been married? Carys put down her mug of coffee. Sienna, what on earths the matter with you? You seem obsessed with Pascal and Vronique, their marriage, everything Is Philippe Vroniques son? I assume so. Can we change the subject please? What are you doing on your day off? Im going to Grasse with Laurent theres a market. You two becoming an item then? You could do worse. Dont you start banging on about that. You are in a strange mood today. You need to get out more, while youve no children to tie you down - apart from mine! I think Ill go back to bed, while Frances
is still asleep. She was cranky last night, kept me awake for ages. But first I must phone Vronique, thank her. Sienna stared out of the window as Carys dialled the Bruhmans number.
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Odette and Henri were filling the paddling pool, Henri scooshing his sister with water. Sienna averted her eyes, stared at a cobweb on the ceiling. It's Carys. Thank you for a lovely evening. You must give me the recipe for the tarte aux poires Yes, yes he did. Are you going too? Well, try not to worry. The weathers fine, not a hint of wind around. Bye now, bye. Whats up? Sienna asked. Pascal's sailing this afternoon. She gets twitchy. Righto, I must go before Frances
wakes and demands more milk. Why are they filling the paddling pool? They know Bertrands taking them fishing. They won't be back until lunch time, so the house will be blissfully quiet. Henris getting quite good. Bertrand says he s a natural. ********************************** I still cant believe it, Sienna said as Laurent turned west to head out of Nice. Five months of believing I had a little girl. And finding out I dont but I might have a son. I tried to phone you last night I was organising a photography workshop. I am sorry we could not speak. You must have been in shock. It was awful. Just sitting there at dinner, wondering how I could get to speak to Richie. And then when I did, it was only a couple of minutes, or less. Then we were interrupted and that was it. Im meeting him this afternoon. Would you prefer not to go to Grasse? Laurent asked. Sienna shook her head. I need to get out. I feel like my head is bursting. As they approached the town of Grasse, its red and orange tiled roofs rising up the slopes of the foothills to the Alps, Sienna experienced a strange physical sensation, as if an engine had shut down. The pain was accentuated by the sights she encountered as they strolled through the crowded market, past tables of candied
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fruits, earthy red and brown ceramics and goat cheese wrapped in chestnut leaves, past stalls displaying large shiny aubergines with unblemished skins, truffles and virgin pressed oils, past a poster advertising herbal remedies: orange flowers and spices for anxiety; citronella and syrup for awaiting your beloved. Everywhere she looked, there were little girls chattering away, their young, musical voices drifting through the air - pointing out things to parents, arguing with siblings. She needed to grieve again for the daughter shed lost. She thought of Eve Arnold, whod photographed newly born babies as a way of exorcising her grief after her baby died at birth. Perhaps she needed to surround herself with children the age her daughter would have been, extract her sorrow, cry until she was spent. At the same time, there was a chance that Philippe could be her son. She might have lost a daughter but gained a son. If only Carys had known more, or even been more helpful. She looked at her watch. In five hours time shed be with Richie. In five hours time shed know the truth. At lunchtime, they found a quiet spot overlooking a carpet of lavender. The mountains were a deeper purple, their contours blurred by haze. Sienna abstractedly took a pastry from Laurent. Richie calls himself Pascal now. Thats why I couldnt find him on websites. I always knew him as Richard P. Williams. I never knew what the P stood for. You are still in love with him, he said. Sienna turned to Laurent. I couldnt forgive him for what he did, for what I thought he did. But when I saw him again Have you ever lost someone? Laurent looked over to the mountains. There was somebody. What happened? We planned to marry then she met another man. Do you still love her? He turned away but not before she saw him swallow hard.
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Have you prepared what you will say to Richie? Laurent asked as he opened a flask of coffee. Its hard to know where to start, Sienna said. Richie told me our little girl died the day she was born. Laurent turned to look at her. Perhaps he is lying Perhaps the child is with Alice. Why wouldnt he tell me? Perhaps she asked him to keep a secret. That will be my starting point, Sienna said. Ill tell him that the hospital wrote to my father saying shed survived. No! Thats not what happened. Ive just remembered. Nora - my mother - said that she only read the first few lines of the letter, and it told her that a baby had survived. It was Dorothys letter which said it was a little girl. Shed phoned the hospital. Maybe she misunderstood. Fils - son, fille - daughter. I need to get the truth from Richie. If the little girl didnt make it, I need to know. And I need to know if the little boy did, if its Philippe. The air was filled with the fragrance of rose and mimosa as they walked back to town. On the return drive the sky looked threatening which added to Siennas despondency. Im sorry Ive been such crap company, she said as Laurent pulled up outside the Chevaliers drive. Ill call you later. As she turned the front door key, Carys came rushing downstairs. Thank God youre back. We have to take Henri to hospital. Can you stay with Odette and Frances? I dont know how long well be. Fleetingly, Sienna thought of running after Laurent, asking him if he could help out. Whats up with Henri? Vomiting and diarrhoea. It began when they were fishing. Oh God, Frances is crying again. Theres expressed milk in the freezer. Sienna watched as Bertrand carried a pale-looking Henri to the car and laid him on the back seat. A moment later Carys appeared, gripping her overnight case.
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Well phone you once we know whats what, she said. Ive no idea when well be back. Ill stay if they keep him in overnight. Siennas mind was in overdrive as she defrosted milk for the baby. How could she get in touch with Richie? Is Henri going to die? Odette asked as Sienna fed Frances. No. Hes probably just got a bug. He was sick in the bedroom. All over the carpet. Its still there. Its all yellow and- Ill get that sorted. Im hungry. It was nearly three. Sienna found Carys address book and dialled the Bruhmans number, praying that Richie would answer. Est-ce que je peux parler avec Pascal? There was a hesitation. Il nest pas ici, je suis desole. Marie Beatrice said. Sienna paced the kitchen as Odette picked at her toastie. Would Richie wait for her or assume she wouldnt appear? If she took Carys car she could be there in fifteen minutes. Get your shoes, Odette, she said. Were going to Cap Jean Ferrat. Why? Ill explain later. I havent finished my toastie. You can take it with you. Get a plastic bag. Are we going by bus? Well take Mamas car. Its gone. They took Henri to the hospital in it. Of course. How could she have not noticed that? Well take Papas car. It wasnt insured for her to drive and Bertrand would be furious - if he knew of course. And he would know, because Odette would be bound to mention it
She looked at her watch. Ten past three. Ritchie would be wondering why she hadnt turned up. She rummaged around in a drawer for a bus timetable. There
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was only an hourly bus to Cap Jean Ferrat and the next one left in ten minutes. They wouldnt get down to the main road in that time. Shed have to take Bertrands car. Do you know where Papa keeps his car keys? she asked Odette. He always takes them with him, Odette said. Its to stop Henri driving his car. Once he started the engine. Papa was very, very angry. She dialled the Bruhmans number again. After a minute, she hung up. Perhaps Richie would arrange another time to meet. It had started to rain and a slight wind had whipped up. Perhaps he would have abandoned the idea of sailing that afternoon. She jumped as the phone went. Richie? Sienna? Carys voice sounded relieved. Henris better. Theyve given him something for the vomiting and diarrhoea and hes asleep. We should be able to bring him home this evening. Can you hang on til then? A beeping sound went. It might be Richie trying to get through. OK. I got such a fright, Carys was saying. The vomiting was awful. And the diarrhoea was just pouring out of him. Poor little soul. The beeping sound went again. Id better go, Carys, Sienna said, hanging up. She hovered by the phone. When it rang a moment later, she grabbed it. Richie? Sienna, is that you? Carys said. We got cut off. Look would you mind cooking something for us. We probably wont be back until after seven and- Thats fine. Ill see you later. And Sienna hung up again. Once more she waited by the phone. When it hadnt rung after ten minutes, she tried the Bruhmans number again. No reply. Presumably Richie had been calling
from his mobile. Would he try again? She waited by the phone for an hour.
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Perhaps Richies phone had a flat battery. Or had run out of credit. Or if he was just back from Italy, maybe he still had an Italian SIM card and it wouldnt work. Who knew? At seven oclock Carys car pulled up on the drive. Bertrand appeared a moment later, his arm round a wan-looking Henri. How are you? she asked. A bit better, he said. Ill put him to bed, come on cariad, Carys said. Bertie, theres some pizzas in the freezer. Thanks for staying around today, Sienna. Later as Sienna finished writing a note to Richie, she heard the phone ring and moments later, Carys exclaim. She ran downstairs. Carys was sitting at the kitchen table in tears, Bertrand was hovering by the kettle. Whats wrong? Sienna asked. I can't believe it, I just can't believe it, and we had such a lovely evening .... Its just too awful...., and she started crying again. What is it? Sienna asked. Bertrand put a mug of coffee in front of his wife. Whats happened, Carys, Sienna said. Its Pascal - and he had just come back home again. What about him? There was a sailing accident. Hes dead.
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Chapter 12
On a morning of sunshine and cherry blossom, Martin collects Sienna from the hospital. Shortly after he pulls up at an old stone building, with vines straggling the walls and window boxes suffocating with geraniums. 'Marti?' she asks. 'Lunch,' he says, opening her door. 'Its too soon. I can't. 'You can,' he says, helping her out, her body tense. As he orders steak pie and Beamish, she looks around, wondering if its obvious she's been in a psychiatric hospital. No-ones staring at her. She begins to relax. When the food arrives she finds herself biting into the flaky pastry, enjoying the taste of the meat, of the ale. Martin stays, helps her stock up her freezer, contacts the health centre to tell them shes home again. She sees him tugging at his trouser knee, realises the toll her illness has exerted on him. Liz brings round lasagne and her grain-free chocolate cake, chums her to the launderette. Even Zo, Martins girlfriend phones to see if she wants to take in a movie, tentative, but affectionate, and Sienna is grateful. She approaches medical school to see if she can repeat the year.
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During the summer she works in an architects office. A former warehouse refurbished in white tiles and Paul Klee prints, overlooking the Thames. Her employers are pleasant and unobtrusive and there are few connections with children. She enrols for an evening class in drawing. She welcomes the routine, her work is relaxed, its environment soothing. By late August, though, she is increasingly uncertain about medical school, questioning her desire to be a doctor. Her ability. Her emotional strength. When term starts she struggles into lectures, scrapes by on lab work, attempts to mug up on text books. Socialising is difficult. Hours in the pub, pints of Guinness, cheese and ham rolls and moaning about student life, once de rigeur, seems trite. She understands the stresses of part time work and study. The frustration over students union issues. Emotionally, though, she cant engage, her loss, albeit blurred at the edges, still defining her. One night, she feels dizzy. She attributes it to exhaustion: intensive studying, broken nights sleep . The next day she can hardly stand, she vomits, is sick again. She takes Stemetil, left over from pregnancy. She vomits soon after. She takes more tablets. Her jaw muscles go floppy, her tongue hangs out. She crawls to the hall mirror. Sees a deranged face. Panics. Dials 999. The ambulance arrives, a paramedic surmises distonia. She can hardly speak. With slurred words she explains about the Stemetil. They inject her with valium, and something to counteract the Stemetil. The medicines take effect. She calms down. Regains control of her facial muscles. Liz nurses her during the ensuing weeks, during days when she can crawl but cant stand, times when she can stand but cant lie down, her perception of time vague, her intolerance to noise and smells heightened. Her friend reassures her
that its an ear infection, physiological. That she isnt cracking up. wont end up in hospital again. By Christmas Sienna has decided. Informing Nora that shes pulling out of university is the obstacle and she spends days rehearsing. Anticipating responses,
counter responses. Aware of her vulnerability, of how little it would take to plunge
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her back into the darkness. Eventually she blurts it out during Sunday lunch. Nora stops in the middle of serving roast beef. Time is suspended as Sienna stares at her mother, at the tongs gripping a Yorkshire pudding. Ill get the horseradish sauce, Sienna says, stumbling as she stands, pushing away her chair with damp hands. They eat in silence, Sienna studying her father, his inscrutable expression. When Nora starts clearing plates, he puts his hand over his, glares at his wife: I havent finished yet. Her mother bangs the plates down and leaves the dining room. They can hear the kitchen tap running, the scraping of brillo pad on pots. Ill talk to her, he says. Its not me, medicine,' Sienna tells him. 'I dont think it ever was. It was what Mum wanted. I knew shed go ballistic He nods. I only want you to be happy. You can work in a fish factory, if you want.. Why dont you have a holiday? I could help I cant face Christmas, she says. On 23 December, she joins a group in Colombo, Sri Lanka. She realises its risky. Theyve been travelling for months, have that shared experience. Shes uprooted, fragile. But they welcome her and soon she finds herself laughing over lentil curry and rough wine. She senses others have their stories, worries that some disclosure might be expected. No-one intrudes. Sri Lanka is restorative: temples where women in white kneel, heads bowed to the ground in murmuring prayer, clusters of pink and white lotus blossom in front of the reclining Buddha, the air thick with burning incense; spice gardens where eager, dark-skinned men with beautiful eyes, show them coriander, cinnamon and cardamons, massage their shoulders and faces with scented oils; the hill country where women pick tea leaves, baskets slung over backs, sheets of brightly coloured
plastic shielding them from the rain; fishermen perched on stilts on a sea of deep turquoise, palm trees swaying like starfish. In her room in the evenings she writes, describes the magic, sometimes as
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prose, sometimes poetry. Choosing words is difficult but the process is healing. A sense of vitality returns. It emerges as a fluttering feeling in her stomach - she sees it as a pale yellow butterfly - and grows. Shes aware of inhaling deeply, of a feeling of relaxation. The wretchedness is blunting, more manageable. She has hours when she forgets and when the pain returns it is less intense. London she feels lighter. The decision to pull out of medical school is right, every instinct cautioning her to take life gently. Avoid pressure. She temps in banks, legal offices, insurance companies. Its dull but she welcomes the distraction. A structure to her day. Her experience of competence. Her confidence improves. One Saturday, in a store in Oxford Street, she watches a customer emerging from a cubicle in different dresses. Involuntarily she shakes her head as the woman appears in bright orange. To her embarrassment, she notices and calls Sienna as she attempts to slink away. You think this doesnt suit me, the woman says. Reluctantly Sienna turns round. Sorry, I didnt mean- Can you help? I need a dress for this evening. Sienna shrugs. I dont know anything about colour. You know this isnt right for me. Please ? Sienna smiles. Ill pay you for your time. They work hard and by late afternoon Anya has found what she needs. Sienna refuses the 50 note she presses into her hand but accepts a dinner invitation at her hotel the following evening. On her return to
You have a natural eye, Anya tells her as they sip coffee from porcelain
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cups. And now I have to confess. I do know about colour. I was testing you Its OK, dont look so alarmed. Im not a teacher, as I told you, at least not in the conventional sense I dont understand. Have you heard of a place called Wellspring in California? Sienna shakes her head. Its a centre which provides therapies for people with long term mental health problems. We offer art therapy, drama, music therapy, dance and colour therapies. I founded it 10 years ago. Sienna unwraps another After Eight. Whats this got to do with me? Anya lays down her coffee cup. Im opening a centre here, in Buckinghamshire Ive just bought an old mansion with a lovely view of the Chiltern Hills. Im looking for therapists now. Ive found a music therapist and I know of several art therapists. I need a colour therapist- You dont know anything about me. I know that you are honest. I know that you are sad - that something traumatic happened to you, that is not yet resolved. I had a breakdown. I was in a psychiatric hospital. I still see a shrink. There - I told you. You are honest. Not many people would have admitted that so early on. I dont normally open up this quickly. So you are discerning, or intuitive. You know who you can trust. Sienna shrugs. Maybe. Anya leans forward, takes Siennas arm. Did you lose a child, Sienna? Sienna nods. Twins. You walk as if you were pregnant, Anya says. Its OK. It manifests your grief. Legitimises it. Has no-one else pointed that out?
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Sienna flinches. Only Nora, and accusingly. No compassion, tenderness. Where are you from? Anya releases Siennas arm. I was born in Sherbinka, south of Moscow. My mother was Russian, my father Turkish. My mother died when I was eight. I moved with my father to California two years later. I havent any training in colour therapy, Sienna says. I would pay you to train, and to continue in therapy, Anya says. Id like you to come visit the building. Its near Aylesbury. You can take the train from Marylebone. At home, Sienna flips through her post, leaving to the end a large brown envelope with Noras handwriting. In it are two prospectuses for medical schools and one for dentistry. She dials Lizs number. Youre mad, Liz says. You dont know anything about her. Its only Buckinghamshire. Its no big deal, Sienna says. Anyway, itll be good to have a day away. And I like her. You always like people. Its a weakness. How dyou know shes not part of a cult? Im more streetwise than you think. Whatever. Look, some girls from work are talking about a new club. Friday. What dyou reckon? Yeh, why not? Brilliant! Liz says. You are feeling better. Sienna pivots from foot to foot in the ticket office. The platform is quiet with no sign of Anya. She walks up and down. Maybe shes got confused. Perhaps Anya is meeting her in Aylesbury. As she boards the train, she sees Anya running along the platform. She waves to her from the steps. Sorry, Anya says as they find a seat. I had a meeting with the lawyer who bought the building for me. It took longer. I didnt know if youd turn up or not. Where would I train? Sienna asks. There are several places, Anya says and they talk about the possibilities.
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You have a head start, Anya tells her when Sienna mentions shes already studied anatomy and physiology at med school. If you are interested, Ill send you over to California to spend some time with Laura. Perhaps a month. Could I work there? Sienna asks. If I expand, then there may be a chance, Anya says Cool! Id like to get away from London, once Im ready. Ghosts? Anya asks. Sienna nods. Something like that. Something like Nora. It might be the only way to get her off her back. Im inviting everyone for lunch next week, Anya says. If you like the look of the place and are interested in working for me - after training, of course, you can come too. Ill invite James as well. James? One of the therapists? James is the lawyer. James Chatterton. Old-fashioned. Quaint, actually. Efficient. And thats it. She loves the building which is to become Wellspring. She loves the fact that she might be able to move to the Nappa Valley in California. And when she meets James, she is drawn to his startled look, the warmth of his voice, and a after the Christmas party which ends at a Ceroc club in south London, where he wriggles and spins in demoniac fashion, she is hooked and a relationship starts. ********************************** That evening Richies accident was on the news. Many people had been at the beach as the storm broke and a couple fishing on the rocks nearby had swum out to rescue him when his boat capsized. Hed had a head wound, an observer reported. The paramedics had done what they could, but he was pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. Sienna sat for ages in the sitting room, a sleeping Frances in her arms, trying to gain some comfort from the small, warm bundle, with its head on her shoulder, the scent of new skin mixed with baby shampoo. It was the first time shed held the baby for so long, she realised in bed as she wept for Richie.
**********************************
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Whats happened? Laurent asked as they picked a table by the window of the caf. It was a beautiful day, the view over to Cap Ferrat clear, the water sparkling in midmorning sunlight. A gentle breeze caused a bobbing up and down of boats. Soothing. If Richie hadnt been killed Through the open window Sienna could hear the tinkle of flags against masts. Elderly men sat on the harbour wall, smoking pipes and exchanging conversation and a steady stream of people made their way to the beach. To her left a couple of fishing boats were departing for the afternoons catch. Later restaurants would prepare the bourride which Bertrand sometimes made a fish soup flavoured with garlic, onions, orange peel and thickened with egg yolks. They would fill lobsters with cream sauce and recommend Clairette, a local white wine. She yearned for the routine which most people took for granted. She yearned for Laurent to make love to her. To fill the emptiness. Sienna? I tried to phone you last night, she said. Did your meeting not go well? I never saw him. There was a sailing accident. Hes dead. Mon dieu! I heard the news. That was him? I can hardly believe it. To see him the night before then he dies. And I dont know if I have a child or not. You have to help me, Laurent. I dont know what to do now. Laurent reached over to take her hand. I am your friend, Sienna. ********************************** The day of the funeral was muggy, with rumbles of thunder. After breakfast, Carys left for the caf. Bertrand had a lecture to deliver and they would meet at the church. Sienna had agreed to look after Philippe during the funeral service and it was raining when Rene appeared with the little boy. In a black, linen dress, her dark hair curling round her ears, she looked younger, vulnerable. Philippe was pale and drawn, prompting his sister to put a clumsy arm around him, mutter something in French.
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Sienna bent down to pull Philippe close to her, bring him some comfort. As she held him close, she could think of only one thing. Could he be her son? And how could she find out? As thunder cracked through the sky, Frances started wailing. Mama wishes you to bring the children to the house at twelve oclock when the guests arrive, Rene said. Sienna nodded. Philippe was looking at her wistfully and she bent down to hug him again. Philippe clutched a maroon piece of cloth. Whats that? Sienna asked. Its Pascals handkerchief, Rene said. He wont let anyone take it from him. I must return now. Mamas waiting in the car. As Sienna closed the door, Odette and Henri appeared and led Philippe to the playroom. Sienna sank down onto the sofa. Shed have several hours today at the Bruhmans. She couldnt find out anything more about whether Richie was telling the truth when hed told her the baby girl hadnt made it. But she could try to find out if Philippe was hers. She couldnt ask Vronique straight out if Philippe was her son or Richies. And she couldnt ask Philippe who his parents were. He was too young. If she asked Rene, she was likely to go straight to Vronique and report the conversation to her. Could she ask Clara if Philippe was her full brother or step brother? Later while unloading the dishwasher she saw Philippe standing by the door. What is it? Are you hungry, dyou want some Cassis? He shook his head. Whats up, Philippe? she asked, taking his hand. It felt small and cold. I want to go home, he said. It was only eleven oclock but he was entitled to some consideration, so shed take him home now.
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At the Bruhmans, Philippes spirits lifted when Henri suggested they build a Lego space ship. Frances had fallen asleep after a feed and there was half an hour until the guests arrived. Sienna wandered downstairs. Under the fierce eye of Marie Beatrice, two women in black skirts and grey blouses were arranging trays of canaps, bottles of wine in the dining room. Sienna wanted to be occupied but sensed any help would be rejected so she resisted the urge to rearrange the lopsided vases of white lillies. She paced the house like a caged lion, the space too small for her body, too public for her distress. She imagined the beach in the storm. Waves thrown against rocks, their white foam tinged with brown, their accompanying debris of plastic fragments and pieces of fishing paraphernalia. She saw herself perched on these slippery rocks. Shouting, unheard over the roar of wind and water. She wished she could go out running now. Wished she could run during a storm. That would be exhilarating. She could see herself almost blown along by the wind. Or running into it, pushing herself to the utmost. Competing with the elements. Exhilarating The need to see if she could find out anything about Philippes origins drove her upstairs once more. She looked round Renes bedroom. At its posters of film stars and tennis players; its clutter of lipsticks, eye cream and nail gloss on the chest of drawers. At the pedal pushers, trainers and t-shirts on the floor, the pile of text books and jotters perched precariously on the unmade bed. She peered at an ashtray with a cigarette stub which smelt of cannabis. Did Vronique know? On the dressing table there was a photograph of an olive skinned man. Renes father? Nearby a cork wallboard was covered with Christmas and birthday cards. One read, Gros bisous, Papa. Another had the same greeting. They were all from her father. One wall contained a collage of wool, silk, velvet, mixed with pottery framents and shells, in browns, rusts and yellows, with seal blue woven subtly but effectively throughout. It was amorphous but the colour combination was stunning. Rene had talent. As she was about to leave the room, she noticed something sticking out from
under the pillow. She pulled out a creased dark blue envelope with two photos of Richie, one of which had been cut from a larger photo. She turned it over. The name Pascal had been written in different styles, as if Rene was deciding which
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one looked best. With trembling hands, Sienna returned the photos to the envelope and replaced it under the pillow. They only confirmed what she thought - Renes crush on her step father. Had Richie been flattered? She looked around for old family photos - for ones with Rene and Clara with Vronique and their father, and possibly Philippe. There was nothing. She went into Claras room and looked around. A striped Provencal bedspread covered the pine bed, and her chairs were bare of clothes. Siennas heart ached as she gazed at the baskets of dolls, teddies and toys. This not knowing was tearing her apart. Not knowing if she did have a daughter - living with Alice, because where else could she be? Not knowing if she had a son and if it was Philippe. And the worst position - having neither. She lay down on the bed, willing herself not to cry. When the family returned shed speak to Clara. Ask her gently about Philippe. She had to keep going. As she stood up, she tripped over a rucksack containing a cricket bat, several pieces of wood and a toy drill. She should go downstairs, she thought, as she looked at a pair of muddy trainers poking out of wellington boots, and a swimming suit smelling of chlorine entangled with a pair of goggles with a missing eye piece. This was only worsening her pain, she thought, as she gazed at laminated posters of animals, the world, the solar system and the human skeleton. Studied certificates for excellent school work and one for a competition for underwater swimming. And a photo on the chest of drawers. She picked it up and studied it: Vronique standing, flanked on either side by her daughters, to the left of Clara, Richie sitting with a younger Philippe on his knee. But that didnt tell her anything. If the man had been someone else - Vroniques ex-husband, then it would have answered her question about Philippe.
She went downstairs as she heard the sound of people arriving. Caterers were handing out wine, canaps of salmon mousse, chicken in white wine sauce, crab with lemon. Vronique, pale but elegant in a black suit, was circulating but
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saying little. Marie Beatrice was talking to her now. Vronique nodded. Turned to her older daughter. Rene, would you fetch the spare glasses from the study, please? We need five. Rene looked stonily at her mother. Please, Vronique added. Ill help, Sienna said. The study was at the back of the house overlooking the garden. By the window was a desk cluttered with books and a computer and printer. Metal bookcases spilt over with box files, journals and textbooks and there were knee high piles of patient case notes on the floor. On the only bare wall was a portrait of Vronique in a Chinese style deep blue and coral dress with a mandarin collar. Her dark hair was loose and she was sitting on a chair with a high back, her legs crossed, the slit in the dress revealing a toned lower thigh. A blurred green background ensured that the subject of the painting received full attention. As Siennas throat filled with regurgitated acid, she swallowed hard. Thats what men did when they were fixated with someone, when they loved them to distraction. They had their portraits painted. Hung them in their studies where they could stare at them, undisturbed. Richie had tolerated his first wife but hed been captivated by a beautiful French woman. Had he liked Vronique? Or was he just bowled over by her physical attractiveness? As she became aware of Rene rummaging behind, she removed her gaze from the painting and moved closer to the desk. She could feel Richies presence in this room of his. It was then that she spotted it - poking out from underneath the printer was a green envelope with a name written in capital letters. She could only make out the first few ones SI - it had to be addressed to her. What are you looking at? Rene called over.
I was just seeing what kind of wood the desk is made of, Sienna said, spinning round. Rene scowled as she handed her three glasses.
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How she could get hold of her letter? she wondered as they returned to the dining room. Rene seemed to be looking at her constantly and what was she whispering in her mothers ear? Im going to play with the children, Sienna said to Vronique while Rene was distracted by a conversation with Clara. As she turned to go to the study she stopped when she saw Bertrand near the door. The top buttons of his white shirt were undone and he was talking to a fair-haired woman in a short-skirted dark suit and high heels. Sienna went back into the dining room where she hovered for a while. When she returned to the hall, Bertrand was still in conversation. In the dining room once more, Carys came up to her. Her mascara was smudged, and there were traces of lipstick on her teeth. Have you seen Bertrand? Sienna nodded. Hes talking to someone in the hall. Not that tart, Carys muttered. You wouldnt think she was at a funeral. I dont know why she bothered putting on that skirt. You could see her knickers if she bent over. I could dress like that if I wanted. Upstairs, Sienna quietly opened the room Richie had shared with Vronique. The bedroom was dominated by a king size mahogany sleigh bed facing a French window giving onto a balcony. Dusky pink sheets and duvet cover were half removed as if someone had been interrupted while stripping the bed. Packing boxes half filled with ties and socks and jumpers waited patiently for the task to be completed. The doors of the double wardrobe were open, a pale blue wool dress spilling out from its floor. Sienna pulled out a drawer, fingered a pair of crimson silk knickers and matching bra. Had Richie bought these? She picked up a cream coloured satin camisole, draped it over her blouse. She tugged at another drawer
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and ran her fingers over black stockings with lacy tops. She visualised Richie in a lingerie shop in Paris or Rome, pondering his choice. Hed never bought underwear for her Unbidden, an image appeared of him and his wife on that bed, the dusky pink sheets crumpled, Vronique in the crimson knickers and stockings, her radiant skin smooth, inviting. She could see Richie stroking Vroniques face, kissing her neck. Why was she subjecting herself to this? She conjured up the childs magic board, erased the thoughts of Richie and Vronique together. Hastily she shoved the lingerie back in, rammed the drawers shut, glancing at herself in the wardrobe mirror, at the shadows under her eyes, at her flushed face. She moved away, knocking over the waste paper basket. As she bent down to replace its contents, she saw the black perfume bottle. It was half full. She slipped the Paloma Picasso into her pocket, feeling the smoothness of the glass. As she was about to leave, she noticed rain coming in through the open window. When she went to close it, she spotted the suitcase, half lying under the bed, its contents strewn around. She went to the door and listened. Noises from Philippes room suggested the children were still absorbed in play and there was no sound from the spare room where shed left Frances. She got down on her knees by the suitcase. Picked up a short sleeved shirt, holding the linen fabric to her face, inhaling Richies smell. She ran her hand over two laundered shirts at the bottom of the case. She lifted an orange striped toilet bag, started to pull back the zip, halted. This was crazy! Dr Barak would ask her what purpose this served. She examined the golf club logo on a pair of socks, opened a novel by John le Carr to see if his name was written on it, glanced at a crumpled pocket Italian dictionary. As she straightened to stand up she noticed a black leather travel wallet. She undid the metal catch, emptied out its contents: air tickets from Florence to Nice, baggage stubs, a fifty euro note, a letter from the Universita di Firenze, and a leather covered passport. Her hands were shaking as she looked through the document. At
the back of it was a photograph of Richie and on the next page, one of Philippe.
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Date of birth: 6. 9. 1999. Her heart started racing. The sixth of September, 1999. A date she could never forget A hospital in Tangiers Philippe! He was her son. She gripped the passport, her damp fingers imprinted on the leather cover. Richie had been telling the truth - or part of it. The baby girl had died. But the boy had lived. Siennas heart was pounding. Philippe!
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Chapter 13
There was something in the passport folder pocket, and with damp fingers she pulled out a photo of Philippe. He was leaning against the trunk of a large tree, his expression thoughtful. His yellow t-shirt was crushed, his wavy hair dishevelled and one foot was bare. On the back Richie had inscribed, my darling Philippe, 14.9.
2004. A few days after his fifth birthday. She studied the photo, the lump in her throat so large she struggled to breathe. She was a mother. To a little boy. To Philippe. A child shed felt drawn to from the start. Even though shed known for a few days that this could be the case, she had been frightened to believe it. It was amazing. It was more than that. And he had no idea. He believed his mother had died when he was two. He believed he had no parents now. If only Richie had had the privacy to tell her, when they met at the Bruhmans. But it had been difficult for him. Shocked by her appearance. Anxious. No time to think what to do. She replayed their snatched conversations, their surrounding events. Clara tumbling down the stairs to tell him Philippe was crying. The first interruption. Then later, Philippe running up to his father, demanding a story. Then Renes appearance. Surely Richie could have whispered something to her. But hed been equally taken aback to see her. He would have told her the next day if shed been
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able to meet him at the harbour. There was the letter, of course. She must get hold of it. She needed to read what he had to say. Once theyd left the Bruhmans home, that would be it. Vronique would find it, and then what? Would she pass it on? Would she read it first? She must find a way of getting back into the study unnoticed. Even if she was seen, it wouldnt matter if she managed to get the letter. She could plead some excuse. Nothing mattered except knowing what it said. She slipped the photo into her pocket. Let herself out of the room, closing the door quietly. As she searched for the children, Clara came running upstairs. I found a letter for you, she said, handing Sienna a crumpled green envelope. Sienna took Clara into her bedroom. Clara, please dont tell anyone about this letter. Its very important but it must be kept a secret at the moment. I wont tell anyone, she said Do you want to play in the garden?
********************************* Not until evening did Sienna had privacy to read Richies letter. After their return from the Bruhmans shed prepared a late lunch for the children, played Monopoly, cooked dinner. Done everything in fact, her thoughts constantly on Philippe, the fact that she was a mother. It had been a difficult afternoon, what with her preoccupation and Carys exasperating habit of vacillating between tasks. Eventually shed run out of patience as the Welsh woman drifted from one activity to another, finishing nothing, talking incessantly about Vronique and her family, muttering about the need to take a nap. Just go and sleep, Sienna had blurted out, as Carys ruminated yet again about Vronique and how shed manage singlehandedly with three children. A startled Carys had put down the iron and made her way upstairs. Moments later, overcome with contrition, Sienna had popped her head round the bedroom door to apologise, to find her employer lying on her tummy, already fast asleep.
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Shed sunk onto the sitting room sofa. Prayed the rain would hold off. Give her a break while the children played outside. What a maelstrom of feelings over the last six months. From believing she was childless to discovering she had a daughter, to learning that the daughter had died, to finding out she had a son. Like riding the crest of a wave, then being sucked under, only to surface once more. Shed thought about Vronique. Her lack of interest in Philippe. Renes gauche efforts to comfort him. All that made sense now. His closeness to the disarming, tomboyish Clara was nothing to do with biology. Several times shed tried to reach Laurent to tell him her news. Shed tried Liz number, and her fathers mobile. Shed even tried to contact Martin, risking waking him in the middle of the night. Now she stood by the open window, letter in hand, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine from the trellis below, hearing the reassuring noise of crickets. The evening light was fading as Bertrand, in checked shirt and jeans,
opened the bonnet of the car and peered inside. She watched him turn as a pyjamaclad Odette and Henri appeared to say goodnight, Odette bending down to sniff a rose, Henri imitating a plane swooping and circling. Sienna felt the accustomed ache as Carys followed, urging them to be quick, her Welsh accent, always stronger when she was tired, floating up to the window. Sienna lingered as the children kissed
their Papa, and Henri ran over to the swing, Carys scampering after him, remonstrating, her arms orchestrating her words. She listened to their footsteps on the stairs, to the opening and shutting of bedroom doors, to Carys padding downstairs once more, returning to the garden and the balmy August evening. Carefully Sienna detached the flap of the envelope and edged the letter out. Dear Sienna, it read, It was such a shock to see you this evening and I havent been able to think about anything else since. Im not even aware why Im writing to you as were meeting tomorrow. But I cant sleep. Guilt, I suppose. Guilt that I put you through so much unnecessary pain. Its so difficult to write this. I am guilty of
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the worst kind of deception, you see the separation of a mother from her child. And I wonder if youll ever be able to get over this, let alone forgive me. I dont think I could, in your situation. You are aware of the pressure Alice put on me to ask you to let us bring up the baby. About five weeks after our babies were born, the hospital in Tangiers contacted me to let me know that one of them had survived, the little boy. They had tried to get in touch with you via your parents your father was the contact on your passport, you see, but they had no response to their letter. I wasnt even aware that you were in Morocco. At first I did nothing, just pondering the situation. Unfortunately, Alice, intuitive as always, sensed something had happened and insisted I told her. It was her idea I went to Tangiers to fetch the baby, that I make some excuse about my wife/you, being ill and that we could bring up the child as ours. I was loathed to be involved in such a deception, but she insisted, threating to report me to the University Department if I didnt go along with her idea. I managed to convince myself that you would be hard to track down and that I should do what she wanted. She was so desperate to be a mother but please believe me, Sienna, when I say I had no pride in what we did. I loved Philippe from the start and Alice bonded with him quickly once we got back to London. But we felt anxious that someone would find out what wed done. Neighbours noticed that we suddenly had a baby and friends were baffled. Wed said nothing about adoption, you see. Already too many lies had been told. And so we decided to move abroad. As I was bi-lingual because of my French mother, France was the obvious choice. I was offered work in Perpignan and we moved soon after. In Perpignan we worked hard at rebuilding our marriage while becoming used to being parents. When my contract ended, I found another one in Paris. Unfortunately, just before Philippes second birthday, Alice developed leukaemia. We returned to London because I knew a specialist in that field. She fought hard
but none of the treatments worked. Her last words were that shed been so happy being a mother at last. I was almost able to forgive myself, us
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Sienna put the letter down and clutched her stomach, picturing Richie arriving at the hospital in Morocco, tired and hot, still absorbing the news that he would be a father. She saw him holding the baby on the flight to London, smiling at the stewardesses and passengers, whod be charmed by a tiny face. She imagined Alice at the sitting room window. Listening out for the taxi. The familiar sensation in her stomach increased as she visualised Alice checking the nursery one last time, twirling the mobile above the cot, wondering about the room temperature. Tears slid down her face as she saw her prepare an infant feed. Place it carefully in the fridge between chunks of cheese and packets of sliced ham. CUT, CUT, CUT! This was madness. Such thinking. It was masochistic, as if in some way she enjoyed the suffering. She imagined her forgetting about dinner in her excitement. She visualised her first glimpse of Philippe. Begging to hold him. Staring at him, amazed that there was an outlet for her maternal instincts, at the same time worrying about how the neighbours would interpret the arrival of a baby. She saw Alice beaming at Richie as she gave Philippe his first bottle. Had she been conscience stricken? Even fleetingly? Knowing shed taken someone elses infant to bring up as her own? Knowing Sienna was still alive? At least, not knowing she had died? Or had desperation to be a mother overcome any doubts? Any moral considerations? Had Richie ever sat bolt upright in bed, roused from a nightmare, sweat pouring from him, horrified by his actions, to be soothed with platitudes and hackneyed lines by Alice about it being in the childs best interests? Had he ever panicked when he saw a policeman at the university? Thought his deception had been uncovered? Had he ever stopped mid-sentence during a lecture or conference presentation? Perceiving his behaviour in a new light? Had he ever suggested trying to find her? Arranging some compromise?
Sienna crossed her arms over her chest, bowed her head, aware of a moaning erupting from her. A low wailing. Richie and Alice had robbed her of so much. A priceless gift. An irreplaceable experience. But there was more. When Alice had died, Richie could have searched for her but he hadnt. Hed been able to keep Philippe but discard her.
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And shed continued to love him. Even after she knew what hed done. Had he felt anything for her, as theyd sat through that insufferable dinner? Or was he so smitten with Vronique that only she filled his senses? Her thoughts veered from Richie to her mother. She saw Nora peering at the envelope addressed to her father. Wondering whod be writing from Morocco, her controlling nature allowing her to open it, justifying such action, even. Her unflinching conviction that she knew what was right, driving her to destroy it Sienna went to the window, needing to be reminded of another world; one that despite its imperfections was routine, predictable. She watched Bertrand slam down the car bonnet, mouthing merde, before switching his energies to the lawnmower. Watched Carys in threadbare jeans, on her knees tugging at weeds, turning from time to time to converse with her husband. A normal couple, drinking in the last of the daylight, their young family tucked up in bed. She moved away, gave her attention once more to the letter. After Alices death I returned to Paris. It was hard. I missed Alice more than Id anticipated. Friends helped, in particular, Hlne, Antoinettes sister. She was a nurse in the radiology department. Hlne introduced me to Vronique and her daughters. Vronique had recently become divorced and was lonely. We married three months later and moved to St Jean Cap Ferrat, so that the children could have regular contact with their father. Shortly after, I was offered a job with a newly established cabinet of radiologists. I decided then to change my name as I was still worried about being discovered. I decided to use my middle name, and my mothers
maiden name. Doing this by Deed Poll in London was easy enough. And Pascal Vernay was born Although Philippe has been a joy, the guilt never disappeared. And there were so many occasions, especially during that first year, when I was tempted to
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look for you to tell you what happened. But again, it always seemed that Alice knew which prompted more threats. By the time she died, Philippe had been ours for almost two years and I convinced myself that too much time had elapsed and that I would cause you more pain than happiness. In the midst of the shock of seeing you
again, there was almost a sense of relief. I dont know what will happen when we meet. I sense that Philippe is fond of you children are much more instinctive than we credit them for - and although the way ahead will be difficult, I wont try to prevent you having access to him. Of course I must explain all this to Vronique and have no idea how she will react. Please forgive me, Sienna. Yours, Richie
********************************************************************************************** It was after ten when she pressed Laurents buzzer. No answer. She sat on the grassy patch outside the building, willing his return. Half an hour later as she stood up to leave, she saw his grey Peugeot pulling up. Only as she waved, did it occur to her that he might be with someone. Her relief when she saw he was alone prompted her to wave more vigorously as he drove into the tiny car park. When he got out of the car he smiled, put his arm round her and led her into the apartment building. Something amazings happened, she said as he pressed the lift button. I found out that Philippe is mine. Hes in Richies passport. Richie wrote me a letter. He told me everything. What happened Mon dieu! Laurent said. So, you are a mother!
I just want to go and get Philippe. He needs me.
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Laurent unlocked the apartment door. Please, sit down, please. Have you eaten ? I had something with the kids. I will prepare some food. I need to talk! I need to eat and then we can talk. His face was drawn and she felt ashamed. If hed come straight from the hospital he would be tired. I tried to call you at the hospital, she said, as he washed roquette and tomatoes. There was a meeting all day, he said. It seems like a lifetime, you know? Since this morning. When I woke up I didnt know if I was a mother. And now I know. Chop these, he said, pointing to tomatoes. When she took the salad bowl through to the sitting room, she looked around. Her eye was drawn to the fireplace. To a sepia photo so arresting she stepped forward to study its subject. The woman was dark skinned with almond shaped eyes and short, spiky hair. Her mouth, slightly parted as if shed been caught unawares, was generous, sensual. Made for lingering kisses. Cut! She was wearing a scoop neck t-shirt and her neck was bare. Sienna was aware of a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. It could be Laurents sister. But it wasnt. Despite its surprise, the womans expression was intimate. She peered at the photo again in search of a flaw. All she saw was beauty. A simplistic perfection. Her thoughts jumped to the
portrait of Vronique. There were men who adored women. And there were women incapable of inspiring devotion. As Laurent came into the sitting room, she stepped away from the fireplace. His eyes went to the photo and back to her.
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The meal is ready, he said, laying a dish on the table, lifting out cutlery from a chest of drawers. I am glad you came to see me, he said as he passed her the vinaigrette. Tell me about the letter. You can read it. Later. First you eat some salad and then we will talk. He poured her a glass of wine, pointed to her untouched salad. Laurent read Richies letter during his second coffee. When hed finished, he went through to the kitchen. Returned with the coffee pot. He skimmed the letter again as he sipped, standing by the window. Talk to me, please, Sienna said, tugging at her chain. This is an important letter, he said. It is evidence that Philippe is your son. You must make the copies. It is possible you will need such proof. You mean if it goes to court? He nodded. 'You must find a lawyer. We have to presume that Vronique now knows everything and- She didnt say anything after the funeral. Perhaps she was in shock too. You must prepare yourself, Sienna. If she wishes to fight for Philippe, she will find a lawyer who will help her build a case for obtaining legal custody une garde denfant. Or she might apply for shared custody, whereby Philippe would live with her in his country of residence garde de residence. When you say build a case dyou mean try to prove Philippe would be better off with her? Exactement. She would ask the social services department to prepare a report about you. Sienna spun round. Look for proof that Id be a crap mother. It could be difficult.
Would they contact the UK, dig out my psychiatric record? They cant look for evidence outside France. Sienna sank onto the sofa. Bertrand! What about Bertrand? Hes always snooping around. I think he overheard me one night on the phone making an appointment with my shrink.
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Laurent came to sit beside her. Receiving treatment from a psychotherapist doesnt mean you have mental health problems. Dr Baraks also a psychiatrist. All Bertrand needed to do was look him up on the internet. Hes easy to find. But Bertrand cannot be certain. And you havent talked to Carys? Laurent refilled his coffee cup. The City Hall in Tangiers will have records of all births. The embassy could help you to contact them. If there is any doubt, of course, a DNA test can be performed on you and Philippe. That would be conclusive. But with the record of the birth, and the letter of Richie it would be difficult to challenge. What if Vronique has already adopted Philippe? Under French law she would not be able to do that, Laurent said, sitting down again. But if the case does go to court then the judge would consider the childs best interest when deciding about custody. Sienna turned away. Was she strong enough for all this? Laurent looked at her. You must prepare yourself for a difficult time. You must be strong. And you must fight. I believe you will get your son back. And now I will drive you home. Ive got the moped. You are too tired. Kiss me, she said, as they pulled up outside the Chevaliers house. Gently he disentangled her arms. This is not the right time. You are vulnerable.
You mean you dont want me. I will phone you soon. ********************************* Siennas breathing became more laboured as she ran along the beach, James surprised voice still in her thoughts. His reproachful comments about her secret
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swirling around like a sandstorm. Pant, pant. Would he check the registry office for Philippes birth registration? Or wouldnt he bother, certain that the registration would have been done in Tangiers. She drew to a halt, checked her pulse. She bent forward, stretched her calf muscles. At least James had reassured her that in British law Vronique wouldnt have been able to adopt Philippe. Thered have to be proof that the natural mother was dead, for that to be sanctioned, hed said. And hed offered to check out French lawyers for her, if Laurent had no luck. Though the offer smacked of competition. Shed observed the change in his voice, could picture him bristling, when she mentioned Laurent. She stretched her arms and her back. Drank deeply from her water bottle. Poor, non-comprehending James ********************************* Sienna looked around the Parc Mercanteur as Carys unpacked the picnic lunch. The mountains were a a hazy purple, with a foreground of brilliantly blue gentians. As she watched Henri and Odette flying a kite, the images changed to Richie and Philippe. Frances started crying and Carys picked her up. She probably needs feeding, she said, looking down at her breasts. I will be flat as a pancake if she continues like this. Pity, I did enjoy being better endowed. You've been quiet lately, Carys said as she transferred Frances to her other side, helped her attach.
Sienna looked over to the children. Henri was untangling a knot in the kite strings.
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Telling his sister that only a boy could sort out the kite. That she should watch. She saw Odette turn away. Brush away the tears with her wrist. Sienna? I knew Richie Pascal. I was a student of his What a coincidence - it must have been strange seeing him again. There was more to it. You and him? And a baby. A baby! Sienna poured out her story once more. This is bizarre, Carys said when shed finished. And youd no idea that Philippe was your little boy-? Until the Bruhmans, I thought it was the baby girl whod survived. And of course I didnt know that Philippe was only Vroniques stepson. When Richie opened the door, I was I couldnt take it in that it was him. I can hardly believe this. Its the sort of thing you read about but for it to happen. What youve been through Im not out of it, you know. No, of course not. But Im so glad, Carys said. Glad for you, for Philippe. Vronique never bonded with him. Antoinette told me that. That was the one thing she and Pascal argued about. He was devoted to Philippe but- Was able to bugger off to Florence, leaving him with a crap stepmother who didnt - Vronique said it was a good career move and -' Sienna looked over to the mountains, her throat burning with unshed tears. 'Richie always wanted to go places, you know? At the end of the day, he did what he wanted. Always. And he was weak. Weak with Alice. Carys adjusted the umbrella over the carry tot. 'Alice?'
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'His first wife. He could have insisted they looked for me. He could have stood up to her. No wonder you were so weird at the Bruhmans. Vronique needs to know the situation but I cant talk to her. I could ask her for lunch, just tell her the truth, Carys offered. Would you? Of course, and if this goes to court Ill speak for you. Carys? There, there, its all right. What a state youre in. But I understand, I do. So, youre a mother. Boyo, what a strange situation Sienna sat up. Im waiting to see if the Moroccan embassy can get a copy of the birth registration from the City Hall in Tangiers. 'Sienna, you have Richies letter. And a DNA test will prove you're the natural mother. You can get a test kit online and send off a sample yourself. That would speed things up Im glad youve told me all this now because although your contract finishes next week I was wondering if youd stay on for a bit? Help get the children ready for la Rentre and settled back into school. The cafs busy. Also I want to go back to Wales for a few days. Theres a retirement dinner for my mother. My father died two years ago and shes been a bit lost since then. Ill take Frances of course. But if you were here it would be easier.' Carys, theres something else you should know. I had a breakdown after what happened. But Id never do anything to harm Henri and Odette. There was a silence. We should leave soon, Carys said. Bertrand wants to take the children fishing this evening. Henri Odette, venez ici. Carys was uncharacteristically quiet on the homeward drive, not intervening when Henri taunted Odette about her dearth of kite-flying abilities. Sienna berated herself. She shouldnt have mentioned her emotional collapse. Shouldnt have exposed herself in this way, especially when her employer had disclosed her
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prejudices. But Carys positive reaction to her revelation about Philippe, her offers of help and positive attitude had triggered something. A need to confess? But what? That she was fragile? Not the resilent person Carys thought? When they got out of the car, Carys gave her a lingering look, then went to the boot to retrieve the picnic things. Sienna gave herself a shake. She had to put it out of her mind. Maybe Carys would change how she thought. Perhaps at this moment, even, she was reassessing her attitudes to mental health. ********************************** Laurent phoned several days later as Sienna was reading Odette and Henri a bedtime story. Vronique didnt know anything about Philippe and me, Sienna told him. Shes contacting her lawyer, fighting for custody. 'A colleague has arranged for me to speak to Vroniques brother tomorrow evening, Laurent said. It is possible that he can influence her. I would like to meet you for dinner on Saturday. We can talk about it then and I can give you the names of lawyers. Itll take for ever, Sienna said. Yes, it will take time. But it is important to walk carefully is that the correct expression? Tread carefully. Yes, tread carefully. Ive sent off a DNA sample. I need to get a hair sample from Philippe. I will speak to Jean about that, Laurent said. ********************************** Laurent had chosen a good restaurant, Sienna realised, as the waiter pulled out a chair for her and gave a lovely smile. The building overlooked the palm-lined beach of Beaulieu and in the distance she could see a water skier as a golden-red ball of a
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sun began to set. The tables were spaced out enough to allow intimate conversation. The background piano music pleasant, unobtrusive. I love this time of year, Laurent said as he studied the menu. It is still hot but there is a suggestion of autumn. Anything good has always happened to me at this time. Was he talking about the woman in the photo? How little she knew about his past. The focus was always on her - her situation, her anxieties. Who and what had defined him? She studied his green linen shirt, the clear hazel eyes. He was selfassured. But not arrogant. Carys was right - she could do a lot worse. Shall we order? he asked. You decide. As he raised his eyebrows she felt a frisson of desire, a feeling which surfaced again as he spoke to the waiter. Deux risotto Saint Jacques, sil vous plat. She peered at her plate when the waiter brought their food - the bed of rice and cheese, covered with rolls of fish, garnished with fresh figs. Laurent poured her a glass of wine. I hope you like the fish. Take some salad. As he held her gaze, her pulse quickened. Anxiety and lust - unlikely companions. Laurent picked up her hand. I met Jean last night. He has spoken with Vronique about Philippe. He told me that a Trust fund is already arranged for the child. I understood that there are financial considerations and- You mean she wants his money? She is able to administer this Trust. It is different to an inheritance. Pascal - Richie left a lot of money to Philippe. There is work to be done on the house. Of course, Richie would have inherited money when Alice died. A lot, if hed also sold the house in Cornwall. Shes using his money for her house?
Perhaps. She has a good lawyer. I have the names of three lawyers who have experience of working with custody issues. This one, in particular, always wins a case connected with children. Sienna looked at the business card. He looks scary. He is good, Laurent said. Sienna scanned the other cards. Christiane Gerboni-Gouron. I think Id prefer a woman. It would be best to speak to them all before you decide. Sienna nodded. Thanks, Laurent. Laurent? Laurent was looking out of the window, his expression haunted. The photo on the fireplace is that the woman you you were going to marry? Sienna asked.
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Portia was a brilliant human rights lawyer, he said. Sometimes I would go to court. I just wanted to hear her talk You still love her, dont you? As Laurent hesitated, Sienna wished she hadnt asked. It was obvious he did. It was also obvious he wasnt the sort of person to let his feelings leak out, the way she did. Would anyone ever feel that way about her? Jean managed to get a hair sample from Philippe, Laurent said, handing her a envelope. If only I could see him, she said. You must be patient, Sienna, he said. There is a procedure to follow. I know. Someones visiting me from the Departement des Services Sociales next week. Then I might be allowed to spend some time with him. course. It is the procedure, Laurent said. You are so good to me, Laurent. Supervised, of
Perhaps I understand something of your emotions, he said. When I was ten my
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younger sister died. She had a rare form of cancer of the bone marrow. My mother was almost destroyed. For three years, every day I woke to the sound of her crying. It was a terrible sound. Sometimes I would sit outside her bedroom just listening to her. I wanted to go to comfort her. I was not brave enough. When the taxi pulled up outside the Chevaliers' home Laurent got out with her and gave her a hug, a gesture of support, reassurance only. She lingered in his arms as his grip slackened. I will contact you when I have more news, he said, pulling away, turning back in the direction of the awaiting taxi. Laurent, she called to the departing car . ********************************** Sienna looked down at the view over Nice and the Baie des Anges. The sea was deep blue with a layer of white haze and the city shimmered in early evening heat. She made herself walk up to the chateau, mulling over what had happened that day. Two social assistants attached to the Tribunal du Grand Instance had talked to her in the garden. Observed her with Odette and Henri when they came home from school. Watched as shed given the children a snack. Supervised homework. To her relief they hadnt questioned her about life in London, but shed seen them making notes. Theyd been pleasant enough but knowing they were reporting back to Vroniques lawyer was unnerving. Had made it impossible for her to relax. Theyd allow for that, surely? Understand how difficult it was to be natural under scrutiny? Hope without expectation. Hope not expectation. As she looked up at the sky, she saw the dark clouds amassing. A storm was imminent. She scrambled down to Laurents moped. Zoomed back to Villefranche. The first fat drops of rain were beginning as she put the bike in the garage and let herself into the house. Despite the onset of rain the air was still heavy and she turned her fan on to maximum speed. As she heard a distant rumble of thunder,
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saw a flash of forked lightning, she went over to the side window and looked across the road. The church was undergoing repairs and its plastic sheeting flapped in the rising wind. Like the sail of a boat in a storm. A menacing sound. Her mood plummeted. And when Carys phoned later that evening to say that she was going to stay an extra day in Wales, she felt every lower. It was something to do with Bertrand. The fact that she never felt comfortable in his presence. That night she dreamed she was walking along a beach on a beautiful summers evening, content to be on her own. Shed noticed the slight figure of a child some distance ahead. Curious, shed quickened her pace. At the same time, the child had started walking away, and the more she hurried, the more the figure did. Eventually shed realised it was hopeless. Distraught, shed wept. When shed looked up again, the figure seemed closer, close enough for her to hear the sound of a laugh. A gloating childs laugh. She had stood up, held her arms open but the child had walked away once more. When she awoke her face was wet with tears, her heart heavy. Some time around later she woke again to notice a figure by the door. Ssh, Bertrand said. Whats up? Is it the children? No, he said, coming over to the bed. It was a full moon and she could see his towelled green dressing gown, his gold neck chain. Sienna looked at her alarm clock. Three oclock. What is it? she said, pulling the duvet more closely round her. He walked over to the bed, sat down and reached out his arm. What are you doing? This is my room. But is my house. His hand touched the duvet, felt for her breast. She pushed his arm away. He laughed. I know that English women are cold. But I think that you are different. As he lent forward to kiss her she could smell alcohol.
Dont, please.
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The strap of her nightdress slipped down and with a cat-like pounce, he reached out and pinched her nipple. She put out both arms, shoving him with such force that he fell back. His dressing gown parted as he hit the floor, and she looked away as she saw his nakedness. She grabbed her kimono and made for the door. He picked himself off the floor, rubbed his leg, his eyes dark, angry. You are making a mistake, he said. Ill tell Carys. I will tell Vronique that you are not stable. You will never get your son back. After Bertrand left, Sienna locked the door. What a shit! Taking advantage of his wifes absence. Had Carys any idea what he was like? Did she worry about what he got up to when she was away? She lay looking at her alarm clock, aware of a trembling in her arms. That was unnecessary. Bertrand wasnt a threat. Not physically. It was September 6. Philippes birthday. Her sons sixth birthday. Her yearning for him was absolute. Even if she could just hand in a present that would be some connection. He had no Papa to celebrate with now, only the self-absorbed Vronique. Would she even bother to buy him a present, let alone arrange a party? She pictured the French woman round a table with lawyers, accountants, files of notes. Building a case for her guardianship. What did they have on her? Even if there was nothing, so far, Bertands threat hung heavily in the air. Shed wounded his pride and hed extract his revenge. The sky was ribboned with the first light of day before she returned to sleep, waking only to the scrunching of tyres on gravel as Bertrand departed for work. *************************************
I didnt think youd let us go to McDonalds Henri said as they drove into Nice. Just this once, Sienna said. But only if youre good while we shop.
All she had to do was avoid Bertrand until Carys returned this evening Youve been yawning all morning, Odette said. Its the heat, Sienna said. OK, lets start with the trainers. Then hair cuts. 'There's Papa,' Henri said, as they walked along the road to McDonalds several hours later. Bertrand was on the other side of the street with Vronique. 'Papa,' Henri called out. Odette clutched Sienna's hand more tightly. 'I don't like her. 'Papa,' Henri called again. As Bertrand continued walking , Henri broke away and dashed across the road.
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'Henri!' Sienna screamed out as a car swerved and narrowly avoided hitting the boy. Stay here, Sienna said to Odette. She rushed over to the other side where Henri stood shaking. What were you doing? You could have been killed. As Henri started crying, she put her arm round him. She looked round to see Bertrand striding up to them. Im sorry, she said. He just ran out and I You should be more careful about my children, Bertrand said. Come on Henri. She took his hand and marched him to the traffic lights. Odette was waiting for them, tears rolling down her cheeks. She seemed to have shrunk. Its OK, darling, Sienna said, bending down to hug the girl. Sienna was shaking as she opened the door of McDonalds and ushered the children in. Theres Philippe, Odette said. Philippe was sitting with Rene and another girl who was retrieving something from a carrier bag. He was chewing on a straw and puncturing a half eaten hamburger with a plastic fork. Quickly Sienna found a table.
Sit here, she told Odette and Henri. Ill be back in a mo. She made her way over to Philippe. Bonjour! Rene and her friend looked up momentarily and then returned to discussing their
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shopping. Was this how her son was destined to spend his birthday? Traipsing round with two teenagers? Or was Rene only looking after him while Vronique met with Bertrand? Did anyone even notice the shadows under his eyes ? His pale face? Was anyone holding him as he cried for his Papa? She ached to wrap her arms round him. Hold him close. Instead she ruffled his hair. Happy birthday, Philippe, she said. Dyou want to come and say hallo to Odette and Henri? She reached for Philippes hand but he pulled it away as they walked over to join Odette and Henri. Is it your birthday today? Odette asked. What age are you? Im seven and three quarters. Philippe nodded and put up six fingers. Did you get lots of presents? Odette said. I got a car. What else? Odette asked. Philippe thought for a moment. A football from Uncle Jean. We could get trainers like Henris for Philippe, Odette suggested. Can we go now and look? Its up to Philippes Mama to buy him things, isnt it, Sienna? Henri said. Thats right, Sienna said. Its for Vronique to do that. She should wait until she got him back. Then shed buy him trainers with flashing lights. Anything he wanted. She could give him everything. Except the six years of his childhood shed lost. Theyd lost. She stooped to kiss him, jerking back as he pulled away. It was a knife in her stomach. What did it mean? Was he confused? Had Vronique bad-mouthed her as Laurent warned she might?
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Philippe, she started to say, then stopped. He was six. Too young to explain what he was feeling. She looked up to see Vronique coming into the restaurant. She stood up and took Philippe back to his table. Oh, there you are, Vronique said. Its time to go home for your birthday party. As Vronique left with Philippe, Rene and her friend, Siennas thoughts turned to Bertrand. What had he been telling Vronique? She thought about Bertrands meeting with Vronique constantly as she ran along the beach that evening. As she stopped for water. As she flopped down by a rock, sweat pouring from her, her heart racing. What had he surmised? There was the time shed suspected him of looking at her laptop. And her suspicion that hed overheard her phone call to Dr Barak. And his surprised reaction to her brief visit to London. Carys had bought her story about her parents 35th wedding anniversary. Bertrand, though, had looked quizzically at her throughout dinner. Asked her twice the following day how long her parents had been married for. There was Laurents reassurance that in France social services worked hard to support vulnerable parents to allow them to look after their children. If her medical history was revealed, shed be labelled as fragile. Nothing worse. But it was one thing when the vulnerable parent already looked after the child. Would they be so quick to recommend that she regain custody if they knew shed spent four months in a psychiatric hospital. That she still received psychotherapy? Would the scales not tip in favour of continuity - a stepmother and stepsisters, the same home, school? And of course, events around Philippes birth would move into the public domain. How would a judge regard a mother whod abandoned her babies while they were still alive? Vroniques juriste could reduce her to rubble with this revelation. Her actions would be portrayed as callous. She would be villified. It would take a skilled lawyer to paint her as distraught. Not monstrous. It would all come out in court.
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There was no way her desertion could be concealed. Desertion - a harsh word and one which the juriste would milk for all it was worth. ************************************ Carys was reading Marie Claire and marking pages with Post its. She smiled as Sienna came into the kitchen I have to make an effort. Just because Bertie and Ive been married for yonks doesnt mean I should be complacent. And I know that he finds slim, glamorous women attractive, but what man doesnt? Sienna sat down, feeling like shed been awake all night. Wondering if she could talk coherently. Carys put down her Post it pad. There's fresh coffee and pains au chocolat and theres a letter for you. Sienna picked up the envelope and peered at the postmark. Nervously she opened the letter. She read it and laid it down again, her hands shaking. You look awful, you do, Carys said. What is it ? The social workers want to speak to me again, she said, tugging at her chain. Im sure thats standard practice. And remember, you have my total support. I'll do anything I can. Ive written a reference and a testimonial. I'll get them. I want you to see what I've said. And Ive got some great photos of the dinner for my mother. Carys, I need to ask you something. Carys sat down again. Ask away! Did you tell Bertrand about Philippe? You didnt tell me not to. Sienna slumped back in her chair. How well does he know Vronique? Not well. Why? I saw them together when I was shopping with Odette and Henri. Carys tone was sharp. What are you implying, Sienna? They were talking. Perhaps they just bumped into each other.
I think that he may have told her that I that I sometimes see a psychotherapist. A psychotherapist? You didnt tell me that. I told you Id had a breakdown. Yes, you did. Why do you think Bertrand would talk to Vronique about you? Sienna hesitated.
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You know she wants to find evidence . that Id be a crap mother. Shell be trying to dig up dirt about me, you know? If the social services find out that I that I had problems after Philippe was born, it wont help my chances. You know Ive agreed to be a character witness for you. I told Bertie that. Why would he want to make things difficult for you? Sienna walked over to the open back door. She could feel the heat from the early September sun, see Odette and Henri kicking a ball around the garden, t-shirts discarded. Something happened while you were away. I need you to understand Ive never done anything to encourage him. What are you talking about? He came into my bedroom. In the middle of the night As Sienna came over to the table, Carys sank back into her chair. What are you saying? He came on to me. Carys shook her head. Youre lying. Bertrand would never do that. I know its difficult to hear this. STOP! Stop right now. Carys tore off her apron and ran out of the kitchen. A moment later Sienna could hear her on the upstairs phone. She sat down, put her head on her hands. Shed handled that clumsily. What difference would it make to the outcome with Philippe if Carys knew of her husbands behaviour? All she needed to know was what Bertrand had told He was only wearing a dressing gown and -
Vronique. What damage had been done. As she poured some water she could hear footsteps. She turned as Carys came into the kitchen.
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Ive spoken to my husband, Carys said. He told me that on Tuesday night he heard you call out to him and he came in to see what was wrong. He said that you talked to him, in a in a suggestive way. But once he knew what was going on he left immediately. Sienna shook her head. It wasnt like that. So youre calling my husband a liar? If you expect me to believe you over him, youve got that wrong. I wont have you accusing Bertrand of doing such things. I wont have it. Carys, why would I lie? I believe my husband. I know youre worried about what will happen with Philippe, but I cant have you saying things like that about Bertrand. I know I told you that he likes attractive women but- I need to know what hes said to Veronique about me. It might affect my chances of getting Philippe back. I need to know. Bertrand was angry because I wouldnt- STOP, stop right now. Will you ask him if he spoke to Vronique? If you admit youve made up this nonsense, if you apologise to Bertrand when he gets home this evening. Sienna shook her head. I cant do that Two hours later shed packed. Said goodbye to a tearful Odette. A stoical Henri. A tight lipped Carys. Checked into a small hotel outside Villefranche. Her ground floor room had a French window leading onto a garden. The other window overlooked a vineyard. If things had been different, shed have sat on the lounge chair outside her room. Enjoyed the September sun. Relished doing nothing. Instead she crawled into bed. A snail without its shell. Thats how she was. But she had to keep going. Had to continue the process shed started. She'd lost
Philippe once already. She couldn't lose him again. Not without a fight. Hope without expectation. She woke to the ring of her cell phone. 'Sienna, it's Laurent. Sienna - Philippe has disappeared.
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Chapter 14
There was a ringing in Siennas ears. Disappeared! What do you mean? She felt her mouth forming the words but the noise in her ears prevented her from hearing them. He disappeared when he was in the garden. Jean told me. I have to find him, she said. Come and get me, please. Im in Hotel Beausoleil, 26 rue Pertois, just outside Villefranche. You have moved? Ill explain later. The police are looking for Philippe. They will tell us if they find him. I can't just do nothing, she said, her voice shrill. Daccord. I will collect you and we will then drive to Vroniques house to see if there is news. Sienna paced her room, her mind in overdrive. A hum had replaced the ringing in her ears and her body felt wooden and old. Philippe was just six, too young to run away. To cross busy roads. Get on a bus. What if hed been snatched by a paedophile? The electric gates werent always shut; anyone could have wandered in.
********************************* Clara and Rene were in the garden; Clara's eyes were puffy and even the sullen Rene appeared shaken. Any news? Sienna asked. They shook their heads. 'I am Laurent, Laurent said. I know your Uncle Jean. Where is your mother? 'Mama is in her room,' Rene said. 'Doing her nails,' Sienna muttered. She walked up and down the garden, pulling at her chain. Do you know what happened? she heard Laurent ask the girls.
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Philippe was playing in the garden, Clara said. When I went to tell him lunch was ready, he had gone. I looked everywhere. Clara started crying and Rene put her arm round her. Do you know if anything upset him? Laurent said. Clara opened her mouth, looked at Rene and stopped. You must tell us, Clara. It may help to find him. Laurent said. Clara hesitated. Please, Clara, Sienna said. Clara studied her sister again, then turned to Laurent. He was crying yesterday. He said he missed Papa. Rene mumbled something to Clara who screamed, Je te dteste, je te dteste, before running away. Sienna made to follow her but turned as Laurent called her back. Please be careful, Sienna. How you behave now is critical to what happens. Not if its too late she said. She pictured Philippe packing his Buzz Lightyear pyjamas and toothbrush, running out of the house. She visualised two men watching the grounds. Waiting for an opportunity to grab him on his own. She saw them bundling him into a car. Driving
off, tyres screeching on the hot tarmac, hurtling along the road to Italy. Cut, cut, CUT! She pictured the metal shutter banging down. She couldnt afford to think negatively. Not at the moment. A police car pulled up in the drive and a man and a woman got out. Is there news? Laurent asked. The gendarmes shook their heads. 'Nous avons besoins dun photo denfant. O est quon trouve Madame Bruhman?' 'Mama est dans sa chambre, Rene said
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The police woman put her arm on Renes shoulder and they walked into the house. 'Vous avez cherch la plage?' Sienna asked. The policeman nodded. Ask them about the smaller beach, Sienna said. Laurent spoke to the policeman again. The man shook his head and said something quickly. They will go there once they have a photo of Philippe, Laurent told Sienna. Were wasting time, come on, Sienna said, grabbing his hand. Another police car pulled into the drive and four policemen emerged. They conferred briefly with their colleagues, and started combing the grounds, stopping periodically to drop things into plastic bags. How often had she watched this process on TV series? Joked about forensics? Clara came running out of the house in tears. What is it? Sienna asked. Mama cant find a photo of Philippe. Theres only the one with all of us and she wont let the policeman have it because its the last photo she has of Papa. They can use this one, Sienna said, retrieving the photo from her purse. The policeman said something rapidly in French to Laurent. What was that about the airport? Sienna burst out. They are contacting the airport and the railway stations, he said.
Sienna felt a cold hand grip her stomach. Philippe couldnt have got so far away on his own. This search of the grounds was more than standard practice. They must fear hed been kidnapped. She looked up to see Vronique walking towards them. If anythings happened to my son, Ill never forgive you, Sienna shouted. Mama? Clara said, her face confused. Je suis dsole Vronique said. You dont care about him at all. Youd- Sienna, Laurent warned, dragging her away from Vronique. They think hes been abducted, dont they?
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This is a routine procedure, Laurent said. It is more likely that he is close by. We must think of the places he might go. How could he cross roads on his own? We need to try the hospitals. They have checked the hospitals. Despite the gusty wind, Sienna could feel sweat trickling down her back. There was no sign of Philippe on the small beach as Laurent and Sienna and three policemen searched the rocks and the grassy areas. They tried other beaches. Wooded areas. All sense of time disappeared as Sienna scrambled about looking for clues as to Philippes presence. A particularly beautiful sunset contributed to her increasing panic. The end of a day. The end of a life? There was a constant background noise of police walkie talkies, the combination of static and French fired out at bullet speed adding to a sense of menace. As darkness fell, a policeman spoke to Laurent. Shortly after the police cars drove away. Sienna felt despair. Where was Philippe? Where was her little boy? *********************************** 'Eat your omelette,' Laurent said, appearing with a coffee pot. 'I'm not hungry.' You should eat something.
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You know, Im getting fed up with everyone telling me I need to eat. I cant always eat. I wish people would just accept that. Afterwards, as she lay on the sofa, paralysed by anxiety, he put his arm round her, and she lent her head against his shoulder. Could I stay here tonight? she asked. She was desperately tired but how could she sleep when Philippe was alone somewhere, hungry and frightened? Just let him be alive, unharmed, she mumbled, again and again. She woke later, tossing aside the rug, gripped by fear. It took all her willpower not to wake Laurent. Insist they look for Philippe. She tossed and turned, trying to think where Philippe could be, as she waited for dawn to break. She awoke again to the smell of coffee. Youre working? she asked Laurent. He nodded. You can stay here, if you prefer. Im meant to be seeing a lawyer this morning, but I dont know if I can go through with it. I think you should, he said. Jean will contact me if there is any news. I will drive you to your hotel, if you want to change your clothes. Sienna looked down at her crumpled t-shirt and trousers. If she was going to make a good impression on a lawyer, she needed to look smart. Although if the lawyer knew what had happened, she would understand. ********************************** Sienna walked up and down the reception area of Cabinet Morel. It was a sunny room with large yucca plants and prints of abstract art: blobs of coral and red and blue. A contrast to the sombre waiting area of Mr Mintos law firm in London. Could it have been six months since her first visit to him? Fleetingly the calmness of the Mediterranean reassured her, its deep blue, the rays of sunlight stabbing the waves. Then panic struck as she noticed a boat zooming out to sea. Philippe could be in it.
On his way to how far could a boat of that size travel Spain? South Italy?
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Morocco? She pictured him being handed over in an alley off a souk in Fez. A cruel twist in fate - born in Morocco, returned there. Shed read about child trafficking. Sexual exploitation laundered as domestic servitude. The increasing enforced prostitution. Of children, even. Boys were as vulnerable as girls. Despite the air
conditioning, sweat poured down her face. She mopped her forehead. She should be looking for Philippe, not talking to a lawyer. Mademoiselle Bowden? The approaching woman was small with short dark hair and thick framed spectacles. She wore no make up and her blouse was buttoned to the neck. Sienna took one last look out of the window. The boat had gone. She followed the lawyer into a large room furnished in chrome, black leather and glass. I am Christiane Cerboni-Gouron. How can I help you? she said, indicating a chair. Sienna swallowed hard, the speech shed prepared suddenly evading her. Please sit down, the lawyer said. I want to get my son back. Where is your son? I should start at the beginning, she said, glancing at Madame Cerboni - Gouron. If only shed smile, do something to help her relax. I gave birth to twins six years ago. They were ill when they were born. I thought they were going to die. The lawyer looked at the clock on the wall. What was their conditions when they were born? I dont know. It was in Morocco Tangiers. They were premature How premature? Twenty eight weeks and two days. The lawyer sounded irritated. That would be described as twenty nine weeks. Whatever.... Twenty nine weeks. I thought they were going to die I left the hospital and-
Madame Cerboni-Gouron took off her spectacles. You did not wait to see what happened?
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Sienna sighed. I panicked. It was a difficult birth they had to do a Caesarean So, you assumed your babies would not survive and you leave the hospital. What happened after that ? I went to Marrakech then I returned to London. And the father of the babies? He was not with you? He was married. He and his wife wanted to adopt the baby Siennas throat was choked with sobs and she couldnt continue. The lawyer laid down her pen. Mademoiselle Bowden, if this will go to court, it is necessary to control your emotions. Hes missing. He disappeared from the garden yesterday. Im terrified
something awfuls happened. I am confused. You looked for your son but not your daughter? When did you start looking for your son after he was born or- Sienna could hear her voice becoming higher.I thought the baby girl had survived. My aunt wrote a letter before she died. I found the father then I found out that
the girl had died. Then the father Richie was killed in a sailing accident. Excuse me. I do not understand. You are telling me that- Sienna stood up. I need to look for him. I cant do this just now. Im sorry. Outside the building she dialled Laurents number. Have you heard anything ? Not yet. I thought you were meeting with the lawyer She was horrible. I need to find Philippe. I will finish work in an hour. I will come to your hotel. In her room, Sienna buried her head in the pillow. It had been 24 hours now since Philippe had disappeared. What were the chances of finding him unharmed
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now? When Laurent arrived, she dragged herself up slowly and opened the door, throwing herself into his arms. He held her until her tears subsided. Im sorry, she said. Im just so frightened that Ill never see him again. I dont think I could bear that. To have met him, to have loved him and- Laurent stood back, put his arms on her shoulders. Listen to me, Sienna there is a good chance that Philippe will be found, that he will be unharmed. You must try to believe that. You think so? Youre not just saying that to make me feel better? I do believe it. What happened at your meeting with Madame Cerboni-Gouron? I couldnt be the detached robot she expected. I dont want her representing me. I need someone human. Perhaps you should try Monsieur Lefvre. Ive made an appointment. But theres no point in talking about this if Philippe if he Phone Jean and see if hes heard anything. Please? Laurent dialled a number and spoke rapidly in French, nodding from time to time before hanging up. Any news? Sienna asked. No, Laurent said. The police have not found any evidence to suggest a stranger was in the grounds of the Bruhman house, no footprints, no fingerprints. There is nothing on the grass or the gravel to suggest a struggle. Jean assures me that Philippe would not go away with a stranger. So that is good news. Hes so young to be away somewhere on his own. I dont think I can deal with this. Im not strong enough. Help me Laurent, youre a psychologist. What would you say to a patient in the same situation? But you are not my patient. Pretend I am, please. Laurent took Siennas hand. Sienna, I can support you. I can be your friend. I know how the systems work here in France. But I cannot talk to you as a psychologist
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would. It would make things difficult for us in the future. You know that I care about you. And perhaps one day you will feel the same way. But theres Portia. I thought you still loved her. Laurent shrugged. Perhaps I do, a little. But I realise now that our relationship would not go well. It is a good thing that we did not marry.. He stood up. This is not the time to talk about such things. We must find Philippe and- Laurent! Ive just thought of somewhere. Come on! Laurent picked up his phone. Where is this place? Ill show you. We must inform the police, he said. Where is the place? Its a beach in Villefranche the Plage Manires. The police have searched all the beach areas. But he loved the tents on the road where they sold things. He kept talking about them. Come on, please The drive to the beach was protracted, families heading out of Villefranche in search of quiet spots for walks, for picnics. Traffic on the autoroute had reduced to walking speed and Sienna drummed her fingers on the dashboard, willing the road to clear so that they could speed up. If she knew for certain that Philippe would be there she could relax a little. It was only a guess. The traffic began to thin out and Laurent changed gear, his Peugeot leaping into action like a dog let off a lead. When they arrived, Sienna jumped out of the car. Policemen were scouring the shingle and rocks and the road above the beach. Sunbathers were being questioned. Copies of Philippes photo circulated. Shortly afterwards a car pulled up. Sienna, Laurent called. She turned and walked back to him. That is Jean, Vroniques brother, Laurent said.
Hi, she said, noticing Vronique lingering by the car.
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A feeling of panic engulfed her and she broke away from the two men. Rushed over to a rock and threw up. When she looked round again the policemen and Jean were searching the roadside tents. She forced herself to walk over to Laurent, and Vronique. Vronique looked pale, and there was a yellow stain on her shirt. The two women didnt exchange words. In other situations they might have supported each other. United in their desperation to find the child. It was Sienna who noticed the red baseball cap half tucked under a boulder. This is his hat, she called out, turning to Vronique for confirmation. It is possible, Vronique said. I do not remember. Sienna clutched her head. You dont knowyou- Sienna! Laurent warned. Im going to to search the tents, she said. Laurent took her arm. It is better if the police and Jean search. She turned away, overcome by hopelessness. Maybe Philippe had been brought here before being transferred to another car. She imagined a snatched conversation in Italian or Spanish. An exchange of money. The child being bundled into a boot. It was unthinkable. She turned to Laurent, but before she could say anything she heard someone call Ici! On the road above, a policeman was emerging from behind a blue striped tent, a small figure struggling in his arms, crying out, Put me down, put me down. When theyd crossed the road, the policeman gently lowered Philippe to the ground. The child staggered, blinked in the sunshine. His hair was tousled, his face dirty but he seemed unharmed. Sienna was frozen. A moment later Philippe was running
towards her. She bent down and pulled him to her. Kissed his grubby face over and over, tears spilling out from her eyes, sobs choking her. She tightened her grip round him, the tears showing no sign of abating. Then around her she became aware of silence. She looked up to see the policemen staring at her. Jean had his
arm round his sister. Laurent's expression was guarded. The next few moments were critical. Go to Mama, she whispered to Philippe.
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He made no move, flinging his arms round her legs, so she gently disengaged him, took his hand and led him over. When he reached Vronique, he lashed out with his leg, kicking her on the shin. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, he shouted. I want my Papa, before bursting into tears. Sienna clenched her palms, every instinct telling her to reach out and reclaim her son. Philippe had run off and was digging furiously on the beach with his hands, flurries of tiny pebbles flying everywhere. Jean was talking. Vronique remonstrating. Sienna watched as he put his hands on his sister's arms, his face searching hers. Watched as Vronique shook her head and Jean turned away, running his fingers through his hair. Laurent was observing the brother and sister. Vronique was gesticulating again, Jean shrugging his shoulders. Sienna waited, heart thudding, while Jean spoke to the policemen and they nodded. Philippe had stopped scrabbling in the sand and was sitting trembling, a forlorn figure. She went over. Crouched down to put her jacket round him. As Jean approached, she stood up. May I speak with you? She looked down at Philippe, moved away a couple of steps. Laurent has explained to me what has happened, he said. My sister is fragile. I will speak to her again. I will try to persuade her that Philippe should live with you. He should always have been with me, Sienna said. I understand the situation, Jean said. I will do what is possible. ***********************************
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The Baie des Anges was beautiful in evening light as Sienna ran past rows of palm trees, concrete hotels, evening swimmers and yapping dogs. Shed planned to make notes of what shed tell the lawyer the next day, but as soon as shed sat down in her hotel room, shed become restless. Too much adrenaline swirled around her system. She needed an outlet. Philippe was safe. That was all that mattered. Even if she didnt get custody. Pant, pant. Even if she could only see him occasionally, hed still be in her life. Part of her. And when he was older he could decide who he lived with. And she could appeal. If she didnt get anywhere in France, she could apply to a British court. Shed check this out with James. Or Mr Minto. Philippe
was alive. Not with her, but alive. She increased her pace. She had more than once chance with the courts. There was hope. She must believe this. She must keep going. Her pulse raced. She was entering another orbit. How could anyone not run? Push themselves to the limit? Experience this high? All those endorphins. The brains happy juices! She increased her pace. She was flying. ********************************** Please sit down, Monsieur Lefvre said. Would you like coffee? Thank you, Sienna said. He handed her a cup and sipped from his own. We have an hour together. Please tell me your story. I will make notes. If you want to stop at any time, please do. He smiled at her, and she began to relax. This would be easier than the other automaton lawyer. Sienna explained what had happened, from discovering she was pregnant with Richies child, to his death and the letter to her. The lawyer said nothing as he wrote. When Sienna finished, he began walking round the room. Then he sat down opposite Sienna. I will tell you what I understand about your story. If I am making a mistake, please tell me.
Are these the main points? he asked when hed finished. Sienna nodded. Is there anything else ? he asked.
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Sienna inhaled deeply. I had a nervous breakdown when I returned from Morocco. I was in a psychiatric hospital for four months. Fortunately, that would not prevent a childrens judge from ruling that you should have custody of your son. In such cases, if it is considered that the mother is emotionally fragile, then social support can be provided. In nearly all situations a judge will consider that it is better for the child to to be with its biological motherWhat is your emotional health like now? Sienna hesitated. After I came out of hospital, I had psychotherapy. I went through a difficult time when my employer here had another baby. I went back to London to see my therapist. That helped. Are you on any medicaments? Not now. When were you in hospital? Five years five and a half years ago. And you have not been in hospital since then? No. The Services Sociaux will observe you with the child to see if you have bonded with him. This will happen whether or not the current guardian agrees to hand over custody. You must decide if you wish me to represent you, if this case will go to court. It would be helpful if you could make a decision by the end of the week. Sienna smiled. I have decided. Daccord. I must see the original copy of the letters you mentioned, and the DNA tests from the hospital.
The lawyer stood up again and walked over to the window. The case would go to
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the Judge dEnfants at a Tribunal du Grand Instance. It is a civil court hearing. There is no contra-interrogatoire - I think in English it is cross-examination? If Madame Bruhman knows something of your health problems, her lawyer will try to portray you as someone unsuited to being a mother. However, the judge will consider the interests of the child. Will your employer give you a reference? Sienna frowned. Thats tricky. Because of her husband. *********************************** Sienna sat on the wall of the Plage Manires beach. Boys jumped off a rock into the sea, whooping with laughter. Little girls guddled in the water with nets, peering at the contents. Younger children lay at the waters edge, letting the waves bring them in. Further along youngsters played with a ball, a toddler made shapes on the shingly sand with a plastic mould. A moan escaped Sienna. Would she ever come here on her own with Philippe? Unfettered by social workers? She longed to help him put on plastic water wings. Teach him how to swim. She wanted to wash the sand from his hair, and watch Bob the Builder until he fell asleep. She wanted to make him hot chocolate. Help him cover a Christmas tree in coloured baubles and tinsel. Watch him scoop up autumn leaves. Take him sledging. She wanted
everything to be legal, permanent. She thought back to last weeks visit with Philippe. Theyd met in a bland room overlooking a garden in the social services department. Thered been a slide and swings and wooden hut and Philippe had looked out of the window sadly as rain poured down. Theyd played with a train set and a farmyard then shed read him a story about a beaver building a new home. All this time, Sienna had been aware of the social worker in the corner of the room. A pale green folder in her lap. A sporadic scribbling. What are you writing about me? shed wanted to ask. At the end, the social worker had thanked her and taken Philippe away. Shed remained in the room. Replayed her time with her son. How could you be
spontaneous in such conditions? Had she been affectionate enough? Had she
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connected appropriately with the child ? Had Philippe enjoyed himself? What if he didnt want to see her again if a suggestion was made and he wasnt keen? Would they insist? Would they leave it for a while? Would this be reported in court? Her head was aching, her stomach sore. Not knowing was the worst thing. And tomorrow she was meeting Philippe again, in a playpark, with another social worker. ********************************** Here we are, the social worker said, walking up to Sienna, her hand in Philippes. It was a beautiful morning, the unblemished blue of the sky contrasting with the reds, golds and rusts of autumn leaves. Salut, Philippe, Sienna said, bending down to kiss him. You are going to play with Sienna, the social worker said. The use of her first name made Sienna ache. He should be calling her Mummy or Mama. She tried to imagine his voice saying Mummy. What did he call Vronique? Shed never heard him address her as Mama. That was something. She must tell Monsieur Lefvre. It could be used in court. An illustration of his poor relationship with Vronique. But did Philippe use anyones name? She cast her mind back over the times shed seen him with Richies family. She remembered him addressing Richie Papa, the stab of pain shed experienced. She needed him to know who she was, but she couldnt tell him. Involuntarily she covered her mouth with her hands. She was like a loose cannon. What dyou want to do? she asked Philippe. Play in the sandpit, he said, running over to it. She turned to the social worker, who nodded and smiled. The smile made a difference. Sienna helped Philippe fill buckets of sand and build a wall. They laughed as the wall collapsed. He persevered, his brow furrowed with concentration as he crammed sand into a blue bucket.
Can I play on the swings now? Philippe asked. She started pushing him. Watched delightedly as he called out higher, higher. A
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couple of older women passed them, looking at Philippe, looking at her. She had a moments pride. Remembered her precarious situation. The sun had shifted, shards of light darting between the tree branches. Philippes tousled curls shone, he was more freckly than she remembered and his nose had a smudge of dirt. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched him climb down from the swing and stand uncertainly before her. What dyou want to do now? she asked. He pointed to the sandpit. She took his hand. It was warm and sandy and felt natural, as if that was the right place for it. As they immersed themselves in filling plastic shapes with sand, Sienna was filled with an unprecedented contentment I like the dinosaur best, Philippe said, tipping out the brown mould onto the sand. Its a T-rex. My Papa told me about it. It was enormous. It ate meat. Ive got a picture of it in my animal book but I dont look at it at bedtime in case I have bad dreams. I want to show you . Sienna bent down and put her arms around Philippe. Why are you crying? he said. Because I love you so much, because I cant bear the thought of losing you again, she thought. Because I love being with you, she said. Can we come back tomorrow? Or the next day if its raining tomorrow? Im not sure when Ill be able to see you again, she said. But I hope its soon. I want to see you every day, he said. As Sienna glanced at the social worker, she stood up. We are leaving now, she said. Philippe must be home before five oclock. I hate it when he goes, Sienna said quietly. The more time I spend with him, the more I love him. I know Im meant to be calm and controlled. But its hard, hes so little.
The woman put an arm on Siennas hand. You are good with Philippe. I see that
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you love him and that he loves you. I will recommend that you regain custody. It is best for him. Please, do not tell anyone that I say this to you. Sienna wrestled with a lump in her throat. Thanks. Youre lovely. My son is six, the woman said. It is a special age. But, all ages are special, I think. Sienna thought constantly of Philippe as she lay in the hotel garden that evening. Shed turned down Laurents suggestion of seeing a film, wanting only to enjoy the last of the sunshine and reflect on her time with her little boy. It had been easier today, the social workers presence less intrusive. At times Sienna had forgotten she was being observed. Philippe had always been relaxed in her presence but today was different. Thered been a sweetness. When hed stared at her with his clear green eyes, hed connected with the most primitive part of her. That blend of rawness and euphoria that embodied motherhood. Perhaps it was linked to autumn, the changing colours, a crispness in the air. The signalling of an end. Of a beginning. A frisson. A poignancy. ********************************** Sienna stopped at the top of the road down to Place Amelie Pollonais. How many times had she done this during the last few months? she wondered, as she gazed at the salmon and ochre-coloured restaurants with their giant palms and wrought-iron lanterns. The umbrella-covered tables were packed with diners and ice cream lovers. Although darkness had long fallen, children still ran around the pedestrianised area. Peddlers sold hand puppets and garish dolphin-shaped balloons. As usual whilst thinking how cosy the scene was, she imagined how it might change on a stormy winters day with water splashing over the harbour wall onto the street. Her thoughts returned to the meeting that afternoon with Monsieur Lefvre and her shock at his announcement that the case would be held next Wednesday, at a Tribunal du Grand Instance. Part of her hadnt believed it would go to court, and
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the lawyers repeated reference to Philippe by his name rather talking about him as her son was unnerving though she tried to tell herself that wasnt necessarily significant. Monsieur Lefvre had been confident that things would go her way, telling her he had all the necessary documentation, the letters from Dorothy and Richie, the DNA test and that the Services Sociaux had recommend she regain custody. The lawyer representing Vronique would base his argument on continuity of care for Philippe, in the absence of a legal claim, and supported by a report prepared by the social assistants attached to the Tribunal du Grand Instance. Should the lawyer, by bringing up Siennas pyschiatric record, manage to portray her as somebody who could not look after her child, Mr Lefvre would remind the court of the support available to vulnerable parents. As it would be easier for Philippe to stay in France for a while, the lawyer advised her to start looking for accommodation. Again, she was thankful that she didnt have to worry about money. Renting property here would be expensive. But she could afford a decent villa, with a garden, perhaps a sea view. When Sienna had left the law firm, shed felt confident, buoyant. But shortly after, anxieties started to kick in. What if her psychiatric history was brought up? It shouldnt be, she knew, as it was something that had taken place in another country. But she didnt know what Bertrand knew about her past, and how much of his knowledge hed passed on to Vronique. The more she thought about her breakdown, the more panicky she became, finding herself hyperventilating in her hotel bedroom, then throwing up over the newly laid carpet. Now though, walking along the harbour front in the comfort of darkness, she felt calmer. If the court case didnt go her way, she could appeal. She had more than one chance. And she knew too that her father and Laurent would support her should she decide to appeal. She had to hang on, had to keep going. In two days
she looked up in the direction of the Chevalier home, delving into her pocket to retrieve the card.
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I just wanted to let you know that I will give you a reference, Carys wrote. I will also speak for you in court, if necessary. Please let me know what is happening. She read it again. What did this mean about Bertrand?
Sienna was stepping out of the shower when her phone rang. Mademoiselle Bowden? Voici Monsieur Lefvre. Is it possible to come to my office this morning at ten oclock? Is Philippe OK? Yes. I will explain when we meet. Sienna adjusted the fan in the waiting room of the lawyers office. Waiting, waiting. Thats all she did these days. If only she had some idea why shed been summmoned. She could hear voices from Mr Lefvres room. Who was he with? Someone connected with her case? What could have happened that warranted bringing her to see him again? Theyd gone over everything, how she should answer his questions, what might be said against her, who would be at the hearing. Maybe he wanted to warn her about new evidence. Had Vroniques camp discovered something damning? As she stared out at the courtyard, where cabbage palms and yuccas jostled for space, the door opened a fraction and her heart started racing. She looked down, noticing how loose her trousers were. In a moment shed be called in and would finally learn what had happened. As she looked up she saw a man walking away. He was familiar. Mademoiselle Bowden? Please come in. Mr Lefvre said. She muttered to herself stay calm, stay calm as she walked into his office. Sit down please, Monsieur Lefvre said. Would you like coffee, or tea perhaps?
Whats happened? Please, sit down. Just tell me, please. What have they found? They have found something. Oh no! Will it stop me getting Philippe? Mademoiselle Bowden, they have found a letter from Dr Vernay, from Richie Oh! She couldnt say anything more as a sob emerged.
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Monsieur Lefvre sat down beside her. When his brother-in-law went to collect his personal belongings from his cabinet he found a letter. In this letter, Richie states that if anything happens to him, every effort must be made to find you, and that you must be given custody of Philippe. I presume that he kept the letter at work because he did not want to risk anyone, even his lawyer, to know about it while he was alive. Sienna looked at him. Will this be helpful at the hearing? Mademoiselle Bowden - Sienna - there will not be a hearing now. Madame Bruhman agrees that you are given custody of your son. ********************************** Sienna lay on a sunlounger in the hotel garden, a book on her lap. The events of the last few weeks circled and recircled. Every detail under examination. Meetings with Richies lawyers about the Will and the Trust fund. Calls to Mr Minto and the bank about the apartment shed rented. And in between, time with Philippe a final supervised visit, two afternoons on their own. Sometimes lying awake at night, weary from the days events, physically tired from running, yet incapable of sleep, she pictured how it might have been if Richie hadnt died. Imagined herself calling at the Bruhmans house twice a week to take Philippe to the beach or playpark. Negotiating extra time to visit London. Introducing him to her family. The sun was beginning to set, the gardens brilliance fading as shadows enveloped it, the aroma of frangipani and lavender pervasive. Sienna awoke to the sound of a car pulling up on the gravel. Jean opened the back door, undid the seat
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belt and helped a child out. A six year old boy stood there uncertainly. As she got up, Sienna saw Dorothy nodding her head, smiling. Then the vision disappeared. ********************************** Epilogue Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Philippe, Happy birthday to you.
Can I blow the candles out now, Mummy? Yes, darling, Sienna said. Come and help me, Grandpa. Siennas father went over to the table and took Philippes hand. One, two, three They blew and everyone clapped. Can I cut the cake now, Mummy? As Sienna caught Martins eye, he winked. She knew what he was thinking. In just over a year, hed be celebrating his babys first birthday. I wish Ze was here, she said. Martin laughed. She cant even fit my shirts now, he said. Id be convinced we were having twins if I hadnt seen the scan. You have a lot of cards, Philippe. Sienna looked over to the windowsill where Martin was reading the cards. He picked up one of a little boy kicking a football. He scanned it, looked at Sienna and handed it to her. Sienna read it again. Bon anniversaire, Philippe. Gros bisous from Carys, Henri, Odette and Frances. Please come and see us. Martin raised his eyebrows. No Bertrand? Sienna shrugged.
Philippe took a slab of cake over to Louise. As Louise lifted the plate, the ruby on her left hand sparkled in the evening light. She and Siennas father
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exchanged smiles. Philippe clumsily cut two more slices and gave them to Liz and Brian. Thanks, Liz said. When did you say Laurent was coming? Sienna looked at her watch. Any time now. So we finally get to meet a man that you like who is also emotionally available. I suppose you wont be needing the book I brought. Continuing to love the man who loves you. Ill leave it with you, though. I want to open my presents now, Mummy. Can I? Sienna gave Philippe a hug. OK. Then well go down to the beach. Philippe looked at her. Do you think Daddy is watching us? Sienna hesitated. Maybe he is. But it was a vision of Dorothy that flashed before her as the sun began its slow descent.

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