The question appeared to sadden her and for a moment his imagination started building visions of an unhappy relationship between them, but then she said, ‘He died too, three years ago. An accident driving his car.’
Lucas was annoyed with himself because his first instinct was to be happy, relieved that this man was dead. It made no difference to him because he knew Madeleine wouldn’t let him back into her life, but it still made him happy to know that no other man was there.
He realized then, though, how saddened Isabelle was just in mentioning it and he felt sad for her, and for Louis, who’d come to the door last summer to see who was there. And he was sad for Madeleine, because she deserved to be happy but had been poorly treated instead, by him first and then by fate.
She recovered herself now and said, ‘We shouldn’t talk about sad things today. Do you live in England?’
‘No, Switzerland.’
She laughed and said, ‘But your French isn’t very good!’
‘That’s true. I live in a German-speaking area.’
‘You speak German?’
‘No.’ She laughed loud enough this time for a couple of people to look over and smile at her.
‘I could teach you French. Some German too. Can you ski, where you live?’
‘Yes, good skiing. I hope you’ll come one day.’
‘I hope so too.’ He smiled. He wanted to stand up and tell the whole cafe in his hopeless French that this was his daughter. It was enough for him just to be with her, though, and for her not to hate him.
He walked back with her, both of them coming to a halt before they reached the house.
‘I’ll be in Paris for a few more days at least. Maybe we can meet again.’
‘Of course, we must. I’m happy you came.’
‘Me too. And I’m sorry for . . .’ What was he sorry for? For not being around, for being the person he’d been? ‘I’m just sorry.’
‘It’s the past,’ she said, a protective lie.
She seemed to hesitate, unsure of herself, and then she hugged him. He panicked briefly, thinking she’d feel the gun through his clothes, but with a strange feeling of lightness, of being suddenly unburdened, he remembered that he wasn’t carrying one.
He watched her walk away and as she neared the house he crossed the street and collapsed into the driver’s seat of his car as he finally allowed it all to sink in. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this happy, a deep-seated euphoria that made him want to scream, that filled him with energy and left his hands trembling. He sat there for a couple of minutes, unable to do anything, traumatized by the happiness of finding her.
Then from the corner of his eye he noticed movement at the door of the house. Before he’d even registered her, Madeleine had covered a good part of the ground between them, her face burning with anger. She was wearing pale, fitted trousers, a clingy sweater, and even as he braced himself he was amazed again at how she’d kept her figure.
She got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. She didn’t say anything at first and he turned to look at her. He knew she’d aged in fifteen years, but he couldn’t see it; she looked as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her.
‘You promised,’ she said, still looking straight ahead.
‘Well, I was wrong. I should have stayed.’
She turned to face him. ‘That choice wasn’t yours. What kind of life would we have had, Luke? You, a murderer, consorting with murderers. How can you even have the audacity to come here now, to expose her to that?’
‘I haven’t exposed her to anything. I left all that behind a long time ago.’
‘And how do you know it won’t come back?’
‘I just know. It isn’t an issue.’
‘It is an issue! You’re a murderer—that doesn’t go away.’
‘Doesn’t it? Not ever? I’ll always be a murderer and she’ll always be the child of a murderer. Is that it?’
‘The world you inhabit . . .’
He cut her off, saying, ‘I told you, I’m finished. I’m out. You have to believe me, Madeleine.’ She didn’t respond and a second later he said, ‘Do you honestly think I’d have come here if there was any risk to either of you?’
She threw her arms up, exasperated, and said, ‘I don’t know what to do! The genie is out of the bottle. If I forbid her now it makes me look like a bad parent. Me! Could you not have waited a few more years?’ He didn’t answer, because it hardly seemed necessary. He’d waited too long already. She didn’t say anything for a short while and then said, ‘I propose a cooling-off period, give her time to think about this. If she still wants to see you, we’ll have to make arrangements. It can be done through our lawyers.’
‘Lawyers! What need have we of lawyers? Surely after all this time we can speak face to face.’