In the beginning, I did my best to be discreet. It was very exciting, creeping around the stairwells in the middle of the night. Javier is, without a doubt, the most considerate lover I have ever had. I worried about trying to keep my emotions out of what was, after all, a holiday romance. Charming, sophisticated, but unfortunately stony broke, supported by a brother who was a car dealer, he made me laugh a great deal and promised to get all my films on DVD. Well, both of them. In total we only spent six nights together, but for the first time in my life I felt like I could be honest with this man. I had nothing to lose. Maybe because it was a ‘fling’, I felt less inhibited. He found me to be outrageous and funny. I have never thought of myself as either of those things. On our last night together, Javier asked me to stay with him. In France! I laughed at the notion. Leaving my husband at this age seemed a bit ridiculous, and the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that he was always going to be the one who got away, although the idea of a new life, a second chance, was certainly liberating.
Alice was off doing her own thing, mostly hanging out with Madame and the staff, improving her French. I’m sure Alice knew about Javier and me, but she never commented. I imagine that she wouldn’t even like to think about it. She had heard me moaning about Con for the last twenty years, but always said that it would all be OK and that we were a great couple. Poor Alice, she only ever saw the good in people. Even her husband.
On that last morning of the second week, I was sneaking through the lounge when I found Alice sitting up. It was about 7.30 a.m.; dawn was breaking over the valley. She didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see me. She asked me straight out, ‘How well do you know my husband, Moya?’
I was taken aback. What had prompted this? Had there been a confessional phone call earlier in the evening? Was Oliver leaving her? I had to play this very carefully.
‘Jesus, Alice, what are you talking about? Did you overdo it on the wine?’
She looked at me. Stared at me, actually.
‘Do you think he’s honest?’
‘For God’s sake, Alice, I think you need more sleep!’ I said jovially, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. What was I to think? If she had discovered our affair, was that a good thing? Would she leave him now? Should I admit it? After my time with Javier, did I still feel the same way about Oliver?
Alice rose and went to her room silently without looking back at me, and shut the door firmly behind her.
I flew to my own room and immediately rang Oliver. He was groggy, and extremely irritated when I explained in urgent whispers what Alice had said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Moya. She only knows if you told her. I’ve always been careful. What in God’s name have you said to her?’
Of course I asserted my innocence, but Oliver was furious.
‘I don’t need this! I’m writing. I can’t have any distractions. Do not call me again.’
I didn’t call Oliver again. That day I acted as normal, up to a point. Alice was very quiet. Javier and I spent the morning together saying our intimate goodbyes. I became tearful at the thought of not seeing him again. His eyes darkened with sorrow.
Alice and I left for the airport and spent an uncomfortable two hours in the departure lounge. I spent all of that time going over things in my head. What did she know? How did she find out here? Had she always known? Was Oliver worth it? What did I actually want? And, oh yes, will Con’s facial expression change when he hears?
As the flight was called, I knew that I was headed towards a life of dissatisfaction, frustration and boredom.
There was an enormous fuss at the airport when I declared my intention not to board the plane. The bags all had to be unloaded while mine were identified and the flight was delayed. I hugged Alice and apologized. I didn’t say for what, but I meant it sincerely. She could work it out for herself.
Javier was just leaving when I returned to the école. He beamed from ear to ear.
‘Ma fille,’ he said.
It has worked out well for me. We will live a very different life from the one I always thought I wanted. Javier and I plan to run our little River Bistro together. He will do most of the cooking and I’ll do the front-of-house stuff plus a spot of cabaret thrown in for free, depending on the clientele. We hope to make enough during the summer to live comfortably in a small villa through the short winter months. My children were hurt and furious but will just about forgive me, I think. Kate and her boyfriend are coming to visit next weekend, and when they see how happy I am, they will understand. Con will be a sweetheart about everything financial. Kate tells me that he seems relieved that I am gone and has taken to wearing a kaftan around the house.
I am horrified by what Oliver did to Alice. You think you know someone. It turns out that I rang the house on the very night of the assault. I am in a state of shock, to be honest.
I know I wasn’t fair to Alice. Life wasn’t fair to Alice. But mostly, Oliver wasn’t fair to Alice. So far, the few people that knew about our affair have kept their mouths shut, but when the trial begins next month, the muck raking will begin in earnest. I have a new life now and the last thing I need is for the sordid details of my past with Oliver to jeopardize my future with Javier.
I could make a fortune if I sold my story, but I won’t. Out of respect for poor Alice.
22. Véronique
Towards the end of October last year, two ladies from Ireland arrived at Cuisine de Campagne, both in their late fifties. I noticed them immediately because they seemed such unlikely friends. One of them was loud, wore too much make-up and blatantly set out on a mission to seduce the only available single man in the group. The other was quiet, bookish and less inclined to socialize. I felt sorry for her as it soon became obvious that her friend had decided to abandon her for the duration of the holiday. I introduced myself to Alice and invited her to join us on several evenings, and together with Pierre, we ended up discussing all the things one is not supposed to: politics, religion, race, and so on. Her friend Moya had made the booking online, so it was only on the last night that I noticed Alice’s surname as she signed the guestbook.
‘Ryan?’ I said. ‘The first Ryan I ever met was an Irish boy working here the summer of 1973. His name was also Ryan, Oliver Ryan.’
‘But that’s my husband’s name!’
We laughed at the coincidence. She was astonished, and we quickly made the connection that she was the same Oliver’s wife when she showed me some photos. He was older but still handsome, and there was no mistaking him. We spoke for most of the night. I was happy to hear that he was a successful writer. I recalled that Michael may have mentioned that in correspondence. Alice was shocked when I recounted the pivotal events of that season, of the fire and the death of my son and my father. She knew that Oliver had spent summers abroad – she actually fell in love with him on a foreign trip to the Greek islands – but it seemed that he had never told her much about the summer of 1973 except that he worked on a vineyard. I thought this odd because, whatever his trauma at the time, it was bizarre to me that all these years later he had never mentioned the fire or the deaths. The story of that summer is something one could not easily forget, particularly Oliver. With regard for his privacy, I did not tell Alice of the bond Oliver had with Papa and Jean-Luc, realizing that if Oliver had not talked about it in nearly forty years, he had buried it for a reason. I was discreet as ever, and did not mention Laura except as one of the gang, although it seemed that Alice had heard of her. Alice and Oliver had had their wedding reception in Michael’s restaurant, although apparently Michael and Oliver were no longer friends, and she mentioned that Michael’s sister had died tragically young. Poor Laura.
‘Oliver was an enormous help to me after the fire. He was very upset.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely to hear – I mean, that he was helpful,’ Alice said, proudly.
‘Yes, of course he was sad about Papa and Jean-Luc, but he insisted on clearing out the library where he and Papa had worked together. They tell me he did the work of ten men in the week after the fire. He must also have been devastated because all of the work he had done with Papa’s stories went up in smoke. He worked so hard transcribing them for my father.’
‘Your father wrote stories?’ Alice said.
‘Yes, I am a little surprised that he never told you any of this. My father secretly engaged Oliver to transcribe all the stories he had written for Jean-Luc.’