‘Sometimes, we use the same expression, or maybe “diva”, but I think you imply that I amhystérique.’
He pulled a suitably tragic face and they both laughed.
‘You know I adore you. I just want to see you both happy, and I think that means together,’ said Sylvia firmly.
‘And I think you are right. So, then, how is this for drama? I am going to go to London and see her, today.’
‘That’s the spirit! Although the trains on a Sunday afternoon are hopeless – I’d leave it till the morning if I were you.’
He laughed.
‘Pragmatism trumps romance. Tomorrow then. Wish me luck.’
Maybe it was luck he would need, maybe a miracle, but he knew he had to try.
THIRTY-ONE
When she awoke the next morning, the hangover was familiar but not incapacitating, and she supposed that was something. But the conversation with Toby played over and over again in her head as she searched for evidence first that he was right, that shehadbeen flirting and then, furiously, that it wasshewho was the injured party. To distract herself, she scrolled through her phone, and although she found it full of invitations, she wasn’t tempted by a single one. Instead, she let an image fill her head, of the kitchen at Feywood. She was sitting on the wicker basket chair in the corner, her feet tucked up, Ava snuggled in her lap. She held a cup of tea and was chatting to Léo as he cooked, and laughed, and fed the little dog scraps, which she devoured before promptly falling asleep again. Members of the family wandered in and out of the scene: Rousseau, his hands grey with clay, looking for a sculpting tool he’d left in the cutlery drawer; Sylvia, tasting the bubbling sauce and telling Juliet how pretty she looked; Martha, drifting in to make coffee, getting distracted by the light on the apple tree outside the window, then wondering aloud why she had come to the kitchen, at which point Léo handed her the drink he’d made for her, knowing the routine; Frankie, perching on the table and bitching aboutan old school friend she’d bumped into in the village, then disappearing to answer a phone call. Juliet had been pushing away these memories for days, but now she allowed herself to disappear inside them, to see and feel exactly how it had been. She thought about Toby, then, about how he had made her feel for all those years, and how the fear and horror of finding herself controlled again had pushed her into an uncomfortable kind of independence, which was no better than being indentured to him. It was just another kind of paralysis, not the freedom that she sought, and it had denied her the ability to meld with another person, something that had revolted her in the past but, when it came to Léo, had felt more like relief as if she had found a resting place. Had Léo really been trying to control her, she wondered, or had he in fact only ever been working in her best interests, something she never anticipated from others? Maybe it was time to be truly brave and find out.
Once she had had the thought, Juliet had a surge of energy, despite the remnants of her hangover. It suddenly felt urgent that she should get back to Feywood and, hopefully, Léo as soon as she possibly could. What had she been thinking? It was as if the clouds had parted, and sunlight was streaming into her life again. She showered and dressed quickly and threw down some coffee and the last of the muesli, then set about packing, glad now that she had taken so little with her when she left. As she folded her clothes and grabbed her toiletries, she ignored the regular pinging of her phone, knowing that it was not likely to be the only person she wanted to hear from. Next, she set to cleaning the flat, a job she hated but did with some relief, knowing that she would have had to do it soon anyway, but at least this way she knew exactly where she was going and was glad to be going there. She stuffed some house share details froman estate agent into the recycling, remembering the inspiring peace of Feywood – ofhome. Her next thought caused her to freeze. What if Léo didn’t want her back? What if he reallyhadwanted her to move to London, not for her own good but to be free of her? Surely not Léo, surely he would have had the courage to break up with her? She felt the familiar panic rising in her chest and took some deep, steady breaths.
‘What you need,’ she said out loud, ‘is to be back at Feywood. That’syou, even if you have screwed everything up with Léo. Now come on, get moving.’
The pep talk helped, and she finished the cleaning quickly, then finally picked up her phone, lighting up the screen to see message after message from Toby, who had apparently used every method possible to bombard her with pleading, abuse, adoration and accusations. She ran her hand through her hair and sat down heavily on the sofa. It was time to end this, once and for all, and she would take the responsibility for doing that. No more favours on the table, no more suggestions of friendship, no more ambiguity. She had told him last night that she was done with him forever, and she meant it. Without reading his vitriol in full, she deleted emails, texts and WhatsApp threads and then blocked him on every single platform she had. Short of turning up at Feywood, which she wouldn’t put past him, especially since his appearance at her mother’s memorial – he could not contact her. She was no longer afraid of him using a different phone number to speak to her; her confidence was such now that hanging up would not seem the impossible task it once had. Job done, she switched the phone off altogether and shoved it to the bottom of her handbag. No more noise; it was time to go home.
She turned everything off and left the flat as she had found it: ready for someone else’s life. She stashed the key in the little safe outside the door and made her way down the stairs intothe low sunshine, then she started walking to the station. The throb in the balls of her feet, now comfortably shod in suede ballet shoes, was the only remnant of her old-new life. The area around the station was busy with late commuters and tourists, and she paused for a moment to find her Oyster card and make sure her luggage was firmly strapped together before descending into the Underground. As she zipped her handbag firmly shut and started towards the steps, she heard a voice that sounded thrillingly familiar.
‘Juliet?’
She glanced around hopefully but didn’t see anyone so, shrugging, stepped forward again.
‘Juliet!’
It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, but it was.
‘Léo?’ she gasped, as he patiently waited for an elderly couple to shuffle aside with their huge paper map. ‘What are you doing here?’
He grasped her shoulders.
‘Oh Juliet, I’ve been so stupid, such a fool, forgive me.’
‘Why, what do I have to forgive you for, what have you done?’
Oh no, was he going to confess to an affair with Pandora? Was he returning to France, to Veronique? What had he done?
‘For being such animbécileas to urge you to leave Feywood and come to London. If that is truly what you want, then I will step aside gracefully, but it is not what I want and I should have said that.’
His dear face looked so worried, Juliet could do nothing other than put her hands to his cheeks and kiss him. She meant it only to be brief, but once she started, she found she couldn’t stop, and it was obvious that he didn’t want her to either. Eventually, they stepped back and gazed at one another. She spoke first.
‘Léo, I was coming back to you, to Feywood.’ She indicated her luggage. ‘But you found me first.’
‘Oui, and now I do not want you to leave again. Do you mind?’
‘Mind? It’s what I want as well. Come on, let’s go home, unless you have anything else to do in London?’
‘Non, I have come only for you.’ His eyes followed hers to the oddly shaped bag he had slung over his shoulder. ‘Ah, this? Ha! Now, thisissomething very important, but it is also coming back with us.’
He pulled the bag round to the front, and Juliet could see that most of it was made of mesh. Then he unzipped it and out popped little Ava’s head. She barked with delight to see Juliet, who immediately scooped her out and cuddled her, while the dog licked her chin frantically.
