‘What does that make you then?’ Blake asked, as he theatrically took a large gulp of wine.
‘Peacemaker! For all their arguments! I am always the one in the middle trying to cool things down. More often wine works better than my soothing words, though, if I’m brutally honest. Hence my decision to go and get a bottle when I heard Henri drive away.’
They both laughed. Blake could only imagine how many arguments Henri and his mother had. They both seemed to have very strong opinions when it came to the business.
‘Working for Céline would be a dream come true for me,’ Blake confessed. ‘Both from a journalism perspective, and also fashion. I’ve never even considered that such an opportunity could be presented to me.’
‘Then take the job,’ Benoit said with a shrug, as if it were that simple.
‘I don’t think Henri would ever trust me, or ever forgive me, if I did.’
Benoit was silent for a long time, staring out at the landscape, before finally turning to her as she nursed her glass of wine.
‘Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions. We can’t control how others will act or think, so we have to make the decision for ourselves. It’s not selfish to put yourself first sometimes, and who knows? Over time my stubborn stepson may realise just how wrong he was.’
Blake sipped her wine, nodding even though she had no right to pretend that she agreed with him. She’d spent her entire life pleasing others, making decisions based on others;putting herself last. Being selfish simply wasn’t in her DNA. Besides, how could she even consider doing something that might drive a wedge between Henri and his mother? She might not agree with the way he’d treated her or how he’d reacted, but she did understand now that she’d heard about his previous relationship. She knew what it was like to hold on to something from the past and not be able to move past it.
‘Benoit, thank you for the wine,’ she said at length. ‘I’ve enjoyed every second of my time at your beautiful chateau. Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here.’
He frowned. ‘You sound very much like you’re saying goodbye. Please tell me you’re not leaving?’
Blake touched his arm on the way past, not trusting her voice to reply as emotion rose in her chest, and hoping that he would understand.
She’d known that leaving France wasn’t going to be easy; she just hadn’t expected to be going home with a broken heart.
25
LONDON, 1939
Evelina stood on the side of the road, gazing up at the ordinary-looking house. She’d expected something to mark it from the other houses on the street, something that would tell her whether she should or shouldn’t knock at the door, but there was nothing more than a simple sign that read ‘Hope’s House.’
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hand resting on her stomach, which was now so large she barely recognised herself when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She certainly couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to see her toes.
A little voice in her head urged her forward, told her to at least knock on the door and ask if they could help her, but another voice urged her to run as far as she possibly could. It told her that she needed to fight to keep her baby, not abandon her. Evelina pulled her coat tighter around herself as the cold began to bite, as she remembered the humiliation she’d suffered only a few days earlier at the hospital. If only she’d thought to buy a ring and place it on her finger, it might not have been such an embarrassing ordeal, but she’d presumed with so many men away now and the war raging on, the last thing anyone wouldworry about was whether or not she was married. How wrong she’d been.
‘Give your baby a chance at a proper life,’ the nurse had said, her tone clipped and no-nonsense. ‘It’s time to stop being selfish and think of your baby’s future. How are you even going to care for a child on your own?’
Evelina had wanted to point out just how many women would be widowed and raising children on their own, thanks to the war, but she’d held her tongue. She’d come for medical care, not advice, and she knew better than to be smart, given the circumstances. She needed this nurse’s help.
‘My fiancé will be joining me after the war, as soon as he can come to England,’ she said. ‘The timing was unfortunate, but we’re looking forward to being reunited.’
The nurse shook her head, as if disgusted at how irresponsible Evelina had been in becoming pregnant in the first place; as if she was the first woman to go to bed with a man to whom she wasn’t legally wedded.
‘I’ve heard of a place that’s opened, a house for women like you.’
‘Women like me?’ Evelina asked. She had a good grasp of English, having learnt it at school and practised it frequently, but there were some things she found difficult to translate, especially the tone.
‘Unmarried women,’ the nurse said, shaking her head again as if Evelina was stupid for not understanding her the first time.
Evelina sat tall, her chin high. ‘What exactly would this place do for me?’
‘Help you have your baby, look after you, and then find parents for your baby once it’s born. I’d say it’s the best option you have. We don’t want your type here, and she might just take you in until after the baby is born.’
Evelina nodded. So that was that then. She wasn’t wanted at the hospital, and the nurses all seemed to have an opinion about her. Even the doctor had seemed less than impressed about having to treat her, his scowl of disapproval and dismissive way of speaking to her impossible to ignore.
‘Please would you write down the name and address of this house?’ she’d asked politely.
At which the nurse had looked immensely relieved and left the room to find paper, while Evelina had trembled on the bed and tried not to cry, the emotion clogging deep in her throat as she realised the decision she was going to have to make.Curse you, Antoine!
