‘Shhh. We don’t swear in front of the child.’
Florence laughed at the thought of Élise not swearing.
Jack came round to say hello, kissing Élise on both cheeks in the French style and squeezing her arms. ‘Look, I’m going to the hotel to check us all in. I’ll see you later.’
‘You can stay,’ Élise said meaningfully.
‘No, this time now is for you women. And a more amazing bunch of women I’ve never known.’
Élise laughed. ‘Always a charmer.’
‘See you later.’
Élise glanced at the car. Rosalie was still sitting in the back seat but if the driver was to take Jack to the hotel, unless she went with him, she had to get out now. Florence went round to open the door.
Rosalie, her face blanched of colour, glanced up and swallowed visibly. ‘I am very tired. Would it be acceptable if I came to see my sister tomorrow?’
Florence twisted back to Élise. In all the joy of seeing her sister and her niece she’d almost forgotten how sick her mother was.
Élise nodded. ‘I’m sure tomorrow will be all right.’
‘One thing at a time then,’ Rosalie said. ‘Today is for you girls. Tomorrow can be for me.’
But the door opened again and a tall athletic-looking woman, with straight light brown hair and strong features stood watching. Hélène’s nut-brown eyes were not warm or smiling and she gave no sign of acknowledgingFlorence, but briskly said, ‘Maman is awake now. I think it might be wiser for Rosalie to see her today.’
Florence’s heart started to race. Was her sister not going to greet her at all? She stood awkwardly holding little Victoria’s hand. Élise helped Rosalie out of the car and Hélène gave Florence a perfunctory nod then marshalled Rosalie inside.
‘Can I come up too?’ Florence asked, following them, aware of the tension between Hélène and herself.
Her sister glanced at her, sharply Florence thought, but then she nodded.
‘Don’t crowd Maman,’ Hélène ordered. ‘Stay by the door while Rosalie is at her bedside.’
The three of them went upstairs and Hélène asked them to wait on the landing while she spoke to Claudette. Florence gripped her aunt’s hand.
‘I don’t know who is more nervous, you or me,’ Rosalie whispered.
‘Are you nervous?’ Florence asked.
‘Terribly. I haven’t caught sight of my sister for over twenty years and now she’s dying. I long to see her so much I’m shaking.’
They waited anxiously, listening to Hélène murmuring for a while before she softly called to them. Florence followed Rosalie to the open door. They saw Hélène plump up Claudette’s pillows then help her sit up. Florence heard Rosalie’s sharp intake of breath and fought for her own breath. Ravaged by cancer, Claudette, only in her fifties, looked decades older.
A harsh cry erupted from Claudette as Rosalie enteredthe room and then she coughed and couldn’t seem to stop. Hélène made soothing sounds and patted her back.
‘Hand me that water, Florence,’ she said without looking round.
Florence stepped forward and did so and Hélène put the glass to Claudette’s lips. Florence couldn’t tell if her mother had swallowed any as Hélène soon put the glass back on the bedside table.
Tears sprang to Claudette’s eyes as she focused on Rosalie’s approach.
Florence stepped back and watched. Some things were impossible to put into words and this moment, as Rosalie sat in a chair beside her sister and took her hand, was one.
‘You never wrote,’ Claudette said, her voice gravelly, but there was no reproach in her eyes.
‘Just the once.’
‘More than twenty years,’ Claudette said, barely audible. She closed her eyes and Florence took a deep breath while Hélène leant over to check her pulse.
