Instinct told her to back off but a flash of anger suddenlymade her snap. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ she muttered. ‘When did you become such a bitch?’
‘Me?’ Hélène said, incredulous.
‘Yes. Jack said he wrote to you as soon as we reached England. He explained things. Surely after two years you can’t still be angry about this?’
‘I never received a letter from Jack,’ Hélène said dismissively.
‘He sent one. He told me.’
‘How cosy.’
‘Not at the time, much later he told me. Maybe the letter went astray.’
‘If he wrote it.’
‘Of course he did.’
‘And you believe everything he says.’
‘I’m sorry, Hélène. I’m terribly sorry, but Jack and I held back for ages. I thought long and hard. I didn’t set out to hurt you. Isn’t this about Maman? Not me and Jack at all?’
Her sister remained silent.
‘What more can I do?’ Florence asked.
Hélène narrowed her eyes. ‘You can go back to Devon. That’s what. Now I’d like to be left alone to read these cards.’
Florence moved towards her sister and, speaking softly, reached out a hand. ‘Jack cared, but he just didn’t love you in the way you wanted, Hélène. You’re holding on to something that never existed except in your own mind.’
Hélène’s eyes hardened. Then with no warning she slapped Florence’s face with so much force she staggered back, her cheek and eyes stinging as she stared at her sister.
Shocked, she turned on her heels and stumbled away.
She’d heard about sisters becoming estranged but had never imagined it could ever happen to them. And yet their relationship was in pieces, and it seemed there was nothing she could do or say to put it back together again.
At twilight, Florence sat on the bed with Jack at the hotel. Earlier he had told Rosalie about her friend Charlotte’s death and the charm bracelet found on her body. Rosalie had been upset to hear the news and said she’d given her friend the bracelet as a thank you for the loan of her apartment.
‘Come to the bar, Florence,’ Jack said. ‘You look as if you need a drink and Rosalie certainly does. I think she wants to talk.’
But Florence couldn’t face people and shook her head.
‘Did something more happen?’ he asked. ‘More than your stumble over a log in the church yard. That was what happened wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So there’s nothing you want to talk about?’
‘No,’ she said, unable to admit that Hélène had slapped her face.
‘I’ll see you later then.’ He kissed her, stood up and moved away.
‘Wait,’ she said as he reached the door. ‘Hélène told me she didn’t receive a letter from you.’
‘Well, I certainly sent one.’
She nodded. ‘I told her that.’
‘Pity. It might have made all the difference to how shefeels now. But Florence, you really do need to leave the guilt behind.’
