‘How are you feeling about Maman?’ Florence asked Élise when Jack and Vicky were out feeding the ducks in the water meadow, and they were alone together in the kitchen.
‘I always had mixed feelings about her. You know that.’
‘You looked so much like her. But I think your temperament was so different that it scared her.’
‘Really?’
‘She’d deny it of course.’
‘I’m struggling with myself a bit. I feel I should have tried to love her better …’
‘And on the other hand, maybesheshould have triedto loveyoubetter. Or at least tried to show it more. I’m sure she did love you, really.’
‘Maybe. It makes her death hard to come to terms with. Not ever being able to … I don’t know … make things right between us, I suppose. It hurt that she was so uninterested in Victoria.’
Florence reached for her sister’s hand.
A little later Florence and Rosalie went for a walk together, up the track, down the hill, and into the woods. It was a cold crisp day with a seamless blue sky. Life had been so busy in Meadowbrook cottage that Florence was glad to have a little time alone with her aunt.
‘How are you now?’ Florence asked her aunt.
‘I’m just thankful I saw my sister again before she died, but I’ll always regret the years we spent apart.’
Florence didn’t reply, though she couldn’t help wondering if she and Hélène were now doomed to repeat history.
‘It’s very beautiful here,’ Rosalie said as she linked arms with Florence, ‘and the cottage is gorgeous. I can see why you love it. Jack too. He clearly adores you.’
‘I’ve been so lucky. I loved Jack from the moment I first saw him, looked up to him in fact, but … well, it was only when he helped me on the worst day of my life that I began to feel I could never trust another man but him.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Florence thought for a moment. She’d come such a long way since that terrible encounter with those two vile men. It was hard to accept that a violation, a rape like that, had really happened to her. But accept it she’d hadto, or she would never have been able to love Jack. Maybe she never would accept it completely, but it didn’t make her shake and tremble when she thought about it and she no longer felt any shame.
‘Maybe another time,’ she said.
‘Of course.’
There was a pause.
Florence turned to look at Rosalie. ‘Your husband, Robert Beresford, do you mind talking about him?’
‘My funny, lovable, brave Bobby. I’mveryhappy to talk about him. Great love, if you find it, is one of life’s most precious gifts. I had that with him.’
‘It must have been terrible when he died.’
‘It was … but not for one moment did I regret knowing him. It sounds like a cliché, but he really was the love of my life.’
They were both silent. All you could hear were their footsteps and a few birds shifting in the trees.
‘Do you think you’ll ever marry again?’
‘No. I have my life in Mdina, and Gerry and I will get on with the final volume of Addison’s work while I’m in London.’
‘You’re fond of Gerry?’
‘Very. He’s my best friend. And a best friend is a fine thing indeed. I have other friends in Malta too. Otto – he’s a journalist and Tommy-O, a cross-dressing singer, although I see less of him now that he’s no longer performing. And of course, after all you’ve done to find me, we two will be enormous friends as well. And I hope you will come back to Mdina and stay with me.’
Florence smiled. ‘I would love that.’
